As We Say In Kansas.....Welp!

There is a wonderful little piece of magic that exists in the tiny remnants of a village known as Volland. It is a lingering dash of white settler history beside the railroad track in Wabaunsee County. The old  brick general store building was saved, restored and repurposed. 

The Volland Store now offers a variety of activities - art shows, poetry reading, and activities like learning the function and history of such things as root cellars and big barns, then touring various locations.   I have purchased locally harvested honey and hand-made soap there.  It is a fine building, reimagined for the twenty-first century, located in a beautiful little hollow in the emerald green of the Kansas Flint Hills. 

While checking the Volland Store website to see what might be happening, I discovered a mystery called NuPenny.  People were invited to: "Bring your lawn chair and a picnic – Visit with neighbors and make new friends as you wait for sunset. Watch NuPenny emerge as light fades and darkness falls." 

I was intrigued! What did this mysterious contraption do? Play fantastical music? Offer a cosmic light show? I HAD to go see it for myself. 

Soooooooooooo...

I dragged my neighbor here...

 

to see this.

 but NuPenny does only this.

Of course, the whole point was to be there for this - a lovely Kansas sunset, which both of us see every single evening - she from her horse barn and me from my front porch.

                                              WELP!

(The Volland Store  follow this link for more information.)

You Are Never Too Old To Be Scared

A few years ago, my oldest and dearest friends came to stay overnight with me, four generations of women. They were on their way to visit schools offering basketball scholarships to the fourth generation young lady in that family. When bedtime came there was an inflatable mattress, a couch, and the bed on the back porch. The little basketball player was too afraid of the woods on the other side of the screens and the perceived isolation of my house. We all gently teased her, and I assured her that we were safer here than in the city. She was not buying it.  Some weeks later I told her grandmother, "Tell M. I would come to visit but I am too afraid to stay in town."

The first night my son and I spent here was uneasy. It was early spring and the prairie had not warmed up to make any noise. When we turned the lights out it was vastly silent and dark. The absence of the enormous and constant city noise was most disturbing. In the almost twenty years since, there have been so few times when I had genuine reason to be afraid, all of which were revealed to be reasonable people or situations. I can confidently boast I am unafraid to live in the country.. EXCEPT when my imagination runs amok.

One of my favorite things is to wander in the middle of winter nights. Once my eyes adjust, I can see perfectly well to safely hike in the moonlight. Living in the country, as we say in Kansas, I realized that the moon is not in the night sky most of the time but even just a slice of moon is enough to see well enough to walk to the barn. On a clear, moonless night the starlight is enough to safely walk my property. Starlight can be bright enough to cast faint shadows. If I take a flashlight, I am effectively blind without it, limited to the little cone of light it produces. For anything I must do outside at night in the summer I use a flashlight because there are snakes. Otherwise, my eyes are perfectly suited to seeing in the dark, just not seeing snakes.

For the most part, being outdoors alone at night is fine. I enjoy myself immensely ... until... a scene from a horrible movie flashes into my head. If I am not disciplined with my thoughts, I will soon be sprinting for the house, dogs wondering why we are all running. Scenes of The Blair Witch Project (the little stick structures) flash into my mind's eye and suddenly the shadows are full of creeping ghouls. Sometimes the demon shouting the priest's name as he entered the house in The Exorcist rolls up in the old memory bank and I am done for - the devil now looms behind every tree and bush. This is the reason I stopped watching frightening movies long ago. Some of those scenes stay with me. They scared the bejeezus out of me then and they can scare the bejeezus out of me now, decades later.

I do not have to be outside to scare myself, either. Sometimes I will be in bed enjoying the cool breeze from the open window when my mind turns on me. Involuntary images of a shadow man just outside the screen slowly rises into view. The top of his black, featureless head appears and if I do not stop my imagination immediately he will continue to rise, a looming black menace inches away. This is not fun.

My son has the same afflicted imagination. He once lived in a house with a piano in the basement. A few times when he was home alone he heard a single loud note from the piano. Why that would be so terrifying I cannot say but he and I both find that intolerably scary. He told me he was not sure if he actually heard a sound or just the thought of a single note in the empty basement scared him. I understand because that is how the shadow man is born - I merely have a lightning thought of how damn scary that would be, and voila, shadow man rising!

I can be parked on an isolated country road alone for the sole purpose of stargazing, thoroughly enjoying life when all it takes is imagining a beam of light descending from the sky. No one would ever know what the hell happened to me. Even if they knew, nothing could be done about it, (though perhaps the new Space Force would be a resource). I could be mercilessly tortured in a horrible laboratory cage on an alien spacecraft but my kids would never know.

None of these things are anywhere nearly as frightening as growing too old and moving to the "rest" home.



(Image from Shutterstock - royalty free)

Dogs!

It is July in Kansas so of course it is hot - as in triple-digit heat index. When I open the front door the heat is immediate and unpleasant, like a blast furnace. The table scraps in the trash rot immediately and that odor can be detected quite a distance from the trash bin. It is another reason I do not enjoy summer as much as the other seasons. Worst of all is to step out into the cool of the morning (cool being relative) to get a nose full of something dead and reeking in near proximity to the front door.

