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So many birds, so little thyme. ‘Save them all’ is a very apt rhyme!
And perhaps an saying extant in animal protection circles.
Davey takes to heart his recent influx of avian and pollinator-friendly planting ideas, and vows not to plant the usual popular-but-sterile annuals, namely pansies, petunias, and marigolds – as harsh as it sounds.
Nature was up to Her usual tricks, now we will be worried about those diseased ticks. Enough dis-ease, please; just bring ‘round the bees – and we’ll see how much wholesomeness sticks!
March 9th: Wow! Oh, how the markets slump as the ‘right’ defends the Chump.
But could the Temerity-tinged Twitter maven fire us on account of a mutant virus?
No need to rehash; in a flash, then it was 3/10: Davey took off on a set of worn tires
and tried not to scoff at the media liars.
After that, he listened in on some intelligent discussion not media-related, the bulk of which formed around Japanese knotweed [Polygonum cuspidatum] and the most efficacious methods for its eradication. Unfortunately, this involves the use of glyphosate. Yet the upside of such chemical treatment is that stem injection gets the best bang for the buck. ‘Nuff said, Buck.
Got trees? How about Camden, New Jersey? Detroit? Flint, Michigan? Well, do they have sufficient greenery to qualify for Tree City USA status?
Truth is, not enough folks – including the residents of those regions in some cases – give a flyin’ flip.
World view March 11th, 2020:
As far as Davey’s concerned,
he’s not spurned by Syria,
as his views on war news is:
“I don’t wanna hear ya.”
Yet one of the items he definitely likes
is the total lack of Russian air strikes.
That in itself was a bit of good news
and gave ample reason for him to enthuse.
Later that day it was time to jaunt up Apiary Road once again. This trip however, was to Sue Jentry’s place in order to prune her dwarf crabapple trees. [Was she ‘landed gentry?]
For Davey these days, life was still relatively simple despite procrastination in daily implementation of duties.
Everywhere in the news cycle the much-dreaded COVID-19 virus prevailed. Quarantines. Lockdowns. Travel bans – even for non-Muslims. Self-isolation. Runs on toilet paper, hand sanitizer, face masks.
Back to his phototropic companions and their struggle to glean sufficient UV to ensure survival. Hell, not only survival but hopefully vigor and vitality!
The latest brainstorm has been to take a compass along: a simple, down-home country boy compass; the contraption that would enable accurate assessment of El Sol’s angles at various times of the day. It was not possible to move mature Malus sargentii out of the shadow of large Acer saccharum up at Jill Campo’s place where he is going on Friday.
Eventually, Friday the 13th did arrive and we could be assured of superstition. So the fabled 13th came and went with not too many hours spent in a state that wasn’t sublime; not so great – a waste of time.
Davey had to make some green; a leg to shake: screw COV 19!
He managed to get through to Dan whose apartment complex was in veritable lockdown. Being the ever-stalwart gent he was, Dan was determined not to have a complex over it. Now whether Dan could receive any packages would remain to be seen but Davey H nonetheless offered to send some vitamins C & D – so clean!
It was worth a try anyway; hells bells – with all the paranoia surrounding the friggin’ virus du jour, perhaps Dan would be afraid even to try something as benign as vitamin C.
Moreover, no mention of the fave vitamin was in the Corporatocracy’s ‘paper of record’. Hardly surprising. Anything that even smells like it has an inkling of thinking about trying to compete with the pharmaceutical monopoly is summarily quashed, crushed, marginalized, poo-pooed, screwed, stigmatized, omitted, or just plain ignored.
Sunday morning’s talk show on National CORPORATE ‘Public’ radio will profess to tell you what to know. Oh, fear! It will be here eventually, but not a word we’ll hear about vitamin C.
No profit off it for Pharma B as it terrorizes the elderly. Dan was among them, as previously mentioned,
and Davey had sincere volition to help Dan when and wherever he can. Back at the now bleak homestead, multiple chores begged for completion and half (or less) finished projects lay scattered. But hell, just as well; what would it have mattered? Never mind thinking; are you blinking? Blink, yes, and you may miss LIFE.
