Thoughts, observations, sea stories and ideas from a former sailor and lifelong rancher
Friday, March 2, 2018
Corpsman Chronicles XI: Deja what?
When I was in boot camp in far away San Diego I was fascinated by the Spanish Mission architecture of the base.
Something about the low, sprawling, adobe colored, red tiled buildings resonated with me, and as we marched around doing push ups and other silly things I would occasionally feel a wave of déjà vu wash over me. That feeling was directly associated with those buildings. Somehow I had the strong feeling that I'd walked among those same buildings in the past.
Which was silly, because none of those buildings had existed in the past. The ones that resonated so strongly with me were of recent construction, and the real old buildings on base, the ones that were two- and three-story whitewashed and red tiled structures, didn't resonate at all.
Weird, eh?
Funny how the mind works. Well, my mind anyway.
Those were interesting days. I went from this:
To this:
In about four months.
Yeah, we was some stylin' bitches back in the 70's.
Old becomes new
Couple of videos from a short-lived band called Foxes and Fossils.
Here's a vintage recipe from a 1967 cookbook called “The Poll-Ette Hostess.” Turns out that all the cool kids are rediscovering vintage recipes.
If I understand the story, the Poll-Ettes were the ladies branch of the Polled Hereford Association here in the U.S. As many of you doubtless know, ladies organizations have produced cookbooks for years, and the Poll-Ettes were no exception. They seem to have revised and published a number of cookbooks throughout the 60’s and 70’s.
Anyway, the recipe is for -- get this -- Roast Beef Fudge!
Being a cattleman type person, I had to give it a try.
One of the first steps of the recipe is to bring sugar, butter, and evaporated milk to a boil, then cook until the mixture reaches the soft ball stage at about 230 degrees. Now here’s an interesting sciency tidbit. If you’ve ever made candy, you’ve probably noticed that the temperature will quickly rise to boiling, but then it seems to stick there at the boiling point forever. This is because the liquid water in the mixture cannot exceed its boiling point (212 degrees at sea level) at normal atmospheric pressure. Once the water boils off (most of it anyway) the temperature will begin to rise again and the mixture will quickly reach (or exceed!) your target temperature.
The recipe says to bring the mixture to soft ball stage, remove from the heat, and then stir in chocolate, marshmallow, vanilla, and -- finally -- roast beef. The hot, sugary mixture retains more than enough heat to melt the chocolate and marshmallow.
As for the beef, the recipe calls for a cup of ground up roast beef. I ground mine in the food processor and that worked fine. The beef came from a top round roast I’d prepared earlier to make sandwiches with. So winner-winner, roast beef dinner!
I have to admit that I was a bit curious about whether I’d like this fudge or not. I’m not big on desserts and sugary stuff, and overly sweet things tend to put me off. Adding roast beef to fudge seemed to be a bit of a stretch, and I thought I might not find it palatable at all.
As it turned out though, it wasn't bad. The fudge is sweet, but not overly sweet (in small doses anyway), and the beef seems to add texture and savor without adding a strong beefy flavor. It's odd, but it seems to work.
The addition of beef also adds protein and vitamins to the fudge. There are certainly easier ways to get protein and vitamins into your diet, but that doesn’t mean that this fudge recipe doesn’t bring them to the table.
Finally, I think it’s really interesting and charming that young people all over the world are rediscovering these ‘ancient’ recipes from a half-century ago. We did the same thing when we were their age, and in a time when people seem to be frightened of the way things seem to change so rapidly these days, it’s nice to be reminded that people are still people, and there’s nothing new under the sun.
Here’s the recipe
Roast Beef Fudge
Author: Mrs. Florence E. Weist - Poll-Ette Hostess Cookbook, 1967
Serves: 50 small squares
Ingredients
½ lb (2 sticks) butter
1 large can of evaporated milk
4 cups sugar
12 oz chocolate chips
2 cups marshmallow fluff
2 teaspoons vanilla
1 cup cooked ground roast beef
Instructions
Cook butter, milk and sugar to soft ball stage (about 230 degrees), stirring often. Remove from heat and stir in chocolate chips and marshmallow fluff until melted. Stir in vanilla and ground beef roast. Beat until firm and pour into a well-greased 9x13 pan.
Thursday, March 1, 2018
The curse of being famous
The last couple of months have been non-optimal. A family member is quite ill -- I'll not get into details -- but it's been a tough row to hoe for a while. Tough in the ways you might expect but also even tougher in ways you might not expect. One bit of fallout is that I've bailed out of nearly all of the rest of the world. I've barely touched the interwebs for months now -- not even to peruse the peruvian porn sites -- and on balance I think I'm healthier for it. I may write about this period in detail at some point, but today isn't that point.
