Mean Ass Mallard Mama

My lazy bones keep getting lazier, and the regular morning walk I initiated eight weeks ago is getting harder and harder to maintain. In the beginning a mile and a half wore me out. Now, I find myself pushing four miles, which certainly contributes to my malaise. The one thing I enjoy are the quiet melodies of the birds and long shadows. Everyday when I leave the house I decide which direction I will turn. Each time I reach new splits in the path and I am forced to decide which direction to proceed. By now, I have memorized the distances of the various routes, and I plot how to add miles to each.

The funny thing about exercising is the process. First, it is deciding to abandon the bed, checking the weather, and selecting proper clothes. Finally, I’m out and walking although sluggishly. As the steps roll by, and the body begins to warm the route emerges at the first decision point, left or right?  This particular morning I turn right, right again, and then left. The sun is bright after three days of grey clouds and rain, it feels good. The birds are particularly noisy as they go about searching for their breakfast, most are busy feeding babies in the nest.  I reach a three-way corner and decide to go straight. This move decides the route more definitively.

I pass a tall tree just beginning to leave out. It has to be more than two hundred years old the trunk is more than three feet in diameter. I stop to examine the creature, it appears healthy and still growing. The sidewalk next to it has heaved a good six inches making the path somewhat trippy.

Walking through the living side of historic Frankfort gives me a view of hundred year old houses blending together with one year old monster houses that match the architecture so well that a stranger would not be able to tell the new from the old. The builder buys up the very small old homes on large lots, demolishes the house and then builds a new home that pushes to the lot lines. Within two blocks, I cross the main street bisecting the town into the historic business district. Again, it is a blend of very old buildings with new ones. One street has three restaurants in a row, Smokey Bar, Fat Rosies, and Francesca’s. They all face the Breidert Green a very small park in the center of town surrounded by businesses. I make another decision when I reach the Old Plank Trail and head home.

The trail passes through what was once Fox Lumber company. The Village bought the property when Fox folded. They have wisely developed it into parking and a beautiful park. The crown jewel of the park is a two acre lake surrounded by a natural Illinois grassland. A stream meanders from the edge of one parking lot and spills into the lake. The stream is fed by the storm sewers of the historic district. It is very rocky and twisting  with a myriad of water plants growing along the edges and sprouting from between rocks. The stream serves as a natural filter forcing water to deposit any particulate matter before it reaches the main body.

I picked up speed as I turned left again to route myself around the western edge of the pond. Then it happened. I saw a female Mallard duck slide into the water. At first it didn’t appear to be anything unusual, but then the neatest, cutest thing ever appeared. She had a dozen chicks following her. They couldn’t have been more than a few days old, but she led them right into the water, and they followed. At first they looked like a string all in a line. Then as she hustled forward they pushed toward her and bunched up in her wake. I stopped to watch this show. She continued to swim, and swim, and swim. I thought for sure she would head for the shore, and give the chicks a rest. She never stopped, she kept paddling with the brood and finally disappeared from my sight at the far side of the pond. As I watched I kept thinking to myself, what a meanie she is to give these little ones such a vigorous workout. I tried to compare her behavior to children of today. A mother who made her baby work as hard as this one did would be put in jail. Nature is cruel, but maybe that is why ducks can live in harsh weather and survive. I’m sure her next lesson was to show them how to feed themselves. I finished my walk at 3.26 miles and took the remainder of the day off.

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Even The Birds Do It

 

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Great quotes on sex

“There are a number of mechanical devices which increase sexual arousal, particularly in women. Chief among these is the Mercedes-Benz SL500.”—Lynn Lavner

“Sex at age 90 is like trying to shoot pool with a rope.”—Camille Paglia

“Women might be able to fake orgasms. But men can fake a whole relationship.”—Sharon Stone

“Hockey is a sport for white men. Basketball is a sport for black men. Golf is a sport for white men dressed like black pimps.”—Tiger Woods

“My mother never saw the irony in calling me a son-of-a-bitch.”—Jack Nicholson

“Clinton lied. A man might forget where he parks or where he lives, but he never forgets oral sex, no matter how bad it is.”—Barbara Bush