Somewhere a dead critter's enticing decay beckons to Jake's canine senses. He brings it home, to the front of my house, where he can leisurely enjoy consuming it while maintaining his watch dog duties, which he does quite poorly. He brings it home to share with Mattie and, whether he intends to or not, with me as well. I get the fun job of clearing it away.

At least once a season, I step out the front door to be greeted by the rotting carcass of some mortal creature. There was a small mass of bone and unbelievable stench on the front walk yesterday. It contained some flesh and what had to have been a portion of a skull. The distinctive jaw bone and teeth of a opossum was grinning up. Retching and cussing silently, I scooped it into five or six plastic grocery bags nested together. I was hoping no germs could fall through the gaping molecular holes of that much plastic but I think they could and likely did. The whole mess was wadded up and thrown into the trash bin. Easy enough solution but there is nothing to be done about the stinking dogs. It takes a few days before that horrific smell wears off of them. This is the main reason why I do not like dogs to lick me. I know that at some point in their canine life they have consumed part of a rotting dead creature - not because they were hungry but because it is in their omnivorous genes to scavenge like jackals. Bleah.

So, no dog is currently being petted. Mattie does not get to play fetch. Upon pain of death no dog is allowed to lick my hand or arm, or even put his or her nose close to my person. I was thinking the gruesome dead-carcass portion of summer was already behind me but this morning I found the tail and spine next to the car.

The End of the Trail Cedar

The shape of this old cedar tree, much the worse for wear, reminds me of the "End of the Trail".  I do not appreciate the original sculpture because Native Americans are still alive - they are still here - and they have not given up!  

The sort of strange trend of Kansas landowners decorating their property with metal silhouette art.  It is only a bare resemblance, now that I can compare them side by side.  

What in Tarnation?

I was in grade school when I began fantasizing that I would write a book. I am still fantasizing about it. For a couple of years on the daily commute I noticed three-letter combinations on license plates and imagined a science fiction world where people were given only 3-letter names. Each individual letter represented a ton of information about that person including social status. If a person's status changed by egregious actions, a particular letter in his name would be changed. I found all the names of the principle characters while driving I-70. I imagined some plot changes when a group of subversives began naming their children with any number of letters. It was fun to amuse myself with this fantasy but eventually I decided the stigma of a letter for bad behavior had already been thoroughly covered by the Scarlet Letter, and there are a least a million books regarding subversive behavior saving a society in spite of itself.

No matter where I go my imagination fills in the missing gaps on people I see. I either make things up entirely or I muse regarding what their lives might be based on clues in their clothes or appearance. The latter has caused serious trouble for me a few times. 

The worst happened in a full Dillon's parking lot. I never park in the handicap spaces though I am sorely tempted (pun intended) at times but I always look for the closest space to save myself the agony of my ruined knees. So, I pulled into one of those spaces marked with diagonal lines in a triangle - not truly a parking space but with all the other cars around it, it could have been and should have been. As I parked I noticed the lady directly in front of me exit her car. She stood in the open door drumming her fingers on the hood. She was a very attractive woman and nicely dressed. I took my time getting my things together as I continued to watch her. I wondered who she was waiting for - her husband or her children? I thought she must have a good job based on her car and her clothes, and thought she was likely a manager or department head. She was one of those people who would look impeccably dressed even wearing sweat pants. She had that air about her. I thought she was a very pretty woman and I was imagining a terrific life for her as I slowly got all my stuff together. When I finally got out of my truck, much to my utter surprise, I discovered she was waiting for me! The first thing out of her very loud and angry mouth was "I know you saw me getting ready to leave this parking space!"

WHAT?!!!

How in the world could I know she was driving forward from her parking space? It was broad daylight and her lights were not on. I did not see her car moving. And furthermore, I am absolutely NOT the type of person who would rush in just to cut off another person. I was instantly angry at being falsely accused of being an asshole! Oh, the shouting match was on. The louder she shouted at me, the closer she got to me. I was so incredibly angry at the audacity of this woman - the same woman I had just been casually admiring and imagining in a fine life indeed. I was so angry that when she threatened to kick my ass, I became deadly calm, put my face right in hers and literally growled, "Go for it." If she had made one tiny move in my direction, I was going to tear her up and go down fighting.

I believe she realized she was messing with the wrong old fat lady then, so she backed away from me but it did not shut her up. She continued to shout and berate me from a safe distance. I suddenly realized how ridiculous all of it was, and turned on my heel. She shouted louder at me, and from a very safe distance she hurled the final insult at my back: "Fuck you and your mamma!" Really? What does my mother have to do with any of this? I did not notice anyone else who may have witnessed the shouting match, but I walked right past a very old black man who laughed at me the entire way. He could laugh all he wanted because from his perspective, he just saw an old white lady get chewed out by a younger black lady. Little did he know how close he came to witnessing "aggravated" assault by and upon both parties!

Imagination can get a person in trouble in unexpected ways but it remains my favorite pastime.

