Well, it's about time to settle up some old business and get on with some new. On the old side, Mike B. sent me a note on the "Hoola Popper" entry into the blog posted a while ago. Mike was there on Homer Spit, AK, that day and his memory is to be trusted. I tend to take license within my writing to "make things up" as I go along. You know, kind of a novelists license to forget or tell lies, depending on your point of view. Anyway, that fish I caught on the "popper" was a dolly varden moving from it's adventures in the ocean into one of the streams running into the Cook Inlet. Really doesn't matter much to the story. The fact remains a hoola popper with it's rubber skirt just might be the ticket to a strike when the fishing get's slow and boring. I can also admit that I have caught northern pike of those poppers too. Bass; everyone has caught a bass on a hoola popper, haven't they?
On another note. I'm taking apart Wilbert Crete's old bus turned into and RV. Yup, Pop left it to me to tend to and I'm learning all kinds of things about building RVs by dismantling his old bus. In fact, that bus represents the culmination of his life experiences and accumulated skills making camping trailers and RVs from scratch. Amazing guy, when you undo his work one screw at a time, one addition to the RV at a time. I honestly don't know how many times he "remodeled" that bus, but several I can remember and probably more that I can't remember because I wasn't around much when he was tinkering with it. He is the last of a dying breed for sure when it comes to scratching together "nuttin' from nuttin'" is all I know. I'll keep whatever might serve Blue Moon Farm in future building projects and I hope to refashion the bus into a flatbed one ton hay hauler with a hitch for pulling stock trailers. I have to get these beeves to the butcher somehow and the old bus is the only outfit I have that will pull that much weight. Dad was all for the project when I told him before he died what I had planned for it. His only comment when I asked him how to take apart one of his most important personal projects was, "just get in there and start removing screws until something comes apart. Then keep going."
Well, that's what I've been doing and the interior of the bus is now denuded. I'm looking at removing the water tank and grey water tank next. As I look at the collection of sliding windows, sink materials, pumps and other items I begin to see another project coming to life. Lyn and I have been butchering chickens in the slip shod fashion the last couple of summers and have begun talking about pulling together a small building to do the work in. You might think of a fish cleaning shack or the like stationed in a side yard near the garage/barn with access to running water. I might not get power to it other than an extension cord, but I have a thought I can get gas to it for heating water to dunk chickens in before plucking and for lighting, etc. The bus contained enough appliances to outfit a fish/chicken cleaning shack. Dad's bus then becomes two new ideas and time marches on.
Enjoy the day. It's July 18th in one of the best summers I can ever remember in Minnesota. Boy, oh boy, is it green in the pasture, marshes and woods this summer.
Oh, look for a website about our farm and products in the near future. It'll be at: www.bluegrassangus.com when it gets on line.
Farmer Ron and Mrs. Farmer Lyn
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Morning Sounds and Memories
Lyn and I woke up this morning at about 5:05 listening to the sounds of bird songs and the wind in the oak leaves coming through our screened bedroom window. The sounds shook loose some memories locked in my brain for 50-some years. I rolled over on my side and told Lyn the story of my dad waking me up to almost exactly those sounds when I was sleepy-eyed kid laying beneath a screened window on a June morning in White Bear Lake. "Ronnie, let's go bass fishing" were the magic words he used. It was such an identical memory experience brought on by those ancient sounds this morning that I could remember with precision details of the event including details of his homemade wooden boat and pancakes at the Malt Shoppe uptown before launching the boat at my Uncle Con's dock (caretaker of Manitou Island, then and before they had a public landing of any sort near the bridge to the island). I was able to tell Lyn where we fished, the hazards of bait casting reels with heavy nylon line and the joys of backlashes and having bass hit my casted "hoola popper" while in the middle of untangling the bird nest of line in my old Pfleuger bait casting reel. We talked about the Johnson closed faced spinning reel I ordered off of a Cheerios box for $2 and how my father's generation was slow to adapt to mono filament line (thus the Johnson reel company advertised their new product on kids cereal boxes knowing it was the next generation they needed to sell to). All in all it was an amazing morning hour we spent in laughter and amazement of how sounds can trigger video quality recall of a time well spent and self made father who lived with his hands as so few do anymore. My father was about 30 when he built wood boat because we couldn't afford to buy one of those new "fange-dangled" aluminum ones. It was a reminder to me of why I've always wanted to build a wood boat. I had forgotten except in my minds eye that I had helped him sand and imagine that boat into being in our one car garage that winter of 1954. Did I ever tell you about the time I caught a silver salmon fishing from the shore of Cook Inlet near the Homer, Alaska Spit using a Fred Arbogast hoola popper? Guess not, but I know I told my dad and thanked him for the fishing tip too.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
May 1, 2010
"Happy Uno de Mayo", writes my friend Mike B in Montana. He likes to celebrate a lot so he names days, most of them so he can have another excuse to go out to lunch and mess with peoples minds. Here's how I responded and a little bit more.
