Are public bars really legal

I've been curious about the rationality of the public drunkenness laws. If one is drunk in a bar are they at risk for arrest while in the bar? Afterall it is a public place patronized by the public. How about the walk home on the public sidewalk or to the car parked on a public street, of course accompanied by the designated driver?  How about a beer party at your crib with some public figure guests?

PUBLIC DRUNKENNESS Section 5505 of the Pennsylvania Crimes Code (Title 18)

A person is guilty of a summary offense if he appears in any public place manifestly under the influence of alcohol... to the degree that he may endanger himself or other persons or property, or annoy persons in his vicinity.
Penalty
1st Offense
Fine
0-$300
Jail
0-90 days

Perhaps it's not such a bad law.

That "annoy" subclause caught my attention.  I for one am very "annoyed" by some folks when they are stone cold sober whether in private or public.

You might be a pussy if

• your dog doesn't drool or incessantly humps the neighbor's yorkie and kitty
• your beer comes with twist-offs
• your woman doesn't sport a half dozen tats and 3 pounds of stainless
• your back has less hair than a winter haired Scottish highlander
• your ride isn't littered with snickers wrappers, empty red bull cans and spent 45 shells
• your belly doesn't have stretch marks, a shelf for a beer can and an invisible belly button
• your jeans cover your hairy cheekless butt canyon
• your nose hair isn't braided
• your mullet rat tail doesn't employ a twist tie
• you have a dental record
• Limbaugh isn't crackling on the AM
• the rear right fender isn't dragging in the mud
• if your bumper stickers aren't about guns, dammes and damnation
• you don't run them foreign cars into the ditch with your jacked up Chevy
• the key chain is carrying less than 10 lbs of brass
• your armpits don't attract fleas and  fresh bred sewer mosquitos
• you can see the flesh under your finger nails
• the windshield isn't cracked
• the fuzzies hanging from the rearview aren't whistling a tune from Tammi's favorite hits
• the cigarette tray isn't full
• the mailbox isn't secured with 2 bungies and half a roll of

ode by a proud pussy

Have you ever wondered why

- stupid is ubiquitous
- people use the word ubiquitous
- someone came up with the word ubiquitous
- ubiquitous isn't spelled e-v-e-r-y-w-h-e-r-e
- dear abby has a job
- lima beans aren't on the banned substance list
- the food pyramid isn't sprinkled with chocolate jimmies in swirled whippy dip
- preparation H is called preparation H
- in a group of a 10 the dog only sniffs your crotch....front and rear
- we went to the moon....6 times
- corduroy went out of style
- corduroy was ever in style
- someone tossed out your vintage suede boots....and matching double knit leisure suit
- airline stewardess don't go postal
- cuff-links were invented
- suspenders are used
- an orange is called an orange
- given a choice of a bag of Hersey's kisses and a bag of Lay's Wrinkles you'll find a way to devour both....in the same early onset diabetic frenzy
- you believe the voice in the Garmin is going to someday reach out and bitch slap you for ignoring her
- there's lite beer
- twinkies aren't a national treasure and on the protected species list
- Ben and Jerry haven't won the Nobel Peace Prize
- why Nobel, the inventor of dynamite and other carnage devices, has a peace prize
- every Sports Illustrated isn't a swimsuit issue
- devout believers of the heavenly afterlife don't want to get there asap...like right now
-

Ya, me too.

5 Guys Burger and Fries

Over the next several weeks (this started last August) I will be doing a local burgers and fries reviews over a variety of categories and then at the end will do a relative comparison to each other with perhaps the ideal burger and fries compiled from the best attributes amongst the samples.  Our first stop is Five Guys.

I've been to several 5 Guys over the past 4-5 years spanning in geography from Erie, OBX, Richmond to Indy.  Pretty much cookie cutter from one to another as in most francheses.

No drive thru.  Gotta go in and order or there is an option to preorder but who does that.  There's a short line on this fine Sunday evening.  Took about 15 minutes from pull-in to the parking lot to leaving with the goods.  Ordered a hamburger, a cheese burger and "regular" fries and 2 regular dispenser drinks.  The lady was with me.  The order was prepared in plain sight although most folks don't pay any attention to this feature.  I did notice that all the food preparers were wearing latex gloves and hats.  That's good.

The order goes into a brown paper bag regardless of where the food will be eaten.  We took the eats to the PI marina and watched the bay boat traffic and Darrel and Darrelet looking for beach glass.  If one elected to chow at 5 Guys they would find it quite loud and barren with very little chance for a private meal.  You can pork down as many "free" peanuts as you can eat while waiting.  Not sure who sweeps up the peanut shell mess.
 
The burgers are wrapped in tin foil.  The "regular" burger is actually 2 patties.  The "small" burger only has 1 patty.  This is perhaps a ploy to the unaware customer.  Most people would simply order a burger thinking it's a regular 1 patty affair like in all the other burger places.  A "small" implies perhaps a kid's meal size.  With the 2 patties it's quite a good sized burger.  I ordered mine with lettuce, tomato and mustard.  The burger cost is $3.99.  The small is $2.99.