No, today is the day to write about the curse of being famous. Which is actually no curse at all in my case. Rather, it's a blessing.
This morning I rolled into the cornvenience where I've been working the night shift this winter. I wanted a cup of coffee and also wanted to see how the new(ish) manager is getting along. Again, I'll not go into detail, but she's really had a non-optimal experience since she got here just before Thanksgiving. She's got a metric shit-ton of grit and determination though, and I really admire that. A real champion of suck it up and drive on. I'm pulling for her and try to do as much as I can to provide support. Mostly just by doing the best job I can. I'm not in management and I don't want to be (will not be) in management, but I can be the guy who can be relied on to suit up, show up, and do it right. It's not much, but it's what I got.
Anyway, I roll in for a cup of joe and a brief confab and the manager says, "Hey, I'm supposed to tell you to get your ass back to work on your blog!"
Made for a big bright spot in my day, it did.
And gave me some marching orders, which I will do my best to comply with.
BTW, did I mention it's winter? Last week we went from 65 degrees at 3 p.m. to minus 16 degrees at midnight with five inches of snow. Yep, that's the winter I know and love.
Bonus footage of a big koyote kegger:
Monday, December 25, 2017
Sunday, December 24, 2017
Wednesday, December 13, 2017
More tea and overcast
I purposely posted the Varks vid yesterday without commentary. In some sense I wanted you kind readers to have the opportunity to come to it cold and without a lot of hoopla, the way I did.
A lot of stuff in that video caught my eye and tugged at the heartstrings of memory. That probably won't happen to any of you -- at least not in the same way -- but you never know.
I flew out of Upper Heyford a couple of times more than 30 years ago. Both times in Sea Kings. One built by Sikorsky and one built by Westland. Both times the weather was as depicted in the Vark video. Typically snotty, lots of overcast, sun occasionally breaking out for a few moments, but all in all dank, damp, and chilly. The video took me back, in a manner of speaking.
But there was something else, too. I never flew in an F-111 of course. But I did slip the surly bonds from the right seat of an Intruder a time or two, and the feeling of those also long ago hops came through in the video. Something about the side-by-side seating perhaps. The sights and sounds resonated a bit.
Anyway, I thought I'd throw this one up today. It's a recent interview with the pilot of the lead Vark in yesterday's video. Kinda cool.
And while I'm at least tangentially on the topic of Jolly Olde, here's what it looked like in Herefordshire over the weekend.
Elwyn tells me they get snow about every third December, and a storm like this less than once a decade. Meanwhile, it's warmer and drier than usual here in Nebrasky.
On the upside, there are Mooneys.
Tuesday, December 12, 2017
Friday, December 8, 2017
Fate is the hunter
Like most things I write, I stole that post title from a real writer, Ernie Gann.
Up early this evening. I'm going in to work ahead of schedule so an ailing co-worker can leave early. It's what you do.
The sun is three hours gone and the waning super moon has yet to make an appearance. The night sky is inky black and Bangled with hard pinpoints of starlight.
Just a smidge south of due east Orion has lofted above the horizon. The Hunter is sideways from my perspective but will be standing tall when I look again after midnight.
Far to the south a loose carpet of red pinpricks dot the place I know the horizon to be. They swarm for miles along the Colorado border and represent a wind energy swindle of monumental proportions. On an early December evening, with the howling gale of the last 48 hours finally abating, they're a cheery splash of color and I'm not unglad to see them. Things are never just one simple thing.
As I drive south the runway lights at KIBM flare to life. A throaty growl of turbofan motors tumbles down from above and landing lights heave into view. A G-3 floats over the fence, squeals down on the concrete, and slows markedly as the Speys roar into reverse thrust.
Nona the wonder dog is happy to see me, happy to be hanging it up for the day and heading home for supper, a bit of ball tossing, and warm slumber in her palatial dog house.
It's late in the year, and many things which seemed so permanent just weeks ago are fading toward senescence. It is the way of things. In only a few more weeks the sun will cease it's march south and reverse course. Winter will set in but a new year will have begun.
Wednesday, December 6, 2017
Send more heroin, please
Wow, it's been nearly an entire year since my last post.
Wait a minute. That's not right, is it?
No, it's been nearly a year since I had surgery to resolve the infected heel bone.
Yeah, that's it.
I have to say that even though the whole infection/surgery/recovery thing was a bit yucky to go through, the results have been absolutely stupendous. I was hoping to see the infection gone and the pain somewhat reduced. I'd have been really satisfied to still have stiffness and soreness so long as the threat of gangrene and amputation was gone.