So what have you been drinking? Out in a city – take your pick: things aren’t pretty with people sick. Greg and Cindy? Home they’ll stick.
Davey pondered more ruralisms while trundling through Lycopene Township. As he glared affectionately at the rustic homesteads he wondered aloud:
aren’t those farm-bound folks too damn proud?’
No crap: keep SNAP for all but the landed gentry; and please , by all means – give a shit.
It will benefit those with an empty pantry.
And as stocks are flipped and breakers tripped
all cogs in the machine;
the shelves are stripped, with fear they’re gripped
about COVID 19.
Meanwhile it has come to pass: jokers wild – the price of gas!
A chump at the pump will gleefully bark: “hey look – it’s down past the two dollar mark!”
This was what gasoline cost in the late 90s, to Davey H’s not-so-reliable reckoning.
Moreover, it was 1999 or thereabouts when a nationwide trucker’s strike was imminent; their gripe: diesel at the then-confiscatory price of $2.00 per gallon. Remember? Truck drivers banded together on a plea-for-relief letter to the Clintons.
Nonplused after much petro-musing, Davey headed through the marginally effective car wash as he took note of the nearby gas pumps.
Is everything closed everywhere? How those beleaguered frown; whilst work from home folks don’t much care, they put the hammer down.
All in all this much is clear;
behind it all’s a scheme:
mandatory vaccination, now see here,
is Big Pharma’s wet dream.
But you won’t keep sheeple from going crazy
and it’s a sure bet some folks will get lazy.
Flat-earthers argue that it’s a hoax extreme, whilst fearmongers deem it worse than it would seem. Wash your hands, blow your nose; understand that’s how it goes. As the dominant species descends into morass, a virus, not feces, is kickin’ our ass! The CDC and who will fund it? Take a friggin’ class. Recently, an unlikely pundit posed as a horse’s ass.
The gent with that dubious distinction is none other than Ron Paul, the ardent loser-tarian and erstwhile failed presidential bidder.
Of course his obsession with ‘liberty’ leads him to believe that Coronagate is one big state and by inference, federal power grab.
Not to sully the man entirely, and no ad hominem invective, but this takes the proverbial cake. Not that Paul doesn’t have a point; after all, even Alex Jones can come up with some genuine pithy nuggets from time to time. Take his ‘End Game’ documentary as one shining example. But this isn’t the time for naysayers, not when Italy is melting down for lack of hospital beds and ventilators. But stocks finished higher today on Wall Street,
and how much do you want to bet the biotech or pharmaceutical [especially vaccine] sectors led the charge? "Keep a healthy distance, my boy," as the over inflated stocks tumbled; said a joker broker and fire non-stoker who was too often Humbled.
But colleges have room, though news is bleak. What more to do? Is it rooms ye seek?
At noon on Friday, the Dow was up 32.
Folks at home a-movin’ their bowels
to shop alone and hoard paper towels.
The equinox this year came a day or two early;
not that it matters to a boy or girly.
Very few with collars of blue see an equinox worth paying attention to
‘Unconscionable’ is the term community doctors use to describe the Chump administration’s response to the widening influence of COVID 19. Yet others smell a rat. Or a brilliantly executed germ warfare experiment or a hoax. What about ordinary folks? They wash their hands, tend their lands, check their glands, don’t play in bands. ‘Cause baby it’s dark outside’. They’re afraid to go anywhere and though we must confide it is daytime somewhere.
So what of the ‘preppers’ – now gloating in their makeshift caves of craving and aversion?
Their bleats of ‘Nya nya ha ha – we told ya so!’ ricochet off rigid rooftops in bellicose fashion. Puffed with ego, well stocked with dried beans, heirloom seeds and bottled water, they bellow and cackle, holed up in their hidey-holes.
This doesn’t surprise the grate davey H, who, though not an outritght prepper, is nonetheless favorably positioned to avoid contact with the ostensibly infected.
“Drat!” Davey H hems and haws, and at that admits his flaws; could they make Corona stick if no one else is getting sick? Or close all stores of mortar & brick? Davey ignores; his skull’s too thick.
