Dead Birds Fly

I have been photographing the decomposition of a dead bird over the last couple of months. Today, the bird is gone. I imagine it must have flown away.

The Day Isaac Came to Missouri

As I type this, it has been raining for nearly 16 hours. The rain fell and fell and fell and, with any luck, it will continue well into tomorrow. It has rained so much I need to vacuum the water that is pooling up outside my bedroom. 

I haven't heard one complaint. 

I can't remember a time that everyone has been so incredibly ecstatic for water to be falling from the sky. Maybe... Just maybe... The grass will rise from the grave. Maybe the trees will come back from the brink of death. Maybe our well will fill up, and I'll be able to take a shower with actual water pressure instead of the trickle I've been using for the last month.

My fingers are crossed. Rain is amazing. It just goes to show that one man's life-threatening event can be another's savior.

Thanks, Isaac.

Thistles are blooming in Missouri

They remind me of you.

Why I love my small town...

At my little sister's basketball game this evening, they had everyone stand for the national anthem. The moment after everyone stood and faced the flag, the PA system decided it had had enough of playing the national anthem before high school basketball games and crapped out. The whole crowd waited patiently for about two minutes, and just as everyone started getting restless the home team started singing. By the end of the first line, the rest of the crowd joined in. It was kind of amazing.

Sent from my iPod, Astronaut.

I found the tree where the Bald Eagle keeps court…

The American Public School system did a wonderful job brainwashing me. I still wholeheartedly believe that the Bald Eagle is a majestic expression of freedom and I can hardly take my eyes off of the birds when I see them (which is becoming more and more often since this nest is near the barn at the horse ranch).

The eagle was too far up in the sky for me to snap a picture of it, but it is always fun to ride under this nest when the leaves are off the tree just to see the enormity of the whole thing. Instead of twigs, it’s mostly made up of small branches. An impressive structure, if I do say so myself. I just wish that my pictures could do the King’s court justice. Unfortunately, to my brainwashed, American brain, no pictures can accomplish that.

Symbolism...

Typically, I wear six earrings between my two ears. For the last year I have been wearing a strawberry, a peace sign, a faux diamond, a hoop, and two plastic rainbow-hearts. (For the most part, only girls ages eleven and younger compliment my earrings.)

On Wednesday past, I lost one of the rainbow-hearts.

Yesterday, New Year's Eve, the on remaining rainbow-heart broke.

What does That say about my upcoming year?

Sent from my iPod, Astronaut.

I fantasize about killing wild boars.

I do.* 

I fantasize about killing wild boars with my bare hands. 

Realizing that this is probably not something that most people fantasize about, I feel the need to elaborate.  First of all, you should know two things.  One, a sounder of wild boars have taken up residence on the land where I do the majority of my horseback riding, and, two, I enjoy reading fantasy novels. 

I tend to be dramatic.  If I see a tarp or a trash bag while I’m out on the trail, I immediately think, “dead body.”  I imagine mountain lions will chase after me in the woods like they did Pa in Little House in the Big Woods.  One time, a mannequin in the barn scared the living Hell out of me, because I thought it was a dead body and that the ranch owners were mobsters of some sort who would kill me if I told anyone about it.  See what I mean by dramatic. 

Knowing this about me, it isn’t that hard to believe that I tend to think about worst case scenarios and such as I’m riding horses on the trail.  Leading up to hunting season, I imagine either getting shot, or having my horse shot out from under me by drunk hunters.  I often imagine being tossed from my horse and breaking a leg or arm with no cell reception in the middle of nowhere. 

Horses hate wild boars.  Wild boars are dangerous. Even though I follow Gibb’s rule #9 when I’m out on the ranch, it isn’t lost on me that a knife wielded by little old me is not going to do much but annoy a two hundred pound wild boar sow that is protecting her young. 

The best fantasy characters are taken down by wild boars.  Remember Robert Baratheon and the poor hunting dog from The Once and Future King?

That is why I have to fantasize about killing the damn things with my bare hands.  If I didn’t, I’d be too scared to do my job.  I like my job.

*I did not kill the wild boar pictured, but it is one of the big ones (six and a half feet long/300 lbs.) I used to encounter on the trail.