Life on Hillsong Farm

Fresh Scent?!

2012-08-09T15:56:00.000-05:00

I made a discovery this week. A rather unwanted one, but a discovery none the less. My discovery was of the olfactory sort. I discovered the source of a smell that had been offending my olfactory sensors for some time.

Being an at-home dad, I have many tasks which would be foreign to many if not most away-from-home-for-most-of-the-day dads. One of these is administrator of kitchen custodial care. I use the term, "administrator," loosely. I'm really a one man show, administrating no one but me.

So when the dirty dish piles reach upward to touch the bottom of the overhead cabinets, it is my responsibility to clean. I do this with great vigor and with the assistance of numerous friends, not the least of which is my favorite: the dishwasher.

DW (as I refer to him) and I have tried many types of dishwasher soaps. We've tried granules and we've tried liquid gels. We've tried a variety of brands as well. We keep coming back to one product after each careful cost/performance analysis: Walmart's "Great Value Fresh Scent Dishwasher Powder with Grease Fighting Action".

Now let me state two things before I go any further. I would rather spend an hour with a Kirby vacuum salesman than 10 minutes inside a Walmart. I don't like what they are doing to America, and I don't like spending a cent in their stores. So I have Lisa do it.

Secondly, I wholeheartedly agree that they need to come up with a better and shorter name for their dish washing detergent.

Anywho, I have used this product for a number of years. Recently, they changed the smell that the detergent produces while cleaning the dishes. One night as I was sitting in the kitchen sorting my music lists on my laptop and while DW was purring away cleaning a heavier than normal load of dishes, I began to notice a strange odor. It wasn't pleasant. It didn't strike me as "fresh." Not believing it possible, it took me a number of minutes to sniff the entire kitchen before I confirmed with certainty that the odor was coming from DW.

I found the smell completely offensive. It reminded me of something but I couldn't put my finger on what it was. This continued for a number of weeks. I even switched to a different brand to use when I knew the kitchen would be inhabited. It got to the point that the only time that I would use Walmart's "Great Value Fresh Scent Dishwasher Powder with Grease Fighting Action," was when I started a load right before going to bed.

This week I was in Spring Green and had to stop at the truck stop there to, uh, er, well... make a pit stop. At the bottom of the urinal was one of those pink, hockey puck-looking things that they call a "urinal cake". I'm not making this up. They actually call them urinal cakes. Why, in God's name, I have no idea.

Standing there I began to notice a familiar but unpleasant odor. "EUREKA!" I cried out loud (okay, it wasn't eureka. It started with "Holy" and ended with something I won't post here.) "That's it!" Walmart's "Great Value Fresh Scent Dishwasher Powder with Grease Fighting Action," makes my kitchen smell like a truck stop urinal!

As I pondered how bizarre this was, it occurred to me that this was absolutely ironically fitting. What a perfect depiction of what that company is doing to many a town in this country as more and more mom and pop shops disappear from main streets and vacant buildings become more and more common.

While the joy that follows the solving of a great mystery settled upon me, the frustration of its implications also settled in. Now I'm back square one. Now I must begin anew my search for the perfect dishwasher detergent. The only upside to this is that Lisa will now be spending less money at Walmart and that our kitchen will no longer smell like a urinal.

Pic of the Day: Coyote

2012-05-10T14:32:00.002-05:00

We hear coyotes on or near our property nearly every night. Sometimes they are so loud and so close to the house that they actually wake us up. However, spotting them in daylight or catching them with our trailcam are much more rare.

Usually the photos we see are blurry, as the coyote is most often on the move. This one stopped near the camera to sniff around a little bit (perhaps in search for one of the many rabbits we often catch with the camera). Consequently the picture is far sharper than most that we see.

Pic of the Day

2012-05-08T11:30:00.000-05:00

My trail camera has been producing hundreds of photos each month and I thought that it'd be fun to post some of the best and/or more interesting ones every now and then.

This photo was taken on a very windy March day. It's a young buck who has recently lost his antlers and almost seems to be putting that area of his head into the wind on purpose. Does it feel good to him? Don't have a clue as I've never seen anything quite like this before. Thought others might have an answer or at least get a kick out of it. And no, there wasn't another buck waiting to do battle just out of the camera's view. But he does look a lot like our goats when they decide to smack heads.

Turkey Photos

2012-04-30T13:57:00.000-05:00

Our little trail camera has been very busy this spring. I pulled the memory card this past weekend to discover that over 1600 photos had been taken since the last time I checked. Most of those were either turkey or raccoon photos. There are others (coyote, pheasants, deer, rabbits and other furry creatures) that were fairly interesting as well. I'll post some of the better ones at a later date.

These were some of the best and/or most interesting of the turkey photos. They were "kissing close" at times. Seeing these has our son, Nathan, seriously considering turkey hunting in the future. I have to admit, these pics and the sheer number of them have me thinking about it as well.

Morels, Fiddle Heads, and Ribeye Steak... Just another day on the farm

2012-04-22T22:57:00.000-05:00

Saturday I came upon the biggest patch of morels I've ever found and did so earlier than I've ever found them, all on the same day. Not a bad day, I'd have to say.