He can tell it isn’t busy. How? He has consistently gotten the number date right without feeling compelled to glance at a calendar or compuker.
So today’s ATM check deposit was post-dated 3/25/20. Just sayin’. So it’s back out tomorrow to finish playin’. As the doomsayers just keep on brayin’. And as you readers have inferred: Davey H won’t be deterred.
So he grabbed a load and hit the road, ignoring the news of the virus; with work to do he did imbue the things that most inspire us. Now with winds calm the blue collar man slathers on balm.
He’ll keep his chin up, if you please; ensconced amid the apple trees.
Then somewhat suddenly, the phone didn’t ring. In a way, you see, ‘twas a wonderful thing. No need to screed or freekin’ scoff; the spammers need to take time off!
So yes, that part waxed favorable but cowpokes the likes of Davey H weren’t ones to sit around waiting for their phones to ring. Not their thing – especially in spring.
How now brown cow? Nights are quiet now. (Censored) town streets are empty by 7 or 8 pm. In fact, it resembled a ghost town Monday night
as Davey H rolled in to make a deposit at (Censored) bank. A directive had come directly from the Governor’s direct office with dismally didactic directions for school closures and somewhat draconian ‘essential business’ specifications. As a point of insanity, liquor stores were deemed ‘essential’ businesses! Go figure.
Now it is the 27th of March, and Davey waxes cynical – as if that should come as a surprise. After all, Bumphuk Brewery is expanding its operations up in (Censored) township. Well, bully for them.
Greenwhile, back at the various ranches, it will not be long before hay needs to be cut
and the cows who are still eating last year’s cuttin’ will be a-bellerin’ for entirely different reasons.
Cows don’t give a flip about Coronavirus.
Life on the farm continued as the aforementioned cows turned their designated field into a mud hole. Construction continued, too, as farmer Andy added on to the shoebox of a house that had come with the property up at Jackal Road.
Davey H knew that soon, after spring rains subsided, the cows would be braying in the other field closer to Don’t Laugh It’s Paid For Farm ®©™℠✈✢✎℞℅. And that was a bit too close for comfort.
For as erstwhile readers of Davey H posts may be apprised, the last relocation of cows had them mooing and fussing all hours of the night. Perhaps the field had too much dock or goldenrod.
Even then, as Davey H recalls, cows a-bellerin’ was a minor nuisance compared to trucks, buses, and muffler-less Harley Davidsons.
Next, it was off to some places – a leg to shake; see some new faces past six foot break! Uppity shoppers, some well juiced; non-virus stoppers with caffeine boost! Davey strides on with the best of verve; away from the unwashed he does deftly swerve.
Oh, but wait: does this not have some ego in it? No, it’s damn straight if you’ll pause just a minute. Pretty soon, though, we’ll all say ENOUGH! No more of this social distancing stuff.
So here it is March 27th and a way out of the Corona woods has not been discovered. But gas is still dirt cheap – the lowest it has ever been when adjusting for inflation. Roads are not clogged, and hours aren’t logged. But Davey and Mrs. T had since set ‘sail’ as they scoured the lower FM band for ‘Living On Earth’ to no avail.
The search turned up the predictable religious hot air and some singers a-singin’. . . then, glory be! They found LOE!
Fukushima was being talked about [WELL IMAGINE THAT!?] amid all the uproar and ruckus about ‘flattening the curve’, ‘self-isolation’ and ‘social distancing’. Indeed, almost no one mentions Fukushima anymore as it has long since been bumped off the front page. Never mind that radioactive waste is still gushing ocean-ward to this day, or that fish in California markets may contain traces of isotopes. Meanwhile, Davey H is observing weather patterns locally and gleaning information from the field as regards Malus species.
Ergo, it was off to the ag-friendly supply store to purchase a low analysis fertilizer for the apple trees out back. Professor Oblum of U-(Censored) ag school had recommended a 10-10-10 product, but none was found on the shelf. So Davey opted for Espoma’s 6-3-2 ‘Tree Tone® in a 10 lb bag.