As it turns out, though, they frickin' fixed the whole firetruckin' thing. I mean, not only is the infection long gone, the damme leg/ankle/foot is better than repaired. It's better than it was when I was 30 in fact. No pain. No stiffness. No swelling. I can use it as hard as I want and the whole thing works like it did when I was a kid.
I can't begin to tell you how great that is. I mean, I literally haven't come up with big enough, good enough, words, phrases, sentences, etc.
Soooooooooo.........
You might be wondering why I'm asking you all to take time away from your busy and important jobs and families to send me some (lots, please!) heroin.
Well, lemme just share wit' chall what I took and went and wrote for the newspaper this week.
Dateline: Here and Now.
Cow-calf commentary
By Shaun Evertson
Are most farmers and ranchers really drug addicts?
If you are a farmer or rancher, you are probably a drug addict. If you are married farmer or rancher and have a family it’s a virtual certainty that more than half of those who live in your home are drug addicts.
Sound familiar?
No?
C'mon, addiction in agriculture has been a major news story in the ag press this week. It’s gotta be true, right?
The story, which in some publications was written as straight news and in some publications as opinion or commentary, was quite formulaic. Catchy, sensational headline. Lede which describes a terrible tragedy in superficial but sensational terms, followed by citations from a couple of “scientific” studies. Quotations from agricultural “experts.” A call for “action.”
The problem, though, is that the narrative regarding an opioid addiction crisis in agriculture is at best wildly misleading.
One commentary referenced a survey conducted by something called “Morning Consult” which declared that “just under half of rural Americans” claim to have been “impacted” by opioid abuse, and “a whopping 74 percent of farmers and farm workers have been impacted.”
Okay, fair enough. Now what is “Morning Consult,” and what do they mean by “impacted?” Those details are absent from the commentary. The implication in those numbers is that about three-quarters of American farmers and ranchers are hop-heads, or at least employ hop-heads. Does that ring true?
Now I get it, the story didn’t say “exactly” that, did it? Of course not. But that’s a pretty skimpy fig leaf to hide behind, because the implication is clearly there and clearly intended to be drawn.
At the Morning Consult website (just search the name with your web browser of choice) the outfit says this about themselves:
“Morning Consult is changing how leaders use public opinion to make key decisions & drive strategy.”
Furthermore, “Our cutting-edge survey research and data science teams work with the world's largest companies on custom research and data visualization,” and, “Our team of editors and reporters deliver vital data & insights to over 275,000 daily subscribers on the issues shaping business, politics, tech and culture.”
Okay, so they do marketing. Marketing which appears to shade heavily into propaganda. What about their survey, though? They claim to do scientific surveys. It must be a valid survey, right?
I spent more than 30 minutes searching the Morning Consult site and the web itself, but I couldn’t come up with the actual survey. I don’t doubt that it exists, at least in some form, but it is not easily available. And it should be.
Despite that, the survey was cited in more than 25 ag publications. Probably many more than 25, I just happened to get 25 citations on the first page of results my web browser called up.
For those keeping score at home, we’re basically relying on the word of a marketing company that three-quarters of farmers and ranchers and/or their employees are hop-heads. Are you comfortable with that?
Let’s set that aside for the moment.
Another story quotes American Farm Bureau Federation President Zippy Duvall, who said, “We’ve known for some time that opioid addiction is a serious problem in farm country, but numbers like these are heartbreaking. Opioids have been too easy to come by and too easy to become addicted to. That’s why we are urging everyone we know to talk to their friends, family, co-workers – anyone at all they know or suspect needs help. And because opioid addiction is a disease, it’s up to all of us to help people who suffer from it and help them find the treatment they need. Government cannot and will not fix this on its own. Rural communities are strong. The strengths of our towns can overcome this crisis.”
It’s a fine sentiment Duvall expresses, but it’s also largely empty. It sounds good, but who isn’t for helping those who suffer? Who wouldn’t be for helping the agricultural community in a time of crisis? Still, read Duvall’s line -- which may be incomplete and taken out of context -- and you realize that there isn’t much there. A sympathetic noise and a call to action, but the problem remains essentially undefined. How do you act if you don’t understand the problem in reasonable detail?
Luke Runyon of NPR Illinois was frequently cited in the recent spate of agriculture addiction stories. “Rural areas and small cities across the country have seen an influx not only in the prevalence of prescription opioids, but illicit ones like heroin. According to the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC), opioids were involved in more than 33,000 deaths in 2015, four times the number of opioid-involved deaths than in 2000. A recent University of Michigan study found rates of babies born with opioid withdrawal symptoms rising much faster in rural areas than urban ones.”