This unusually warm spring has produced many a strange thing. Some of them are bad, such as earlier than normal lawn mowing. Some of them are great like the early spring-time arrival of the feverishly sought-after morel mushroom. While I have a nagging feeling that we're going to pay for this unseasonable weather in the long run, it's lovely to enjoy it all at this moment.

This meal was not only tasty, it all came from our farm. What an amazing and wonderful thing it is to be able to produce a meal with these types of delicacies from your own little piece of ground. I think I'll stay here.

Two and a half pounds of morels. Yeah, it was a pretty good day.

Cooking time: Fiddle heads (top), morels and steak (bottom).

Avoca St. Patrick's Day Parade

2012-03-22T13:20:00.001-05:00

Is there anything more Americana than a small town parade? Even if the parade is in celebration of the life of a European minister, small towns go all out and the atmosphere is always charged with joy and expectation. Children line up in the front row with empty bags in hand, waiting for the initial launching of candy from the first float. Parents mingle with other adults and enter into pleasant conversation. In the distance the sound of drums beating and brass instruments tuning up announce that the big event is about to begin.

As I stood along a street in the tiny town of Avoca last Saturday it occurred to me that everyone seems happy when attending a parade. I never saw a long face in the crowd. People are generally more pleasant and patient at parades. I find them more gracious and giving.

It further occurs to me that I have never seen a brawl break out at a parade. I'm sure that it has happened somewhere at some time, but I have never seen one. Over the years I've been to countless parades, making the observation all the more significant in my mind. I've seen fist fights and shoving matches break out at all kinds of other gatherings of large numbers of people: sporting events, concerts, county fairs, parties, tractor pulls, you name it. I even saw a fight break out at a flea market one time, but never at a parade.

What is it about a parade that makes us better people? I know that I'm a better person at a parade. This is true unless some moron suddenly stands in front of me while I sit in my favorite lawn chair (which happens to have a cup holder and a head rest. It's a thing of beauty.) Then I get cranky. Inconsiderate people tend to make me so. But other than that, I am a decent person and downright neighborly when I go to a parade. My lovely wife, Lisa, even admits to others that she knows me when we're at parades.

Maybe the world needs more parades.

At any rate, the following pics were taken at last Saturday's St. Pat's Day parade in Avoca, Wisconsin. I was not the photographer. Lisa captured these scenes I must say that she did a spectacular job of it.

After the passing of the color guard came a group of people in green shirts. Some rode a wagon, others walked, and others still rode motorcycles. There were no signs indicating what they were about, but they seemed to be having fun.

While small in number and some in stature, these Irish dancers were a delight. Particularly the little one that is just beginning to step out and perform her solo routine.

Ah yes, you've got to love small town parades. Even garbage trucks are considered float material. The amount of decorating done to this garbage truck must have taken hours to complete and, no doubt, must have cost the owner a great deal.

Addy and Grace always enjoy a good parade. It provides them with candy, something that we do not buy, for a few weeks or even months. I happened to notice that they were hesitant about going after the candy that came shooting out of the garbage truck.

Nathan was in charge of our dog, Dugal. Yes, even on St. Patrick's day we McDougals wear Packer garb. Nathan is clearly thrilled to be at this exciting event, as is Dugal. So much for my parade theory.

Somehow the parade planners were able to come up with a genuine Leprechaun. I personally viewed this as crude and repulsive. It was clearly an exploitation of this particular Leprechaun and belittling to Leprechauns in general. They do not wear green suits. They do not wear green top hats. They most definitely do not wear sunglasses. And where in the heck is his little pot of gold? I hate to say it, but I am beginning to doubt that he is actually a Leprechaun at all.

A few members of the U.W. Madison Marching Band joined in the festivities. They were quite a highlight for the crowd. Go Badgers!

By far the biggest highlight, and most disturbing site, was this individual. We don't know what his story was, and we do not want to know. We shielded the eyes of Grace and Addy as he came down the street and we prayed that he would not stop by to offer them candy.

Stinging Nettle Quiche

2012-03-21T11:05:00.001-05:00

The unseasonably warm weather has brought about changes on the farm that we normally do not see until April. The grass in the lawn has not only greened, it's ready for a mow. Leaves have developed on Honeysuckle and other bush-type plants in the woods. The elm trees have grown their leaves. Our Nanking Cherry bushes are blooming. Mosquitos have been attacking the kids whenever they go down to the creek. Red Wing Blackbirds and Robins appeared a couple of weeks ago and are now looking completely at home as they go about building their nests.

Yesterday was the first day of Spring. It began for me when Grace came in from the barn with a large smile on her face and something hidden behind her back. "Surprise!" she shouted and held out the egg basket. Two fresh eggs were inside. Grace would find a third to add to them later in the afternoon. It's amazing that our chickens would come out of their winter egg-laying dormancy and begin doing their business again on the first day of Spring. The girls have impeccable timing. Yeah, pun intended.

Yesterday afternoon I was assessing the state of the garden and came upon a patch of Stinging Nettles. The tallest of them was about six inches long. I've never seen nettles so far along this time of year. The discovery of the eggs combined with the appearance of the nettles put me in the mood to forage for dinner. I started on our hill near the Hickory Grove. I only found a half a dozen small patches of nettles, and they were smaller than the ones I had found in the garden. I then went to my favorite spot for nettle picking: the barn's foundation. In the best spot I found nettles with stems that were nearly a foot long.

