Smokey Mountain Breakdown

As what looks very much to be a killing storm bears down on the Big Easy, I send my prayers and good thoughts to all who lie in the storm's path.

I'm always reminded of an old folk song that actually deals with the murder of one sister by another, whenever a big blow comes this way. Bluegrass has it's roots in a bardic tradition and some of the best songs also tell real stories. I have this song in my collection and I can't find it right now. I think the Dead did a version of it.

If you can find this song...it's really wonderful. Very special.

Wind and Rain

Two lovely sisters were a walking side by side;
Oh, the wind and rain.
One pushed the other in the waters so deep,
And she cried, oh the dreadful wind and rain.

She floated on down to the miller's mill pond;
Oh, the wind and rain.
She floated on down to the miller's mill pond,
And she cried, oh the dreadful wind and rain.

He hooked her up by the tail of her gown;
Oh, the wind and rain.
He hooked her up by the tail of her gown,
And she cried, oh the dreadful wind and rain.

He made fiddle strings of her long black hair;
Oh, the wind and rain.
He made fiddle strings of her long black hair;
And she cried, oh the dreadful wind and rain.

He made fiddle screws of her long finger bones;
Oh, the wind and rain.
He made fiddle screws of her long finger bones,
And she cried, oh the dreadful wind and rain.

The only tune that the fiddle would play was;
Oh, the wind and rain.
The only tune that the fiddle would play,
Was oh, the dreadful wind and rain.

I just pray that New Orleans...that shining jewel of the South, is not completely blown off the map. I hope this storm ends up being a small, harsh hit and quickly exhausted as some of these big storms do.

Oh, the dreadful wind and rain.

Howard Finster's words on one of his early folk art works kept playing in my brain today as I fumed to myself in the kitchen today.

I prepared a gallon of elderberry juice this morning then moved on to the daunting task of turning the peck of feral winesap apples into apple butter. I don't like to do things the easy way so I'm extracting the pulp with my hands and grinding up spices. This was an all day chore. I just finished up 13 pints of this glorious russet colored spicey apple jam. My house smells like Christmas from all of the allspice, cinnamon, ginger and nutmeg.

Anyway, as I'm slaving away, I have the T.V. on CNN. The entire Pat Robertson story has been burning me up. Pat Robertson had repulsed me for decades now. He is and has been the personification of evil on Earth for years and it surprises me that certain segments of the right wing are only just getting around to seeing this.

So this man, who has publicly prayed for God to kill one of the sitting Supremes, has now called for the execution of Venezuela's president Chavez. And prayed publicly for that to happen. So today he apologizes...but offered "kidnapping" as an alternate suggestion.

I believe in a God. And because I believe in a God, I have to believe that there is some special corner of hell, more horrific than anything we could possibly conceive of, where the evil little toad men like Robertson and Falwell will be locked together in some insanely profane embrace for all of eternity.

There won't be any spicey apple butter there and there definitely won't be no cold cokes in hell.

It was 1999 and we were all piled in Tree's office with the big glass windows at CNN in Atlanta. The door had been shut as we five "girls" in our late 30's and early 40's were having an important secret meeting. We always looked both ways down the hall to make sure no one was coming before doing this.

Tree, ceremoniously, withdrew the glossy 8 X 10 from the envelope to display. We all gasped and held our breaths. There he was, in his tweed jacket and impeccably tailored trousers, lounging in the doorway of his book-lined office. His long lines, graceful, and his weathered face in a world weary half-smile. His little reporter's notebook just peeking out of a pocket. You could almost imagine the smell of tobacco and scotch that surely must have infused that amazing tweed jacket and scented his long-fingered hands. We all swooned.

For women working in broadcast news, Peter Jennings was a rock star. There was something about his particular mix of extraordinary competence, stellar journalistic abilities, sardonic wit and easy confidence that just made one go all gushy inside. It wasn't about looks, though Jennings was very easy on the eye. Anchors have to be goodlooking, but they don't have to be smart or particularly talented in journalism. It was about presence, power and ability.

