Sounds Right About Right

Sow Proud of Herself

Proverbial Wisdom:

"As you sow, sow shall you reap."

And sow it shall be . . .

Truer Words Were Never Spoken!

Forging Good Luck
Google Images

Even strong metal can grow fatigued:

Overwrought Iron

"Strike while the irony's hot."

I deserve a  medal for this one . . . although it's been said many times, many ways.

UPDATE: TheBigHenry predates me on this twisted proverb by almost a decade! The man deserves a medal.

Uncle Cran's 'Farm' Report . . .

Two Strokes!
Putting Him Out Twice!

Google Images

I finally heard from Uncle Cran, and his first line was alarming:

I had my second TIA (Mini Stroke, transient ischemic attack) Tuesday. The first was last November.

I remember that one . . . did I blog on it? If not, here's the story of Uncle Cran's earlier, November 2013 report (and I'm both following on and banking on his good humor in both of his emails):

I thought I should let you know about the last few days. Monday night I woke up about 11:00 pm and remembered I forgot my blood pressure pill, but thought I would take next morning. Tuesday we had a lot to do, so I [AGAIN!] forgot the pill. After a late breakfast Gay and I, with granddaughter Tiffany, took the truck and 6 x 16 ft trailor to the woods and loaded up about 2 ricks of wood, and brought it to the house, about 12:30 pm. I did some weed trimming by the house, burned the trash, and decided to get the ATV hooked up to the wood splitter and split some wood. About 1:30 pm I went to the little garage building to get started. I got on the ATV . . . and next thing . . . I found myself sitting in my living room chair, about 2:30 pm. Gay said I gave her a scare. She said she came to see about me and I was standing by the machines with a gas can in my hand, going from one to the other, looking in the gas tanks, starting the splitter a couple of times, and trying to start the ATV. She said I told her I was mixed up. She said she told me we should take the battery out and put it on the charger, and go to the house. I don't remember a thing about all this.

So far, sounds like an average day with Uncle Cran . . .

Anyway, I ate a sandwich, cleaned up and we got ready to go to family night at the funeral home in West Plains, for the pre-funeral visitation.

Wasn't that sort of jumping the gun?

When we got home, Gay took my blood pressure and it was 176/92 m, way above my normal 125/70. I took the blood pressure pill about 9:00, but it kept going up: 170-101 to 183/99, so I took another b/p pill, about 9:40, then 198/102, then 10:30 218/115.

Obviously, these were pills designed to increase blood pressure!

So I called the hospital, and they said to come to the emergency room, and we got there about 10:30. They did an EEG, which was normal, then a CAT scan, and there was no damage showing, then an EKG and took blood samples. The blood pressure wouldn't come down, so they gave a high powered pill, and the b/p started coming down. There were so many emergencies that I was way down on the list, and the doctor said they would admit me to a room. It was about 4:00 am by then, so Gay went home, and I got to the room about 4:30. Next day they did an X-ray; and kept running tests all day. By afternoon all the tests showed everything was back to normal, so they released me about 6:00 pm. They told me to keep a close watch on my blood pressure, take it easy for a few days, and if anything else happens, get back to the hospital right away. Today, I feel fine. This is a lot of information you likely don't need, but it's kind of important to me, and saves me a lot of phone calls.

In summary, I tell people they checked my brain, and didn't find a thing . . . checked my heart, and it showed I had a hard, cold heart but was as close to normal as they could get. I did get a look at the brain scan, and noted it was signed by the EEG specialist, whose name was AB-Normal.

So, Uncle Cran watched Young Frankenstein, too? Anyway, that was then (November 2013) - this is now (September-October 2014):

Like the other one [i.e., the transient ischemic attack (TIA) back in November], I don't remember anything except for a few momentary things. It pretty much scared Gay, so she called the VA doctor and they told her to get me to the emergency. I don't remember much, except walking into the ER, and the nurse asking me my name, date of birth, and who was President. I couldn't remember.

I sometimes wish I couldn't remember who was president . . .

The nurse said we are sending you for a C/T scan and lab work. I cant remember being wheeled down there and just heard someone say keep your arms across your body. I'm not sure exactly what happened . . . but I kind of think a big black dog came in, sniffed me all over, wagged his tail and left:

That was Mephistopheles . . .

Then a yellow tomcat came in, sniffed me all over, purred, then left also:

That would be - probably - Behemoth . . .

Next thing I remember I was in a room with Gay there. Then the doctor came by and said the Lab Work and Cat Scan was good . . . JUST KIDDING!

Labradors and cats? What else was raining down? Is this the kidding season, Uncle Cran? Do you have goats? Has anyone ever gotten your goat? Other than me?

But the doctor did say there was no apparent damage.

What about the unknown uknowns, as Rumsfeld would put it?

I am going to start taking Plavix for now on, I suppose. They did tell me to slow down on working so much, and it sounds like Gay is going to enforce that order. I feel a lot better today, and this afternoon I worked a crossword puzzle, sudoku, and a jumble puzzle, so I am back to as normal as possible. I just tell people I'm all here, just not all there.

All joking aside, Uncle Cran, we want you to stay healthy and keep sending the occasional humorous email!

Uncle Cran's Follow-Up Farm Report

Ozark Frozen Pond
Google Images

Uncle Cran has good news -- winter is over in the Ozarks! He no longer has to break the ice on the pond . . . though I don't believe that he uses the above technique of stomping holes through! That would be like sawing off the limb on which you sit . . . or cutting off your nose to spite your face! Uncle Cran's too smart for that, and here's his follow-up farm report to prove it:

Last Thursday was the last time I have had to cut ice. The nights get into the low 30's, the days into the 40's and 50's,and today it is 64, tomorrow the same, with rain Thursday night. This would be the time we would have planted our early garden[, as] I mentioned recently. The geese have been going north for three weeks, and increasing in numbers each week. Winter isn't over, but usually there will be a warm cycle around the middle of the month with a window of opportunity to plant things, then others each spring month. We don't put out much of a garden now, just a few things in April and May. But when I was growing up, we lived out of our garden vegetables and "truck patch" . . . of corn, potatoes, pumpkins, melons and climbing beans, then turnips in the fall. Now we do most of our gardening at Wal Mart.