I decided to try them in a quiche. After washing them and cutting the leaves from the stems, I blanched the the leaves for a few minutes. I do this to kill off any creepy crawlies that may have come along for the ride. Heating Stinging Nettles in any way also removes the oils that cause them to sting when touched. I saved the broth and will either use it to make tea or Stinging Nettle and Fiddlehead soup.

After they cooled down I poured them into the egg/sour cream/softened cream cheese mixture that I had prepared. I added my favorite seasonings (which almost always includes garlic powder, onion powder, sea salt, fresh ground pepper, and chicken soup base) and stuck it in a 310 degree oven. I pick 310 degrees because I find the traditional 300 or 325 degree cooking temperature to be too boring. When the edges were just beginning to brown I added shredded cheddar cheese and voila! Stinging Nettle Quiche.

I have to admit, I done good on this one. I was surprised at how well the flavor of the nettles and the eggs complimented one another. It also received rave reviews from the family, which is always a good thing.

The Bobcat Returns

2012-03-16T12:06:00.002-05:00

These photos of a bobcat were captured on March 13, 2012, a little over a month since the last time that my trailcam caught him/her. It seems a little less freaked out by the camera flash than it was the first time. I'm not sure if this is a good thing or not.

Straight Lines and Right Angles

2012-03-15T13:28:00.000-05:00

For many years now I have waged a war against conformity. I do not seek nor do I wish for anarchy. I am not anti-establishment for the sake of being anti-establishment. If anything I desire to avoid conformity only upon reaching the conclusion that the only good reason to conform in some matter is to join others who have already conformed. If the sole benefit is being numbered among the masses, I'm not interested.

I would prefer and actively seek to be a person who thinks outside the box. It sounds easy enough. It is not.

I am not referring to some simple adolescent battle with peer pressure here. What I battle is far more hideous. It is often subconscious. It is second nature. It is somehow deeply imbedded in my soul and seeks to destroy my uniqueness. It wants to obliterate any abstract thought. Rather it rewards an ordered life and lifestyle with a pseudo-peace and a pseudo-comfort that come from making straight lines and right angles. Curves are out of the question.

I hate the drive from Dodgeville to Madison on Highway 151. There are no curves. It's flat and it's straight and it's boring. Two or three miles to the north are some of the most beautiful hills and prettiest country roads that you'd ever want to see. Knowing this makes the 151 journey all the more miserable. Yet the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. So I bow to the wisdom of the highway planners and take a road well traveled.

The woods are one of my favorite places to be on all the earth. Put me in a couple of acres of trees that reach well above my head and I am at home. It is nearly impossible to walk a straight line in the woods. I like this.

I noticed some time ago that forests planted by humans are different than the natural variety. Regardless of the age of the forest, you can usually find rows. Nice, straight, orderly rows. It's as if we human beings are incapable of duplicating natural beauty. We can't even get close. We reject abstract design and surrender to an overwhelming need to add straight lines and right angles.

The other day I took a break from tree cutting and bush trimming. Physically exhausted I looked for something good to read while my aging muscles recovered. I settled on E. B. White's, “One Man's Meat.” It is a collection of his essays that I picked up last week at the Spring Green library.

In the section entitled, “Removal,” I came upon these lines: “This life I lead, setting pictures straight, squaring rugs up with the room- it suggests an ultimate symmetry toward which I strive and strain.” In his ongoing struggle to bring straight lines and right angles to his world he concludes that it, “satisfies something fundamental in me, and if, fifteen minutes later on my way back, I find that the rug is again out of line, I repeat the performance with no surprise and no temper.”

I immediately thought of the bushes that I had just pruned. They had been placed near the edge of our yard by the previous owners. They had been planted in a straight line. They had looked more like small trees rather than bushes. They had grown so tall that they were now blocking precious sunlight needed by the cherry trees that I had planted near them. So I attacked them with my Stihl chainsaw and my hand trimmers.

As I read E. B. White's words I was struck by the fact that I had once again failed to battle that fundamental weakness within me that seeks, “an ultimate symmetry.” I chopped the tops of the bushes to an even height. I pruned their branches to make straight lines. I made right angles at the ends. Never did I entertain an abstract thought regarding their appearance. Not once did I consider allowing each bush to retain its own identity. I forgot all about curves and I felt ashamed. And then I laughed.

The battle had been lost and once again I had failed to realize that I was at war. I took a photo of my handiwork. It's there, and now here, to remind me of my shortcomings. As Frost put it, “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I- I took the one less traveled by.” Hopefully I will do better with the lilacs.

Mystery Animal Caught on Camera... a Bobcat sighting?

2012-02-08T10:40:00.000-06:00

In the midst of some 200 hundred photos of deer, turkey, squirrels, rabbits, raccoons and a male pheasant taken over a four day period by my new trail camera, were the three posted below.

While zipping through the night time deer photos I came across this one. I was very excited thinking that we had caught a coyote with the camera. Then I looked more closely and noticed its tail. Way too short for a coyote and the head looks too round.

In this photo I began to think it was our neighbors' dog named, "Munch." She is short-legged and true to her name, she's a plump, Red Healer. She also likes to explore our land every now and then. But then I noticed the pointed ears which definitely make the face look cat-like.