Holy Crappie (Mike), I almost forgot; mostly because I was learning the lessons of the cattlemen yesterday. All in all April ended like a lion. May enters with a bluster. I had a heifer try to deliver a calf head first yesterday. I saved the heifer, lost the calf. I'm trying Lyn's patience and soul with this "Cowboy" stuff. It's a long story and one for the books for sure. If I could learn that much about anything in one day I would have only had to live 10 years to know everything knowable. So, I have a big old tired heifer walking around with a umbilical cord hanging out of her oven door, a plastic bag full of calf, seven curious on lookers waiting their turn at being in the stable with the 'fat guy in a baseball cap' and a wife with the soul of a saint slapping her forehead and trying to make sense out of it all. In the meantime Tess the hunting dog runs around the yard with her nose in the air scenting like the greatest smell in the universe was dropped in her playground and 'the old man' is real bitchy about her wanting to have some fun with the offal.
Adjusting to reality,
May Day, May Day; we've lost an engine and we're going down....
_______________
As you can see it was not just another day on the Blue Moon Farm yesterday. The rains of late have me keeping the cows in so my paddocks aren't pugged to hell, but boy oh girl is the green side up now. These heifers are biting at the cud to get into them and grab bucket loads at a time to mangle in their muzzles and re-chew when they find an old bale pile to lay on and slobber on themselves for a few hours. I can tell they are perturbed about the heifer going through the post-partum blues, trying to push out her afterbirth and laying around the shelter where her dead calf lay yesterday.
I never realized how much cows were telling the cowboys I met out west or read about in my 'Gabby Hayes' childhood. I'm reading Jeremy Rifken's book The Empathic Civilization and I'm in the section on 'mirror neurons' and the role they play in not only humans, but now scientists say, in many kinds of mammals and other animals maybe too. These neurons are the ones that fire up when you are feeling like telling one of your soulmates in distress, "I know just how you feel". Apparently these collected cells do the job of mimicking feelings quite well enough that in fact we are having the same 'feelings' as that affected other. Sure, maybe not exactly the intensity or full force impact of say a friend who has just miscarried or been diagnosed with a cancer, but the feelings are the same they say because we share these little "mirrors" into the souls of a distressed clansman or loved one. As I mentioned in the past in this blog. "I Am A Strange Loop" by Dr. Douglas Hofstadter tells us this and more using metaphors like ice cream to suck us into his Malt Shoppe of mental dinning on the wonders of how we connect to other souls and keep them with us as long as we're able to recall events with them.
So now we have loops that web our tribes of Facebook and Twitter friends and family into our mind-souls. And we have hardware in our braincases making sure we can have 'real' empathy for others and in all likelihood these devices are evolved to keep us civil and able to cope with the ever expanding abilities of 'techdom' that widen our tribal connections on a global scale. As Rifken says, language probably evolved out of hand signals that evolved from mutual grooming, the basis of our empathetic nature. Goodness, are we getting to know ourselves here or what? That being so, I'm also seeing that it was right in front of our faces all the time, some smart guys are just writing the history of the obvious if you can let yourself go and watch the workings of small societies like my little herd of cows.
As the heifer lay in the cattle shelter yesterday "mooing" after I took away the dead calf I thought I could hear something in that "mooing" I'd never heard before, a simple form of forlornness or loss. Not just hear it, but feel it in a way I've never done before. Outside the corral surrounding the shelter stood seven herdmates looking in with all the curiosity of fellow pregnant teenagers at heifer No. 839. the lamentable post partum almost a mother . Wondering. I think I could feel them wondering what was going on with 839. They had been in and tried to sniff the dead calf, but were only allowed to look as 839 stood guard over the limp carcass grumble-'mooing threats it seemed and keeping them back.