Like a the bumbling teenage nerd, I once was...I just kept saying, "She's gonna freak, man! She's gonna freak!"

I was speaking of the inscription on the photo. Tree had pulled some strings and gotten the photo personally autographed, "To Joan and Katy, Many happy regards, Peter Jennings."

Joan was our friend over at Turner Entertainment who had a huge Peter Jennings crush. Katy was her miniature French Poodle. Joan's birthday was coming up and she really was the gal who had everything. At least everything she needed. Tree really had done something special by pulling this particular rabbit out of the hat. That she had gotten the French Poodle included on the inscription was nothing short of inspired.

All of us had to trail our fingers over his signature, trying to sense whatever essence he might have left behind.

Jodi said, "I bet he has stacks of these photos that he sends out to women."

"Yeah." We agreed.

Today, I'm sobbing into my kitchen sink as I'm loading the dishwasher. Large, tearful, heart-wrenching sobs of mourning. I'll always remember exactly what I was doing, the moment I heard that Peter Jennings had died.

It's day three of Bolly and Lufu's internment on the back porch "goat hospital". They are separated from but in visual contact with AlphaBetty goat who continues to hack like a three pack a day smoker. I'm breaking down and starting her on a course of pen-G today. Penicillin is always scary because you have to have that epinephrin right there for anaphylactic shock. You only have moments to administer it.

Bolly and Lufu were scouring down in the pasture three mornings ago. Scouring is the livestock term for diarrhea. It's never a good thing in goats. I actually had to drag Lufu up to the house, he was so sick. Bolly was better...not in that hang- eared, degected state that Lufu was in. This had happened overnight. On the plus side, no one was hollering and they were still interested in eating.

I did the no-brainer stuff first. Got them cleaned up (they get the poop all over themselves), comfortable and hydrated with electrolytes. Then administered a big dose of Pepto-Bismol.

I went out to visit everyone else to make sure that no one else was spewing green efluvia. They were fine, but I found something alarming in the water bucket. My pastured goats have access to a spring fed pond, but they prefer that I keep a hose fed bucket near the house. So I do. It gets filled and changed daily. There was a dead rat in it.

I freaked. Goats are incredibly fastidious about feed and water sources. They won't touch fouled water. But Bolly and Lufu are at the age where they aren't the brightest bulbs in the pack and the possibility was there that they ingested rat infused water. So I went back and wiped out any surviving good gut bacteria with an oral antibiotic. Treated them all day with that then started them on Probios and yoghurt innoculated goat milk to repopulate the gut.

Day two....no change. They are no better and no worse. I started them on 35 cc's of C & D anti-toxin sub-Q, in case there was any entero. I continue to feed them goat milk. Lufu got bad enough to warrant a shot of banamine, a prescription pain reliever and muscle relaxant. But they are still eating like fools so this is good.

The scours are green and watery. They aren't really terribly smelly such as you would expect in Cocci. So the other condition that causes this is plant poisoning. I've been spending a huge amount of time examining goat poop over the past few days. Provided I can get to it before the dogs do. Dogs love goat poop, it being both perfume and snack in one go. Healthy goat poop looks like rabbit poop. Little pellets. Green, liquid poop is indicative of three things: a) coccidiosis; b) gorging on too much fresh pasture; or c) plant poisoning. The gorging would have resolved by now but cocci and plant poisoning are high on my list of possibilities. I'm hoping it's not cocci. It doesn't smell like cocci.

This morning I began treating them for cocci and worm infestation. They got Vit. B complex shots. I took them off of free choice hay, which they were consuming rather rapidly. They'll just have the innoculated milk and electrolytes until this resolves. I was really excited that Lufu had a poop that showed a bit of definition to it. I'm hoping that Bolly will follow suit soon. I'm really hoping that the nutty boys just ate too much poke weed.