The buns are the sesame style, aka, Mac look alikes.  Nothing special with them.  Overall the burger is good but I did drip several grease spots onto my just washed favorite summer shirt. 

The fries are fried in peanut oil.  This is advertized as natural and without cholesterol.  Unfortunately oil is oil with respect to calories per gram.  They are very oily and are very bad unless one has rusted knee joints.  They always throw in a few handfuls of extras into the bag to make it a very large order.  I'm guessing they playing the pshyco game again having folks think they're getting an extra special deal.  All they're getting is more very greasy fries that oil up the bag and everything inside it.  The bag got so oily I had to dump the fries out and discard the bag because it had started to get oil all over the car console and me.



The drinks are normal fare.  Although unlike many dispensers that use local water this did not have any flouride flavor.  The cups are the ubiquitous waxed paper kind.  I prefer the styrofoam style as they keep the drink cold  longer.  There is an environmental downside to the styrofoam but these folks walked over that line when they opted for the tin foil burger wrappers.

We eat the goods and both end up with grease spotted shirts. 

Until I get futher into the study my contigent ratings  are:

- convenience of buying - ok
- time from order to meal - slower than drive thru but not as slow as a sitdown
- presentation of meal - that tin foil needs to go and replaced with something more green and less shine
- cost - average, although I felt duped by the labeling
- bun - average, no differentiation over Mac's, the King, and little Wendy
- condiments - at least you can have it your way
- drinks - average, no differentiation
- eat-in ambiance is too sparse and open.  Even most Mac's have booths. 
- fries - no more than once per year and one needs to be very, very hungry.  The greasy bag is a real problem!

Overall rating:  3 barf bags.

The barf bag scale is 1 to 5 with 1 being heaven on earth fare and 5 being bear bait.

it might be Christmas if

- there was a heavy thumbing of feet by the "youngins" at 6 am with a strong hint of "get the heck up"
- they insist on a speed breakfast
- the "youngins" are 25, 30 and 30 years old
- momma is whipping up a gluttoness feed
- 3+ hours are spent assembling the new wave gizmo
- "I don't need no stinking directions"
- the Ralphie ("A Christmas Story") marathon is on and on and on
- the family room looks like the aftermath of a stage 5 hurricane
- there's a chocolate/brandy mousse cup or two or three calling my name
- the sky is gray and the ground brown (we live in a snow belt!)
- I'm getting incessant emails advertizing after-Christmas sales
- ......

Grannie spots and kittens

While making myself pretty a few days ago I happened to spot a pencil eraser sized, irregular shaped, gray spot on the upper left side rib cage area.  After the weekly pruning of the nose and ear hairs I fire up Google - "signs of skin cancer."  I soon learn the mole alphabet, the ABCDE of suspicous skin growths. 

"A" is for symmetry. Anything not perfectly round or apparently equal sided is for concern.  "B" is for border and an irregular border is grim reaper time.  "C" is for color.  Gray or dark skin pigment is not a cheer you up tone.  "D" is for diameter.  Anything over 6mm (pencil erasor) is call the morgue.  "E" is for evolution, i.e., has it changed - well ya, it just showed up!  Get a toe tag.

I had the wife (she's the beneficiary of my life insurance) make me an appointment post-haste with the skin doctor.  I had been to him twice before in years past and he had dismissed my lesions with a squirt of his liquid nitrogen bottle he had tied to his tool belt and made life normal again. 

There's more back story.  I grew up in the era when early summer back burn was the right of passage for a great summer.  In my case living and working on a dairy farm made this process way too easy.  A few shirtless days on the tractor in early June and one had burn blisters that the sun god Apollo would admire.  From my belt and south it was milky white.  Farmers do not wear shorts or deordorant. I am also the descendant of northern Europeans of the fair skin and missing melanin kind.

Doc day arrives and I make the visit.  He comes in with his micrometer and we exchange a few pleasantries and he asks to see the goods.  I lift my shirt, point to the offender and he measures the rib eye and nonchalantly says "6 millimeters .. old age spot."  I gasp and say "old age spot?!"  "Can't be.  You sure it ain't cancer?"   "Nope."   No cancer but I got a damn gray grannie spot.  And he said more would be likely.  What the hell!!

Oh well, my hair has been grayish for a few years and I can't run as fast anymore.  I suppose a gray skin lesion or two will be useful to give us more space at the beach while the young kids from New Jersey gawk at the scary old man.