​(KILLER)​
“Ah, yes, divorce, from the Latin word meaning to rip out a man’s genitals through his wallet.”—Robin Williams

“According to a new survey, women say they feel more comfortable undressing in front of men than they do undressing in front of other women. They say that women are too judgmental, where, of course, men are just grateful.”—Robert De Niro

“There’s a new medical crisis. Doctors are reporting that many men are having allergic reactions to latex condoms. They say they cause severe swelling. So what’s the problem?—“Dustin Hoffman

“There’s very little advice in men’s magazines, because men think, “I know what I’m doing. Just show me somebody naked!”—Jerry Seinfeld

“See, the problem is that God gives men a brain and a penis, and only enough blood to run one at a time.”—Robin Williams

​(KILLER #2)​

“It’s been so long since I’ve had sex, I’ve forgotten who ties up whom…”—Joan Rivers

“Sex is one of the most wholesome, beautiful and natural experiences money can buy.”—Steve Martin

“You don’t appreciate a lot of stuff in school until you get older. Little things like being spanked every day by a middle-aged woman. Stuff you pay good money for later in life.”—Elmo Phillips

“Bigamy is having one wife too many. Monogamy is the same.”—Oscar Wilde
“It isn’t premarital sex if you have no intention of getting married.”—George Burns

It Ain’t Easy Bein’ Green

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I love this view, except when it is my front yard.

Frankfort, Illinois is a typical mid-western community gloriously exploding into spring. Spring brings green, most conspicuously lawn. A suburbanite typically worships a green lawn. Every year there is one lawn on the street that is uniquely different from the others. Woe is the neighbor with a green lawn dotted with bursts of brilliant yellow  dandelions. This year I am the culprit.

I saw it happening at the end of last summer. After three months of watering, fertilizing, and weed killing the dandelions began to over power the lawn and sporadically popped through the turf across the  yard.

Determined to nip the problem in the bud I found myself up, and out early this morning with a large container of weed killer. Ugh! Chemical warfare is not pretty, but it is cheap. The cost is in human labor. After an hour and a half of shooting chemical into the heart of each weedy plant I ran out of chemical and cheered. It was time for a rest and a well deserved breakfast.

A more effective way to battle this nemesis is with a weeding tool, except I’m too lazy, and too weak to conduct that kind of warfare any more. Instead, the plants die a very slow death while I watch. Some of them may be gone in a week. The instructions claim that if properly applied a second application my be necessary after two weeks. It also states that if applied correctly, the grass around the dandelions will not be affected. I’ll let you know about that one. Its been my experience that the second application is a must and possibly one more after that.

Is this really necessary? Why is it so important to conform to the mores of the majority? The answer is simple. Yes it is necessary, but not because of the neighbors. I happen to love a lush green carpet of lawn spreading across the front of my house. I love the look of an entire street of lush green lawns spreading down the block. In direct opposition to my unhealthy affinity for viewing green lawns I also love to look of a baseball field sized lawn spotted with dandelions all across. As long as the field is not my lawn I love the look. Green is the reason I rent my winter home on a golf course. I love looking at huge expanses of green lawn running into the horizon. There is only one thing better than seeing a large green lawn, and that is a very large body of water like an ocean or a lake.

 

Read more: Muppets – It’s Not Easy Being Green Lyrics | MetroLyrics

The Gift, (A Story)

I published this story several years ago in a serial version. This year I have decided to republish as a complete story in one post. I wrote this for my young  grand children. It is suitable for ages six through twelve. Feel free to print this and use it as a reader for your kids, or read it to them. The cartoons tell the story as well as the words so just looking at the pictures gives a kid the story.

The Gift
Chapter One

Tree Farm

“There is the farm,” said Morty to himself. “Look at all those trees.”