I have been matching vocabularies with a Scrabble app on my new dumb phone. I am delighted to win over the computer 9 out of 10 times, even with no cheating using the internet for J or Z or Q words. It is a maddening exercise because it often will not allow words that I know for certain are "real" - words that can be found in the real dictionary. The computer plays words that are, as far as I know, nonsense! The dictionary embedded in the app often offers no definition for suspect words, either! Bah! Humbug!

Here are just a few of the words that I considered nonsense but the app allowed: Kail, Toits, Guid, Tolu. There are so many more! In an act of desperation I began playing letters in correct word structure to see if I might happen upon acceptable words. This morning I discovered "slurb". I had never seen the word before but apparently that is a term for a shady (as in undesirable) suburban area.

Here are some of the made-up words I have attempted to play and - just for fun - their imaginary definitions:

Skathen - the act of skidding across the path of oncoming traffic after falling off a skateboard

Doehobe - a group of female deer gathering at the side of the interstate prior to crossing

Gatsh - the indentations left in the forehead from wearing a hat backwards

Hihen - a small step stool used for reaching the top supermarket shelves

Divehidi - The spurious demeanor of any White House Press Secretary, as in divehidian

Odios - a term of farewell when your friend's destination is an undesirable location or situation

Oeop - Post-op for patients when the surgeon is in a hurry to leave

Prear - the act of driving in reverse using the rearview mirror

Venaex - the charm and beauty of horses

Dustal - the characteristics of hardwood floors in country homes; Megadustal when located next to an Orc mining operation

Neveril - a small weed that grows in an established houseplant's soil

Post Script: Just for fun, I googled each of these and was surprised to find there were returns for all of them - a lot of acronyms, some anime characters, some proper names, and some close spellings. I just made them up from scrabble letters. I think there is nothing original left in the whole wide world. Post Post Script: Kail, toits, guid, and tolu are not recognized by the embedded BlogSpot dictionary either!

I Finally Arrive in the 21st Century...

At long, long last I caved in to the pressure and bought a "stupid" phone. I am not an idiot. Well. I am not an idiot ALL the time, but that cursed device makes me feel like one! I had to turn off the autocorrect feature because for one thing, it would not let me cuss. It would change all of my cussing and profanity into similar but entirely incorrect and inappropriate words that did not have the precise meaning I needed to sincerely express myself.

Then there is the maddening problem of the N letter never typing in the first time. Why does this happe ? It causes my texts to look like shut!

It is supposed to be a phone but I have only used it for calls about a dozen times. I missed the first three or four calls because I did not know how to answer! Every other goddamned function on it happens at the lightest touch of the screen. Someone had to tell me that you swipe across the button to answer. After that I noticed the flashing direction arrows next to the 'answer' and 'end call' buttons.

I can ask aloud and, verily, from the sum total of the human species' wisdom and knowledge, an answer appears instantly on the screen. (I now know that Ian Somerhalder is 5'10" tall.)

Now when I am dining out with the younger members of my family, I too can whip out my phone and silently ignore the dearest, most important people on the planet who are also staring at their phones.

My phone can tell me where an address is and how to get there. I can take unlimited photos of everything at any time. Better yet, I can record in living color, sound and movement the mundane events of my life and share it all with the rest of humanity - if I want to and if I can figure out the technology.

I admit it is sort of fun.

The irony of the modern smart phone is that I speak less to my family now than ever before. One of my brothers answers my calls about 85% of the time, the other 1% of the time. If I call, text, message, Facebook and email enough times, the 1%er eventually answers or calls me. My son's limit is around the sixty second mark for actual conversation, and that is only if we have not talked within the last sixty days. He is available by text most of the time though he has mastered the art of texting, reducing every fact and emotion to the absolute fewest characters possible. He is a Zen master of minimalist texting.

On the other hand, my daughter and I burn through texts and video chats and voice messages and live calls every day as if we have not seen each other for a decade. It is awesome.

To maintain a single apron string tie to my grown son, he and I play scrabble using our expensive and outlandishly functional smart phones. An app provides a method to play scrabble over time and distance, and a game can span several days. He has obliterated me in all the games so far, usually by at least 100 points. My vocabulary is more than adequate to spar with him, but I have not been using my smart phone to my advantage by looking up "words that end with the letter z" or "words that contain J". I do not know the common two and three letter nonsense words that can make two and three other words at once in the later stages of the game for 40 and 50+ points. He kills me with those in the end game.

You can guess which text is mine...

Assembly Instructions

Some months ago, I purchased a 9 cubic foot dump trailer to pull behind my lawn tractor. It was the alternative solution to carrying heavy buckets of water up the hill for the horses when it is too cold to use the garden hose to fill the water tank.

The trailer is ostensibly a Craftsman trailer, purchased at Sears for $115. I was thinking it was a GREAT bargain until I went to get it. It was in a long, impossibly narrow box. Some assembly required I correctly surmised. I was not worried. I built a Barbie Doll Dream House one Christmas eve. I have single-handedly assembled bicycles and swing sets and cheap furniture. I routinely make minor home repairs. I maintained my own Harley Davidson motorcycles. I can read assembly instructions like a boss because I was a professional technical draftsman for 20 years.