Those were the days . . . but you can't stop progressing through life, I guess. I do miss watching the geese flying in their v-formed skeins high overhead, so distant up there in the heavens, you could scarcely hear their gaggles' faint honking.

But I'm a city boy now, here in the Seoul of Asia . . .

Rickety-Split . . . Rather Slower than Lickety-Split!

Deadwood, Arkansas

Population: Two Humans,

Two Dogs, Likely a Cat or Two,

and Several Head of Cattle

Uncle Cran has sent yet another farm report -- what does he think this blog is, a country almanac? But I'm blood-bound by hillbilly kinfolk ties to post his agrarian musings . . .

This is likely TMI (Too much information) for most of you . . . uncalled for and unwanted.

Good call, Uncle Cran!

But after the past bitter cold, ice and snow days, plus all the trudging through the stuff to feed the livestock and chopping ice on the pond, it's pretty important to us. It has stayed below freezing for a long time. So far the local schools have dismissed school for about 15 days because of the snow, ice and cold.

Sounds like a schoolkid's dream and a parent's nightmare! But both visions are about to end:

Tomorrow they should be able to have school again. This morning the temp was 8 degrees, so I had to chop 9 holes in the ice, but it should be the last time for a while. Right now the temp is almost 40 degrees, and is going to keep increasing for the next two weeks.

I'm trying to discern the logic to Uncle Cran's actions: 8 degrees, 9 holes. Therefore 7 degrees, 10 holes? And 9 degrees, 8 holes? And 10 degrees, 7 holes? The math is beyond me, but I reckon the higher temperatures mean that Uncle Cran the Weather-Man and almanac prophet can stop complaining:

I brought in the last of our woodpile into the basement Monday, so Monday and Tuesday I cut down and blocked up several trees, Gay and I split it yesterday afternoon, and hauled it in and stacked it this morning. We now have 2 ricks on hand, and Gay thinks that should do us this year. I hope so, but it's still a long time until warm weather.

I remember when 40 degrees Fahrenheit was warm! But I'll never remember what "blocked up" means because I've never ever heard this expression used with respect to felling trees. Perhaps Uncle Cran will explain in a comment? And doesn't 'green' firewood from freshly felled trees need to dry before burning? I seem to remember that. Anyway, Uncle Cran has his memories, too:

When I was growing up on the farm, we would always start planting the garden about this time. We planted radishes and green peas, set out onion plants, and started tomato and cabbage seeds inside. There may have been some other things, but I don't remember. A lot of other things in March and April.

Was February always so warm in your childhood, Uncle Cran? I recall cold Februaries in my boyhood. Anyway, the photo above does show an impressive amount of wood in that stack. Well-stacked, too!

And thus ends the latest installment in Uncle Cran's continuing saga of life on a modern Ozark farm, a hillbilly reality show . . .

Uncle Cran's Farm Report: Exchanging Roles?

Uncle Cran has sent along another of his regularly sporadic, reliably unannounced, philosophically postmodern Ozark farm reports:

Do you ever wonder just what a farmer does in his spare time?

I have to admit that this very question has preyed deeply on my mind, and I'm bustin' to find out:

Well, in addition to the daily feeding of the cats and dogs, taking hay and grain to the cows, chopping holes in the ice on the pond so the critters can get a drink, and cutting and hauling wood for the stove most weeks, there are times when you have to become a mother to a calf, whose real mother doesn't have enough milk for the calf to survive.

Uncle Cran does all this in his spare time? Where does he find time for the farm work? And -- as we also see from the photo above -- Uncle Cran even uses some of his leisure time in taking on a mothering role toward a creature of another species! But why doesn't that real mother have enough milk for her own offspring? What's she doing with most of her milk, anyway? And why does Uncle Cran use a comma after "calf"?

The mother is always suspicious of me, and checks me out every time to make sure I'm not hurting her baby. I give her a few range cubes to keep her occupied. After all, a guy doesn't want another broken hip from an angry critter.

Broken hip? By a one-head-of-cattle stampede? That'll never happen . . . so long as Uncle Cran is more restrictive with cattle than with his relative clauses. But why's this mother cow so suspicious towards Uncle Cran? She's the one to be an object of suspicion, not giving her own calf enough milk! But what does the calf think about all this?

I don't think the calf cares whether I'm male or female, as long as I give it a bottle of calf milk replacer twice a day. The bottle holds two quarts. When I go out to feed him, all I have to do is call, and it comes running. I add some corn syrup and molasses each time, so it will like the stuff, and every other day I beat up an egg in the milk mix, so it's doing ok. Now I get some grain in my hand, and stick on its tongue. It's starting to nibble a little bit. Once I get it to eating it, it should really begin to grow.

The indefinite pronoun "it" is way out of control in this passage, especially in that there last sentence: "Once I get it to eating it, it should really begin to grow." I think "it" has already grown quite enough, thank you.

Otherwise, we are coping with the cold weather fairly well. Keep warm.

Thanks, but Seoul is not quite so cold this winter as the Ozarks are. So much for Uncle Cran's farm report. Oh wait. Talk about regularly sporadic and reliably unannounced! Another report has just come in, along with this curious photograph:

What more does Uncle Cran have to say for himself?

Some of you may be wondering if I still have my wife, Linda Gay.

I have to admit that this very question has also preyed deeply on my mind, given Uncle Cran's new role as mother to a calf. A mother doesn't generally need a wife, but in today's postmodern times . . . well, let's hear Uncle Cran out in his words about his wife Linda Gay:

She is so busy with house cleaning, laundry, cooking, and all the other things here in the house, she doesn't get in the pictures very often. But she also has another job assignment: She is my designated wood splitter.

No leisure time left for that activity, Uncle Cran? But what qualifies Linda Gay for that particular job?

Here she is, all dressed in her sunday-go-to-meeting clothes, and just finished up splitting that pile of wood behind her. I know she is only 4 feet eleven inches tall, but don't let that fool you. SHE HAS JUST FINISHED SPLITTING A HUGE PILE OF WOOD, WITH THE POWER OF FIVE HORSES, AND EXERTING A FORCE OF TWENTY TONS AT THE POINT OF IMPACT. And she did it by using only the power of her little right hand. Now you know one of the reasons I married her. I needed a personal protector.