This photo was the clincher. REALLY looks cat-like here. Round face, pointed ears, and note the shortness of the leg above the ankle. Plus there appears to be spots on the fur that are visible on that leg. I say it's a bobcat. Any thoughts on this would be welcome.

BONUS PIC:

Speaking of mystery animals, there was also this rather curious and (as of this date) yet unidentified creature. In fact, there were numerous photos of this wild animal, doing everything from strolling up the trail to what appears to be some type of weird dance in front of the camera.

Could it be that this mystery animal was in fact aware of the camera? And if so, could it possibly be trying to communicate something to/with the civilized world? More investigation may be required to answer these important questions. Stay tuned.

Fly Like an Eagle

2012-02-07T14:54:00.000-06:00

The other day I was moving some heavy cement blocks, landscaping tools and a variety of other items that had suddenly revealed themselves thanks to the disappearing snow. Deciding that I deserved a break, which I often do, I headed over to my pick-up and leaned over the hood. The sun was shining brightly and the heat radiating off the hood felt so wonderful that I extended my arms across it, laying one side of my face on the warm metal.

It was an awesome pre-spring moment. I could hear the sound of birds chirping noisily. The sunlight was warming everything it touched and a gentle southern breeze began blowing through my hair. Even the smell of compost brewing, a smell that normally repulses me, was pleasant. My thoughts turned to the garden and I wondered happily when the soil might be warm enough to begin turning it and working it again.

Suddenly a “Woooosh!,” sound came from directly overhead and the sunlight disappeared for millisecond. It sounded so close and was so loud that I was more than a little startled. I instantly and instinctively crouched as if I were on top of the hill during deer season when a rifle shot explodes nearby from some unseen hunter.

I looked up, beginning to mouth, “What the heck?!,” but stopped mid-sentence. There above me was a bald eagle. It's white face was brilliant in the sunshine and its wings were fully extended. It was beautiful. And it was huge!

It continued on its journey gliding over the garage roof and down over the valley. It could not have been more than 30 feet above me when it had passed over and I was stunned by how close it had come. We have seen many bald eagles since moving out here in 2002 but I had never seen one in the wild this close.

I continued to watch in awe as it flew effortlessly over the tree tops. Steve Miller's song, “Fly Like an Eagle,” came to mind as I thought about how cool it would be to view the land from that eagle's vantage point. I kept my eyes on it until it disappeared behind a hillside where the valley bends to the south. I couldn't help but smile.

Passing Wildlife and One Curious Doe

2012-01-28T16:29:00.000-06:00

A lone doe pauses at the crossroad of our trails. It's one of the few daytime photos that we get as most of the interesting activity takes place at night.

Turkey strolling along the trail shortly after the doe head to their evening roosts, having spent the afternoon feasting in the adjoining cornfield.

This doe was fascinated by the camera flash...

and gives gives the camera a good sniff.

Off the Grid/Sustainable Projects for 2012

2012-01-22T16:36:00.000-06:00

Winter is planning time out on the farm. It's time for me to strap on my Superman cape once again and list all of the things I believe that I can accomplish before the end of the year. I enter this knowing fully well that I will have reverted from Superman to Clark Kent before the end of June.

So we'll just call this my, "Best-of-intentions-I-know-I-can-do-it-but-now-I'm-not-so-sure-chalk-it-up-to-wishful-thinking-but-really,-what-on-earth-was-I-thinking-list." While there are also a number of maintenance, building, and smaller scale projects that also need to be done this year, these are the fun, green, self-sustaining projects.

Raised Bed Hoop Houses

The Raised beds were built in our garden last year and worked very well. This year we will try to extend the season for our tomatoes and greens by adding removable hoop housing. My plan, derived from so many others out there that I can't call it mine, will use 1/2 inch PVC pipes for the frames and attach to the raised bed by brackets. We'll then lay plastic sheeting over them and "bunch" it and weigh it down at the ends. We'll begin this in April to get an early start on our tomato seedlings, and remove it until September, when hopefully we can add a few more weeks to our tomato harvesting.

Raised Bed Cold Frames

The cold frame design is similar to the hoop houses, but mainly for the raised beds that were constructed out of eight foot 6"x8" boards (as opposed to the 12 foot 2"x12" raised beds). Rather than bending the PVC, they will be angled at about 45 degrees. There will also be fewer of them: one on each end and one in the middle only. The base for these, while also running through 1/2 inch brackets on the sides, will be driven into the ground. Their sole purpose will be to hold translucent poly roof sheeting in place. We'll see which of the two designs works best.

Solar Shower

This is my favorite project and one that I've been wanting to build for three or four years, even though everyone around here thinks I'm nuts. Having up to six people showering in our house on almost a daily basis not only takes a tremendous amount of water but the propane to heat it and the electricity to run the well pump. Since we do not use air conditioning, the humidity these showers create on a hot summer day is miserable as well.

So the answer? Shower outside.

I'll be building a frame out of black locust timbers (take forever to rot) to support a 70 gallon plastic container about six feet off the ground. You can stop laughing now, please.