Thanks to a very warm winter, there were only a couple of times I had to carry water to the horses, so the box of unassembled pieces remained untouched in the garage until today, when I asked myself: Why not tackle that little project? I can use the trailer to haul rocks and limbs out of the yard before mowing this spring.

So... I tore open the box. Nothing looked too challenging and the assembly instructions were in well-translated English, always an auspicious beginning. I read: "Tools required - large flat screwdriver and 1/4" wrench or socket". What they REALLY meant was a Phillips screwdriver and a 10 mm wrench or socket. It went fairly smoothly after that but the instructions were not authentic Craftsman instructions. They were "Universal" instructions, apparently a generic brand of trailer. The trailer pictured did not show Craftsman on the side, but Universal. (No mention of THAT on the box, at Sears, or on the Sears web site!)

The instructions were for several different models but I figured it out because I am a goddamned American genius! That is what I told Jake when I had finished and stood back to admire the newly assembled little trailer.

Probabilities

I spend so much time alone driving in my car that I believe I have examined my life from every angle at least ten times over. Much of the inspiration for my poetry occurs when I observe something in passing, or when my mind wanders toward a different view point regarding something I may have relentlessly turned in my mind for years/hundreds of miles. I can often find a better way to think and feel toward someone I have had a dispute or misunderstanding with. Occasionally I reach the inevitable conclusion that I am a total asshole. Most often I find it to be that the other person is an exceedingly outrageous and egregious asshole. (I am simply sharing a few of the outcomes of my vehicular musings here.)

From the driver's seat I have witnessed amazing weather events or other natural spectacles, some of which I have either written about or posted photos here. I had never seen a fogbow nor even knew such a phenomenon existed until I witnessed it first hand one brilliantly lit winter morning travelling north on Vera Road. I photographed the largest flock of migrating geese I have even seen, happened upon because I chose to drive home a different way that evening. It was mere chance that I was at the right place and right time to witness both amazing events. What are the laws of probability that govern such moments in any one's life? I think about such things driving.

So, the idea of probability leads to the evening I came to halt at a major Topeka intersection due to a red light. I noticed two identical cars side by side in front of me. I had to time to examine the cars in every detail. They were both white Hondas, apparently the exact same year and model. The only differences were the dealer's identification on the rear trunk. I remember thinking to myself, what are the odds that I would be stopped behind two absolutely identical cars in a small city like Topeka? I thought the odds would be good that I would stop behind two very similar cars but significantly longer odds to stop behind cars exact in every observable detail, sold by dealers in two different states.

I likely would have forgotten about this small coincidence by the time I got home that evening but about one mile later, I came to a stop at another intersection behind two identical black cars. Not only were the black cars also identical in every single observable detail, they were the mirror images of the two white cars I had just noticed a few traffic stops ago. What would the odds be of that happening, I wondered? What are the probabilities of two identical cars being at the same stop light, side by side? Probably not astronomically high. But what are the odds I would observe four identical cars, two white and two black, on that day, at that time, in Topeka, Kansas? If that could happen, does that mean I have a good chance to win the big lottery?

The extent of my probability education arrived and departed in one of the interminable math classes I suffered through in high school. Remember the old white socks/black socks in a drawer lesson? Yeah, me neither.

Halloween

Shamelessly used without permission from the Englishkitchen.blogspot.com

I sometimes wonder how Halloween came to be a children's holiday in America. Death is no laughing matter! We are all going there sooner or later so would it not make sense to have a little respect for it, for our departed ancestors? Cultures far older than ours respect those who come before. Not in America. There are no such things as ghosts, or whangdoodles, or other ethereal entities. Of course, I beg to differ.

I have been plagued with ghosts and ghostly activity my entire life. If they cannot get to me during waking hours, then they sometimes chase me through my dreams. Just the other night I dreamed of my mother. She and I were holding hands but then a ghost grabbed my hand and would not let go. I knew I had to shout the word "NO!" aloud to convince the ghost to let go of my hand. In the dream I could not speak but I kept valiantly trying until, with all of my willpower gathered in the pit of my stomach, I shouted "NO" and woke myself up.

It was not a frightening dream and after I shouted myself awake, I thought it was funny. Like every human being ever born, I wondered what the hell that was all about, especially considering my mother is technically a ghost, too. Perhaps when they visit us here they seem like ghosts, and when we visit in their dimension we seem as ghosts there. Maybe some unfortunate spirit on the other side thought I was a ghost and was trying to rid its space of me, a most uncooperative entity.

I know that in some cultures, All Saints Eve is the one night of the year when the veil is thinnest and those on the other side can easily visit. I am confused if the veil is thinnest after midnight October 30, or at midnight October 31? Or is it all 24 hours of Halloween? I have not received a visit from anyone on Halloween yet. Given my family's aversion to any sort of holiday travel due to the crush of crowds, it does not surprise me. Better to wait until the crowds thin, for an off day to visit.