Ah, a very powerful woman, one who can even protect Uncle Cran . . . leading inquiring minds to wonder just why Uncle Cran needed protection in the first place. Maybe from those angry cattle that he worries so much about? Is there some history here that we don't know yet?

We have been using this much wood every two weeks, with the extreme cold, snow, ice and high winds. Hopefully the weather will improve the rest of the winter.

Hope springs eternal that spring is just around the corner . . .

Speak of the Devil . . .

Buffalo River Farm

Ozark Mountains

Photo by Brian Cormack

Yesterday's post mentioned Uncle Cran, and who should show up about the same time via email but the man himself! The occasion was Uncle Cran's sporadic farm report, known to one and all as "Down on the Farm" -- despite being up in the Ozarks! Uncle Cran begins with a lament:

A busy time down on the farm.

But not too busy that one can't issue a report, I reckon.

The hay season is now in progress, which will likely continue through June and into July. With all the rain this spring, the hay crop is really good. My 4 X 5 round baler makes a bale weighing about 600 pounds. That is about the amount in 12 square bales. The first small field usually makes 22-26 bales, and this time it made 34.

Anyone ever notice how those 'square' bales were rectangular? I don't know what a "4 X 5 round baler" is, but those 'round' bales look cylindrical to me. Check out those bales in the photo above (not Uncle Cran's farm). I guess there's little call for precise three-dimensional geometry in the farming life.

We have about two or three days of sunshine between rain sessions, so we have to "make hay while the sun shines," as the old-timers would say. This has led nephew Bill to comment that he received ". . . . nearly 2 inches or rain." I'm not exactly sure what that expression "or" indicates, so will leave it for you to decipher. We got about 1.6 inches here. My brother-in-law Paul and I do fields in partnership. We both mow the field, then he rakes and I bale. It works out well. We cut our west field yesterday, and have until Tuesday evening to get it baled, before the next rain system comes through. Then we repeat the process until it is all done.

As the old-timers would say? I do believe an old-timer did say! And just listen to Uncle Cran ridiculing Cousin Bill over a typo! Talk about the pot calling the kettle black! Uncle Cran himself erred in punctuation with this very quote, using four dots where just three are needed! I'm sure everyone is aware of when and when not to add the extra dot to an ellipse (and, no, I'm not talking geometry here).

Gay noticed a young cow standing away from the other cows, and going back to the middle of the field, so after the hay was cut yesterday, I got on the ATV and drove over where she was standing. She had delivered the calf during the latest rain, and it didn't survive. So we can say that our hay is up, but stocks are down. You always hate to lose livestock, but that's a part of farm life.

That is a sad story, so I won't make light of anything here, for I do have some standards of right behavior . . .

My Class of '57 met again the previous Saturday for a reunion. The Viola High School has several new buildings now. We lost another classmate and one classmate lost her husband since our last meeting. Some who usually attend didn't make it, so our group is getting smaller.

On that somber note -- and recalling that I was born in 1957 -- I will end by echoing Uncle Cran's closing words: "We hope this finds everyone doing well."

Uncle Cran (The Old *Art) Hodges: At Work on His Man-Cave

Uncle Cran is still busy on his Arkansas farm back in the Ozarks. I reckon The Old *Art's work is never done. But maybe if he'd work a little faster . . . Be that as it may, he claims to be nearing completion of his Man-Cave, and he does have photographic evidence, albeit no evidence that he's actually working:

Man-Cave Photo?

That's the first photo -- and now for the first claim:

The Man-Cave/Kitcheonette is almost done.

Er . . . don't know how to break this to you, Uncle Cran . . . but a Man-Cave ain't got no 'Kitch-E-O-nette'! If you aren't careful, you'll soon be quoting T. S. Eliot on Grishkin and her maisonette!

Gay has been cracking the whip lately, so we are down to just a few items like light fixtures, switch covers, and formica for the cabinets.

A Man-Cave ain't the sort of place that a Cave-Man shares possession of with his woman! And if anybody's gonna be cracking a whip, well . . .

I just finished the base trim this morning, and Gay has unpacked her suitcases, and won't leave me, . . . for the moment anyway. As soon as I notice her repacking, I'll finish the job.

Uncle Cran! You make this so-called 'Man'-Cave sound like a gift to your woman! Don't you realize it's a Cave-Man's place, one he's taken for himself?

If you notice, just beside the water heater, I can move the trash can, and there is a small area just large enough to sit down in, that I can make into my man cave, some time in the distant future.

Eh? Do I hear aright? An admission that this already-built stuff ain't no true Man-Cave? Speaking of which, what's the price of admission for you?

You will also note that the dining table has only two chairs . . . (not saying that there is any kind of hint regarding company coming to visit, of course).

I'm concerned about that second chair, Uncle Cran. While I'd like to believe it's for you propping your feet upon, I have a sneaking suspicion of a different use . . .

We got a good rain yesterday and last night, about 1.75 inches.

In the Man-Cave?! Or the Woe-Man-Cave . . . or whatever you're calling it, after all. But what I really want to know is why, after all those years of carpentry work, you still haven't learned to put a roof on first!

Or pastures and hay fields are really growing.

Or? You got a good rain OR your fields are growing? Is this some sort of tricky logical puzzle?

We mowed our yard last week, and now it is ready again.

Ready for what -- rain . . . or growing?

We found enough wild asparagus in our yard and down the roadway to have two meals.

Sounds like you're letting the yard run wild! What next? Poke salat?

We haven't had time to put out a garden, and the ground is so saturated, with more rain forecast, that we don't know when we can get one planted.

Just let that wild yard grow your food this year, Uncle Cran.

That's pretty much the news down on the farm.

And stupefying news it was, too . . . so lets take a gander at the second photo:

Woe-Man-Cave Photo

This photo reveals most clearly that a Man-Cave this space ain't. With the first photo, one might be fooled, but not with this second photograph. This space is obviously domesticated . . . and so is Uncle Cran.