Ever see a gray grannie spot on a kitten?  Me either.

it might be the season if

• it's snowing and minus and my tractor sits in the barn with the mowing deck attached and the plow detached.  the tire chains are mia. 
• i get 11 emails a day from amazon touting their special free shipping seasons deals
• my sockless loafers are causing me piggy discomfort
• the hole in the sole of my left sockless loafer is causing me unusual pedi discomfort
• not one of a more than a dozen snow and ice scrapers can be found
• santa's helper has made dozens of visits to the mall with each getting lead story coverage by the local wxxx 
• it's dark when i go to the office and dark when i leave and more than murky at noon
• i spend the good part of the t-holiday hauling decorations from the barn, attic, garage and a myriad of closets to be put on display
• harry's law and csi get preempted by a cartoon holiday special
• i can't get "rump, pum pum, pum" out of my head
• it was a white-out on the way home last night
• others were impeding my travel by driving like it was white out
• the windshield washer fluid tank is empty
• the seat heater still fries my bacon 
• the cat  naps inside
• we've already received a dozen holiday cards
• my annual epistle has yet to be started
• there is an abundance of past year humankind folly to epistle about
• the woman just handed me the holiday day card list
• the gas fireplace burns with a loud "cha ching"
• the holiday lights shine with loud "cha ching"
• i thought i fixed the hole in the right index finger of my winter gloves
• water still freezes at 32 or less
• the squirrels are munching at the deluxe squirrel proof bird feeders
• orange blazers and adult bambi play hide n' seek
• mince meat pie beckons
• i've reluctantly gone to the winter belt hole which resides a couple to the right of the summer belt hole

You might be thankful if

- it's another day of consciousness

- all the essential body organs appear to be working

- you're not a turkey

- the woman is a great cook

- you're a shameless, gluttonous ominivore

- there's fresh cranberry jelly sauce albeit garnished with BPA

- your visitors did the traveling

- the gravy has been strained and the bird stuffed

- Wegmans is open  

- Thanksgiving falls on a Thursday

- Pepto Bismol is not on the banned substance list

- the chocolate cheese cake is chilling next to the Upland Brewing Co. wheat beer

- there's a drumstick whispering your name

- Prohibition is prohibited 

- the remote batteries still have a charge

- the cocoa bean is the foundation of the food pyramid

- brussel spouts and turnip are nowhere near the food pyramid

- ......

sucked wheel like a famished cheetah chases down lunch

So I'm doing a loop around PI last evening and pull out of the spur that goes out to the floating pond houses and up comes a friendly racer type.  He asks why I don't have a rear brake and I give him some line like I don't ride fast enough to need both front and rear brakes.  (The real reason is that I hate maintaining the machine and the cable had rusted off last summer and I just disconnected it.)  He acknowledges and starts to pull away. 

A sudden testosterone rush comes over me and I jump on his wheel like a dung beetle to fresh shit.  I quickly notice that he probably weighs at least 50 pounds less than I do and he has the form of someone who can pound the snot out of his cranks.  We soon head west and catch a nice tailwind.  I'm still tucked into his slipstream like the rear pelican in a long bevy pushing a March headwind.  He's in the big ring and starts dropping the chain into the lower rear sprockets to take advantage of the friendly wind.  I'm stuck in the small ring for the same reason I don't have a rear brake.  My cycle computer is blank for the same reason I don't have a rear brake or a way to shift into the big ring but we have to be nearing at least 30 mph.  I'm sucking up air like a ramjet on takeoff.  He then pulls over to let me take a pull.  Shit! 

I take a feeble pull and then he quickly resumes.  A half mile later we come to a fork and I hang right knowing he'll bear left.  I wave him ado and coast to a sane pace for a near geriatic whose glory days were at least 2 decades ago.  I spin it back to the suburban and choke up throat mucus for awhile thinking perhaps I should do a little maintenance on the machine.

random rants

A comment or two on recent newsy items:

- Osama goes down!  This is a big deal and should have happened like on 9/12/2001.  The lip flappers are ranting on whether it was legal or not;  he shouldn't have been buried at sea; show the pics; he was unarmed.............  Only one thing matters.  The man poked the big bear and he got taken out. 

- Trump took the spot light for another 5 minutes and got owned.  He only proved one thing - again.  Idiots with money are still idiots.

- A long shot took the Kentucky Derby and by couple of lengths and there's already noise about a triple crown winner. Yawn. The winning time was 3 seconds off the record of Big Red run 38 years ago. 

- The Boston marathon was won in 2:03 ish.  For you non-runners that is unfreaking believeable!!  That's a 4:42 per mile pace.  There are many high school state champs that run slower 2 mile times at that pace.  Be impressed!

- A couple of local teachers get caught with child porn on their computers.  Another idiotism:  one does not need a freeze dried combover to be an idiot.

- GE pays no 2010 taxes.  Oil companies earn record profits while pump gas hits $4 per gallon.  Foreclosures continue to surge.  Don't piss and whine, change the damn rule makers and then the rules.

Ever have an f ' ing week? Well I have!!

It's pretty much sucked from the git go on Monday am!!  Now gotta go home and plow and shovel 12+" for the second time in 2 days.  Then the weekend will be tanked fixing and finishing the crap that didn't get done during the week. 

Sisyphus is me

Came to the realization today that I'm the modern day epitome of the Greek Sisyphus!

Geezerville

I'm sitting at the Starbucks in the Villages, Fl, otherwise known as geezerville.  I sure hope I look out of place.