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He came to the sign: Covert Tree Farm, Christmas Trees for Sale. Morty slowed Sky-scooter, and made a sharp right turn into the opening between the trees. The gravel drive wound through a grove of spruce trees. The tall trees shaded the forest floor, and kept it dark. Occasionally, a bird flitted from tree to tree and sang a sweet song. A beam of sunshine peeked through. God is shining a spotlight on me he thought. The ferns under the spotlight were lime green surrounded by dark green in the shade.
“These twists and turns are fun,” he said to Sky. He talked to his scooter whenever he was alone. Morty steered through forest leaning one way, then the other. His curl swayed from side to side. He was anxious to find the perfect present for his Boss. An opening of bright light led into the meadow where the farmer lived.
He spotted the sign for parking, and another sign on the barn stated rules for cutting Christmas trees.

Arrival

Cut the tree at the ground.
Do not cut in the middle.
2. Use only the saw provided.
3. Bring your tree to the barn for wrapping.
Trees are $8.00 per foot.

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Morty grabbed a saw and jumped onto the hay wagon behind the tractor. A cow mooed, and the horse whinnied in the barn. Chickens wandered all around the barnyard pecking for seed. He sat and looked around while he waited for the farmer.

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Gosh, look at all those trees. They surround the entire pasture as far as I can see. He daydreamed as he sat waiting.

Farmer Jim raises trees. He sells some at Christmas, and takes the large ones to the lumber mill in the town. He plants replacement trees to keep the forest alive. It takes fifty years to grow a tree big enough to sell for lumber, and twelve years to grow a tree tall enough for Christmas.
Morty sat staring at the trees and talked to himself. I love coming to the tree farm. It is fun to explore the woods. The forest is beautiful, peaceful, quiet, and majestic. I talk to them and they talk to me. When we are alone I hug them.

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Farmer Jim had a secret grove of old trees. He never cut these trees nor did his father, grandfather, or great-grandfather. His great-grandfather told him that they were there when he came to the farm in 1875. Some of them were two hundred feet tall. Morty discovered the grove last year, and fell in love with the old trees. His favorite was over two hundred years old. It lived through much of the history of our country. The big tree was a teenager when the very first settlers moved to the valley from the east.

I have to find a tree to give to baby Jesus on his birthday. I will invite my friends to help decorate, and make it special. The hay wagon jerked forward, and broke his thoughts. He was on his way to find the perfect tree.

Chapter 2

Morty Pops the Question

Farmer Jim stopped in the field he was harvesting. Morty hopped off with the saw in his hand, and began to search.
My tree has to be perfect, he thought. It has to be shapely, and full with branches all around. It cannot be too big because my room is small. Morty wandered through the rows of trees. Most of them were already five to six feet tall. Many had bare spots, and deformed branches. With so many trees, picking the right one was not easy.
“They all looked perfect from the air,” he said out loud. “They looked beautiful, but at ground level, they all have defects.”
He stopped in front of a Blue Spruce to ask for help.

“Please help me find the tree I need,” he said to a tree. “I want one that is as tall as I am, but it can’t be too wide. My tree has to be shaped like a cone without bare spots. ”
“I was exactly like that three years ago.”
“So was I,” answered another spruce.
Morty kept walking up and down row after row of trees. He finally stopped in front of a very tall Balsam tree.
“Can you help me?”

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“What do you want?
“I’m looking for the perfect tree to give Jesus for Christmas.”
“I can see the tree you want from here. Follow this road next to me. Count off twenty rows, turn left, and count another five trees. There, in the center of a small clearing you will find the tree you want.”

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“Thanks,” said Morty. He took the Balsam’s directions, and counted as he walked. When he reached number twenty, he turned left and counted five more. There, in the center of a small clearing stood a beautiful blue-green spruce tree. It was perfect.

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I can’t believe it, he thought. Morty was speechless. He walked around the tree, looking for bare spots; there were none.
“It is as tall as I am, and it is shaped like a perfect cone.” He circled the tree over, and over, looking, and thinking, this tree will make a perfect present for Jesus. He examined the tree from all angles. He couldn’t find a single flaw.
He finally broke his silence, and spoke.
“Hi, I’m Morty Angel, would you like to be my gift to Baby Jesus?