A 'Funny' Cloud Passes Over Uncle Cran's Ozark Farm

We've not heard from Uncle Cran for a while now, but a bit of wind at his farm brought forth a few emails reporting on him and Aunt Gay, an initial email after their electricity was restored:

Yesterday [August 2, 2012] we had a lot of wind, and some rain. About 5:30 p.m. the wind blew so hard we thought it sounded like a tornado. A lot of trees and barns [in the area] blew down. The ash tree behind the [storage] trailor . . . [had] two big limbs [blown] off and they knocked down the pole with the meter to our well, and the line was on the ground. It also blew one of the turbines off the roof. I went today to get wiring and conduit to run from our house. Tomorrow [Gay's cousin] Edmond [Fore] is bringing his Bobcat with a backhoe on it to dig the ditch [for the new line]. Bill and Audrey Young had a tree that fell on the house and tore part of the roof off, with lots of water damage. We did get .5 inches of rain during the storm, and another .3 during the night. That was our biggest rain since April.

Sounds scary, but Uncle Cran followed up that frightening initial report with an even more alarming, detailed report:

The wind last Wednesday (about 5:30 p.m.), sounded exactly like the tornado of 1982 that wiped us out except for the clothes we were wearing. There was a terrific roar, the house was shaking, we thought the house would go at any moment. Gay and I were both praying out loud. The power went off and stayed off until 6:00 a.m. on Thursday. There were several people who said they saw a funnel in the air below this same cloud. It demolished a boat dock on Bull Shoals Lake before it hit us. After things calmed down I went outside. Tree limbs were all over the yard. I walked behind the trailor house across the driveway, and there were two big tree limbs that were ripped off the ash tree, and they had demolished the meter loop that fed our well, and ripped the line to the ground from our outside night light all the way to the transformer, so we were out of water. Thursday, we bought a new breaker box, electric wires, and conduit, and on Friday Gay's cousin Edmond Fore brought his Bobcat with a backhoe attached. We spent the day hooking up from our house load center to the well. By 6:30 p.m., we had water once again. I told Gay that I might as well wait until Saturday night to take a shower! But she changed my mind rather quickly. One lady who grew up like my family without running water and electricity was asked about the one thing she would never want to do without again, and her reply was "Running water in the house." I agree. Of course, A/C [the air conditioner] would run a close second.

I told you it would be scary -- Uncle Cran without a shower! I inquired about photos of the damage, so Uncle Cran sent the following photo and message:

Jeffery, there were two large limbs from the ash tree and one from an elm that fell close together. I have already cleaned up the limbs from the rest of our yard. I'll send a couple more [photographs] from another angle.

But I don't see an unwashed Uncle Cran! Maybe in the next photo and commentary:

These are the two limbs from the ash tree that demolished the utility pole from the transformer. It had the meter loop, meter, and load center box attached. I shoved the limbs off the pole, [which] . . . is lying on the ground on the other side of the limbs.

Still no unwashed Uncle Cran, but a reference to his superhuman shoving powers! Yet . . . he also errs despite those powers:

Jeffery I mis-labeled [that] photo . . . . It was a photo of the elm limb, about like the other one.

An obscure corrective, which I leave as homework for the reader to figure out, and a repetitive description follows, along with some new facts:

Here are the two elm branches that demolished the utility pole with all the attachments I mentioned in [the other message]. I learned today that there were 9 supercells in the area Wednesday afternoon. The one that came over us didn't actually have a tornado on the ground, but several other people had barns destroyed, trees on houses, and other damage. At least three people reported a funnel cloud in the air. The roar we heard was likely the funnel just over us. The wind was really raging. It was pretty scary.

And scarier with each retelling! Here's the photo of the elm branches . . . or were they ash branches?

The hilltop farm looks peaceful now, but I know how scary an Ozark storm can be, and I'm thankful Uncle Cran and Aunt Gay are safe. Nine supercells could easily have done far more damage! They're lucky the Ozarks are a low-lying plateau, else the funnel might have struck their hilltop farm more directly!

Uncle Cran: Ozark Urbarmacher?

In the above photo taken by my wife of our daughter driving an all-terrain vehicle on Uncle Cran's Ozark farm a couple of summers ago, you see how green and lovely the land appears in this peaceful pastoral scene, but a lot of hard labor is required to arrive at this image of cultivation, and Uncle Cran is about to describe his early spring cultivation efforts in response to Cousin Bill's "Weekly Ramblings" report on his own 'cultivation' efforts at his Kansas homestead:

Today we got our exercise in, walking . . . three plus miles for Cheryl, two plus for me and the dog (I did less as I had a yard to mow . . . the dog had no excuse). Rainy weather is in the forecast this way . . . for the next several days. I'm ahead of the game…got the lawn mowed. That's it for today. Enjoy your week.

Such were Cousin Bill's modest words on his 'cultivating' activities, as reported on Uncle Cran's e-list, to which Uncle Cran responded with his own account of cultivation in the Ozarks:

Bill:

Sorry to wait so long in reading your WR's.

I know you have been working awfully hard in your huge lawn, feeding various critters, and walking your dog. Here on the farm I have been doing a few minor chores myself.

For instance, I spent 21 days during late January to early March digging hundreds of rocks out of my hay field with a rock rake and a pick and hauling them off with the front end loader bucket on my tractor. I loaded them all by hand, and they made two small piles, each one about 8 feet long, 3 feet wide, and 3 feet high. They ranged in size from my fist to some more than 100 pounds.

Also during this time I walked over every foot of the field with a hand-held limb cutter and cut off the stems of the bushes I had been brush hogging with the tractor. The limb cutter was to cut the stems at ground level so I could run my hay mowing machine later this spring.

Then I used my 6-foot-wide rock rake to scrape up all the bushes and stems and dump them in several large piles.

After this I took my trailor and hauled 5 tons (10,000 pounds) of fertilizer to the farm, [where I] loaded it onto my fertilizer/seed spreader with a scoop shovel. The spreader holds about 400 pounds each load. Then I spent about 8 hours spreading the fertilizer over my pasture and hay fields, pulling the spreader with my tractor.