In honor of  Halloween, I humbly offer one of my true ghost stories:

Years ago, when my son was a little boy, I took wood carving lessons from a husband and wife team. She was the artist and carver, and he hand-made fine wood carving tools. Their studio was a small two-story house only a couple of blocks from my house. They had turned their interests into a wonderful business. Once a week during the winter months I took carving lessons. It was one of the most enjoyable experiences! Everyone, mostly old people (I SAID it was YEARS ago), sat at tables arranged in a big U, carving and bullshitting for two hours once a week. Bullshitting is the scientifically correct and appropriate term for the wonderful ebb and flow of companionable conversation that occurs when carving. I came to love those old people and their wonderful sense of humor and patience and graceful acceptance of life.

The house I lived in at the time was haunted and the activity was quite blatant and troubling but I did not dare to bring that up for fear of ridicule from these fine older people. Inevitably, ghosts came up in the conversation one evening. A woman shared that her father had been working at her house when he died instantly of a heart attack. She explained that her father's spirit continued to visit her and made himself known to her in various ways. Predictably, everyone guffawed and disbelieved, not very charitably I might add. Except for me. I knew exactly what she was talking about because similar things happened in my house all the time! In her defense I shared my experiences and received the same treatment from our carving peers. The discussion lasted until it was clear that ten people were true disbelievers and two people were true nuts. The conversation naturally came to an end and in the silence I heard someone walking upstairs.

In all the months I had attended class in that little house, there had never been anyone upstairs. The owners did not live in the house. The rooms the woodcarving business did not occupy were used as storage for all manner of other things and were filled to the brim. I assumed the upstairs was the same. I was so surprised to hear footsteps, to clearly hear someone walking across the floor, that I quickly looked at the owners. They gave no indication whatsoever that anything was out of the ordinary. I looked around at every other person in the room. Not a single other person acted as if they were aware of the loud footsteps. We had been together as a class for over two years and not one other single time had there ever been a sound from upstairs. There was no outside staircase on the house, so if someone lived up there we would have unavoidably heard them open doors or walk up the steps. We would have heard someone before and we would have heard someone after that night. I waited for someone else to acknowledge the unmistakable footsteps across the old wooden floors over our heads but no one even looked up from their carving. After a few minutes, the conversation picked up again, the footsteps ceased and I never again heard someone upstairs during class.

I told my brother that story. He said he thought some people see or hear things others cannot see or hear. Maybe so.

Too Late to Take Shelter

Friday night I checked the Doppler weather radar website to see what my chances were of being sucked up into Nebraska or blown into Oklahoma while I slept. There was an ugly storm in Northwest Kansas but it appeared to be tracking north, missing Wabaunsee County - if it made it this far east. I went to bed and slept like a baby - if we are talking about a grumpy, cussing baby with aches and pains in every joint and muscle in her body.

Eventually I fell asleep only to become conscious sometime later of a howling wind raging outside. It has to be loud for me to hear it inside my snug little house. I could see the trees thrashing violently in the constant lighting. The tones in the wind were frightening.

I got up to look west out the front door, the expected direction of most tornadoes. The wind was driving the rain into a blinding white maelstrom. It was too late to take shelter in the basement in the north end of the old garage, a football field away from the front door.

I was not afraid (yet) but the thought did cross my mind of a headline: Old Kansas Woman Dead in Tornado - What Are The Odds?

I paced from window to door while the storm raged, listening to things slam against the side of the house. I turned the computer on but just as the Doppler radar page was about to open, the electricity went out. I went back to bed and listened to the angry winds escalate until the worst was over. When I got up Saturday morning and looked out, the world certainly had a bedraggled look to it. Jake was safe, and I could see the horses were alright. I could hear the last little hen clucking in her pen. We all made it safely through the night  but I could hear my neighbor's dog mournfully howling and that worried me.

It was too early to call, in case they were perfectly fine and still asleep, so I thought to simply drive past their house, just in case. There were two large uprooted trees blocking the road between my house and theirs, so I had to go out to the interstate then take Snokomo Road, a trip of about 13 miles. When I got to their house my neighbor was already in the yard. A very large tree was down across their driveway to the west, too. They were trapped in their own yard, but their house was fine, my neighbor was fine and so was his dog.

It was not long before the farmers were out with their big tractors and heavy equipment clearing the downed trees. The rural electric employees were already on the scene. They came to my house to make sure my lines were up, and shortly afterward the electricity came on. A bit after that another neighbor stopped by to make sure I was okay.

It made me feel good to know that if a tornado had blown me over into Missouri, someone would have eventually been looking for my dumbass.

Evidence of the roaring winds

Big healthy trees were broken

This tree was uprooted and blocking Vera Road

Over 3" of rain in a short time turns a ravine into a roaring "creek".  You can see from the downed grass how deep the water had been just a few hours earlier.

The rushing water scoured a wide patch out of Vera Road

Another uprooted tree blocking my neighbors from leaving their home

A Lot To Be Thankful For

Day One of the rock ledge quarry.

The sooner this project begins, the sooner it will be over. It is not my property, not my mining business, and not my karma.

