*Excerpted from The Naturalist, Winter 2003

     One evening long ago, I was reading an issue of Texas Parks and Wildlife magazine. I suddenly spotted an announcement for an upcoming meeting of a group called “The Association of Interpretive Naturalists.” Voila! An epiphanous light bulb clicked on over my head as the words rolled around in my mind. That’s what I want to be! A naturalist!

However, what became clear to me that distant evening has often remained murky to others. Just what a naturalist is, or what a naturalist does, is sometimes hard to put into words. Some folks even get the term confused with naturist, which, I am told, is something entirely different. But being a naturalist doesn’t have to be difficult to understand. You don’t necessarily need years of training or an advanced degree to be a naturalist. In fact, you might be one yourself and not even know it.

And so, as a public service, I offer the following observations, so that you, too, might know if you are indeed a naturalist.

You know you’re a naturalist when:

• The meat in your freezer still has fur on it (people who live with naturalists tend to examine leftovers v-e-r-y carefully).
• There’s a bug in your soup and you need to know what it is–not how it got there.
• You pull weeds from your yard and serve them as a salad.
• You stop on interstate highways to look at birds [and turtles and roadkill] even though you’re pretty good at identifying raptors at 75 m.p.h.!).
• You can collect more than five kinds of rocks or fossils without ever leaving your car.
• You run toward snakes instead of away from them.
• Your binoculars are worth more than your car.

Obviously, being a naturalist is as much a matter of attitude, as it is of education or training. One just needs the right opportunity to express one’s naturalistic tendencies (some people suspect naturalists are a couple of classes short of a phylum but that’s another story). So next time you’re cruising down the highway and see a roadkill….

Brian Burnette is Chief Naturalist at the Dallas Museum of Natural History.

Links to Missouri Master Naturalist info:
Rolla chapter – http://meramechills.org/
Program overview – http://extension.missouri.edu/masternaturalist/overview.aspx

And, of course, I promise a lengthy update soon. I’ve a lot to get y’all caught up on!

Photo courtesy of Meramec Hills Chapter of Missouri Master Naturalists.

A three-toed box turtle at Tanager Trails, Rolla, MO

Oh, and this, too!  Gotta remember to talk about this:

Photo courtesy of Amber Cothren, www.adamsphotographynola.com

Well, last semester I applied to our campus organization and, lo and behold!, they selected yours truly to be a trainee. Here we are, a few months later and I am, in fact, FCC certified and on the air waves at all hours of the day and night. ‘Tis true!

It is so true, in fact, that I created a Facebook page just for my ON AIR persona. So do me a favor, run over to your FB and LIKE my DJ page, wouldya? This way, if you actually want to listen to my ramblings, blatherings, and full-random-shuffle musical selections, it’ll be as easy as clicking a linky. Oh, and I vid my midnight antics via ustream.tv (yaay!). Also just a clicky linky away.

KMNR 89.7 FM Rolla, MO

In case you missed it in the above text, here it is…again:  THEHiTechRedneck: Scootin’, Chewin’, Radio’n

Additionally, a brief head’s up/warning about what I play/talk about. I go off into random Libertarian/self-reliance/survivalist rants. I read excerpts from books on foraging food from the woods. I play brand new music, old music, rap, folk, bluegrass, rock, progressive, indie, standards, jazz, classical…pretty much put all of the music in the world into a giant player and hit “full random shuffle”. Sometimes people drop by and I force them in front of a microphone and make them talk. Ok, I don’t force them to talk…just convince them, nicely, of course…

See? That wasn’t hard, was it?  Ok, great…tune in next week, then…

With Valentine’s Day fast upon us, I knew exactly what to get her–a Sock Monkey.

I knew I’d seen them at our local Orscheln’s (it’s a farm supply kinda store), so yesterday I ran in to grab a Sock Monkey. Only they didn’t have any.

“Sock monkeys? Oh, they’re back by the socks.” I was informed when I enquired. Sweet! “But it’s only the kits…”

Kits, plural, was b.s. They had ONE kit. One kit containing blue socks. Oh, frak me, this is starting to look like a fail. The better half wants a brown damned Sock Monkey.