I'm calling my goat mentor now that I've tried everything she would have told me to do. Finding qualified caprine vets is a tricky sort of thing...so we all find experienced goat people who help us out. Betsy has been my mentor since I started keeping goats. Her herd is where my Saanans come from.

Keeping goats is hard. Don't ever think it's not. They can't just eat any old thing. So...I'm chained to the house and goat nanny until this clears up. I'll post pics of them when they are feeling better...they asked not to be photographed looking all sick and pathetic.

I've been putting up a bushel of peaches for the freezer. There is something soothing about the strong sweet smell that transports me back in time.

I remember eavesdropping on my grandmother and her sisters. They were in my grandmother's bedroom in the house on Abercorne Street in Savannah, GA. My great aunt Emmy Jo had come up from Florida with a box of mangos and oranges from her grove. Great aunt Baby Dear had come from Tennessee and had stopped in Spartanburg for a few bushels of peaches. It must have been summer. In my memory, their gatherings were always garnished with fruit and the work that went into putting the fruit up for the winter.

I can hear them talking, sisterly, about mango peelings and rashes. One of the sisters would take a rash from peeling mangoes, which are related somehow to poison ivey, they said. I don't think that's true, somehow, but it sounded right at the time and I felt I had learned something special.

They are in the bathroom washing their hands and giggling. I am very small and sitting on my grandmother's rice bed with the nobbly white bedspread and wondering if she has any rock candy in her dresser. She always did. I think about the peaches and wonder if my grandfather will whittle monkeys from the peach pits as he sometimes did for me.

Today, the scent of peaches clings to my hands like gloves. I inhale the scent and for a moment I am five.

Pet Animal Welfare Statute (PAWS) SB 1139/2669

Being the yellow dog Democrat that I am, it right pains me to get behind a Republican backed bill. But that is exactly what I am doing in regards to PAWS 1139/2669. I am begging you to take a bit of time and dash off an email to a few senators and your own representatives. If you care at all about animal welfare...this is a really important bill.

From HSUS:

"The PAWS bill is necessary because currently all commercial breeders of dogs and cats who sell their animals directly to the public avoid AWA licensing and humane handling requirements even when they are selling a large number of animals. The growing popularity of the Internet has created an unintentional loophole in the current law, allowing these commercial breeders to classify themselves "retail pet stores" and evade all federal oversight. As a result, raising animals in deplorable conditions and selling them to someone sight unseen has become even easier, and is a highly profitable business. These high volume dealers are commonly referred to as "puppy mills."

The puppy mill lobby has flooded the internet with lies about this bill. They have duped half of the rescue community by terrifying them with lies about how the USDA will now come after the shelters and rescue organizations. This bill stands a real chance of slowing the tide of misery pouring forth from these hell holes.

Organizations in support of PAWS include: HSUS, The AKC, and The Doris Day Animal League . Contrary to what the scaremongerers are putting out there...the only people who have anything to worry about with this bill are those who are abusing animals.

Rick Santorum's staff has indicated that what is needed right now is:

1. Calls and emails of support.

2. Co-sponsors for the bill.

If you have questions, please feel free to call Santorum's office. They are happy to answer your questions and will send out packets of information about the bill to you.

Please call or email the following contacts and your own representatives to support this bill!

Use this link to find your own representatives and ask them to please co-sponsor this bill!
U.S. Senate Subcommittee on Research, Nutrition, and General Legislation

Jurisdiction over legislation on agricultural education and research; animal welfare; legislation on or relating to food, nutrition and hunger; commodity donations; food stamps; national school lunch program; school breakfast program; summer food program for children; special milk program for children; special supplemental nutrition program for women, infants and children; nutritional programs for the elderly; Commodity Futures Trading Commission and Federal Insecticide Fungicide and Rodenticide Act; and general legislation.