Then I took some electric line poles that the electric company replaced with new ones, and dug 5 holes about 8 inches in diameter, and 3 feet deep. I cut the poles into 8 feet lengths, and used the tractor to set them into the ground. I cut 3 lengths of the poles into 9 feet lengths and set them at an angle to brace the upright posts. Then I re-stretched the 5 five strands of barbed wire back into place.

In my spare time, I used the weed eater to clear out some tall grass in my yard, dug several hundred thistle plants out of my fields with the pick, and dug a patch of prickly pear cactus out of my field. Later I dug a few of the cactus spines out of my hands and fingers.

I won't mention the various projects Gay wanted done, plus all the assorted chores, such as cattle feed and hay, and some minor jobs for neighbors.

But of course, none of this compares with your duties. I am almost ashamed to tell you what I've been doing.

Other than that, I have been using my leisure time to read some good books.

Have a good week,

Cran

There appears to be a streak of competitiveness in Uncle Cran, and I have to admit that he does seem to have worked quite hard. He is obviously what the Germans call an Urbarmacher, one who makes the land arable, i.e., suitable for agriculture. I encountered this word recently as used by the Catholic theologian Raimon Panikkar in a German text that my wife and I are translating into English. In looking further into the term's meaning, I discovered that the Western Marxist Walter Benjamin had portrayed himself in a similar manner to describe his own culture-critical efforts:

But every ground must at some point have been turned over by reason, must have been cleared of the undergrowth of delusion and myth. This is to be accomplished here for the terrain of the nineteenth century.

This passage occurs on page 935 of The Arcades Project (translated by H. Eiland and K. McLaughlin, Cambridge, Massachusetts and London: Belknap Press and Harvard University Press, 1999). For stating himself this way, Benjamin was criticized by Rolf J. Goebel in A Companion to the Works of Walter Benjamin (Camden House, 2009):

Faced with the "Urwald," [i.e., the primeval forest,] Benjamin sees himself in the role of an "urbar Macher" (bearer of reason, who "makes [the ground] arable"), "clearing the undergrowth of delusion and myth. Thus, he is the "cultivator" who transforms the wilderness into a place of "culture" (see the Latin colo = I cultivate, and its derivations cult, culture). This comes to be exactly the role that according to history the "civilized" Europeans have accomplished for the "savages" they colonized. In a strange manner, Benjamin falls back into the typical missionary attitude of the colonizers, who usually are the object of his critique. (page 229)

This might seem a bit harsh on poor Mr. Benjamin -- and by extension on Uncle Cran -- for Mr. Benjamin perhaps thought that he was implicitly, though never quite expressly, setting himself at odds here with the manner of Martin Heidegger, that German philosopher who eulogized the primeval forest wilderness and pursued a mythicizing mystification of nature that clothed his fascist tendencies with a shroud of essentialized legitimacy. But we see from Mr. Goebel extensive evidence of many words and terms -- in German, English, and Latin -- that this was not the case. Mr. Benjamin was instead adopting the role of missionizing colonizer!

Neither Walter Benjamin nor Uncle Cran can therefore be known as cultivators of reason and fields but rather as European-style missionary colonizers, whereas Cousin Bill is just a simple lawnmower man . . .

Uncle Cran's Ozark Pet: "Macavity - The Mystery Cat"

Mystery Cat?
Lower Left Quarter of Photo
(Click twice for better viewing.)

My Uncle Cran recently managed to obtain a game-camera photo of a mystery cat on his Ozark farm in northern Arkansas. You can see it in the lower left quarter of the picture if you look carefully. Here are a series of emails between Uncle Cran and his son Mark, beginning with Uncle Cran's:

Here is a new picture of our new house cat. If I could just figure out a way to put a collar on him . . .

He is either a large bobcat, lynx, or small bob-tailed cougar.

This is taken by the cave spring pond.

Cran

Mark responded:

Dad

I think that is a bobcat I've been doing a little research the spots on the body and white patches behind the ears are the markings of the North American bobcat. That's just my opinion.

Mark

Uncle Cran replied:

We were pretty sure it was a bobcat. A lynx is longer legged, with a less dense body. Most lynxes are found farther north of the Ozarks.

Part of what I said was a kind of joke, since who ever heard of a bob-tailed cougar?

Dad

Mark replied to that:

Actually, pops, there is a species of bobtail cougar. I found photos of them on the Internet, but they are a solid golden tan or reddish brown.

Mark

Uncle Cran then remarked:

Isn't the internet wonderful? Now, I find that some of my ex cathedra statements are false. I am learning something every day. But I still believe that photo was a bobcat.

Thanks, Mark.

Dad

At this point, I broke into their conversation, requesting a copy of the photo:

Dear Uncle Cran,

Could you send me the photo?

Jeffery

Uncle Cran complied, sending the photo and saying:

Jeffery:

Here is a photo of a bobcat taken by our game camera recently. For the past year or so mountain lions (cougars) have been recorded on film, trapped in a cage, and at least one or two shot and killed in the areas of southern Missouri and northern Arkansas. Bobcats have always been in this area, and rare sightings of mountain lions have been reported for years. Black bear sightings are reported often, also. I have seen tracks possibly made by bears and mountain lions a few times. Until recently the Game and Fish Commission of both states have denied and even ridiculed such reports, until forced to acknowledge their presence.

So far we haven't seen one on our game cameras.

I'll bet En-Uk would find this interesting.

Cran

I'd always thought that a bobcat (so-called due to its short tail) had a squat, short-legged body, but I've looked on the internet and see that I was mistaken. For purposes of comparison, a bobcat is usually about twice the size of a domestic cat, or so says Wikipedia, but that bobcat in the photo above looks larger than this to me. Maybe Uncle Cran can confirm this? The remaining question is what sort of bobcat this is. The Wikipedia entry offers two likely possibilities:

1. Lynx rufus rufus (Schreber) – eastern and midwestern United States

2. Lynx rufus floridanus (Rafinesque) – southeastern United States and inland to the Mississippi valley, up to southwestern Missouri and southern Illinois

Number two seems most likely, but until we know for sure and have solved this remaining mystery, I'm calling this bobcat "Macavity, the Mystery Cat". Compare with this, too.