Wait. Wait! Look for the socks!  I mean, hell, they are made out of socks. Ahhh! There it is, brown socks! With big red heels! Yes!

To the front register I went, snagging a bag of red licorice as I arrived. The better half loves licorce.

I paid for the socks, Sock Monkey kit, and licorice and walked back out to the truck where the better half was patiently waiting. And, I’m sure, wondering why I told her, loudly, “you can’t come in with me! I’ll be right out!”

Since I was going to be out of town for the big V-day, I plopped the bag in her lap, exclaiming, “Happy Valentine’s Day, honey!”

She looked into the bag and smiled, “ohhhh, hon, you’re soooo sweet to me! Licorice and socks! Thank you!”

Wait. What? Does she really think I just acted that secretive to hand her a bag of damned socks? Especially after bitching about the condition of her sock drawer the day before? (I mean, really, the women never gets rid of old socks, the drawer is terrifying.)

“Honey, look CLOSER.”

“Whuh?” she said as she dug into the bag.

And she then proceeded to make a sound I have NEVER heard uttered from my better half’s throat. Sort of a bass ‘wheeeeeeiiit’ sound of joy. It was, to put it mildly, weird.

But then she looked up at me, grinning and amazed, and said, “You got me Sock Monkey fixin’s!” Way to go, Captain Obvious!

The summer was exhausting and, after the HiTechRanch B2Q3 back in August, I spent a week doing as little as possible. Then, at the end of August, the Fall semester took over my world.  Now here I am, staring down the barrel of the last few days of the semester. Papers looming, 3 finals to study for and take, and anxiously awaiting news from Apple about my poor Macbook.

Yup, I’m flying on just a netbook. The Mac decided over Thanksgiving that staying powered on was simply too much to ask of it.

Fingers crossed, kids. I need to finish the Rufus method tale and tell you all about the wondrous world of being a college dj. And about the passing of my lil dachsie, Mia. And I will, just not tonight.

I’ll leave you with my favorite pic of Mia and myself. The better half and I had traveled to Carlsbad Caverns, Roswell and Taos, NM, and Alamosa, CO. When this pic was taken we were car camping on the West Texas Caprock just outside of Lubbock on our way home to Houston.

HT and Mia. So long, lil heifer.

Admittedly the shop had gotten quite frightening. I mean, I still could find stuff, but dang, gettin’ through here had become challenging. So, in anticipation of guests from far and wide next weekend, it was time to clean out and clean up.

Which is what I’ve been doing for two days, now. It looks better and you can walk clear across it without dodging anything. So I’m 99.5% done. Just gotta pick up the last few odds ‘n’ ends and grab the shop vac from out at the Farm. Whew, gonna be glad when this is done; there’re tons other projects that require attention before next week. But almost there, thank the Lord.

But for now I’m done. Just had a nice, cool shower and cracked open an ice cold beer from the shop fridge. Gonna put my feet up and sip some adult libations and ponder what to accomplish in the a.m.

So come on out for the BBQ. You’ll get to see my (relatively) clean shop, eat some damned fine grub, and chill with some damned fine folks. Not a bad way to spend an August afternoon, eh?

#5

Wednesday afternoon was spent gathering up and inspecting various pieces of gear, doing laundry, making and re-checking lists as I packed the bike. Packing the bike really isn’t very difficult after a few years of practice, but it does take some careful attention to weight distribution. I stayed up late Wednesday night charging up electronic items (phone, camera, video camera, netbook) and creating some one-pot meals for camp cooking.

Part of me wants to go into in-depth detail about what I pack, why, etc., but that might bore you all to tears…LOL. But there are definite reasons for each item I carry. But I’ll leave all that for another blog, this is the story of the Rufus Method; not a HiTech Scooter Journey Gear How-To.