Rick Santorum, Chair
Washington DC Office, 511 Dirksen Senate Office Building
Washington DC 20510
202.224.6324
Email Form:
http://santorum.senate.gov/public/index.cfm?FuseAction=ContactInformation.ContactForm

Patrick J. Leahy, Ranking Democrat
Washington DC Office, 433 Russell Senate Office Building
Washington DC 20510
202.224.4242
senator_leahy@leahy.senate.gov

Richard G. Lugar (R-IN)
306 Hart Senate Office Building
Washington DC 20510
FAX: 202.228.0360
senator_lugar@lugar.senate.gov

Thad Cochran (R-MS)
113 Dirksen Senate Office Building
Washington DC 20510
Email Form:
http://cochran.senate.gov/contact.htm

Debbie Stabenow (D-MI)
133 Hart Senate Office Building
Washington DC 20510
Email Form: http://stabenow.senate.gov/email.htm

Max Baucus (D-MT)
511 Hart Senate Office Building
Washington Dc 20510
FAX: 202.224.0515
Email Form:
http://baucus.senate.gov/emailmax.html

Mike Crapo (R-ID)
239 Dirksen Senate Office Building
Washington DC 20510
FAX: (202) 228-1375
Email Form: http://crapo.senate.gov/contact/email.cfm

Mitch McConnell (R-KY)
361-A Russell Senate Office Building
Washington Dc 20510
FAX: 202.224.2499
Email Form: : http://mcconnell.senate.gov/contact_form.cfm

Blanche Lincoln (D-AR)
355 Dirksen Senate Office Building
Washington DC 20510
FAX: 202.228.1371
Email Form: : http://lincoln.senate.gov/webform.html

Pat Roberts (R-KS)
109 Hart Senate Office Building
Washington DC 20510
FAX: 202.224.3514
Email Form:
http://roberts.senate.gov/e-mail_pat.html


E. Benjamin Nelson (D-NE)
720 Hart Senate Office Building
Washington Dc 20510
FAX: 202.228.0012
Email Form:
http://bennelson.senate.gov/email.html

Full text of this bill is available here.




Image from "Prisoners for Profit" by Rachel A. Lamb.

I'm not known for my ability to suffer fools gladly. In fact, I tend to suffer fools rather noisily and with a rather ill temper. I have little tolerance for people with mental conditions that are constantly used as excuses for their behavior. I, frankly, don't give a damn about your tragic childhood and how it has caused you to do whatever heinous act you've been indulging in. Particularly if it involves an animal or a small child.

I've been involved with animal welfare issues actively and formally for about five years. I work with humane societies and municipal shelters as a laiason between rescue organizations and the more formal sheltering professions. I try to help people keep their pets in their family...especially if the pet is a cocker spaniel. I also try to steer the public toward reputable rescues and shelters. I've had my share of bad experiences with both sides of the fence. I do what I can, time and finances permitting.

On the rescue side, the most common problem encountered is hoarders masquerading as rescue organizations. Honestly, people in rescue can tend to be a bit batty. You have to wade your way through a gang of crazy sometimes to find the people who are really just there to help the animals without some sort of agenda.

Animal hoarding is a world-wide problem. Some rescuers are clearly hoarders...but manage to take care of their animals and control their collections. But others fall into the dangerous side of collecting where they keep animals without adopting them out, fail to vet their animals and let animals die from neglect. I actually started my referral to combat such a rescue operating in my area. If you adopt an animal from a rescue, always ask for a veterinary reference. They are going to ask you for one so don't be shy about asking for one in return. Do not adopt from a rescue who does not keep a good and current relationship with a veterinarian.

Last week this story appeared. Animal control officers seized 488 cats from 82 year old Ruth Knueven's house. All of them were either dead or dying and all but 8 had to be destroyed. What makes this even more tragic is that 120 cats were taken from her in 2001. There is no cure for animal hoarding. Like sex offenders, hoarders do not seem to be able to stop this behavior. The judge in this case found the stones to declare Ms. Knueven "unfit to own pets".