Chapter 3

The Deal

“I’m glad to meet you,” said the little tree. “My name is Connie, short for Coniferous. How can I help you?
“I want you to be my gift to Jesus.”
“I can’t do that, my work is to provide a home for the birds, and to shelter the rabbit that sleeps under my boughs. This summer, I had three families living in my branches. What will they do without me to shelter them?”

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“The Boss will take care of them,” said Morty, “besides, there are many trees in the forest to help them. It is a great honor to do something special for Jesus’ birthday.”
“What do I have to do?”
“Let me take you home and decorate you for Christmas.”
Connie hesitated a bit, “If I choose to accept, then I am giving myself totally to the Baby Jesus. I can only stay alive as long as the sap in my branches will hold my needles.”

“I know that,” said Morty. “I picked you because you are magnificent, and I want to please God’s Son. After we finish dressing you, I know you will make Jesus smile.”
“How will you decorate me?”
“I will lay strings of colorful lights on your boughs, and hang ornaments to reflect the light onto your needles My friends will string popcorn beads, painted pine cones, icicles, and snowflakes on your branches. We will put a crystal star on your top stem. You will look stunning. I’ll play Christmas carols to get into the spirit of Christmas. Then, after Christmas is over, I will use your branches to warm my house. Please do it.”
Connie agreed that pleasing Jesus on his day was important. He knew that Christmas was special. This was his chance to do something he could not do if he remained in the forest. If he stayed, he would grow big and tall and head for the sawmill.
After a long pause, Connie said, “It will be my honor to be your gift to Jesus.

Chapter 4

Getting Home

“This won’t hurt a bit,” said Morty. He pushed and pulled the saw back and forth through Connie’s sap filled trunk in rapid motions. Seconds later, Connie fell onto the spot where the rabbit huddled at night to stay warm. The empty birds’ nest clung to his branches.
Morty saw the rabbit hiding under a nearby tree, “Well, Mr. Rabbit, come home with me. I’ll keep you warm.”
The rabbit jumped out. “Will you take care of me the way Connie did?”
“Yes,” said Morty, “come with me.” Morty hadn’t finished talking to the rabbit when the cardinal, the sparrow, and the chickadee appeared from nowhere and circled around his head.
“Will you take care of us too?”
“Sure,” he said. “Come with me. We will have a great time.”
“Hold on tight, Connie, I have to drag you to the wagon.” They left a track through the snow as Morty pulled Connie behind him. They stopped in front of the tall Balsam for a rest. 
 “I can see that you found the perfect tree,” said the Balsam.
“Yes,” said Morty, “thank you very much. I couldn’t have done it without your expert directions.”
“Have a very Merry Christmas,” replied Balsam, “I wish I could be going with you.”
Farmer Jim came and found them. He helped Morty lift Connie onto the hay wagon.

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“I never thought about how I would bring a tree home on my scooter,” he said.
“Don’t worry,” said Farmer Jim, “I will help you get the tree onto your scooter. I have to help everyone who comes here. I have lots of experience with that.”
The tractor stopped in front of the shed next to the barn. Farmer Jim slid Connie into the wrapping machine, and pushed the button. A big wheel started circling around Connie. The noisy machine pulled cord around the branches, and squeezed them tightly into Connie’s trunk. When the noise stopped, Connie was much thinner than before.

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Morty carried Connie to his scooter, and just stared. He could not see how to load him. The compartment was only big enough to hold a picnic lunch and some tools. The scooter was smooth all over. It didn’t have anything sticking out to tie a rope around.

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“What am I going to do?” Morty placed the tree against the side of the scooter. “Nope, that won’t work,” he said. Next, he laid Connie onto the seat. He fit nicely along the top and hanging over the end, but Morty would have to sit on top of him to drive.

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“I don’t like that either. I know, I’ll sit and hold him between my legs.” He held Connie upright between his arms. “That is worse because I can not see to drive with Connie in my face.”

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Farmer Jim finally came out and tied Connie to the seat.
“You will have to sit on him,” he told Morty.”
“Okay, but I don’t like it, come on kids hop on.”

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The bunny jumped on and huddled by his feet, and the birds found secret openings in the branches to hide in.
“I’ll go slow,” said Morty.
“Good, I don’t want you to lose me after all that fuss.”
Morty drove Sky-scooter slowly and silently. The only sound came from Connie. He was singing Happy Birthday.