I'll paint the container black and screen the top of it so that rainwater can be collected. If the water temperature doesn't reach an acceptable level, an old storm window will be placed over the top to help retain heat but still allow for solar heating. The window would then be removed on rainy days so that rain water can be collected.

The "shower room" will be attached to one side of the frame and also constructed out of black locust timbers. A simple connection from the bottom of the tank to a shower head will be added. In case the water is too hot, I am also planning on running a cold water line via the nearby milkhouse.

My biggest dilemma has been the drain. Because of the location, which was chosen for the greatest amount of privacy, I can not find a suitable way to connect it with the milkhouse drain. I've currently settled on a french drain with a filtering system that would purify the gray water, but would prefer some other system in order to utilize the gray water for the garden or some other project. More research will be done on this over the next couple of months.

All planning and research aside, I can not wait to take a nice hot shower and look up to see blue sky. As to no more burning through propane or steaming up the house? Priceless.

Drip Irrigation System

This is another long, thought out project that really needs to get done this year. The container is the exact type as the one I'll be using for the solar shower. As my drawing below shows, it will also be collecting rain water.

The container location will be on a slope overlooking our garden. The bottom of the container should be a minimum of eight or nine feet above most of the garden, so the irrigating will be by gravity alone.

Getting the water to the places in the garden that we wish to irrigate will be through the combination of hoses, PVC pipe, and a whole bunch of various attachments. Oh, I can feel the frustration already.

Since having made these drawings I have already decided to relocate the PVC in the raised beds. Rather than running them along the sides (which I originally chose to do in order to secure the pipes to the sides via brackets) I've chosen to run them more toward the middle and support them through larger PVC that will be cut on one edge to match their diameter and driven into the ground. I realize that probably doesn't make any sense, but trust me. I'll post photos later.

What I love most about this project is that it is completely self-sustaining. Provided it works (and provided we have a normal amount of rain this summer). If all that comes together it will require no water from our well and no electricity to move the water. Man, I love it!

My Private War With Cellphones

2012-01-21T12:00:00.000-06:00

I hate cellphones. I hate talking on a phone when I'm driving. I hate how my cellphone routinely changes its ring tone from a manly one to some sort of Tinkerbell-sounding thing. Funny too how it never goes off when I'm alone but waits until I'm standing in line with a bunch of guys at the hardware store when it decides to let me know it changed tones on me. Really nice timing. I hate cellphones.

I hate how cellphones interrupt without apology and at the most inconvenient times. I hate the little buttons on the side of it that I inadvertently push while opening it when I get a call. I hate having to dig for my glasses so I can read the teensy little letters and numbers on the phone so that I can decide whether or not to answer the call. I hate being interrupted when I'm deep in thought about heady topics such as the industrialization of the American farm or the national healthcare crisis or homeland security and our diminishing civil liberties or what to do if the rotisserie chicken is sold out when I get to the market. I hate cellphones.

There was a time when I liked cell phones. That was back when they weighed about twenty pounds, had gigantic numbers, and a foot-long bendable antenna. Very few people had one, but I did and that made me cool. It made me important in the eyes of others. Why else would I need to have a cellphone while having coffee at Perkins? I'm certain other customers thought I was a very important person and that important people must need to be able to reach me in case I was needed to make some important decisions or be advised about some important developments in some important issue. Truthfully, the calls I would get in those days were usually from my wife reminding me to stop at the store to pick up some toilet paper on the way home. But no one in Perkins knew that. They all thought that I was on the phone with someone important like the Governor. Maybe even the President.

That all changed when cellphones became more affordable. Pretty soon everyone had one. When everyone has something, that something is no longer cool and its owner is no longer important. Once everyone from Grandma Moses to the teen at the local high school who was voted, “Most Likely to Remain a Hermit,” had one, the only justifiable reason for me to have a cellphone was to actually use it. That's when my enthusiasm checked out.

Pretty soon everyone that knew me in even the most remote of ways had a new cellphone. And bless their hearts, they all punched my number into their speed-dial system. Suddenly I was getting calls in the weirdest places: In meetings, on the road during rush hour, in bathrooms, in my garage, in checkout lines as I waited to purchase toilet paper. It was a nightmare.

In desperation I learned to use two important cellphone tools: The “Off” button and voice-mail. At first the benefits were marvelous but in the end, all too short-lived. The use of these tools had created two brand new problems. First of all I was missing phone calls from people that I actually wanted or needed to talk to. Secondly, I quickly realized that I had to not only listen to but actually respond to all of those voice-mails. Oh holy communication overload!

Over time my cellphone operating style evolved into something that resolved the continual state of conflict that I had been in. I stopped answering it AND rarely listened to the voice-mails that people left. This complicated and revolutionary approach to non-land line communication devices brought about an instant state of peace to my world.

Along the way I also discovered a miracle of sorts. If you don't listen to your voice-mails, they magically disappear after a couple of weeks or so. It's as if my cellphone company takes pity on me as the number of messages stack up and just wipes them out. I don't care what anyone says about them, US Cellular is my hero!

So now, as the years have passed and having left my city job and for a simpler life in the country, no one calls me anymore. No one that is except for my wife and kids and a couple of other people who understand my idiosyncrasies. These days my cellphone has evolved into nothing more than an expensive intercom system. If I'm up on the hill, which I often am, Grace can call me to ask if she can make some hot chocolate, which she often does. It has taken me nearly twenty years, but I am finally warming up to having a cellphone again. Now if I could just remember to leave it in the truck when I go into the hardware store.