Tougher laws are needed to deal with this problem which is more widespread in the rescue community than in other segments of the nation.

For more information on this devastating form of animal neglect:

The Hoarding of Animals Research Consortium at Tufts

When that whole "Freedom Fries" thing came up...I was cringing. As if our french fries could even hold a bic lighter to pommes frites. There is absolutely no comparison and we should feel lucky that the French even allow us to call our pale, greasy imitation a "french" fry.

It's true...I drew a "moue" or seven while I was there. Particularly in Paris, where the tone is a bit higher. The coat check ladies at the Louvre were particularly offended by my smelly Barbour jacket that I wore everywhere. They thought I was a Brit. And everyone pleaded with me to please not speak French. That's how amazingly bad my French is....plus it is spoken very slowly with a thick South Carolina Lowcountry accent.

"ou est la toilette, y'all".

But I think I got points for at least trying to speak the language. I always loved David Sedaris' "Me Talk Pretty One Day"....because that was so me as well.

It is one thing to love France. Many people love France. But it is another thing entirely to love the French. I know my sister loves France...and she goes there quite often. I wish I could travel there as often. But I'm not sure she loves the French as I do.

Loving the French means submersing yourself in a set of priorities that are quite foreign to Anglo sensibilities. It means being violently passionate about certain things....and suffering from a dreadful ennui about others. It means caring deeply about human rights, tradition, food, wine, leisure time and sex, while at the same time having an abiding concern and devotion to Catholicism, family and privacy. As I do with any culture, I identified more with the country folk than with the Parisians. I just don't enjoy "putting on the dog" as we say, as much as other people. Paris is all about "putting on the dog".

I'm probably putting it poorly. I'm fairly certain that I don't actually "get it". But I've tried awfully hard to do so. I was probably as much of an ugly American as the next guy.

But I think I got points for not asking directions to the Bastille.

I couldn't make up my mind as to what to put in the Gullible's Travels gallery today. Did I want to do the psychic dog? Or maybe MoonFakers? There are just so many wacky things to choose from.

If you are wondering why this is important to me...it's because I see an enormous amount of zeal flowing into things that aren't real. We have big problems. Big problems that are real. If we could channel the energy we spend on the things that aren't real into the things that are...I just wonder if maybe we could actually do something about things like global warming, wars, food safety, the environment, the rise of fundamentalist extremism, the awful political situation the US is in....ad nauseum.

These are taken from Robert L. Park's excellent article, The Seven Warning Signs of Bogus Science, that appeared in the January 31st 2003 issue of The Chronical of Higher Education. I encourage you to read the article in its entirety. While most of the skeptical articles I refer to deal with science...the principles hold true for politics, commerce and day to day living. You will readily recognize many of these warning signs from advertising.

1. The discoverer pitches the claim directly to the media.
"An attempt to bypass peer review by taking a new result directly to the media, and thence to the public, suggests that the work is unlikely to stand up to close examination by other scientists."

2. The discoverer says that a powerful establishment is trying to suppress his or her work.
"The idea is that the establishment will presumably stop at nothing to suppress discoveries that might shift the balance of wealth and power in society. Often, the discoverer describes mainstream science as part of a larger conspiracy that includes industry and government."

3. The scientific effect involved is always at the very limit of detection.
"All scientific measurements must contend with some level of background noise or statistical fluctuation. But if the signal-to-noise ratio cannot be improved, even in principle, the effect is probably not real and the work is not science."

4. Evidence for a discovery is anecdotal.
"If modern science has learned anything in the past century, it is to distrust anecdotal evidence. Because anecdotes have a very strong emotional impact, they serve to keep superstitious beliefs alive in an age of science."

5. The discoverer says a belief is credible because it has endured for centuries.
" Ancient folk wisdom, rediscovered or repackaged, is unlikely to match the output of modern scientific laboratories."

6. The discoverer has worked in isolation.
"Scientific breakthroughs nowadays are almost always syntheses of the work of many scientists."