Again, fair enough. And I don’t mean to imply that opioid addiction isn’t a problem -- it always has been and always will be. But as Zippy Duvall noted, it’s a disease which inflicts individuals, and there’s no easy, one-size-fits-all solution. Furthermore, there’s still no evidence that three-quarters of America’s farmers and ranchers and/or their employees are hop-heads.
What about the Michigan study? More rural babies born with opioid withdrawal than urban babies. That’s got to prove something, right?
What does the Michigan study prove, and more importantly, where are the data? Where are the numbers, and what do they mean in scale, context, and perspective? None of that is available in the many ag publication stories reporting on this “crisis.”
When you dig into the numbers you see that while the numbers of babies born with withdrawal symptoms are indeed up -- from about 1 per 1,000 in 2003 to 7 per 1,000 in 2013, the increase is only very loosely correlated with location, and much more strongly correlated with low income levels. In 2003, rural babies accounted for about 13 percent of those born with withdrawal, while 87 percent were urban babies. In 2013 the rural number had moved to 21 percent, while the urban number was 79 percent. So a slight shift, indeed, but clearly having to do more with income than location.
It’s pretty clear that statistics are being cherry picked to support a particular narrative -- a narrative that claims an epidemic of opioid abuse and calls for strict government controls on prescription pain pills.
Not mentioned in the narrative is the fact that strict controls already exist, and that nearly all pharmaceutical companies and medical providers adhere to the those controls. Nor does the narrative mention that providers and suppliers who violate the law are continually being caught and punished.
Increased government control will -- just as it demonstrably does in the case of gun control -- punish law-abiding citizens and do nothing at all to inconvenience criminals.
Let me offer a couple of personal anecdotes.
A couple of years ago my mom was suffering from severe degeneration of her hip joints. She was in incredible pain, and she needed medicine to control the pain while going through the process of having both hips replaced. It’s quite likely that if she had been unable to receive adequate pain control with opiate medication, she would have died. Pain is no joke. It’s real and debilitating. Mom took a lot of strong pain killers throughout the process. At the end of her medical/surgical journey, she emerged pain-free and with two new hips. And she was not addicted to pain pills. Mom and her doctors worked together to manage her pain without placing her at risk for addiction. Just as nearly all doctors and nearly all patients do when dealing with severe pain.
As for myself, last year I developed a bone infection in my heel. It was a serious problem, one that put me at risk of losing my foot. I was on IV antibiotics for seven months, and I was prescribed pain pills for seven months as well. Following surgery, my heel was fixed, I was infection free, and I was not addicted to pain pills.
According to the opioid crisis narrative, there’s simply no way that mom and I could have survived our bouts of pain management without becoming hop-heads.
So seriously, folks, what are you going to believe? Are mom and I some kind of superhuman examples? Or is it possible that the opioid crisis is perhaps less than people who cherry pick statistics and play fast and loose with facts in support of a manufactured narrative are willing to come clean on?
Do you farmers and ranchers really believe that three-quarters of you and/or your employees are hop-heads?
It’s probably worth thinking about this stuff.
gsurgery.jpg
A well-bandaged lower leg greeted me following surgery to fix an infected heel bone last December. Opiate pain medicines helped me deal with the pain, and the usual well-managed pain plan avoided any possibility of addiction.
Wednesday, November 29, 2017
A prayer
Lord, in these tough times I pray that you keep me ever mindful that the grace and peace and love you give are meant to be shared and not hoarded.
I ask that you give me the strength to walk the walk rather than talk the talk, to listen and pay attention, and to treat my fellows as I would be treated, just as you have taught.
Amen.
Tuesday, November 28, 2017
Battlefield Self
If you've wondered how it is that gergle and yewtoobe have come to a place where they censor content based on politics and ideology yet allow and profit from pedophilia, it's worth spending a bit of time thinking about what human beings are and what they are capable of doing.
One thing that the history of humanity tells us -- and proves, over and over and over again -- is that each and every one of us has the capacity to do unspeakably horrible things. And that we have less control over that ability than we like to tell ourselves (as we whistle past the graveyard of genocide).
"Ah," said the future concentration camp guards (every single one of them), "this doesn't apply to me. I'm a good person!"
The algorithms and ai's being produced and employed these days are being produced and employed by -- guess what -- human beings. They are not morally or ethically superior to people. How could they be? They're a mirror of their makers, albeit really fast and really loud.
That Socrates dude. You know, the unexamined life?
I suspect it's too late for many -- perhaps even most -- who've grown to relish the life of the matured and unencumbered feral child. But most isn't everyone
"After being fed a non-stop diet of freedom and rights for 60 years, people are starving to death for a diet of constraint and responsibility."