The first cut started less than a quarter mile away from my house but directly across the road from my neighbors. It is a shame to tear up this beautiful pasture but as far as I know it is not untouched prairie. My neighbor said the original prairie had been plowed up during the war. I certainly hope their old house sustains no damage.

There are worse things that could be happening in the neighborhood. I am exceedingly grateful that it is not an oil field, a cell tower, a coal mine or a nuclear waste dump. It is not a whorehouse or a beer joint. It is not a feed lot, a pig farm or a sewage plant. It is not a major meth lab or a landfill. What I am absolutely the most deeply thankful for: none of my former horrible Topeka neighbors are moving in!

I will live through the noise, the heavy trucks, the dust, and the ugliness. Eventually the peace and quiet will return. You understand that there might still be a day or two when I will feel compelled to cuss and complain before this is all over. Just sayin'.

Soon To Be Under Assault

These photos are of the property directly across the road, in an amateurish panorama looking west to east. This will eventually be under the assault of a rock ledge quarry. This is the view visible from my home.

West

Northwest

Northeast

Directly North

Northeast

A preview of what is to come.

Two machines and a mountain of prairie earth.

It is difficult to see the extent of the digging because of the summer vegetation.

An idea of how deep it can go.

Three of us rode horses in this pasture once - now entirely stripped and piled high.

M'am! We've Already Answered Your Question! (So Sit Down and Shut Up)

Something terrible and ugly is coming to the neighborhood - strip mining for limestone - directly across the road. I simply cannot express the full depth of my dismay.

The notification came in the mail a couple of weeks ago. The Wabaunsee County Planning Commission would be holding a public hearing to consider a Conditional Use Permit to establish a ledge rock quarry - directly at the end of my drive way. It felt like a blow to the gut.

All that noise! Traffic. Huge machinery. Dust. The methodical destruction of the prairie. The peace and quiet I so dearly love destroyed, possibly for several years. My deepest disappointment is that the beautiful view I have lived with and loved will be utterly destroyed and permanently changed.

Yes, the land must be restored and reseeded with native plants. Eventually the earth will heal. But those of us who live next to this property will have to endure living with the ugliness and destruction of a rock ledge quarry for however many years it may take to utterly exhaust the limestone, fill the earth back into the holes, and wait for nature to run her course.

It was the first time I have ever attended a zoning hearing but it went as I expected. One landowner is in the process of turning a historical home, guest house and barn into a large event center that can and will serve alcohol. The woman who lives directly across the road told the commission her family moved to the country to live in the country not live across the street from a business. She was definitely opposed. Only one commissioner voted "no" but his vote was not actually in favor of her concerns. He was voting against the Kansas City and Topeka people who would come to the country and "complain about the smell" of cow manure. ? ? ?

Then the order of business turned to the foregone conclusion that the commission would vote in favor of the rock quarry strip mining directly across the road from my property. My next door neighbors live in an old limestone home that could easily be damaged by the slamming and pounding it takes to break the limestone - so it can be hauled to Topeka and Kansas City where the people with the sensitive noses live. The neighbors came prepared with insurance concerns, advice from the State of Kansas geologist, and science in their request that the mining be limited to 500 feet from their old limestone home. The commission took a minute to speed read the letter from my neighbors. I am guessing no one read the letter in its entirety.

Since Wabaunsee County has been allowing the destruction of the prairie for years, no one expected to actually put a stop to it. For me, it was the attitude of the men involved that commenced a smolderin' in my gizzard. Four women spoke. If a woman attempted to speak over a man, the chairman immediately barked an order for her to stop. Not a single man received a public scolding. Indeed, the men accorded nothing but the utmost respect for one another.  The room was full of patronizing attitudes, and the good ol' boy bullshit was so deep I wondered why no one complained of the smell. (No Kansas City or Topeka people present, I assume.)

I believe everyone in the room is a decent human being. The commission members are likely well versed in fending off verbal abuse and keeping the peace when people seriously disagree over zoning issues. The man filing for the conditional permit is surely a good man but his attitude rankled me. He likely makes a nice living strip mining limestone. I wonder how happy he would be if someone spent several years creating an enormous, ugly, noisy mess next door to his home. How tolerant would he be to have his property value negatively impacted by an incredible eyesore? How tolerant would any of the commissioners be if a biker gang or halfway house for meth addicts set up shop next door? I want to live within eye sight and earshot of a rock quarry as much as any of those men would want to live next to a biker gang club house!

I had several questions, and though the men answered, I was not satisfied with every answer. People were tired of the discussion. Each time the chairman tried to move on, I had no choice but to speak up. The last time I did, in his best woman-scolding voice he declared "M'am! We've already answered your question!" The unspoken words "So sit down and shut up" lingered in the air for a brief moment before the order of business moved on.

As far as strip mining goes, grubbing out the limestone is fairly benign and the earth will heal. The commissioners have made a good faith attempt to keep the peace and accommodate and alleviate as many concerns as possible over this issue. I would be very angry if my neighbors were able to put a stop to anything I wanted to do on my own property. But, oh, it would be a great world indeed if the aesthetic objections against living across from a big dance hall or a rock quarry held the same value as a man's desire to destroy the beauty and peace of the neighborhood.