7. The discoverer must propose new laws of nature to explain an observation.
"A new law of nature, invoked to explain some extraordinary result, must not conflict with what is already known. If we must change existing laws of nature or propose new laws to account for an observation, it is almost certainly wrong."

Also check out Robert L. Parks book, Voodoo Science: The Road From Foolishness to Fraud.

I picked up a big basket of South Carolina peaches in Newport the other week. The idea of the sweetness of my home state was too strong to resist. I mentioned something about the goats and the fella unloaded four crates of over-ripe peaches on me in addition to the basket I bought.

Well, the goats aren't going to see these. I'm making brandy.

Peek-a-boo Peach Brandy is made by layering sugar and peaches in a large crock or jar. You stir the mixture for the first seven days for about 3 minutes to release the fermenting gases. On the seventh day, add the juice of four lemons and a box of raisins. You wrap the jar in a paper bag and hide it in a cool dark place. Check in about 21 days and decant and bottle if you wish. It will result in a potent spirit by Thanksgiving at which you can "peek" at it and enjoy some. You can add some moonshine(or vodka) to make it even stronger and more potent. The left over fruit is really wonderful spooned over vanilla ice cream. By Christmas, it should have quite a kick to it.

I'm planning to do the same this summer with blackberries and elderberries. I haven't gotten much gardening in due to the spill I took during planting season chasing the damn goat.

Lufu and Bolly would like to welcome you to their pen of Udder Denial. It is now weaning time so the boys will be camping out in the secure pen until they get over the milk DT's. They have actually handled it pretty well and only hollered for one night. They are eating well and haven't had any weaning shock. Maggie seems to completely forgotten they ever existed.

I don't know when I'll be able to let them out. The goslings have now joined them so there is plenty of company. The goslings will be there until they bond with that particular place as their homing place. Not the front yard. Not the neighbors. Not a half mile down the road.

I'm really happy to have all baby animals out of my living areas. After having the goslings inside for two weeks, then in the yard for four....the fluffy newness of babies gets old after a while. Around about the umpteenth time I hop in the jeep to herd them back to the homestead.

Lil' Ol' Del Rio, which is literally at the bottom of the 300 foot cliff I live on top of, has made national news once again! The last time I remember seeing Del Rio get such attention was on the Discovery Channel's program, "When Snakes Attack"...or Bite...or something like that. Discovery Channel did a right nice bit on the Pentacostal Church Snakehandlers in Del Rio.

In case you hadn't heard, Del Rio has long been the site of the biggest cockfight in the United States. It's not exactly been a huge secret, that Cocke county and Newport were ground zero for all things cockfighting. The feed store where I get my dogfood each month, carries a full selection of game chicken accoutrement, feeds and items.

Which brings us to the BIG STORY.

What strikes me as interesting, but hardly surprising, is that nowhere is any county involvement mentioned. This was strictly a federal and state operation. Cocke County has only one, sainted, ACO to deal with the entire cockfighting, pit-bull-fighting and general neglectful state of animal welfare in the county. Animal welfare is just not a high priority to this county and it's a dangerous business to enforce.

According to J.J. Stambaugh's article in the Knoxville News Sentinel, "The Del Rio operation was "the largest and likely the oldest cockfighting pit in the country, having been in operation for more than 60 years," according to officials from the Humane Society of the United States."

Call me jaded, call me cynical, but I don't believe for one moment that anyone living in Cocke County, least of all the county officials, were unaware of a cockfighting "stadium" capable of seating 400 was sitting in their backyard for the past 60 years. So why didn't they do anything about it? I hope we get to find out which local and state officials were busted in the raid...cause I'm sure there will be a few.

I can think of a few reasons why nothing was done. Just north of here, in Greene County, they tried to enact a dog licensing law some years back that would require dogs show proof of rabies vaccination. Evidently, all of the county officials were treated to death threats at their homes. People feel that strongly about a 6 buck vaccine. It finally blew up and the result was a county animal shelter that does no adoptions. Animals go in, but they don't come out. All animals are euthanized. Can you spell "Draconian"?