Tuesday, November 21, 2017
Night peoples
Without going into a lot of detail, it took a while to get my mind, body, and soul adjusted to nights.
In the beginning (the beginning of my association with this form of employment) the store was in a bit of a crunch so far as help goes. Not enough employees, and perhaps a few other personnel issues which I may delve into at some point.
As the new meat I got rattled around back and forth between the 3-11 (evening) and 11-7 (graveyard) shifts. All part of the new meat burden, which I understand, and on top of a help shortage. A blind man could see it coming a mile away. Once he picked up his hammer and saw, anyway. Butt I digress.
There were a few crises, a few double shifts, and when the smoke had cleared and all violent motion had ceased, there was a new manager and I found myself in sole possession of the Wednesday-Sunday graveyard shift. Which made it easier for me, not having to bounce back and forth on shifts and all. That meant a normalized sleep/awake cycle, and that really makes things much more manageable.
All the aforementioned to introduce the concept that I managed to suck it up, drive on, and win through. Also, now that I'm on straight nights, I'm a night people.
Last night was the first of my two weekly days off, my Saturday if you will. And it was a beautiful night. The day had been raw and blustery, with temps in the 40's and a howling northwest wind kicking up to as much as 60 mph at times. But the night was clear and calm and almost balmy, with the mercury hovering near 50 degrees.
Since I started at the store I've been unable (or unwilling) to get out and hike or do roadwork. At work I'm on my feet for eight hours and my fitness watch tells me that I cover 5-7 miles each night just going about my tasks. That's all to the good, being up and about is much better for me physically than sitting on my ass. But it's not the same as a hike, and I've missed that.
So I got out and hiked last night. It was glorious.
Glorious.
Saturday, November 18, 2017
Do you dare?
The Founders got it right. Sharply limited government and the sovereignty of the individual citizen.
But even before that, they Declared that it is self-evidently true that all men are created equal and endowed with unalienable rights.
The necessary corollary which attends unalienable rights is unavoidable responsibility.
The nation is very, very sick. When a land with a government of, by and for the people becomes sick, it is not for the government to produce the cure. This is a job for the people.
Getting down to cases, how is the sovereign individual citizen to help?
The first step goes hand in hand with the First Principle. The First Principle is that all men are created equal. It follows immediately that to be treated as an equal human being by ones fellows, one must first and foremost treat ones fellows as equal human beings. All of them, and without exception. This is the hardest responsibility of all.
I do not believe that one can hew to this principle without working at it. We are individuals, after all, locked forever in our own individual mind and body. Our default nature is selfish. It has to be so, else we'd perish. It's nature. Natural.
To treat others as we would be treated, and to hold ourselves to the same standard we require of others, this is the hardest thing. One can't just say it, one has to do it. And to do it, one has to have good and sufficient reason, and that reason (or those reasons) must come from within.
I can't get away with just parroting some high sounding words and issuing platitudes and posting memes. I have to do the hard work of developing and living a set of principles. Such principles must stem from a higher plane than that of the mortal human. Just as our natural rights come from our creator rather than from government, so our principles must come from a plane far above our egocentric, subjective, mortal selves.
Now a lot of people will read words like these and believe with utter certainty that they've got this principles thing suitcased.
Let me just suggest that might not be the case, and that furthermore, certainty is a very scary place for a human to be.
I'm going to go out on a limb here -- but it's a very short, very stout, and quite probably unbreakable limb. I suspect that few people in America spend much time thinking about, or to use the words of Socrates -- examining -- their principles. If this is so, and if the foregoing exposition comes anywhere close to describing reality, it might just be incumbent upon individual Americans to consider doing what President Kennedy suggested. A natural (perhaps the natural) place to begin doing something for the nation might be an intense study of ones principles. What are they? How closely do we hew to them? No, seriously! How closely?
To prime the pump, as it were, consider the following dare. Watch the video. It's hard. A SEAL and a Canadian psychologist. Talking about tough stuff and hard things. Watch it, think about it, and follow the path your thoughts suggest. Pick it apart. Think about what these fellows say in the context of individual responsibility. Or not. It's only a suggestion. Individual responsibilities can only be exercised by sovereign individuals, after all, and individual principles can only be developed by independent human beings.
Either way, it might also be worth pondering exactly what there is to be thankful for in this season of Thanksgiving.
Words to think about
Haven't been here in a while. Life stuff.
Getting back to normal. For some values of normal :)
It's almost Thanksgiving. Boy, do I have a lot to be thankful for!
Here are the words. Kipling's "If"
IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!
Perhaps they are words to live by...
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