This beautiful scene from the end of my drive way will eventually be strip mined.

Under Assault

Everything on the horizon past these trees will be laid bare and the limestone removed.

A Beautiful Moonrise

I did not see that fence in the lens!  Far too Dark!

At least the light is correct, but there is that rail again! 

Okay.  Forget it!

This one is nice - if the earth had three moons.

Well, who the hell knows.

Just put the camera away and go home...

Why I Do Not Visit the Barn After Dark in the Summer

Why, Jackie?  Why not visit the barn at night in warm weather?

I might cross paths with one of these fellows...

Good thing Kit is already gone, because this photo would kill him!

I Could Not Stop Screaming

So, I go down to the chicken pen to feed the little hens today. I'm opening the metal trashcan where I store their food and I realize there is a four foot long black snake in the pen with its head through the wire, right by my foot. I started involuntarily screaming. I could not stop screaming as my entire physical body and psyche adjusted to the shock and horror of the situation! Logically, I know a black snake will not harm me - except to send me into post traumatic shock syndrome.  But my body continued to scream just the same.

From a safe distance, I observed that the snake had apparently made a meal of the little hens' eggs and was so fat that it could not squeeze through the fence in the same manner in which it had entered. I called the dogs over, hoping they would kill it, but neither dog was disturbed by the snake's presence whatsoever. However, the snake was very disturbed by the dogs, and tried to retreat to safety. Its only option was to draw its head back into the pen. The little hens realized there was a snake in their midst, and all of them began to attack that snake like tiny ninja warriors. This caused the snake to recoil and to frantically look for shelter. I have to say, watching the snake lift its body in an effort to hide beneath the chicken coop was one of the most disturbing things I have seen in recent times. It is creepy the way a snake can lift almost a third of its body straight up.

The damn thing took shelter INSIDE the chicken coop. Inside the coop - where I put my hands to get the eggs. Where those little hens shelter. Where I do not know how long it will be before I am brave enough to go inside the pen, and open the coop to make sure that serpent is gone.

I need a snake wrangler. I need a tranquilizer. I should probably consider moving back to the city - in a high rise apartment - a minimum of 15 stories above ground. I need to move to Ireland where there are no snakes, as long as that is true.

The Plight of Jackalopes in Kansas

(Plasitchrome by Colourpicture Boston, Mass Rushmore Photo Inc, Rapid City, S Dakota)

This is a jackalope, now a rare, nearly mythical beast but once a common creature of the Great Plains and Rocky Mountain areas of the middle United States. The world best knows this species from the dusty and moth-eaten mounted heads hanging in every beer joint from Silverton, Colorado to Topeka, Kansas, and from 25-cent truck stop postcards sold across the world. Most people consider the jackalope a joke, a corny joke. The dismissive and irreverent attitude is widely believed to be the central cause of the tragic clash between jackalopes and the human population in Kansas.  

The Kansas State Board of Tourism and The Wizard of Oz have combined resources in an effort to control what information is leaked to the outside world. Tourism in Kansas typically brings in upwards of $190 annually, so great pains are taken to shield the reputation of the state as a desirable tourist destination. Despite these efforts at suppressing the truth of the violent and deadly uprising, the jackalope's plight has become prominent in international news.  A series of bloody clashes between jackalopes and tavern owners in the north and central part of the state repeatedly makes headlines in the foreign press, such as Al Jazeera and the BBC. Due to the State's efforts to suppress the news, little has been reported locally. 

Jackalopes have long decried the practice of headhunting among their species and have been largely ignored. In some areas of Kansas, the species has been extirpated due to the savage genocide fueling the legal trade of jackalope heads to bars in other western states. The despicable practice of taverns displaying the mounted heads of dead jackalopes has outraged and inflamed a grieving population. In addition to the genocide, and losses suffered in the inter-species warfare, jackalopes have faced starvation in dozens of Kansas counties. Their primary food source has been entirely eradicated with widespread herbicide applications, and planting genetically modified organisms (GMO) crops targeted to be poisonous to jackalopes.

The jackalope's plight is not without its sympathizers. Brian Birk, PhD, University of Washington, has spent many years in the field studying the macabre practice of displaying jackalope heads in taverns. He has lectured and written extensively on the long and checkered history between humans and jackalopes. He noted in recent publications that Kansas is the only state limiting license to drive an El Camino to Jackalopes. "Kansas is a classy state in that respect," he stated.

Native American tribes in Kansas, directing much of their casino profits toward reintroducing the jackalope species into areas where untouched prairie remains, have been quite successful. A significant number of farmers who once ruthlessly eradicated jackalopes from their lands formed a political group in the southeastern corner of the state. These repentant farmer advocates symbolically and ceremonially "marry" jackalopes as a form of protest against the continued decimation of the species, and to draw attention to the plight of the jackalopes. It is thought this symbolic practice of men marrying animals is the source of the strident argument against gay marriage. Opponents point to the jackalope/farmer marriages as a prime example of the "slippery slope" theory that once gay marriage has been legalized, bestiality is sure to follow.