A herd is a herd. Somehow knowing that our mirror neurons are helping us cope and identify with a fellow member is not necessarily helpful emotionally, but on the other hand it makes it all seem more real than it was the day before.
One never knows what the day will bring. Some days, like today it is rain. And some days like yesterday it is rain that is far more than wetness.
The Blue Moon Farmer
Holy Crappie (Mike), I almost forgot; mostly because I was learning the lessons of the cattlemen yesterday. All in all April ended like a lion. May enters with a bluster. I had a heifer try to deliver a calf head first yesterday. I saved the heifer, lost the calf. I'm trying Lyn's patience and soul with this "Cowboy" stuff. It's a long story and one for the books for sure. If I could learn that much about anything in one day I would have only had to live 10 years to know everything knowable. So, I have a big old tired heifer walking around with a umbilical cord hanging out of her oven door, a plastic bag full of calf, seven curious on lookers waiting their turn at being in the stable with the 'fat guy in a baseball cap' and a wife with the soul of a saint slapping her forehead and trying to make sense out of it all. In the meantime Tess the hunting dog runs around the yard with her nose in the air scenting like the greatest smell in the universe was dropped in her playground and 'the old man' is real bitchy about her wanting to have some fun with the offal.
Adjusting to reality,
May Day, May Day; we've lost an engine and we're going down....
_______________
As you can see it was not just another day on the Blue Moon Farm yesterday. The rains of late have me keeping the cows in so my paddocks aren't pugged to hell, but boy oh girl is the green side up now. These heifers are biting at the cud to get into them and grab bucket loads at a time to mangle in their muzzles and re-chew when they find an old bale pile to lay on and slobber on themselves for a few hours. I can tell they are perturbed about the heifer going through the post-partum blues, trying to push out her afterbirth and laying around the shelter where her dead calf lay yesterday.
I never realized how much cows were telling the cowboys I met out west or read about in my 'Gabby Hayes' childhood. I'm reading Jeremy Rifken's book The Empathic Civilization and I'm in the section on 'mirror neurons' and the role they play in not only humans, but now scientists say, in many kinds of mammals and other animals maybe too. These neurons are the ones that fire up when you are feeling like telling one of your soulmates in distress, "I know just how you feel". Apparently these collected cells do the job of mimicking feelings quite well enough that in fact we are having the same 'feelings' as that affected other. Sure, maybe not exactly the intensity or full force impact of say a friend who has just miscarried or been diagnosed with a cancer, but the feelings are the same they say because we share these little "mirrors" into the souls of a distressed clansman or loved one. As I mentioned in the past in this blog. "I Am A Strange Loop" by Dr. Douglas Hofstadter tells us this and more using metaphors like ice cream to suck us into his Malt Shoppe of mental dinning on the wonders of how we connect to other souls and keep them with us as long as we're able to recall events with them.
So now we have loops that web our tribes of Facebook and Twitter friends and family into our mind-souls. And we have hardware in our braincases making sure we can have 'real' empathy for others and in all likelihood these devices are evolved to keep us civil and able to cope with the ever expanding abilities of 'techdom' that widen our tribal connections on a global scale. As Rifken says, language probably evolved out of hand signals that evolved from mutual grooming, the basis of our empathetic nature. Goodness, are we getting to know ourselves here or what? That being so, I'm also seeing that it was right in front of our faces all the time, some smart guys are just writing the history of the obvious if you can let yourself go and watch the workings of small societies like my little herd of cows.
As the heifer lay in the cattle shelter yesterday "mooing" after I took away the dead calf I thought I could hear something in that "mooing" I'd never heard before, a simple form of forlornness or loss. Not just hear it, but feel it in a way I've never done before. Outside the corral surrounding the shelter stood seven herdmates looking in with all the curiosity of fellow pregnant teenagers at heifer No. 839. the lamentable post partum almost a mother . Wondering. I think I could feel them wondering what was going on with 839. They had been in and tried to sniff the dead calf, but were only allowed to look as 839 stood guard over the limp carcass grumble-'mooing threats it seemed and keeping them back.
A herd is a herd. Somehow knowing that our mirror neurons are helping us cope and identify with a fellow member is not necessarily helpful emotionally, but on the other hand it makes it all seem more real than it was the day before.
One never knows what the day will bring. Some days, like today it is rain. And some days like yesterday it is rain that is far more than wetness.
The Blue Moon Farmer
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