I slept in a bit Thursday morning and got up around 10:00. At this point I still wasn’t sure where I wanted to go. Getting to Rufus’ place on the creek was the definite destination, but my email to him was pretty vague. I’d either arrive on Friday evening or Saturday evening. I made sure when I packed my DeLorme Atlas of Missouri that it was in an easily accessible place. It sucks to stop on the side of the road (and road shoulders in Mo are few and far between) and unpack the bike just to get to your map. Yeah, I have a GPS, but I really only use it as a compass and a trip computer. And, yeah, I have tried to read through all the online info to learn how to use the damned thing. So far I have a big, fat FAIL in that department. It’s one of those things that I’ll have to learn by watching someone else. But I digress.

Once I was in my altogether, and had some coffee to kick-start my old frontal lobe, I figured to head due South, for the most part. Unfortunately, a couple of things I needed were over at the Farm and there was some paperwork I needed to drop off in Owens-blow. Due South would have to wait for an hour.

19 S into Owens-blow, then Hwy Y over to Hwy A, then Hwy D out to the Farm. Hwy D to US 89 into Belle, some Hwy 28 W over to Hwy C, then south on Hwy B into St. James.

St. James is a rather quaint little town, but north of downtown is Ruby’s Ice Cream. Homemade, fresh every day, and waffle cones. NOMZ. I stopped in for my favorite: A single scoop of Chocolate and Almonds in a waffle cone. Ahhhh…. Heavenly! I was also having issues with how I’d mounted my video camera. Roads here are fairly bumpy, add in the vibration of running semi-knobbies on the scoot and a not very stable mount (just a Gorilla Pod) for a cheap Aiptek cam and you’ve a recipe for nothing but shaky footage.

Improved mounting for video camera.

Once I’d gassed up, a southerly route was next on the agenda. The Ozark National Scenic Riverway and Montauk State Park are only a couple of hours from the HiTechRanch but I’d never really taken the time to explore them. All I was interested in was a place to park my butt in the water at the end of the day. Problem was, I wasn’t sure exactly where in the parks I wanted to go. I supposed I’d just have to figure it out by the time I rode down to Salem, straight down Hwy 68 south of St. James.

I rode into Salem expecting to just cruise through when I noticed a sign on my left:

A little help for the uncertain wanderer.

Ahhh-ha! I whipped into the parking lot, got off the scoot and walked into cool a/c and tons of info about local rivers, parks, and activities. I picked up a couple of brochures, thanked the kind gentleman running the place, and headed back out to the bike. Using the brochures and the Missouri Atlas, I plotted a course down to Aker’s Ferry, across the Current River and then north, through the Scenic Riverway, to Montauk S.P.

And off I rolled.

Hwy 19 S to Hwy K to Aker’s Ferry.

Looked like a cool place to check out but, alas, they were closed.

But.

The ferry was temporarily out of service. Great. Back to the maps. I’d have to go right back up the road I came down (Hwy K), but that didn’t break my heart at all. Wow, such a great road. Lots of nice long sweeps and hills. In fact, just a couple of miles north of the Scenic Riverway was an awesome scenic view with room to pull off the road. Hmmm…yup. Photo op!

Not the best panoramic shot... **Click the pic to see a larger version**

Why I prefer teeny, tiny, twisty lines on a map.

#5 in his favorite element--out in the wilds.

A very happy HiTechRedneck.

It was a truly gorgeous day. Hot, but not ridiculously miserable. Lots of pure white, fluffy clouds and great visibility. I snapped a few pics and climbed up on the wide rock ledge to get a few more pics from an elevated perspective. Really, I could’ve sat up on those rocks for the rest of the day and night. Yet the road called and I wanted to pitch camp before dark. So onward and northward and then westward and southward went I.

Hwy K north to south and west on Hwy E and into Montauk S.P.

Now, Montauk S.P. is all about trout fishing. It’s a fairly large park with rental cabins and a lodge and a restaurant. And on a Thursday evening in July, it was packed. I mean, chock full of RV’s and all the cabins were full. Which didn’t really bother me, per se, because I prefer what is commonly referred to as “primitive camping”. Which, when you get right down to it, is really just camping. The giant RV’s and pull-behinds and all that, well, can you really call running water, satellite TV and air conditioning camping? I think not.