Winter on Hillsong Farm

2012-01-20T13:56:00.000-06:00

With a snowstorm blanketing the landscape outside, I thought it would be a good time to organize and post some photos of scenes around the farm. Every season out here has its own beauty and winter is no different.

The photos from the hilltop are brought to us courtesy of the new Firestone M/T tires that I just put on the truck. Yes, that was M/T and not A/T. These things are big and nasty and awesome! While they were designed to take you through deep mud, they have already proven themselves to be the best thing that I have ever had on any truck for getting through snow. Photos of these bad boys will follow in a future post.

But for now I sit with a glass of red wine, occasionally glancing out the window at the snow coming down while listening to Van Morrison's, "Magic Time" recording, and pull up photos that make me so very glad to be living in God's Country.

On top of the hill and near the site where our future off-the-grid dream house will be located.

The sun setting behind the Hickory Grove. I've caught some of the most beautiful sunsets that I have ever seen from this area after the leaves have fallen for the year from the hickory trees.

Deer love our cornfields and dig through the snow to find unharvested cobs every night. The tip of our largest silo can be seen just above the horizon on the right.

The intersection of the field road and ridge road. I refer to this spot as, "Haight/Ashbury." While I think the name is really groovy, it has not caught on with the rest of the commune.

Blanketed in white are about 60 or 70 apple trees, as seen from our yard. The mound in the foreground is part of the drain field for our new septic system. More on that whole disaster later.

Cheers! Ran across this Cabernet Sauvignon a few weeks ago. It pairs well with photo viewing, day-dreaming, or anything else I've tried it with. I highly recommend it.

One more pic, looking down to our little creek which has vanished behind the trees and under the snow.

My New Toy

2012-01-18T11:04:00.000-06:00

Lisa and the kids gave me a wonderful toy this Christmas, a trail cam. I put it up in a few locations around the farm alongside deer paths and crossings with mixed results. Seemed like the only thing that I could catch were leaves blowing in the wind.

I went back a few days ago to one of my original sites and adjusted the settings and placed the camera in a slightly different direction. The results were much better and I've posted a few here.

There was a group of deer passing by the camera when the night shots were taken. One was an eight point buck. The small buck in the last photo was quite curious about the camera. There are several shots of him inching closer to it. He is missing one side of his rack, which isn't much of a rack. However if you look at the remaining side it appears that the ends of the tines are broken off and jagged. Perhaps after going a few rounds with the eight-pointer.

First Hard Frost

2011-10-23T12:14:00.000-05:00

On Thursday morning the thermometer read 27 degrees, and white covered anything that was not in direct sunlight. The first hard frost of Autumn had hit, signalling the soon-coming end of the gardening season.

A conflict is raging within me.

The sentimental side of me is sad, realizing that the days of fresh-sliced tomatoes from the garden are over until next year. The dreamer in me regrets that I did not preserve (either canning, freezing or drying) more of them, and remembers that last spring I really thought that I could put a much larger dent in our annual processed tomato budget. The realist in me is thinking, "Oh, thank God! I'm so sick of the piles and containers of tomatoes in the front room and in the kitchen. I'm sick of cutting boards that can't hold back the pools of tomato juice. I'm sick of tomato juices dripping all over the kitchen floor. I'm sick of cleaning the kitchen floor. I'm sick of peeling skins off of partially frozen tomatoes. I'm sick of tomato seeds sticking to everything and everyone. I'm sick of feeling guilty for not doing more. I'm sick of the color red. Oh, thank God."

Back in the garden, the kale, swiss chard and broccoli all look really good. It appears that the cabbage plants are actually trying to make a second run at producing. The root crops (beets, rutabagas, and turnips) are crazy big. But everything else is done.

Weather permitting, I will be cleaning things up in the garden this week and roto-tilling all the areas that are done for the year. Then it's time to plant and mulch the garlic, and wait for the 2012 seed catalogs to arrive. There is something seriously wrong with me.

A Tale of Two Horrors

2011-07-06T16:42:00.000-05:00

Something died outside. It made its presence known on the afternoon after the big heat. After a quick inventory of children, livestock and pets I began tracking the intensely unpleasant smell.

The smell of decomposition, or "decomp" for those in the real life C.S.I. business and for those of us in-the-know is unmistakable and sickening. I know this because I read a book --a very disturbing one that I would never recommend. I wish I hadn't read many parts of it cause now it's stuck inside my brain forever.

My worst fear is that it might be a heifer down in the pasture across the road from us. That was the direction that my olfactory sensor was taking me.

We do not own the pasture. It is owned by a family corporation, most members of which live in nearby towns. The land is rented out to one of our neighbors whose farm is about a mile away "as the crow flies" from ours. This neighbor recently hired Katherine to help milk their dairy herd 10 to 12 times a week. She is such a natural at this that she began milking the herd on her own after the second day.