Then, on the 31st of March, the workforce began to flounce; the virus had plenty of starch and quite a lot of bounce. Families wrung their hands whilst wondering what to do; from all-too-powerful bands, an economic coup!
Never one to buy fully into so-called ‘conspiracy theories’,
Davey H was nevertheless intrigued by the delightfully outlandish yet eerily incisive musings of one David Icke – a Brit who somewhat amicably accepts the ‘conspiracy theorist’ moniker. The gent may well fear coming out in the public sphere, since tomorrow is April Fools Day, the implication therein being that no one will truly believe him. But a few will and even those that dismiss Icke’s provocative narrative cannot help be intrigued; after all, the fellow is an excellent speaker and overall good communicator.
Meanwhile, friggin’ Coronavirus continues to dominate the airwaves but also seems poised to crush the human spirit.
And you can bet some backlash will be forthcoming from those quarantined, self-imprisoned, kneecapped, hamstrung, or otherwise straitjacketed by the state. Numbers of infected and yes, deaths, have climbed precipitously in just two weeks. It’s the talk of the town, the churches, bars, nursing homes, laundromats, hardware stores, streets, and aircraft carriers.
So when April 1st passed with nary a whimper, no purple spray-painted exotic animals were in cages, no police raids of natural food stores, and no censoring of health information. And if you believe that last entry, you are hopelessly naive.
Hoot! George Orwell would be so proud!
‘Sources’ were even floating murmers of a Saudi-Russian truce. Oh, well – oil wars can’t go on forever.
But during that well-publicized oil price war some of its beneficiaries in real America are happily lapping up gasoline that dipped well below the $2.00 per gallon level. They’re braying at the pump! The sad irony, however, is that a whole lot less driving is being done, and far too many people are out of work. Man, this is some SERIOUS shit.
That night, barred owls hooted up a storm, true to form. And incidentally, that’s how we inadvertently got rid of rats.
It was 11 years ago in January when rats appeared – russet red, plentiful and fat as well fed Guinea pigs. The Don’t Laugh It’s Paid For Farm ®©™℠✈✢✎℞℅ staff didn’t quite know what do do about this, but removing the giant bird feeder that was dumping large quantities of black oil sunflower seed was the first priority. Next, rake up all spilled seed – a tall order – as it had mounded up like a giant anthill 6 or 7 inches deep.
By spring, the once-prolific pack of plump rats had dissipated – a somewhat mysterious phenomenon considering rats’ propensity for exponential population growth.
As legend has it, owls significantly enabled efficient e-rat-ication. But this was not simply hyperbole; Davey H had ventured into the outback one evening after dusk and out of the corner of his eye saw the unmistakable image of an owl swooping down and back up again. Equally unmistakable was the simultaneous squawk of a rat in distress.
Thus ends these ratty expositions.
Heading out with feet nice and dirty
to work, not shirk at about 1:30.
Hands tense, stove-up from yesterday’s session;
nevertheless as one may well guess
‘tis another day as they say
to learn a good lesson.
Davey was hot, a farmboy DOER,
but he forgot a bamboo skewer.
Thin and sharp and mighty tough;
of them he didn’t have enough.
It so happened he heard about the banal yet famed bamboo skewer on the ‘Today’s Homeowner’ show, but didn’t head to Home Depot®.
No, it was back to Blanchfield’s today to gather up sticks and continue to play. Machine grinding was the order of the day, next to the woods where he dumped the goods & hay. That’s where you’ll find him as he hastens to grind ‘em.
Yes, as Coronanoia lingers, Davey still has dirty fingers.
And he makes one thing verily clear: those chocolate bars will disappear. For Davey H they are a crave but he needs the energy they gave.
Yes, that cacao sure fit the bill, but it’s back to the grindstone if you will.
The next day was wrap-up time for the Stratford job. Mrs. Stratford offered Davey H a check, but he shrugged and mumbled ‘what the heck?’
No, he couldn’t accept money, honey – he needed to go home and think about it.Once ensconced, he could tally up hours and slap together a ‘time and materials’ statement courtesy of (Censored)® software.
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