DANG IT!!

http://www.reuters.com/article/idUSTRE7044F120110105

Pennsylvania police will supposedly stop issuing profanity citations.  The ACLU cites the free speech issue as the reason for such a law to be stupid and used the case of a female driver who screamed "ASSHOLE" to a motorcyclist who cut her off.  That alone is a hoot.  I love a woman who can dang with the best of us former construction workers.

My first impression when I read the Reuters news clip was what the f'ing are PA donut slingers wasting their time issuing citations for such bullcrap frivolty when there are outlaw bikers running wild on the PA turnpike.  (They issue about 750 a year!!) Then it dawned on my dumbass.  The next time some snot-nosed kid out with gramps laughs at my geriatric tumble on my mountain bike I'm making a citizens arrest.  Same for people that I simply find annoying.  You know the ones.  They take 14 items through the 15 or less express checkout lane and then write a check,  talk on their cell phone in the public rest room stall,  let their kids run and scream in the airport lounge while you're napping, order the specialty prepared burger in the drive thru, wave a terrible towel at a meaningless football game, drive 45 in a 45 zone,  want a taste of your chocolate deluxe after not ordering dessert of their own, and cutting hot women off with their motorcycles.  All profane examples of disrespectful behavior towards my highness.

DANG A**holes!!!

India

In March of 2010 I had a business trip to New Dehli, India with side trips to Lucknow and Agra.  Some pics.

Cows are sacred and pretty much wander around as they wish, including downtown.  A hamburger can not be found.

Cows maybe sacred but apparently milking them is not.

3 wheeled taxis are ominipresent. Traffic flow can be described as organized chaos with a serenade of horn blaring.

For those that can't afford a 3-wheeled taxi.

This (Taj Mahal) was pretty impressive. 

This is pretty much how most of the people live.

Bull 1 Human 0

socks and screwdrivers

I am totally convinced that there is a gravity sucking black hole unrelentlessly tugging at socks and screwdrivers.  I have at least 300 single, unmatched socks.  I never lose both socks, it's always just the one and the survivoring mate is left to remind me of this galactic mystery.  I suggest that this is prove positive for a parallel universe.

Screwdrivers just plain disappear.  I haven't owned as many scewdrivers as socks but it's damn close.  If I need one (which usually corresponds to a home emergency like a stuck toilet valve) the routine is to search in the kitchen junk drawer, toolbox (which is the last place I should look given the very slim odds that one should actually be there), under the seat of my suburban, barn, wife's studio (the odds are the best that I might find one there), office, stuck in the snout end of a half used tube of dried up caulk ...... Once the blood pressure reaches 210/160 and my eye sockets are 3 heart beats from exploding I just give up and make a trip to the local hardware store where we are on a first name basis and buy another one.  Or f--- the toilet.

On the slim chance I should find one it will be the one that I used as a cement chisel and the head is blunted down to a rounded knob.   Or it's a snub handled phillips and I need a long shank flat head.

So when the cosmologists figure out a way to worm hole our way to the other side I will retrieve all my missing socks and screwdrivers.

beans and greens

A month ago today mom and I decided on the spur of the moment to go vegetarian.  This is shocking on a number of levels.  First we both were brought up in meat and potatoes families and many times the potato was optional.  Our families raised beef, pig, fowl and hunted game.  Blood, grizzle and tenderloin was ubiquitous.  White and the other white meat was at the top of the food pyramid and red meat at the bottom.  Second we decided to do this 2 weeks shy of the gorge and plunder meal of the year - Thanksgiving.  Ok, we slipped a bit that day and had a slice or 3 of turkey.  But that was it.  Before and since then it's been nothing but beans, salads, and pots of pasta, beans and more freaking beans.

Most of the meals have been pretty good, although I find myself searching for those nuggets of meat that aren't there.  A couple I wouldn't give to the mangy opossum that licks out the bottom of our trash bin.

A week ago a Five Guys opened within walking distance of my office.  Their burgers are award winning.  Their peanut oil fried french fries are as good as the burgers.  Arrggg.... Old man drool is not pretty.

A couple of times a week I would stop at the local Country Fair and own 2 Smith's dogs soaked in mustard.  Now it's an apple and dark chocolate.

Eggs and bacon were weekend staples.  Now it Cheerios and bran with skim.

A new local fare opened in town offering mediterranean.  We order the veggie burrito without the sour cream.  Weird looks from the waitress.

We promised each other a beefup day every now and then.  I'm feeling like it will be sooner rather than later . 

We must be near the top of the food chain for a reason!!  I doubt this diet is it.

Can we buy you ladies a drink??

Tiger Woods, Ben Roethlisberger and Monsignor Smyth

walk into a mid Texas gentlemen's club to join Elliot Spitzer, John Edwards, Mark Sanford and Jessie James.

Actually these folks don't all belong in the same sentence together.  Tiger had lots of women but they were all adults and knew he was married and they were all very hot.  He did show signs of major stupid given that his arm candy at home was already 10+ on the babe scale.  Same for Jessie.  Why would one not be ankle humping Sandra 24/7 if given the chance.