But I came around the curve in the road to the “primitive” camping area and, lo and behold, there was a scooter parked on one of the pads. I’ll be damned! I think I’ll park it right next to him! And I did.

Meet Rick. He was on his way up to Hermann, MO for a wine weekend (wine is really big in Hermann, MO). But, rather than ride in a car full o’ females, he opted to roll his scoot and meet up with them there. Probably a wise decision. Anyhow, he was rolling a fine Burgman 400 and was quite the character to chat with. We shared some beer and a shot or two of whiskey over dinner and then retired to our respective camping spots.

Rick, and the bike he wouldn't buy again.

Did I mention the park was noisy? Oh yeah, I awoke at 2 am to pay rent on the beer I’d consumed and the kids across the lane were still up and raising hell. I didn’t think I was ever going to get back to sleep. God knows how late those kids stayed up. However, paybacks are hell and at 6 am sharp Daddy was up and dragging zombies out of tents, “by God, we came down here to fish, dammit, and that’s exactly what we’re gonna do!” I get the feeling he didn’t give them any opportunity for naps that afternoon, either.

#5 taking a well deserved break from the road.

Very cold river water.

A few yards up the river from my campsite.

Well, in the course of the previous evening’s discussion, Rick mentioned a micro-brewery up in the hills above Cabool, MO. Since my itinerary was wide open I figured, what the heck? I’d swing by there and check it out later in the afternoon.

But first, I had a cave I wanted to locate.

The inimitable Rufus Swan was in attendance and brought up the question, “How many miles do you rack up in a day when you’re traveling?”

The three of us, Stimpy433, Matty_X, and myself, sat there for a moment thinking on Rufus’ question. Stimpy rides a 150cc swapped Ruckus, Matty a Burgman 400 (in addition to a parade of geared scoots he’s restored over the years), I, of course, tour on my 250cc Big Ruckus and Rufus currently rolls a 1971 BMW R75/5 (and owns a Bajaj Chetak and a Honda CL200). Matty and I stated that 300-400 miles in a day were what we aim for and Chad, not being a touring oriented rider, suggested 100-200 miles per ride.

Rufus' BMW R75, Matty's Burg 400, my wee 49cc Vino

Rufus’ declared that 300-400 was far too much for a single day. “You don’t get to see anything when you ride like that!”

Well, that comment set me to contemplating a few things.

Two years ago Julian and I embarked on a epic scooter ride to Texas and back in late July. Yeah, July in Texas…hence the trip’s title, “The Flamin’ Texas Road Trip of 2008″. Needless to say, I’m no stranger to lengthy two-wheeled treks. Rufus’ comment, however, led me to realize that, as much fun as I have plotting and planning the day-to-day aspects of a long ride, I tend to forget why I love to ride while I’m on a trip. It becomes an exercise in “getting there”. I began to understand  that I’d been putting the “get there” before the “I am here”.

In the midst of all this brooding and navel-gazing I finally got around to watching Long Way Round. While watching Ewan and Charley trek across Mongolia something in my head clicked. 12 mile days in Mongolia were the norm. Marshes, detours, mechanical difficulties, crashes, meeting indigenous peoples–just incredible experiences. It took two weeks to cross Mongolia.

I sat in front of my monitor, stunned. THAT WAS IT. Now I get it! It’s not how far you go, and sure as hell not how fast, but the experiences along the way. The people, the random conversations, the amusing road signs, the out-of-the-way places that you’d never find on your own.

Rufus was right. I hadn’t really been seeing anything on my trips.

Wednesday of last week I’d finally had enough of thinking about a scooter trip. It was time to ride. It was time to try The Rufus Method.