I suspect the local officials failure to deal with the cockfighting problem, or the local paper's failure to report about it is based in fear and just plain cowardice. I'm sure there's a little graft and political backscratching involved somewhere with a liberal slice of not rocking the boat. Not sure where...it just seems logical.

The thing is, I've actually grown to like the game chicken people since I moved here. It's a case of "Love the chicken people; hate the chickenfighting". The birds are breathtakingly beautiful and there is a high degree of skill that goes into their breeding. I just wish they wouldn't fight them and some other purpose could be found for them to keep these strains of birds going. The game chicken people honestly love their birds and I'm sure more than a few tears were shed by big rough grown men when 305 of these magnificent roosters were put down on site during the raid.

Do check out Stambaugh's article...it's well worth the trouble of subbing to KnoxNews.

Maybe the embarrassment of all this will spur Cocke County to get poor Ennis, the County ACO, some help to do his job properly. Yeah, right...when monkeys fly out of my butt maybe.

The Lord God Bird
It was with bittersweet excitement that I heard about the rediscovery of the ivory billed woodpecker in Arkansas last week. Bittersweet, because I spent most of my childhood searching for him and never found him. I'm glad someone did, but I really wanted to be the one to see him. I have since the first time my grandfather told me about him.

My childhood was peppered with tales of these great birds and the clouds of Carolina Parakeets that blackened the skies above the May River in Bluffton, SC in the early part of the century. I'm not sure how many six year old children were taught the sound of the Lord God Bird at their mother's knee, but I was certainly tutored on it.



It was every bit as exciting as looking for the ghost at Ft. Fredricka on Sea Island, GA. Every time I ventured into the deep woods, that woodpecker was part of my search. The bird was mythic in my universe. I grew up on tales of him and apocryphal stories of sightings. It was fun to claim you thought you saw one...even if you sort of knew that you'd seen the more common pileated woodpecker.

I never heard the distinctive BAM-bam. I never heard the strangely high, nasal and off-key warble of the bird...though my ears strained through every trip into the woods. My grandfather could describe these sounds perfectly....and my mother wasn't too bad at it either.

The ivory bill was called the Lord God Bird because one could be forgiven for taking the Lord's name in vain if he was seen in flight.

I was in town trying to get my tobacco allotment straightened out. The government will pay me to NOT grow tobacco. Actually I think they buy my poundage and sell it to somebody else. I'm not sure how that works. I also got the farm listed under the Tennessee Greenbelt program. It gives me a property tax break by appraising my acreage on its use value. Since the majority of my acreage is sheer vertical drop...that should be not much. Now that the state just leveed property taxes...again...I really need that program.

The weather was yet again, cold, windy and yucky this morning. I didn't go to First Monday since I mostly love taking pictures there and farmers look better in sunlight. I'll try again for the June one and hopefully there will be better weather.

Across from the county extension agent's office, I see this at the monument company.

Oh...please...tell me it's not a rice-burner.

I'm now a member of the Rocky Top Brigade.

This is only fitting since I'm probably the closest geographically to the factual Rocky Top...which is right up the road from me.

The Rocky Top Brigade is "enjoined in the battle for truth, justice, and a good single malt Scotch whiskey for around $20." Plus a whole lotta other stuff with which I totally agree.

It's nice to have company 'cause I've come under attack for eating possum. Turns out, possums have a rabid fan base. (pun totally intended) People always make the mistake of thinking that just because I'm a southerner, that I'm some sort of sloe-eyed, slack-jawed refugee from a Flannery O'Connor short story. Don't make that mistake. I'll hurt you with my terminal degree.

Here are the rules:

If you have the letters "URB" anywhere in the description of where you live and grew up...you can keep your opinions to yourself about my wildlife conservation and pest management practices. I have a right to protect my animals from harm and if wildlife encroaches onto my farm in a destructive manner, I will kill it. After I kill it...I might eat it.