The problem with dead cattle is that dead cattle are big. Really big. When big cattle die and go unnoticed, they stink. Really stink. It takes turkey vultures, coons, possum, coyote, and other various members of nature's, "Waste Material Removers" a great deal of time to consume a full-grown cow carcass (yes, I wrote heifer earlier and that was in fact the accurate term to use, but cow worked better in this sentence and no I am not going to run through the not-so-subtle differences between cows, heifers, steers, and bulls at this juncture). Consequently the smell of rotting flesh can invade the nostrils for days or weeks if the carcass is not properly dealt with by a rendering truck.

To have come through the horrible temperatures and humidity victoriously only to emerge from the house and be greeted by a wall of pure stink... well, it just ain't right. I groaned, my mind reviewing what I had endured the previous 48 hours while simultaneously imagining life for a week or two under a invisible cloud of serious stink.

The temperature outside at 3:00 am Friday morning, the day of the big heat, was 80 degrees Fahrenheit. The dew point was in the high 70s meaning the humidity level was sadistically high. By 9:00 am we had already reached 90. Our friends Tom and Emily called offering to take the kids along with their son, Henry, to a movie, dinner and shopping in Platteville. Every activity on the trip was focused on air conditioning and kid-friendliness. Our kids, of course, jumped at the chance.

Katherine was in Madison with a couple of friends. They were housesitting for one of the friend's grandparents in a home that I presumed was air-conditioned. Lisa worked that day at her new job as a staff Public Defender for the State of Wisconsin. Her new office, located in Lancaster, is air conditioned.

That left me. With the exception of our two dogs who played dead in the front room all day, I was completely alone. And hot. And sweaty. And feeling increasingly grumpy and helpless.

I discovered however that one advantage of being alone was that I could freely roam the house and grounds in only my boxer shorts. In retrospect, I suppose doing the full Monty was possible as well but the underwear-only approach was as risky as I was willing to be on that day.

There is something absolutely extraordinary about strolling through your grounds clad only in undies. It's liberating. Exhilarating. Primal. It's almost pre-fall in the Garden of Eden kind of stuff. It's red, white, and blue, oh thank God I live in the good 'ol U.S. of A. material. It's a William "BraveHeart" Wallace face-painted-every-muscle-contracted-reach-down-to-the-very-essence-of-your-being-and-scream-"FREEDOM!" kind of a moment.

Then I heard the unique sound that tires make when they leave pavement and touch gravel. Someone was coming up our driveway. It has been at least a decade since I have moved so quickly. My mind was racing, "can I make it around the house before they make it around the garage?" I did and in moments I was through the porch, through the kitchen and in the front room pulling up shorts and pulling on a T-shirt.

What a bizarre experience, going from such a state of contentment and exhilaration to one of complete shame and terror. As it turned out, it was a false alarm. The "tires touching gravel" sound that I heard was made by the postal lady as she delivered our mail to our mailbox. I had been, unknowingly, safe from view the entire time.

Our house was closed up for nearly 24 hours. In that time the temperature never dipped below 83 degrees and reached 90 degrees at the day's worst. While local newscasters said we hit a high of 99 degrees and a heat index reading of 114, our thermometer topped 100 in the afternoon.

I realize that to those living in the U.S.'s deep south, or the jungles of southeast Asia, or to those along the Amazon river basin that I am coming off as a major league whiner. I don't care. I have chosen NOT to live in those places because I hate the combination of heat and humidity. And because they have some really scary snakes.

Trying to fall asleep under these conditions is next to impossible for me. I slept for a combined 2 and 1/2 hours on the worst night. At 4:30 in the morning as I stood in front of a fan, leaning over a chair in my boxers, sweat rolling down my face and watching TV to try and get my mind off the heat, I almost gave up. I came within moments of going to the foot of the stairs and calling up to the rest of the family in utter defeat, "That's it! Come on down! We're heading to a motel!"

I did not give up the thought completely. That experience was early Friday morning and Friday was to be the dangerous scorcher. I could not see any way possible that I could make it through another night like that. While the weather forecasters promised some relief through Friday night/Saturday morning, I had already learned not to trust them.

When I woke up on Saturday morning, pleased to note that had i had both slept and that I was still alive. I began to rejoice. While struggles of any type are not something that I pursue, the sense of accomplishment found on the other side is remarkable. If only it could be canned, sold and served in six packs. As the morning wore on I began to notice that Barry Manilow's hit song, "Looks Like We Made It," was playing in my mind. Truly a sign that I had lost it.

Saturday rolled on and the temperatures remained about 10 degrees cooler than the previous day. Humidity had also dropped noticeably. As the evening approached I looked forward to opening the windows and letting all the stale, musty, moisture laden air out of the house and to bring in the cooler, drier outside air. I opened a south-facing window in the living room, turned on the fan which blew inward, and faced a sudden horror: something died outside.

Preparing for the Heat

2011-06-30T13:52:00.000-05:00

Whenever I'm away from blogging for a significant length of time I find it difficult to re-engage. Generally this is due to the number of things that have taken place since my last entry that I think people would find interesting or at least entertaining. I am continually overwhelmed with material.

I also feel some self-generated, frustrating, suffocating pressure to write a novel once I've returned to the world of blogdom. Whether this is due to a supposed need to properly update what few readers I may have out there who actually give a flip or perhaps some form of self-imposed penance, I do not know. What I do know is that I find myself puzzling over this blog for a number of days before jumping back in.