Not that taking off on a short scooter trip is anywhere near so dramatic; but the thought of things going awry does enter your mind. And so you pack gear that you’ve learned may assist you in getting through any sort of situation: Rain gear (for you and for the scooter), tools, a spare drive belt (sooooo learned that lesson the hard way), first aid kit (another hard-learned lesson), spark plug (a new one and an old one), one of those hydration packs, sunblock, multi-tool (because Les Stroud is right, you should NEVER go anywhere without one), ibuprofen, hand sanitizer, earplugs, spare riding gloves, cleaner for the helmet shield and the windshield.

Not to mention the camping gear: Tent, sleeping bag, sleeping pad, camp chair, camp kitchen, and grub.

Add in some spare clothes, the riding gear on your back, electronics (netbook, camera, video camera, phone) and by now your wee machine closely resembles the Beverly Hillbilly’s truck.

I’ve been doing this for a few years now. I’ve made some pretty stupid decisions at times and, so far, it seems I’ve learned from my mistakes. But we’ll know in the next few days whether or not I’ve got the scooter-journey thing down or not. Hopefully I’ll be able to get some good vids of fine, twisty roads and scenic vistas.

Well, ’til then, rubber side down and shiny side up!

We moved our old pop-up camper over to the Farm last weekend. It’s a stop-gap move. It affords us more time out here, away from the house, away from the incessant projecting. Everywhere I turn at home I see work to be done, another step to be taken.

The road to sustainability, to true freedom, is turning out to be longer than even I thought, at first. Not a whole lot longer, mind you. I was pretty aware that it would take awhile. Awhile in the Southern sense; depending upon what you’re talking about, well, awhile can mean all sorts of things. In our particular case, it means at least a year.

Yes, a year. Our dream, of course, is our constant. A bright North Star shining effortlessly in the sky of our imagination. Yet reality has a way of dimming even the brightest stars. We’re working very hard to not let that happen.

In the meantime, here I sit. I’m in my favorite lawn chair with a cold beer at my side and a citronella candle burning  duty. To the east, just a handful of yards away, a sentry light sheds its cheerful yellow glow, revealing the quiet pasture before me. To the north, a few feet behind me, is our pop-up camper. A couple of outdoor tables, an awning, and the tools of living just outside the range of urbanity scattered among them. I’ve strung up a makeshift clothes-line on the awning. Swaying in the cool night breeze our towels and the shorts and such that we wore down to bathe in the river earlier.

And I do mean bathe, soap and all, of course. Why deal with icy-cold well water for your evening ablutions when you’ve a lovely, tepid, fast-flowing river a scant few yards away? Although we’re being greedy and inconsiderate of the environment to reach the river. It’s a steep trek down the hill from our little knoll to the Gasconade and walking is no longer one of the things I do well. So we drive. We clamber into my truck and head down the hill; a few minutes later the dogs arrive, clearly wondering why on earth we left them all alone in such a strange place and asking what the hell we think we’re doing leaving them up the hill all on their lonesome.

But now the sun has gone down. The tree frogs are busy trying to get laid and, every so often, I hear whippoorwill break into song. I’m certain it’s not the same one as back at the house, but I can’t be sure. I’m thankful that the tree frogs always seem to be in trees that are far away. Or else they are in the trees right near us but our presence silences them. Maibelle lays her head on my knee, begging for love. The two little dogs have camped out in the pop-up with their other Momma. Spoilt rotten little fur balls, they are…our 16 year old camper has working air conditioning. I turned it on when I arrived a few hours ago; it’s off now, no need to turn our canvas and aluminum haven into the arctic, but little dogs seem to be lovers of comfort. Only Maibelle is outside with me. I’m curious as to what she thinks of me, sitting outside in the dark with some strange contraption in my lap absorbing all my attention.

Hell, we even have a flush toilet in the pop-up. One of those whiz-bang wonders of modern ingenuity. Fill one tank with fresh water, pump the handle when you’re ready to do your business (this puts water into the bowl), pull another handle when you’re done and your waste is banished to the lower tank. I dread emptying it, which should be soon. We really don’t need our little modern marvel stinking up our temporary abode. And yes, it came with the pop-up when we bought it years ago. So did the refrigerator, one of those brown, college student jobs.