Elliot paid a professional. That's a so what and she's taken her 15 minutes and run with them for more $.

Mark is another so what.  He fell for an exotic amazon goddess but that hiking the AT excuse was never going to make it through the weekend. 

John Edwards is an unusually perflexing case.  He was running for president for crying out loud!  His indiscretion is just stupid gone very, very stupid.  And he got her pregnant.  WTF.  Stupid runneth over!

All stupid but nonetheless consenting adults with bouts of poor judgement.

Ben on the other hand belongs in a whole other grouping........scumbags who should be wearing a sign stating "cut on dotted line".  He allegedly forces himself on drunk school girls........repeatedly.  I have daughters and nieces of this age and I cringe that idiots of this moral turpitude still pack a set of warm testicles.

And the worst.  Catholic priests that take advantage of young kids in their charge hopefully have a special hole in their biblical hell where ball-peened hammers are used rather than a dull serrated knives. Public castration is too good for these vultures.

Oh, and the grab a young boy butt scoutmasters have a reserved sludge pit right next to the white collared ones.

Hillbilly memorial coin

On the way to the sunshine state we passed through the iron city from the mistake on the lake and on into the ridge runner state.  Pleasant scenic ride over undulating terrain on interstate 77 and eventually onto US19.  Most certainly a Robert Byrd pork project given that the highway bears his name.  Every 10 miles there's a gully hamlet with a reduced speed zone at the bottom of a 10% grade hill with a porkie at the bottom with his radar gun filling the local coffers. 

Eventually a toll ahead warning sign appears.  We've been this way before and knew this was there.  But we couldn't remember the amount needed.  Probably 25 cents or maybe a buck.  We speed ahead with the toll gates coming up fast.  What's the amount?  No signs anywhere.  Cars and trucks on all sides churning up road spray.  There are 3 booths, 2 exact change and 1 manned.  We pull into the plaza at 50mph not 100 feet from having to decide which lane to get into and there it is.  Cars 40 cents.  Now a mad scamble.  First of all 40 cents means a minimum of 3 coins to make it exact.  We have 3 seconds to find a quarter, a dime and a nickel or 4 dimes, or 3 dimes and 2 nickels.......  Lets not even think about the penny permutations.  Too late. I have to merge into the manned gate where all the other cars and trucks happened to be.  I wonder why.  Not a single vehicle in the exact change lanes.  I pull up and hand the attendent a 1 dollar bill that I just untwisted from my pants pocket after frantically unsnapping the tight seat belt. The diamond stud in the nose, middle aged lady hands me back 2 quarters and 2 nickels.  Or was it 1 quarter, 2 dimes and 3 nickels.

Ok. We're back upto speed.  Heart rate has returned to normal, finger nails have receeded from the steering wheel leather and my butt unclenches. It's time for some hillbilly contemplation.  I reckon the local road toll rate commission consisting of Darrell, Darrell and their brother Darrell had a meeting.  The ridge-runner brain trust needs to raise the toll rate.  A buck would be way too much and they're told the exact change machines wouldn't work.  Fifty cents also seems like a stretch and soaking the pass through snowbirds just wouldn't be neighborly.   Let's make it an even 40 cents.  Oh and let's save a few $ and not put a sign. 

Perhaps they originally recommended 38 cents but the attendant was confounded by the heavy arithematic.

Bacon with a side of choco donut

is the breakfast of champions.

Brunch

Red Hooded Prince

This black-faced cardinal is out grocery shopping.

Drerie

Fog, snowbanks, slush, damp, clouds, mist, cold, stillness, mud, wet ................

Let the season begin!!

Egg nog, snow, neighborhood lights, fireplace, cookies, surprises, cards, trees, wreaths, ribbons, candles, wheat beer, drummer boy, choirs, nutcracker, bells, sleigh, reindeer, nickolas, elves, Ralphie, manger, snowman, star, story, holy night, carol........................

White out

25 miles southwest of Buffalo in the early morning hours of 12/10/2009.

A three-toed bigfoot

has been casing the homestead.

photo taken by j. y. pike

Cow barn.

This was Austin's cow barn the morning before the auction - extra sawdust and numbers marked on the cows for the impending doom.

A mix of Jeseys, Holsteins, Guerneys, Ayrshires.............

Note the AM radio halfway down the left main beam. This was on all the time. The cows were calmed by it and the early morning news was always welcomed by the milking team - Austin and the hired hand at the time. Don Mullally was the local am DJ and worked the radio for many years. I had the privilege of meeting and knowing Don. His son and I were on the same wrestling team.

Blue Boy the cow dog is looking for a morsel. Dogs are for sure ominivores. Nothing, I mean nothing is off limits. Mouth-to-mouth contact was not advised for him or any other dog that I've known. Blue Boy was a bordie collie and was probably only a year or 2 old at this time. This canine knew and loved cows. They thought otherwise.