Readers' opinions?

Art . . . and Farming

Debbie Young - Artist

I have such a large extended family that we could probably start our own country and have a population big enough to supply emigrants to other countries . . . or maybe just invade. I've got five brothers, my mother had four siblings, and my father had over ten. They've all had many offspring, so the babies added up and grew into big folks with more babies. I don't even know them all, nor to whom many of my cousins are married. Occasionally, I'm surprised to hear from them and their families, an extensive network of kinfolk I've yet to meet.

When I was five years old, I spent about six months living in Kansas City with my Aunt Kathryn, her husband Odel Young, and their three kids: Larry, David, and Steve. I loved the time with them because the boys were great fun and loved to wrestle (which I seemed to enjoy more back then than I do now) even though all three of them were bigger than me. Also, I knew only the Ozarks and a little bit of Kansas City, but they'd lived in Washington state near the ocean and had great stories about playing on the beach and digging for clams. They convinced me that clam chowder would make me strong, but it never did.

Readers might recall my Cousin Bill, who sends out an often humorous email circular, "Weekly Ramblings," which I've occasionally cited here on Gypsy Scholar. Cousin Bill's tales of life's travails sometimes garners a response from my Uncle Cran, who doesn't ramble as much as Cousin Bill but tells just as many tales, often of life on his Ozark farm. At times, Uncle Cran laments the farmer's fate:

People who don't have livestock don't realize the expenses involved on a farm. There are continual repairs and upkeep, hay baling, feed purchased, gas & oil, utilities, veterinerian expenses, etc. I told someone that when you sell a $600.00 calf, you have fed the mother for 11 months between having calves, then another 8 months feeding and caring for the calf. In a good year you make a profit of between $50.00-$100,00 per calf. But you will lose at least one calf each year, and the cow just keeps on eating. I'm not complaining, and we love being on the farm. We have no desire for city life any more.

That recent email got a response from a certain Debbie Young:

As newbie farmers, David and I are also learning about the expenses involved. We tend to wonder if the time and money that we put into our gardens, goats, hogs and chickens really pays off. But we, like you, now know that we wouldn't have it any other way. As farmer/writer Gene Logsdon says, "A bad day on the farm is better than a good day in the office." His blog called "The Contrary Farmer" can be found at [this site] . . . . It's well written, funny and informative.

I had to reflect a moment to figure out who this "Debbie Young" was, then recalled those months in Kansas City playing with David Young and his two brothers. Debbie must be David's wife, I realized. She also maintains a blog, a farm blog titled Faith, Art and Farming, and seems to post blog entries regularly. Here's an especially nice one, with the heading "Love Story":

I love my husband David. He works hard everyday and brings home the bacon bits. I thank him for both, often. We get up a 5 a.m. I hit the snooze several times leaving just enough time to make a quick egg-toast breakfast. Then I shovel some rice, veggies and meat into Tupperware for my baby's favorite lunch.

We eat by candlelight, really. An especially nice candle was give to us by our daughter Sarah. It's the centerpiece, until it melts. This is serious romance I'm talking about. We pray, gobble and talk about how people are all basically knot heads and nothing, short of divine intervention, will ever change that. David says that he thinks my goat drawings will someday be in the Louvre Museum in Paris; I remind him that I'd have to be dead for that to happen. We play "Bible Bingo" and pick a random verse and have "Scripture Time". We rave and we rant about this and that, as much as can be tolerated this early in the morning.

The car is warm; it's time to go. With a kiss, David says he is going to skip work, fly to Vegas and gamble away our life savings. Then he reminds me not to slip on the ice on the way to the goat barn. We are living our dream.

That does sound nice. I could almost imagine the farming life for myself and Sun-Ae . . . till I recall Uncle Cran's lament. But I bet that even Uncle Cran would agree with Debbie and Gene Logsdon, that "A bad day on the farm is better than a good day in the office." Except for those days when a tornado blows your home away . . .

But that won't happen very often, especially in Washington state, where David and Debbie farm. So, go visit Debbie Young's farm blog, which also offers entries on her art and occasional poems. She even has her own art website, which you see above, but which you can also find by clicking here.

If I live long enough, I just might get to know all of my extended family . . .

Ozark Vacation: County Fair, Fishy Goings-On, and Mr. Scott's Farm

Sun-Ae and the kids are in such a whirl of activities as the vacation time nears its end that I'm having difficulty keeping up, so I'll try to catch up on some of it now. Sun-Ae sent this message a couple of days ago:

It's around 10 in the night, just before going to bed, I'll try to send you some pictures that have accumulated in the last few days: Photos . . . from the visit to the County Fair [first].

Yes, it's only fair to start with the fair, which comes with local agricultural products, a rodeo, some thrilling rides, and a few rip-off games. Here stand Sa-Rah and En-Uk with shelves of local vegetables:


Aren't they thrilled! Next comes some local artwork:


"Hmmm . . ." they muse. "What is this artist telling us about the human condition." Obviously, the artist was telling them to go out for more exercise, and maybe see the rodeo:


Sa-Rah and En-Uk approach the rodeo stands . . . but don't seem to have seen much, for the next images come from the thrilling rides:


That certainly looks thrilling!


And it leaves Aunt Sandy and Sa-Rah dizzy, but they don't give up:


Dauntless, the two wave at us as they ready themselve to ride again. And Sa-Rah, now fully acclimated, prepares to ride with En-Uk as they flash a premature victory sign:


Despite the 'victory' sign, but we don't see how this ride turned out. At some point, they tire of the rides and turn instead to the rip-off games:


Sa-Rah tries her 'skillful' hand first.


En-Uk then tries his luck.


And wins the gold . . . fish. Great. Another mouth to feed.


But En-Uk quickly finds some local 'green' food for the fish. Speaking of food and fish, the next day brought something tasty as Uncle Clarence treated Sun-Ae and the kids to the fish that they had caught earlier in their vacation:

We had lunch at Uncle Clarence's and dinner at Tim's. Uncle Clarence was very professional in cooking fish. He had equipment for frying fish and went through all the trouble to treat us with really tasty deep-fried fish that I have never had [before]. It was really good. Probably, I ate 4 of them.