Yes, even out here in the boonies we are, currently, still on the grid. We’ve parked our cheerful little home next to the old farmhouse. It’s empty but wired in; amazing what giant extension cords and clever power adapters can accomplish. We have a lawnmower, coolers, propane, charcoal, all the comforts of home, sort of. I can’t believe all the shit we have in this tiny little box. By sub-urban home standards, well, it’s almost nothing…but for me it’s too much. And I’ve been making a list of other things that we need, too. A cutting board, a big kettle, a chef’s knife, sheets, more ice, and on, and on.

I wish a rucksack, a pocketknife, and a pot were all that I require, but we no longer live in that world and we’re far poorer for it. So many accoutrements! Yet I can’t complain, to be honest. It’s so lovely to sit out here in almost nothing, barefoot with my netbook in my lap, writing away to the tune of a cool breeze in the trees and critters for company. Though I could do without being mosquito fodder. I sometimes think that God came up with mosquitoes as a particular mechanism. For all the peaceful beauty we experience  when out in nature in this world, well, it ain’t quite paradise; that we must earn. We’re to appreciate how close we are in environs such as this, but they ain’t the real deal. This homely dream is but a taste of what is to come and mosquitoes the gentle reminders of where we are not. Strangely, I’m thankful for it. For all of it.

I’ve often said that if I died tomorrow, I’d die happy. I suppose I feel unusually blessed. I’ve lived and partied hard, met interesting people, had useful jobs, been academically and self-educated, seen this great country and parts of nations to our north and south, known love and anguish, joy and heartbreak. It’s strange that what most folks see as barriers in this world I’ve learned to see as nothing more than challenges to overcome, as problems to manipulate into workable issues. Everything has a solution or a compromise. My God, if I were to thank everyone I’ve ever met, from whom I’ve gained some form of wisdom, this blog would turn into a mind-numbing, endless tome.

So for now I shall finish my cold beer and enjoy the dressings of our modernity. They exist, and so it is pointless to not utilize them. Soon enough we will be free of these entrapments, soon enough we’ll be where we want to be, doing exactly what we dream of doing.

With these thoughts in mind I’ll go to bed. I’ll awake in the morning and get back to the schizophrenic grind that is my life at this point. I’ll take some great strides forward and achieve some miniscule accomplishments. And whether or not we reach our goal, it’ll all have been worth it. Every ounce of sweat and every dollar spent…yup. Worth it all.

In the meantime, well, I’m gonna enjoy the silence and the cacophony.

I managed to have a small crash at the MadToto Tornado R’Alley VI the other week and wrenched my ankle. The road rash is healing up rather nicely, in fact is almost completely healed. However, my ankle oft reminds me of what I can and cannot do right now. Someone was kinda enough to post my mishap on YouTube for the world to see.

The rally was, as always, an absolute blast. Scooter hooligans zipping about Kansas City in the dead of night or buzzing along, en masse, to some intriguing local dive. On Saturday night we had an “All Decades Prom” where folks danced the Time Warp and cat walked their way to a mighty fine time.

Since then, however, to allow my ankle some time to heal, I’ve been forced to take it easy. And cancel my scoot trip to North Carolina. Here we are almost a month later and the ankle is finally getting back to normal. I’ve been able to knock out a few things on The List and get some more prep work done for the big move.

The first project we knocked out was the portable potable water system. Yeah, it’s a bit of a mouthful. The idea is to be able to deliver water wherever it’s needed on the farm (i.e. the garden). There are several wells on-site, in addition to the river and several wet-weather creeks, but there’s nothing but rain to water the orchard and the garden. Hence our bright idea.

550 gallon potable water tank
Old truck bed trailer
Some plumbing skills
DC water pump
Solar panel and battery

Put all of these together and you have a pretty nifty system ready to be towed around via tractor or pick up.

The portable potable water project is almost completed. We just need to glue all the PVC connections together and mount the pump and battery. Diane has decided to build the solar panel from scratch; she found an online source for the cells and DIY instructions. Just kinda waiting on her to slap the panel together and then we’ll drag the whole shebang over to the Farm.