If you don't like the way farmers and ag workers in general manage the land...despite the fact you haven't seen the business end of a cow in who knows how long; are completely divorced from the realities of your food chain; and aren't sure what kind of vegetable a pickle comes from....then stop eating. Get off your rear end and take an agritainment vacation and find out about where your food comes from and the agonizing, back-breaking work that is involved in making it.

Have some respect for farmers...some are highly educated with ag degrees and some have 8th grade educations. What they all do is nothing short of miraculous and country people have their priorities much more in order than most of the rest of us. I may not like the majority of their politics but that's another matter.

I'll probably think of more rules later...particularly if the invasion of the possum people continues.

For the record, I don't need no stinkin' possum lessons.

Day after tomorrow is the First Monday Market at the Morristown, TN Stockyards. I'm hoping it's going to be a fine day for a change so I can go do some shopping.

Morristown is 40 miles away from me and the closest place for serious shopping. They have a mall. Well...sort of a mall. It's not a mall by city standards but it's as much mall as we see without going to Knoxville. Morristown is mostly industrial, but has a charming downtown. It's also fairly big with Civil War Reinactors. Mostly I go there to visit Lowes, Office Max and the Tractor supply. I am now truly happy because they have a T.J. Maxx there.

First Monday is a traditional farmer's small livestock market. You would have seen these fairly regularly throughout history...they are a real throwback to an earlier time when the family farm was king. It's a chance to come down out of the hills, trade stories, sell chickens, take a break from the crushing manual labor, show off your canned and baked goods and make a little money on the side.

I go every chance I get...whether I have money to spend or not. I'll take my cage in the jeep just in case. I'm in the market for some Muscovie duck babies and some guineas.

Okay, I'm driving along and just get a pit in the bottom of my stomach when I see this.

I stop to investigate and am relieved that there isn't a body attached to these boots.

That would've plum messed up my day.

As it happens...somebody forgot to get their wading boots.

The weather here has been absolutely craptastic (thanks to jhaevin for adding that little nugget to my vocabulary). Sunday it was snowing. In Tennessee. In late April. We had a hard freeze, and boy howdy, was I glad I hadn't done one of my early planting sprees. All I had was potatoes in the ground and they are fine with a bit of cold.

Today I got the sweet potato slips...50 of them...in the ground and about 50 cabbage transplants. I'm hoping they do well. The first year here I planted sweet potatoes and they did nothing. The cabbages, I'm hoping to put some kraut up with. I really like kraut on hot dogs and corn beef sandwiches.

Anyway. The sky was mostly this all day today.

How Many Goats Fit in a Jeep?
This is truly madness.

Two does crammed into the cargo area of a Jeep Liberty Renegade. I line the entire thing with tarp but I'll be getting goat smell out of the vehicle for several days.

The two day old kids are crammed into a dog crate in the back seat.

Martha and Lizie (pronounced Lie-zee) were born and lived their entire lives here on Coggins Road off of the Fifteenth. They were twin sisters who stayed behind to take care of their parents and never married. They died a year apart of each other at the ages of 92 and 93.

Martha and Lizie kept a house full of cats. One year, their uncle sent them a shipment of citrus fruit which they turned into marmalade and gave out as gifts. It was the prettiest marmalade you ever saw...except when you held it up to the light, it was swimming in cat hair. Cat hair jelly.

Both were strikingly beautiful women in their youth. They would sit on the rocks of Big Creek with their long black hair hanging about them, as brown as Indian Maidens.

Both girls were known for their beautiful needlework and quilting.

I've felt a certain fondness for these two though I never met them. Perhaps it's because I'm an old maid, too.

"In youth my wings were strong and tireless,
But I did not know the mountains,
In age I knew the mountains
But my weary wings could not follow my vision-
Genius is wisdom and youth."
.....Edgar Lee Masters, Spoon River Anthology