Let's see how professional:


Uncle Clarence prepares himself mentally. Note his intense concentration and focus, reminiscent of Tiger Woods.


He checks the oil temperature . . .


Adds the fish . . .


Fish frying . . .


Removing the fried fish . . .


Fish fried! But wait . . . there's more:


Yes, the proverbial "Hush Puppies!" Odd name for food, I know, but like that old Winston cigarette commercial used to say, "What do you want, good grammar . . . or good taste?" Well, I suppose good grammar is in good taste . . . and so are good semantics. There's undoubtedly an etymological background to the name "hush puppies," and if any readers can enlighten us, we'd all be very grateful. Meanwhile, mealtime is approaching:

Aunt Ava Jo prepared some potato, coleslaw, and peach cobbler with ice cream (I wrote down the recipe for cobbler and will make some for you when I come home). Hush puppies were also fried [as we've just seen], and I like them a lot. Anyway, we had a good meal.

Here are images of Aunt Ava Jo preparing the meal and of everyone digging in:




Afterwards, Sun-Ae and the kids go with Cousin Sara:

After visiting Uncle Clarence's house, we dropped by at Sara's apartment where they played with her dog a little while.

Let's see this dog:


An underdog -- humble and lovable! After visiting with Cousin Sara and the cute dog, Sun-Ae and the kids go to the house that I grew up in:


Uncle Tim and his family now live there. Aunt Donna fixes a scrumptious evening meal:

In the evening, we had another nice meal at Tim's. Donna baked salmon and plapika [paprika?] with lemon and onion along with broiled squash and asparagus, which was all very tasty. Although I had two big nice meals, I feel fine because they were all fish!

Again, let's take a look:


Looks delicious, and I missed out on all this food. But with no thought of me, Sun-Ae is already making more plans and lamenting the little time remaining on their vacation:

Tomorrow morning, Mr. Scott will come at 9 to pick up the kids. I'll stay here to finish my paper. In the afternoon, we will drive to meet Denny's family. Anyway, the next days before we leave are all scheduled. I cannot believe that we're leaving soon. Somehow, it's strange, maybe I unconsciously want to stay here longer. This summer, we were really lucky with the weather. I didn't have any problem with the heat.

We could waste time lamenting their short vacation, but let's instead check out Mr. Scott's time with the kids the next day. Mr. Scott, as some readers may recall, was my high school math teacher -- and I worked for him one summer on his surveying crew -- but he's also a former rodeo bareback rider and a farmer (as well as gifted in art and music). Sun-Ae tells me:

As you know, I didn't go to Mr. Scott's place with kids. So Sa-Rah took most of the photos except one with Sa-Rah with a horse that Mr. Scott took.

Well, let's take a look at these photos:


Mr. Scott brings his truck to pick the kids up at Uncle John's place . . . or possibly later, upon their arrival at his farm.


Anyway, once at Mr. Scott's farm, they clear away some fallen limbs . . . perhaps left over from last winter's ice storm.


But the ice is long gone, and a living world needs food. Here, Mr. Scott is feeding a young horse.


Sa-Rah later stands beside the same horse.


En-Uk, meanwhile, is checking out the pond algae.


Skeptical, he says, "You want me to swim in that!" But there was no time that morning for swimming, thankfully, for they all three had to return soon for lunch prepared by Sun-Ae:

They had fun, and when they came back a little after noon, Mr. Scott said that they were good kids and that he can take them for a couple of weeks or some days. I had the impression that he liked having them around. I invited him to lunch that I had prepared, a kind of goulash dish with brown rice. It was a simple meal because I didn't have much time, but he liked it, and over the meal, we had a good conversation for over an hour. He still has a very sharp and precise mind and can talk for long, I think.

After that meal, Sun-Ae and the kids had to get ready for a swimming party with Denny Elrod and his family, but I'll post on that when Denny sends the photos to go with the ones that Sun-Ae took.

Gypsy Scholar over and out . . . for today.

Ozark Vacation: Lake Norfork and Uncle Cran's Farm

From my lovely wife, I learned that in contrast to that rainy moment at Lake Norfork a couple of weeks ago . . .


. . . my children recently spent a sunnier day with Uncle Cran and Aunt Gay at that lake. Uncle Cran also sent an email to remind me:

In a previous email, I suggested that the day would come when you would say, "Uncle Cran, go jump in the lake!" Your enthusiastic response was that when time came, you would do do. The time has come, and passed, without your encouragement.

I said that I would "do do"?! I don't recall that! I can only encourage in ways that I am aware of, and I fail to see how my do-do would be in any way an encouragement to anybody. Nevertheless, I will post the photographs of the lake and farm:

Yesterday, at 10:00 am, Gay and I drove to nephew John's and picked Sa-Rah and En-Uk. Sun-Ae said she was behind in her translation work, so she stayed and worked on her assignments.

We motored west on highway 62, across Lake Norfolk over the Veda Sheid Memorial Bridge, to Highway 101, then east across the other twin bridge to Bidwell Point. Actually this is the place we had gone to before, but were rained out, and only Sa-Rah was brave enough to get in the water during a pouring rain. Here we are at the entrance.

Without Sun-Ae? Without the professional photographer? Okay . . . well, let's see the happy campers:


Eh? Uncle Cran, you've cut the children out of the photo! Even when I click on the image for a close-up, all I see is a sign . . . fronted by a 'mailbox'? Wait a minute:


Okay, there they are . . . and also again:


And yet again:


Exciting. Try not to overdo the thrills, sir. Of these photos, Uncle Cran adds:

On a previous blog, in one of my senior moments, I had reported we went to the Henderson Park Area, but this time I will correct that error.

Thank you, Uncle Cran. Readers take note: Earlier images of the lake on that rainy day were of Bidwell Point, not the famous Henderson Bay. Meanwhile:

With the 62/412 bridge in the background, our intrepid swimmers fortify themselves with the picnic food prepared by Aunt Gay. Notice the eager anticipation registered of the faces of your brave children, awaiting their moment of food, then fun.