Chapter 5

Reminiscing

The scoot home took a long time, and Morty deliberately kept Skye out of hyper-drive. He drove slowly to keep the little tree from tearing off. They talked as he drove.
“The farmer planted me as a seed eight years ago. I became a sapling quickly, and was transplanted into a new field.”
Connie jabbered away as Morty drove.
“Farmer Jim re-planted me again when I reached sapling stage. He put me into the field where his great, great, great, great-grandfather grew up. I went thirsty during the drought, and the hot summer nearly fried my needles. I liked winter best. I loved when the snow covered my boughs and they drooped to the ground.”
“I’ve been a Guardian Angel since the beginning of time,” said Morty. “My duty is to watch over Brad. I love watching kids the best.”
“My favorite job is to take care of birds. The cardinals and chickadees picked me this year. They built their nests deep in my boughs to hide it from predators. I couldn’t believe how many trips they made with string, and twigs from all over the farm. Red and Rosy Cardinal brought the pieces one by one, and Rosy wove them into place. She pasted it all together with mud from the pond.”

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“I loved to watch the Cardinals fly back and forth to feed their babies. They slept between meals, but made a lot of noise when they woke up. The kids chirped loudly until a parent came with food. One day, a cat came into my field. Rosy covered the nest with her body, and spread her wings to hide them. Red buzzed the cats’ ears to get his attention away from the babies. I dropped my boughs over the nest to give them more protection. Everything became very still while the cat was there. All the trees around me watched him stalk; his head was low, and his shoulders in a crouch. After what seemed like an eternity of stillness, the cat finally wandered off.”

Morty arrived home after dark. He untied Connie’s branches and set him upright into a bucket of water.
“Tomorrow,” he said, “I will place you into a tree stand, and dress you for the birthday party. Now it is time for all of us to rest.”

Chapter 6

Decoration

Early the next morning, Morty got up, brushed his teeth, combed his curl, and ate breakfast. It was time. He found the tree stand and placed it in the corner of his tiny room. Next, he placed Connie into the stand, and filled it with sugar water to give him strength while he was on duty for the party.

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“I have to play Christmas carols while we decorate.” He tuned in to the Choir of Heavenly Angels over his boom box to play carols just as he promised Connie.
Morty sang with the music. He joyfully strung the lights onto each branch, making sure that the spacing was even. The rabbit and the birds helped decorate by hanging the popcorn garland. The sparrow held one end of the garland while the cardinal held it farther down the string. The Chickadee held a third spot. They flew up in unison carrying the garland. Gently, they lowered the popcorn garland onto the branches. The beads came next. “I wish Brad were here to help,” said Morty. “His muscles would be a great with the heavy beads. They are too heavy for the birds. I must drape the beads carefully to make them look pretty.”

As he worked, he hummed Silent Night, his favorite Christmas carol.
“Sing with me Connie.”
“Si – lent night, Ho – ly night,
All is calm. All is bright.
Round yon Vir – gin Moth – er and child!
Ho – ly in – fant so ten – der and mild,
Sleep in heav – en – ly peace,
Sleep in heav – en – ly peace.”
They sang together as they worked.
“We have to finish decorating Connie so we can prepare for the party tonight.”
What a happy group they were. The Cardinals, Chickadee, Rabbit and Morty were all decorating the tree for Jesus.
“One last trick,” said Morty. “Birds, please carry the crystal star and place it on Connie’s top stem.”
He had one final ornament to place on Connie.
“You can be proud Connie. You are beautiful and will make Jesus happy on his birthday.