The gutters behind the cows were used to collect the manure which on a daily farm is everpresent. A producing cow would easily dump 50 lbs of floor spatter a day. These gutters were cleaned by hand - daily in the winter. The steel rail running along the ceiling cross beams was for the gutter carrier which rolled along the rail and was loaded by hand. Once full it was pushed to the end of the barn, out the back doors and dumped into the manure spreader parked outside just beyond the barn doors. One cleaning would fill it. In the summer the manure spreader was pulled and spread by tractor. Of course, this is somewhat moot because in the summer the cows spent most of their time in the pasture and gutter cleaning was infrequent. In the winter the spreader was a flat wagon on skids pulled by horses and spread by hand.

The hay was stored in the hay mows on the second story of the barn, hence the large ceiling beams. The hay bales would be thrown down holes in the ceiling and fed to the cows. The other winter roughage feed was silage - chopped spring grass and fall corn. This was pitched out of the silo next to the barn. In the very cold months it was partially frozen and made for some frigging digging.

The de Laval milking machines were run off a cycling vacuum line. After each cow was milked the milking machine pail would be dumped into another pail that was then hand carried to the milkhouse tank at the other end of the barn. Each cow would normally be hand stripped to get the last pint or 2 of milk. This herd would take about an hour to milk with 2 machines.

This was mid '60's dairy farming. Hand and back work was involved in most all operations. Every dairy farmer that I knew had poyeye hands and forearms and a grip that could choke the life out of a fresh hickory stick. Hand calluses were tougher than 10 grit sandpaper. Obese farmers were a rarity.

Today's open pens and automated milking parlors with computerized self-feeders are hugh productivity improvements and work savers. But is today's dairyman tired at the end of the day and can they recall the names of each cow and production stats? I doubt it.

Peeking out over the top of the box.

It's scary! It's scary!!!!!!!

Life's simple principles.

Swat flies. Sleep late. Laugh often. Smile wide. Grimance never. Love long. Live passionately. Run hard. Ride downwind. Look far. Observe closely. Step lightly. Respect others. Live free. Drink beer. Eat meat.

Sugar House

When snow was deep. When sap dripped into tree hung buckets. When hauled by horse drawn sleds. When evaporator heat came from fall cut wood. When wet spring snows were welcome. When a maple syrup snow cone was dessert. When Vermont fancy grade was treasured.

Tom

This big boy was one of my Grandfather's draft horses. 1962-63 vintage with over 2 tons of horsepower. An era when skiis were wood and horses and men worked from before dawn to well after dusk. Note the mohawk clipped mane. Kick ass.

Save a horse

ride a cowboy...........

Summers of '68, '69, '70

This is the former Paul Nelson in Barnet Center on the side of one of the hills that forms a portion of the Stevens river valley. A classic Vermont hillside dairy farm of the 60's when Vermont had at least 2 cows for every person. This picture came from a 1975 calender and was likely taken in the early 60's or perhaps even in the late 50's. The picture shows a new milk house that has yet to be painted barn red. There's also a lumber pile behind the barn that was likely used to build a small house for Paul's wife's folks. They had passed by the time I worked there. One of those summers we burnt it down. The main barn was built in the '40's.

Paul Nelson was an educated engineer who graduated from Worcester Polytech but returned to his native land to farm. I worked there during three summers while I was in high school. Up at 5am for the morning milking and supper at 6pm after the pm milking and full day in between. There were around 100 milking Jersey cows with dozens of heifers and a young bull. The only other animals were the barn cats, 2 oversized house cats and a cow dog. No pigs, horses, ducks, chickens.... commonly found on other dairy farms in the area.

The motor pool consisted of a John Deere 70, 520 and 2020 and JD dozer. There was also a 1 ton farm truck with a floor mounted stick shift. A sweet drive to a teenager who had been driving farm trucks since he could barely reach the pedals but didn't get his license until he was a senior in high school - I have no idea why.

Paul had a full time farm hand, Arnold. He had been there many years and lived in a spare bedroom in the main house. He had a speech impediment and was difficult to understand until you had worked with him for awhile. I was able to decifer him after a short time and we got along well together. Arnold always had a pipe in his mouth. He was great help but would not have done very well off the farm. In fact, he had an old car which I don't believe had been used in years. I never recall him leaving the farm.

Paul's wife, Elinor, was originally from Worcester and didn't drive. She tended the house and prepared the meals. She and Paul made a weekly shopping trip to town. I don't think she felt very at home on the farm. Their 2 sons and daughter and respective families would occasionally visit but otherwise it seemed like a very quiet existence for her. She passed away in 1977 a few years after my last summer there. I believe from cancer. Paul lived almost another 30 years.