The jackalopes themselves are taking action to protect themselves. A large rebel population in the northeast corner of the state has been consciously and systematically interbreeding with elk in order to increase the size of antler jackalopes can grow. It is assumed the larger antlers will be used against tavern keepers who refuse to remove the mounted heads of dead jackalopes.

Chevy El Camino - only Jackalopes are licensed to drive these cars in Kansas.

Jackalope Reserve in Cherokee County, Kansas, early spring after jackalopes shed their antlers.
(Photo courtesty of Yu Yu Lam Lam, who originally posted the video to Facebook.)

Off Is the General Direction...

It is unbelievable how quickly time passes. I have been writing this blog for five years and six months. After a review over the weekend, I realize I am repeating myself. I think I have nothing new to say - even about nothing. Right on schedule, the Statesboro Blues arrive. All the things I have not accomplished, all the people who are gone, and all the people who failed to show up... This is why God put Gregg Allman on this earth: to sing the blues for people like me. Not sad and depressed blues - but big ol' mean Southern fried blues. Blues with a gun rack in the back window. Blues leaking Harley oil and highway miles...

This warrants a trip to the barn for some quality horse person time! As someone once said, "The outside of a horse is good for the inside of a (wo)man."

Wally is a funny horse. He does not have a sense of humor the way Annie did, but he is smart, in a goofy way that makes me laugh. Last year for Christmas I got oat buckets for the horses. I loosely tied the buckets to the fence so they would not be knocked down, and so I could easily empty rain and snow out of them. Wally flips his bucket up with his nose to make a big noise I can hear from the house. If he thinks it is time to eat, I hear him banging the bucket on the fence.

The other day I apparently put his bucket too close to Ginger's enormously large personal space. Using his teeth, Wally matter of factly pulled his bucket over as far as it would go. He is such a supple and flexible horse, tossing his head and neck around all the time. He tries to boss Ginger around by tossing his head and pointing his nose in the direction he thinks she should go. Just like a human extends an arm and waves someone on, Wally clearly indicates his frustration with her bossiness. Now he uses this gesture toward me, too. He wants to be left alone when he is eating his oats, so he tosses his nose in the direction of the house. There is a Facebook meme that fits his attitude perfectly: "Off is the general direction in which I wish you would f**k." Now Ginger uses this sign language, too. If she does not want me to bother her, she tosses her nose in the general direction in which she wishes I would go. I get no respect.

Can you spot Ginger and Wally in this photo? They really should treat me with far more respect. They have a rather easy life, after all!

Is the Preference for Cabbage a Gene Marker for Aging?

About once a year, I get a hankering for brisket and cabbage. I believe it is something only old people appreciate but I am a relative rookie at preparing that meal. My stepfather, now 90, is a five star brisket and cabbage chef. He sets the bar high. I assume that should I live to be 90, I will surely become a brisket and cabbage adept, too.

Last week I decided I would fix brisket and cabbage one evening, though it would mean a fairly late meal. It would be worth the wait. I put the brisket on as soon as I got home from work, and then chopped the cabbage to add a bit later. Everything went well, and before long the cabbage was bubbling away in the kettle over a low flame. I estimated I would be able to eat about 7:30 and that would have been true - except I made a tactical error.

I stretched out on the sofa to watch a movie. When I woke two hours later, I rushed to the stove. When I removed the lid, the meat was falling apart and looked delicious... nested amid the entirely blackened cabbage. Apparently, the flame was so low that it simply boiled the cabbage dry and then turned it to charcoal without ever setting off the fire alarms. The dogs did not mind the brisket, though there was hardly enough to divide for them. It took two nights of scrubbing to get the cabbage carbon removed from my favorite kettle. The smell of burnt cabbage lingers yet in my house, even though twice I have opened the doors and windows in an effort to fill the place with fresh, but frigid, air.

I wrote to my 24 year old nephew. I told him people know when they are getting too damn old.  "First, they begin to like cabbage, then they let it burn in the kettle."

He does not appreciate the valuable wisdom I freely share with him!

Beautiful People Who Would Never Live in Kansas

Decades ago, I was reading a popular magazine while I was waiting for the doctor or the dentist, and saw photos of Lenny Kravitz and Lisa Bonet.  The article was about their divorce.  I was sad that those young and exceptionally brilliant and beautiful people could not make their marrage last.  I thought they were the most beautiful people in the world.  I wondered how either of them would ever find anyone as beautiful as the person they were divorcing.

I have not researched who Lenny may be married to now, but Lisa found a man even more beautiful than Lenny, though I did not think it possible.  Jason Momoa!

Everyone knows how I feel about living too closely to neighbors, but what if these two amazingly beautiful people lived ... say... a mile down the road?  I know that could never happen.  If Jason Momoa were to even step foot in Kansas, it would rip a hole in the universe.  It would be as if all the positive matter in the world suddenly fell into the black hole that is Kansas.

*Photos shamelessly stolen from the internet because, you know, I would have my own photos of any of these people?