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Chapter  7

Final Touches

“Be careful with the tinsel, said Morty. “Hang each strand carefully. I don’t want Connie to look like the nest in the top branches.”
Morty placed a shiny gold ornament into the nest. As Red, Chick, and Spare hung the tinsel they chirped Silent Night. When the last strand was in place, they landed on Morty’s curl and admired their creation. Connie was an outstanding gift to the Baby Jesus on His birthday. Morty turned on the lights, and Connie came to life.
“I feel so wonderful,” said Connie, “you made me look beautiful. I hope Baby Jesus likes me.”
Morty handed the rabbit a bright red cloth, “put this around the tree stand to add the final touch.” Rabbit dragged the red cloth under Connie’s boughs where he had spent so many nights out of harms way, and worked the cover around the base.
“We have to put up the nativity next.” Morty pulled a small table to the tree. He wanted the nativity to be next to Connie where all of his friends would see it. Rabbit wiped the table clean, and covered it with Morty’s best tablecloth. The birds waited nearby. Each had a figure, ready to place. Morty set the stable in place.
“Okay, now you can finish by putting the figures down.”
Each bird hovered gently with a figure in its beak, and lowered it to the table. They handled each Mary, Joseph, and Jesus and all of the characters of the scene with special care and gentleness.
Morty put the last tiny white lamb down, “here you are little Shepard.” The nativity was complete.

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Chapter 8

Birthday Party

Morty’s tiny house glowed with the tree and the nativity. The birds sang in anticipation of the party. Morty and Rabbit danced a circle around the room.
“My friends Max, and Gracie are coming to celebrate,” he said. “They will be late. Gracie is with Ben, and Max is with Jenna. They must stay until the kids say their prayers, and are asleep.
When the guardian angels knew their kids were dreaming of sugarplums and fairies, they slipped away to Morty’s house.
Max and Gracie arrived with their halos turned on, and shining brightly. Their angel wings glowed and fluttered when they saw Connie for the first time.
“Wow, what a beautiful tree,” they said. “Jesus will love you Connie.” “I have a new tradition to share with you,” said Morty.
“What is it?”
“It is called breaking bread.” Morty gave Max and Gracie each a slice of unleavened bread He held his own piece up and stood in front of Gracie. “Hold your bread up like I am doing.”
“Like this?”
“Yes.” Morty pinched a piece of Gracie’s bread and said, “I wish you peace.” He tore another piece and wished her love.
“Now you do the same and make your own wishes for me.”
Gracie followed his example. “What a beautiful tradition. Where did you learn this?”
“On my last visit to heaven, Brad, Ben, and Jenna’s Grandma showed me. She asked me to keep the tradition going in her family.”
The three angels shared wishes for each other. Each of them broke bread from the other and made a wish with each piece.
When the bread was all gone, they made one final wish.
“Merry Christmas.”

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Without another word, Morty, Gracie, and Max, knelt quietly before the crèche, the birds, and the rabbit at their sides.
They said prayers for their children, for peace in the world, and for goodwill toward all men!

The End The Gift (A Story)

Hello August

Hello August. I hope you intend to be good to the world again. Usually, you give us balmy dewey wet mornings followed by beautiful hot sunny days without much rain. You are the perfect month for lazy days by the seaside, and for birthday parties outside at night. Your daylight hours are noticeably shorter giving us a hint of the many light deprived days that are headed our way. Alas, let me not dwell on those dreary days but rather bask in the beauty of your warmth.

All around me I find birds busily scurrying to feed their last brood of the summer, the Comets dart from under the lily pads to grab a bug coming from the brook, frogs hunt amongst the spent foliage for something to eat while rabbits graze on clover blossoms and hop about the yard. Many new flowers like the native hibiscus with its giant bright flowers begin to pop open. Rose of Sharon blooms profusely in white, pink, and blue while the foliage of the peony bushes fade and wither. Day lilies continue to open new blimagejpeg_0.jpgoms among the spent ones, and the lawn is still lush green from the late summer rains.

Yes, August you are perfect for a birthday celebration, and I will enjoy my own in all your glory, and I thank you for giving me your magnificence.

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Terrorists Strike a Frankfort Home

Late last evening Akkmed Wabbit and his young son Osama bin Wabbit were seen high tailing it out of the garden. This morning Grumpa Joe discovered the attack  while he strolled the Monet Vision with his coffee in hand. “The little bastards just took out sixty dollars worth of petunias. I hope they get indigestion,” he said out loud. He then went inside to plot his revenge.