It’s also been a month of turning wrenches. The Big Ol’ Ford pickup we found on the cheap has been in dire need of some love. The usual suspects, oil & filter, fuel filter, and belts have all been replaced, leaving a moody clutch pedal and no brake lights to resolve before the truck is road worthy. The 5th wheel hitch has been installed, moving us that much closer to Phase 2 moving day.

I’m trying to aim for the second week of July for the big “move the RV” trip. We’ve settled upon a likely spot close to power and a well…I’ve just got to get the parking area set up. Keeping in mind that heavy things like to settle, soft things like to become brittle, and sunlight can be your enemy is a constant challenge. We’re not going to go so far as to pour a concrete pad, but creating a solid foundation for tires on axles and landing gear is a bit of a challenge. Not to mention the roof and porch we plan to add on to increase usable living space and to draw the outside in…

So the summer has thus far been crammed with challenges and projects. The more I look at what remains to be done the less likely it seems that I’ll have time for any sort of scooter trip. Which would really, really suck. I need my alone and on 2 wheels time. I like to refer to it as my John Muir time. Pick a destination, plot a round-about course, and camp along the route. I’ve a rather nice ride somewhat plotted, but more on that later.

In the meantime, happy projecting and travel safely.

It’s beautiful right now. Mother Nature is providing a springtime light show, replete with rolling thunder and bright flashes of lightning. I love it when it is humid and hot. I sit here and anxiously await the moment, which may not come, when I must fold up my tiny technological wonder and head indoors.

The dogs hate thunderstorms. They cower under any object they can find which, they feel, may provide some sort of sanctity. I, on the other hand, adore the raging power…the loud and bright build up of more rain.

Earlier tonight I played Redneck Golf. For those of you unfamiliar with this silly game, it’s quite simple. Golf balls are strung between a length of rope. You have 2 sets of balls and must throw them at 3 rung ladders to accrue points. You only earn points when your throws outscore your opponent’s throws. For the past few years this activity has been rather regularly observed at my buddy Jim’s. Really, it’s an excuse to drink beer, socialize, and swear at one another. In other words, good fun.

But tonight, being so early in a rather violent and unpredictable spring, everyone headed home prematurely. The thunder and lightning somehow encouraging all and sundry to head indoors. I do not think tonight’s storm will reach us. It’s at least 8 miles off. Last night, however, we received quite a dousing. 3 inches of rain in about 30 minutes. I couldn’t even use the toilet in peace…a mini-dachsie in my lap, a lab under my knees, and another lab attempting to force her large head into the already occupied space of my lap.  The dogs do not share my storm-joy.

Because it is a joy. As I drove home from Jim’s place I reveled in the noise and light. I turned onto our gravel road, America’s “Sister Golden-haired Surprise” blaring from my truck’s speakers, and felt indescribable peace. Summer storms make me happy. They always have. Perhaps it is only more so now, in my latter days, that I can truly appreciate them. Their power, their wonder.

I sit here, in the cool of a thundering front, netbook on lap, cold beer close to hand, and am unutterably happy. Frogs are calling their mates, crickets are singing their ceaseless, almost unnoticeable, song and thunder is drowning them all out. It is hot, it is humid, and I am happy. And that damned whippoorwill is chanting his never-ending tune; it goes on, and on, and on throughout the summer…resulting in either ire or an almost cheerleader frenzy on part of the humans who are within hearing distance. PLEASE, GET LAID OR SHUT UP!! All night long it goes, “wip-ur-WILL, wip-ur-WILL, wip-wir-WILL”, continuous and frenzied. I don’t know if his determination is an example of his perseverance or if it is simply something for him to do when it’s dark.

But it’s simply background noise amidst all the other songs of a summer’s night. I find joy in all of it. And it puzzles me, more than usual, how others can live life without these sounds and instead find comfort in the wail of sirens and the constant hum of car tires on pavement. The cries of humanity packed together into small spaces.

For now I will enjoy the drama that nature provides. It is, in my opinion, a far cry better than the nightly din of compacted humanity.