During the Christmas break of my freshman year in college I worked at the farm. It was the week in winter hell. A day or so into the break a major ice storm hit the area and took out the power. The milking machines needed power to work and hence the problem. Three of us spent at least 3 full milkings doing it the old fashioned way - by hand. Only a hardcore dairy farmer would appreciate the scale of this. And all the cows were Jerseys. Many Jerseys have small sized teats meaning you have to use the 2 finger method versus the full hand method. After a 5 or 6 cows hand cramps set in. And the cows are not used to hand milking and are reluctant to let their milk down. We milked pretty much around the clock for 36 hours. Of course, mastitis set in - utter infection. The power finally returned and after a few days things were back to normal. Paul drove to the local John Deere dealership a couple of days later and had a backup generator installed. That was the last time I worked on the farm - not because of the the ice storm but a new job was in the waiting that next summer.

After Paul's wife died he sold the farm to his son. The son built another house on the property and sold at least one lot at the "scenic overview" from where the above scenic picture was taken from. A house sits there now. Since then the farm has changed hands again at least once. A large manure capture pit sits in front of the main barn. The scenic view so well captured in the calender picture hasn't been available for many years and will never be again.

Austin and Paul vacationed in California in 1978 and stayed with us for a week in Simi Valley. We let them use our car to explore the area. Paul lived into his late '90's and passed away just a couple of years ago after spending a few years in a nursing home.

My three summers there were a bit sterile and very monastic. Every 3 weeks I'd get Sunday off to go home for the day. The work was hard, long and routine. Basically work all day, 3 squares and sleep. Pretty boring for a teenager. It certainly didn't help my social agilities or enhance my then myopic world and social view. Paul subscribed to Time magazine and I spent the noon breaks devouring them cover to cover. The work did make and keep me physically fit and my high school wrestling prowess was greatly helped. My first summer's pay was $30 per week and progressed to $60 per week my last summer - about 75 cents an hour. I did get lots of tractor time. Those were the first paychecks that paid into social security.

I admired Paul's approach to farming. It was very business like with incremental expansion. However, I always felt he would have enjoyed being an engineer more and would have been very good at it. Elinor would definitely found that more to her liking.

Irony

On the local news last night were stories that by themselves were unnotable. But next to each other makes them very notable and highlights one of our cultural ironies. The first story was about the local food banks having a tough time due to the reduced state funding and fewer local donations. Apparently, their inventories are nearly depleted. The immediately following story was about a group of locals that had been dieting and had lost a total 3 tons of weight.

Ok. My mind went right to thinking that 3 tons of fat is equal to 21 million kCalories. A normal person needs about 2500 kCal per day. Therefore, the chubbo's lost 8400 person days of equivalent meals!! I would guess that the normal inventory of a local food bank is considerably less than that.

Therefore.....................

The Summers of '66 and '67.

This is where I spent the summers of '66 and '67 - the Russell and Mabel Moore farm in East Barnet next to Joe's Brook just before it enters into the Passumpsic River. This is one of the few still standing round barns in the world. Russell had semi-retired by this time but he still hayed the fields and filled the barn. I had the pleasure of working for and with him for two summers.

We lived 2 miles up Joe's Brook Road that meandered along the brook. At 9 am every morning I would ride my bike to the farm and we'd spend the day haying, splitting wood, fixing the old Chevy truck and whenever it rained we'd go fishing. Russell loved to fly fish. So did I, almost as much as not working.

I learned a lot those two summers. How to split wood with an axe. No it's not the mighty swing. The trick is a quick but subtle twist of the wrist just as the axe hits the round. It still amazes me how effective this is.

He had an old Chevy pickup. I have no idea of the vintage but it was old. I learned how to drive an on the floor stick shift that first summer. I've heard this truck was still on the farm as recent as a couple of years ago. Russell and Mable sold the farm back in the 70's to his nephew who only recently sold it.

His river meadow was on the other side of Joe's Brook and he used a temporary bridge to access the field with his tractors and haying equipment. We would spend a day putting it up early in the summer. I learned that the fun part of a project that seemed impossible for an old geezer and "more brawn than brain" kid was in figuring out ways to getting the nearly impossible done. We would float the two large main timbers in the water to the earth abutments and use levers, ropes and two tractors to work them into place. Russell never cussed, but I did - under my breath.

I also experienced one of my almost didn't make it out of pre-adolescence moves. There was a small hay field tucked back on a hill away from the main buildings. One of his tractors was an old Farmall Cub that we used for raking the hay. One mid morning I was raking this field and was doing stupid stuff. I was circling the field with the rake in tow and was climbing the back hill in 3rd gear. I already knew that I would have to shift but also knew I was the master shifter. I mean I had been driving tractors since I had become as tall as July high corn. Not this morning. I was almost at the top and the tractor started lugging down and it was time to shift. I pushed in the clutch and the tractor immediately started rolling backwards. I pressed the brakes (brakes on these old tractors are friction with no hydraulic assist so leg force is all there is) but they were useless. The tractor was picking up speed and the woods were approaching fast. I instinctively released the clutch as a last measure and fortunately it was still in 3rd gear. But the nose of the tractor instantly reared up and came within a heart beat of somersaulting over backwards. It would have left me as a messy grease spot on the field. It recovered just before we slammed into the woods. I got the thing stopped and realized my heart was running at red-line and probably pee'ed myself. I have respected Vermont hills from that day on. I still, however, miss clutch every now and then.