He should have known better than to plant Petunias, but Joe felt secure after not having seen a Wabbit for several months. Last year the marigolds kept them out. He started to research methods for eliminating Wabbits from gardens. Here is the list of ways he is considering:

  1. DeCon, poison

2  Live trap

3. Rat traps

4. Shotgun

5. Import a coyote

6. Hire a Hawk

7. Plant Marigolds

8. Fence off the flower beds

9. Hire a 24 hour armed guard to chase them away

10. Buy a Beagle and let him patrol the garden.

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Monet Vision-Patriot’s Dream on June 3, 2016

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Monet Vision-Patriot’s Dream eaten by Wabbits, June 11, 2016

A surprise retaliation awaits you little bastards.

 

 

 

Wabbit War Expands

Opening day of my 2016 garden season was in March on an unusual sunny day when the temperature was a balmy sixty degrees. On that rare day I attacked my thistle with glyphosate. I had to spray them twice to slow them down. Since then, the weather has not cooperated, and my body hasn’t either. This week, however, things changed. The Lord switched Illinois from spring into summer with a flick of his Godly touch. Last week it was wet, in the forties and windy, or another way to say it, perfect hypothermia conditions. As I write this it is Thursday morning, and the Lord switched us back to early spring again. The first three days of the week were in the eighties and required the air-con to run during the daytime.
I spent the good days in my garden finishing what I began in March. The pond came first. Ponds get weedy just like flower beds, and it is necessary to pull the unwanted critters to achieve a serene pond look. I also had a bed of irises overtaking the north end, and had to thin it out. The job looked like an hour of easy work in my mind, but turned into three hours of hard labor.

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Over the last eight years I invented a system to access pond plants without treading in the water. I span a ten foot extension ladder across the water and lay some wide boards on the rungs to create a platform. I then crawl out onto the ladder on my hands and knees and lay on the boards. This allows me to reach over the water to pull plants, or to reach into the water to fertilize the lilies. When done, I had two bushels full of unwanted plant matter  to dispose of. The pond looks much better and the lilies may even bloom now that they got a shot of fertilizer.

The second day I attacked the thistle invasion in my front yard. By now the critters were three feet tall and poking through the Mugo pine. Trust me, thistle does not add curb appeal to any home. It was five days since the last rain so the ground was very hard and I needed a spade to loosen the plants enough to pull them. I was in the morning sun and the temp was already in the eighties. I wilted, but that damn thistle thrives in that temperature. The goal was to complete the entire front of the house, but I only lasted long enough to complete a third. The remainder awaits me. I would be pulling thistle this morning except for the rain. I opted for dry and cool inside conditions.

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Pulling thistle always gets me to think philosphically. The root system of the plant forms a runner underground and will send shoots up from the runner. When pulling the main stems the root breaks from the runner. That means another shoot will soon emerge from the runner in another place. I pictured the thistle as a muslim jihadis. We continue to kill these bastards but they keep popping up again. If we truly want to rid ourselves of jihadists we have to learn from the thistle. Destroying the visible plant is not enough, we have to get at the root of the problem. In the case of jihadis the root is in the unseen cell (underground root system) which continues to fester and grow into a new warrior. A garden warrior(like me)does not know in which direction the root grows or how far it will grow before a new shoot pops up. If left unattended the shoot grows to maturity, then flowers, and then seeds. The seeds blow in the wind to spread wide and far (Islamic immigrants and refugees).

 

In order to destroy thistle or muslims complete annihilation is the safest most complete method. I call it the Hitler method. Even though, I do not like muslims and am not afraid to say so, I just can’t bring myself to think about annihilating two billion people, they can’t all be bad. The problem is learning which ones will become bad and to destroy them. A better way I propose is to convert muslims to another belief system. Even the best and most influential dictators in the world like Joe Stalin and Mao Tse Tsung were not smart enough to accomplish conversion, so it brings me back to annihilation again. Do we keep pulling the big  weeds, even though that allows some of our flowers to perish along the way, or do we initiate an all out war of annihilation?   What do you think?

Next time I will compare muslims to the fallen angels.

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