But on to more interesting things; rest and work and scooter rallies. Oh, and dog training.

We’ve put in a rather large garden out at the Farm. 25′ x 80′ and we’ve pretty much everything in the ground ‘cept potatoes. Thanks to spectacularly soggy and cool spring weather for the past couple of weeks the garden is growing by leaps and bounds, albeit too wet to plant any additional veggies. Tomatoes are flourishing, broccoli is growing sturdy, sunflowers are seeking the sunlight. Which, for a while there, it felt as if sunshine would never be seen again. Yet the sun is shining once again and temps have climbed into the low 90*s. Only in Missouri do you come home from a wet and cold scooter rally one weekend to seek the warmth of a hot shower and then a scant two weekends later seek the same shower for relief from the heat.

Speaking of the garden, it’s locale on the Farm leaves it entirely dependent upon Mother Nature for water. Of course, this being the northern Ozarks, we may well have seen the last of good rain last night. So, we’ve devised a clever plan for bringing water to the garden. How about portable, potable water?

We purchased a 550 gallon potable water tank from Plastic-Mart. Not only do they have an incredible selection, they ship quickly and, upon my rather cursory initial inspection of the tank, the build quality is excellent. I then found an old truck bed that had been converted to a trailer at a neighbor’s and for the hefty fee of $50 towed it home. Then plan is to frame up a platform on the inside of the truck bed to accommodate the water tank. Which is trickier than it sounds as the tank will weigh over 4000 lbs. when filled.

To get water into the tank we purchased a Simer blue water pump; a 12v DC wonder. The pump will be powered by a marine battery wired into a small solar panel. The idea is to drag then entire shebang down to the river whenever it needs filling and pump river water into the tank.

Watering the garden, on the other hand, will be a simple matter of gravity. I intend to plumb in a quick disconnect and two shut-off valves. One shut-off at the tank outlet and another at the watering manifold I’ve devised. In this way we’ll be able to feed water into several soaker hoses (or drip hoses) at a time.

I’ll be starting in on framing up the truck bed later today. Yes, it’s hotter later in the afternoon, but the truck bed will be in shade in another hour or so making the work a bit cooler.

In the meantime, I have a scooter rally to prep for.

Tornado R’Alley VI in Kansas City, KS. Essentially it’s the most scooter fun I have all year. I’ve been attending the rally since TR II and simply can’t stand to miss such a great time cruising all over KC and the surrounding areas with a herd of like-minded lunatics. The prep work involves plotting the most circuitous route from the HT Ranch to ScooterWorld in Overland Park, KS. I abhor 4-lane highways. I was a truck driver, I’ve seen enough concrete slab to last the rest of my lifetime, so I avoid them at all costs. Basically I turn a 3.5 hour drive into a 5 hour trek via the smallest roads I can find.

Last but not least, dog training. My redneck golf buddy, Jim brought home a puppy a month or so ago. Between him, his wife, their daughter, and her 8-year-old son, no one can control the dog. Too many chiefs, not enough consistency. Jim asked me if I could perhaps get her trained a bit and I’m working on that now, as well. Sissy, the pup, has the potential to be a great dog. She’s just full of puppy and is incredibly stubborn. My efforts aren’t helped by our terrier, either. Since I’ve spent the past 3 years in two places I’ve never had much of a chance to get his mind right. He is entirely the better half’s dog. That, however, is changing as we speak. Amidst all the work I’m having to do with Sissy, Duke is right there nipping at her heels. I got that stopped this morning. Now to put the both of them on leads and stick them together under my control. The evening should prove interesting, to say the least.

That’s about all for now. I’ll work up something about my trip to Mimi and Ron’s wonderful off-grid home and Mimi’s incredible garden later.

Thanks for reading.

Bear with me, I promise to crank out some entertaining prose in the very near future. I’ve just got to get through this week, then I have all summer to satisfy my Redneck urges and make you all privvy to how my odd little mind works.

So, back to it…I really am way to old for all-nighters. So, g’night. See you all when hell week is over.