I made $20 a week and got to chow on Mabel's Vermont hot dinners. A working man's dinner in the 60's in Vermont on the farm was served at noon with a short nap afterwards.

I would have worked there for free.

Beware of innocent bunnies

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cCI18qAoKq4

Gun Rack

This big boy is out looking for love in all the wrong places.

Faux Fur

This catalog showed up yesterday amongst the dozens we get in the daily mail. The under weight but the for sure hot babe and the especially the fur caught my attention!!

Some history. When I was 14 I worked at a neighbor's farm on weekends and after school. This farm had 25 - 30 milking cows, a couple of Arabian show horses and an acre of outdoor penned mink. My pay for a 6am to 9pm weekend workday was $4 with meals. My skilled labor (I could milk the cows, handle the horses and run all the equipment including the John Deere B with the hand clutch.....) was worth 27 cents an hour in 1967. But I digress.

I worked there from Sept to May and experienced pretty much the full mink pelting cycle. In the fall the mink were heavily fed with fatty protein to fatten and shine them up. Feed was also processed and stockpiled for the winter months. Horse meat was the main ingredient. Surrounding famers and horse owners would leave their nags and we would "process" them. This consisted of a 410 slug to the forehead, a day of gutting, skinning, quartering and grinding the carcass. This was then mixed with a grain into a slurry and frozen into chunks of future mink feed. More on this part of my childhood in another posting.

Mid winter was pelting time. This process included killing, pelting and storing the pelts. I was one of a kill team of two. The other was a kid 2 years younger than me. One of us would reach into a mink pen with a mitted protected hand and grab the mink by the back of the neck and turn it over so its belly was exposed. The other would drive the needle of a steel syringe into its heart and inject a dose of strychnine. The mink would be dead nearly instantly, unless the needle missed the heart. Then the death might take minutes if we didn't drop it from the mad frenzy. Think OSHA would have approved?

The next step was the pelting which was done by a husband/wife team hired for this occasion and done in the basement of the farmer's house. These two were also the parents of my kill team partner. They would cut the hide of the mink at the neck and feet lines and then pull it back over the body of the mink in whole so it was completely inside out. It would then be stretched over a mink board for scraping and then drying and cold storing. The skinless carcass would be thrown into a pile with the others and hauled off to a back field and dumped. The smell of the dead carcasses and wet hides I'm sure still lingers.

Early spring was breeding time. The choice mink were spared from the pelting process and used for breeding stock. This was fun time for all. The males would be placed into a pen with a female and they would do nature's willy wag for hours on end. Each day the males would be moved to another pen until all the females were eventually covered. Little did they know that the deadly cycle was on repeat.

Why do I share this ugly history, especially with detail that would make most cringe including me? Anyone who wears or would even tolerate an animal fur item needs to understand the process by which these items are produced. When one is 14 and the extent of their world has been limited to a 50 mile radius of geography and culture then their viewpoint is extremely myopic. At the time it was just part of someone's business in the back hills of northen Vermont. Only after years of seeing a larger view of the world and gaining a better understanding of nature does one understand that this was so wrong on so many levels.

Back to the magazine. I was about to go ballistic when I noticed in the upper right corner the word "faux". A faux pax may have been in the making or perhaps not. Doesn't a faus somehow validate or at least acknowledge at some level the real thing?

That summer I took another job at a different farm that only had dairy cows but a 100 of them. And I got a raise to 36 cents an hour with room and board.

All night, every night.

NCIS reruns.

Monkeys don't wear underwear.

Why should I?

Life from death.

Leaves wither while seeds sprout.

Butter and Bullets

"Americans usually buy about 7 billion rounds of ammunition a year, according to the National Rifle Association. In the past year, that figure has jumped to about 9 billion rounds," said NRA spokeswoman Vickie Cieplak (ref AP article posted 09/24/2009). Presumably due to the democrats now running DC. Oops, my bad. Of course, the lobbyists still run things. They're just licking more asses these days and fewer elephant tails.

I digress. That's a lotta freeking bullets!!

Some other interesting statistics: Only 1 in 4 Americans own guns. The total ownership is 200 million guns. That means the average gun owner owns 3 weapons. I suppose the good news is that on average only 5 bullets per gun are purchased each year. And only 30,000 of the 7-9 billion rounds kill another American each year. (ref FBI stats)

Chris Rock has a hilarious series of jokes based on the idea of charging $5000 per bullet. The comedy man maybe onto something. Our property taxes could be greatly reduced, the NRA'ers could keep their hand artillery and perhaps a few less deadly trigger pulls would occur.

Cider Time

One of nature's elixir's abounds this time of year and enjoyed by all creatures from the apple worm on up the food chain.

A time gone by.

A time when cows were Jerseys, tractors were cabless, bales were square, silos were tall, manure was spread, barns had stanchions, and corn was feed.

Drumsticks

This party is over, onto the next one.

Looking west from the Kitty Hawk dock.

Crap!

Lunch

Another example of the circle of life.