Eh? What's this about "the 62/412 bridge"? Good Lord! What sort of a bridge would be left only one-seventh constructed? Thank God you made it safely across! As for the photo, Uncle Cran, I'm sorry, but this appears to be 'posed':


But in this action shot, they appear to be preparing to stuff their faces . . . or are already doing so:


I see that En-Uk is again dressed with somewhat inappropriate modesty in his burqini, while the less modest Sa-Rah adopts a hijab. Remember to wait half an hour before going into the water! Now come various preparations, such as lathering on the sun cream under Uncle Cran's watchful eye:


I think that Aunt Gay's fingerprints were all over that photo. Anyway, next comes Uncle Cran's threat of dangerous activities:

En-Uk is ready, with ball in hand, to brave the perils of Lake Norfork, in spite of dangerous crawdads (crayfish), man eating catfish, and Uncle Cran, and his favorite weapon (the said ball), soon to be used in the game, "Kill the Kid." No one was actually killed, but Sa-Rah, En-Uk, and I spent several hours throwing it at one another.

I appreciate the confession, Uncle Cran. Here's the photo a ready En-Uk:


En-Uk and Sa-Rah now rush headlong for the lake:


Uncle Cran emphasizes:

En-Uk and Sa-Rah are in the lake, hopefully having fun.

Yes, hopefully:


From an obscure distance, we hope for the best. More reporting by Uncle Cran:

Aunt Gay and En-Uk are diligently searching for mussel shells, as Sa-Rah engages in her favorite pastime, floating on the surf board, and dreaming youthful dreams.

Uncle Cran is undoubtedly projecting his own idle youth onto my daughter, but let us take a look:


Sa-Rah is obviously swimming vigorously! So much for Uncle Cran's 'idle' report. But enervation soon overtakes them. En-Uk grows weary of the hunt for shells:

As the kids continue their thrilling adventures, Aunt Gay takes the mussels and stores them for the mighty hunter.

Once more, we have a photo . . . of Aunt Gay leaving with the shells as En-Uk heads out toward Sa-Rah:


Well done, weary En-Uk, who nevertheless keeps swimming. But not only En-Uk is weary, for Sa-Rah is as well -- and she takes a well-deserved break:

Aunt Gay and Sa-Rah prepare for an afternoon break, before returning to the water.

So they say, and we will see. Here's Sa-Rah's break with Aunt Gay:


Rather far afield. But they do return to the water, where Uncle Cran joins the fun . . . and objectifies himself in the retelling:

We swam, and played in the water from 11:00 am until 3:30 pm. During that time, Uncle Cran was in the water, yelling and splashing, dunking Sa-Rah and En-Uk, while Aunt Gay relaxed in the water. Unfortunately, my camera batteries died, and we couldn't take any more photos. Perhaps Sun-Ae's camera recorded more action, and she may send them to you later.

Yes, Sun-Ae's camera rescued an image of Uncle Cran:


Fully clothed . . . sopping wet. But eventually, the fun lake activities have to end:

After our full day of fun at the lake, we returned to Uncle Cran's and Aunt Gay's home. As before, Sa-Rah demonstrated her talent with the guitar.

As we see:


Good to see Sa-Rah practicing under adverse conditions . . . I refer to Uncle Cran's guitar. Next, a report on Aunt Gay:

Aunt Gay prepares the fish that En-Uk had caught from his previous visit. She had frozen them, for the day that the kids returned for a visit.

What? No mussel shellfish stew? Anyway, it looks good:


The early meal is not shown, but eventually, everything devolves to Wii anyway:

Meanwhile, En-Uk and Sa-Rah engaged in a tension filled game of Wii. Look at the intense concentration expressed in their faces.

As we again see:


They do seem intently focused. I wish that they'd apply that focus to their studies. Anyway, next comes Sarah's turn:

Sa-Rah is tossing another strike in the bowling tournament, while En-Uk is secretly saying, "Please miss!"

If it's a secret, Uncle Cran, how do you know? Still . . . here's the photo:


Strike two? But who's counting? Perhaps Uncle Cran:

Meanwhile, after suffering succesive defeats at the hands of Sa-Rah and Uncle Cran, En-Uk found a worthy opponent in Aunt Gay, but he prevailed with a hard won victory.

En-Uk, champion of the world, showing hs winning technique even as Aunt Gay bowls:


En-Uk and his tag-team hound-dog appear to be interfering, so I take it that this is his famed 'winning technique'. But no matter, for other fun activities beckon:

The day would not be complete without a drive around the field on the ATV.

That would, of course, be Sa-Rah:


Wait -- also in on the fun is En-Uk:

Not to be outdone by big sister Sa-Rah, En-Uk prepares to drive around the field, with Uncle Cran riding on the back and pouring out a bag of range cubes for the cattle.

More of those 'breeder' cubes, I'd wager. Be that as it may, here's the fearless En-Uk:


And those seem to be all the images from Yasgur's Farm . . . uh, Uncle Cran's Farm. Thus ends the photographic saga of our day at the lake and our home. Now for some final words from Uncle Cran:

Regretfully, all good things must come to an end. At 5:30 pm we all loaded up in the car for the return trip to John and Sandy's home. On the way, En-Uk regaled Aunt Gay with a non-stop account of everything he could think of to say, while Sa-Rah rode in the front seat, quietly speaking to Uncle Cran of her coming trip to Branson with Uncle Shannon [and Uncle Pat] and her return to her friends in Korea. We arrived in Salem shortly before 6:30 pm, said our goodbyes. Sa-Rah said, "See you next year," and Gay and I returned to our home. You might ask, "Where was Uncle Cran?" Well, he was dutifully performing his duty, and manfully manning the camera [even when he appears in the photo?]. As my cousin Martha's husband, Bob Foster, would say about his fishing trips, "It's a hard, dirty, thankless job, but somebody has to do it."

Yes, somebody does, and in all honesty and gratitude, thank you, Uncle Cran and Aunt Gay for taking care of my children and showing them the beautiful lake.