Curious…

While sitting in the truck waiting for the Mrs., I noticed a sign that announced that parking in the handicapped zone would result in a penalty of 5 hours of community service.

What exactly does that say about our society when community service is inflicted as a penalty?

jus' wonderin...

Well, That's IT Then...

it appears Obama is our man.

After all, Fidel said so... good enough for me...

Channeling Dr. Smith…

"Ohhh, the pain…"

Well, the wood’s almost done, about ¾, I’d say. The pile is just less than 3 cord by my calculations, (which is actually looking at it and thinking, "’bout 3 cord"). My arms are letting me know how much work this is.

I usually get this whole bit done in April, but a two-week battle with the Army of Gout has delayed the start of the effort.

Here’s a pic of the pile thus far:


Here are the tools used to make the stuff fit in the stoves:

6# maul for most splitting
8# maul for the full size rounds
4# hand sledge for "helping" the mauls when necessary
1.5# Snow & Nealley hatchet (for making the shreddy stuff let go)
And for when things get tough-
10# 36" sledge &
(2) 5# steel wedges

Some of the real gnarly "arm (branch) wood" needs the application of the sledge & wedge, but most all else is accomplished with the mauls.

It’s hard work, but enjoyable in its own way. 'Frinstance, it gives one time to think, it does. Things like, "why the hell am I splitting wood by hand?"

Make that TWO ways- have you seen the price of oil lately?

Gimme Some ‘O That Earth Day…

At the doubletrouble ranch, April is logging month. I make an earnest effort to get the trees felled, twiched out, bucked, & split before the invasion of the winged blood suckers, otherwise known as blackflies. Additionally, felling a tree that is in full bloom presents a number of other problems, most notably the "sail" effect in the wind, where a fairly light wind can throw the tree from where it was planned to go. Also, cleanup of all those leaves is a bitch- they’re heavy when green. So, no leaves, no bugs, April is it.


This is the stump of my latest takedown. Note the 12" ruler for scale. That bad boy was 35" across the widest part, & was a PIMA to cut with my 18" bar on the saw. Sixty-six feet high to the canopy as measured with my rangefinder- nice crash when it landed. It went where I aimed it, but it still took me all day today to get it out of the woods, topped, & ready to process.

Go hug that tree hippie!

Who Writes the Lyrics?

I was doing some reloading this evening after it was too dark to split wood. As I listened to the radio while working, I’m thinking, who writes these lyrics?

One song, by Elvis Costello, I think, goes,
"Allison, my anus too…" What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Then another, by the Four Tops (?),
"Ain’t no woman like a one eyed slut…"

Those songwriters need to get a grip.

Home Schooling, or, I High Tailed it up South Street…

Reading Marko’s post about how his kids are virtual leaning machines, reminded me of my yute & another, more timely story.

Part 1.

When I was a crumb-snatcher, my Mom was a mom- in the 50s most families were like that. I had a "yearnin’ for learnin’" that my Mom recognized, so she would read to me about airplanes, trains, & other stuff of great interest to a young lad. When I entered the pubic (not a typo) school system at age 7, I could read, spell, & do most of my numbers. I’m no Mensa sort; she just fed me what I, & probably most kids wanted- more.

Set up: first grade in my day was in a big brick building. We kept out coats & such in the "basement", which also housed the bathroom area.

Part of "curriculum" was "letters"- these were scrabble-like cardboard squares loose in a box. When "letters" time came around, Miss Phelps (I still remember her name??!!) would print a word on the blackboard, something challenging, like "cat" or "house". Our mission was to form the observed word on our desks using the aforementioned squares. I found this to be the stupidest thing on the planet- bored doesn’t describe it- more like loathing.

So, in my evil little mind, a plan takes shape.

I raise my hand.
"Yes J?"
"Can I got to the bathroom?"
"Yes, you may. Please hurry back"

I go down to the basement, still filled with the loathing & resentment of being made to do this stupid crap, grab my hat & coat, & go home (everyone walked to school in those days).

I walk into the house, "Hi Ma"!
"J! What are YOU doing here, you’re supposed to be in school!"
"It was boring".
"I’m calling your father".
Uh-oh.

Dad came home, tried to figure out the problem, & brought me back to prison, err, school.

This happened a couple more times (combined with actual basement "needs"), each time with increasing suspicion by the teacher, until one day, as I headed for the outside, Miss Phelps was standing on the stairs by the door.

Buh-bye. Out the doors I went, with Miss Phelps in hot pursuit. The school was on a big hill, & as I ran up that hill I could see that old Miss Phelps wasn’t going to catch me by a long shot, so I took my time, only running when necessary.
I have a feeling this perturbed her even more.

By the time I got home, taking my sweet time, Dad was already there, & I received a stern warning (& a bit more IIRC) that this behavior was to stop.
I stayed for letters after that final episode.

I was a hero in my first grade class, probably because no one else had the cajones (or was dumb enough) to escape.

Moral of the story? If you teach you children well at home, there is no need for the futility & drudgery of pubic school.

------------------------------
Part 2.

This is a more recent anecdote.

My good friend has a daughter in the 4th grade. She wasn’t doing so well, averaging just in the top half of her class in reading, & in the lower half for math & science. As his wife was/is a teacher, they decided to homeschool.

In THREE MONTHS, 3 hours per day, she finished the work for 4th grade, & finished at the TOP of her class. In another FOUR months, she had completed the 5th grade, again testing at the top of her class (the girl is brought to the school for testing along with her "classmates").

Moral of the story? If you teach you children well at home, there is no need for the futility & drudgery of pubic school.

Phew, I got blisters on me fingers…

OK, OK, It’s YOUR Pie…

Breda has an absolutely perfek visual on Michelle Obama’s latest verbal diarrhea.

Go see.

BTW, this applies equally to all the leftly socialist’s ideas on income distribution.
This little poster should be on the Conservative Battle Flag…