So, here I is again. Puzzled, overwhelmed with material, and ravaged by guilt.

A crazy amount of things have taken place since May. I can not and will not attempt to cover them all. Suffice it to say that it is nice to again enter a season of breathing in and out.

The weather this year has been a rollercoaster ride of high heat and humidity for a few days and then down to clear, cool, near fall-like days, leading back up to the heat and humidity. We're moving back up the track again today, leading to a peak tomorrow of 95 degrees F, and very high humidity. In short, a typically unpredictable Wisconsin summer.

We got rid of our window air conditioners two years ago. We have survived up to this point by opening the windows up at night to cool down the house, and then shutting everything up in the morning to retain what cool air we were able to lure in. It works remarkably well for the most part. However, 95 degree days brutally test my resolve.

One of our reasons for doing away with the A/C was the realization that we became lumps in the house on hot summer days. The coolness of the air conditioners, the soothing hum they create, and the darkness created by the window shades make perfect, though artificial, napping weather. Once prodded (either by guilt or a disgruntled spouse) to go out the door and actually get something done, the sudden blast of furnace-like air would send me whimpering back into our cool sanctuary in search of mercy and understanding.

We have discovered our productivity has increased dramatically since leaving the window units in storage. As an added benefit, our summer electricity bills have decreased dramatically as well.

You learn rather quickly to properly prepare when extreme heat is forecasted and you live without A/C. Pasta salads are made and stored in the refrigerator. Bread and lunch meats are inventoried and resupplied if necessary. Lectures are repeated to little ears (and not so little ears) about the need for keeping doors shut, unnecessary lights off, eating foods that are either cold or microwavable, showers to be taken at night and then only after parental approval, and bedroom fans blowing out during the day and blowing in at night.

Outdoor work is done in the cool of the morning or after the sun goes down. This morning I weeded, mulched and watered some of the remaining tomato plants that I transplanted from their seed trays last evening. These plants were the "replacements" for anything that did not make it in the garden thus far. Fortunately most our original tomato plants survived the move to their permanent beds, leaving us with many extras.

I have about a dozen more plants to go which will find a home in the remaining open raised bed. I would have liked to have transplanted them this morning, but after soaking through my second T-shirt, I decided to call it a morning and headed for shade. Besides, plants respond better to transplanting when it is done in the evening rather than in the hot, mid-day sun.

The big garden related mystery this year is our sweet corn. More specifically, the lack thereof. I tilled a large area behind the barn in early May. It's nice and flat with plenty of sunlight and well fertilized soil. Lisa put in a few rows and later the kids and I planted about a dozen more (each approximately 20 feet long). I've yet to find anything growing but weeds and a single stalk in the area that Lisa had planted.

The seeds were not leftovers from previous years, but purchased this spring We planted well after the last frost and have had plenty of rain to soak the seeds. Still, nothing.

I considered the possibility of raccoons digging up the seeds as there are plenty of coons around here and they are crazy about corn. Yet there isn't even a hint of any soil having been disturbed. Even if some had been dug up, the odds of losing every one of them are astronomical. Further still, they've discovered our grain bags in the machine shed and have had loads of fun feasting on grain.

We also have plenty of rabbits. I nearly ran over some bunnies while mowing to clear the area and unearthed their nest. But again, the odds of them getting all the plants are unlikely and even if they had there's usually some sort of evidence such as partially chewed stalks.

And so the mystery continues...

Feasting on Fiddleheads

2011-05-25T14:39:00.000-05:00

It's cold and rainy on the farm today. While the weather has put a damper on my outdoor plans for the day, it does allow a little time to catch up on my posts. While I feel increasing pressure to get all of the planting done in gardens right now, it is rather nice to exhale and reflect on the recent whirlwind of activity.

Things have been extremely busy around the farm with all of the spring rituals of tilling, planting, building, repairing, pruning and enjoying the change of seasons. For some reason this past winter seemed particularly long and hard to me. I can't ever remember longing for spring as much as I did this year.

Our oldest daughter, Katherine, will be graduating from high school this upcoming weekend. The big graduation party scheduled for the middle of next month is also requiring activity and a critical eye when looking about the place. All of the, "Fix It," and, "ASAP," and, "Honey Do," lists have melted into one overwhelming (and at times discouraging) enormous list of tasks that have reached critical mass. My procrastination tendencies have been humiliatingly exposed once again and the success or failure of Katherine's party hangs in the balance.

It's amazing to me how perspective can change so dramatically. The piles of lumber and tools and benches in need of repair and the camper in need of a new camper aren't really an eyesore to me. They are symbols of my ambition, my handiness, and my industry. However, being mechanically-challenged, a procrastinator by nature, and overconfident in my own"fix-er-upper" abilities, these symbols tend to sit for a long time. A VERY long time.

But then something like a graduation party comes along and my perspective immediately changes. Suddenly I am seeing things the way I think my relatives may see things. And I am embarrassed for me.

In this condition my two-year debate about which type of hinge will be the right one for the garden shed door comes to an abrupt end. The second guessing is no longer as important as the fact that my brothers-in-law are coming out to the farm and the garden shed is still doorless. They wouldn't say anything about it, of course. They are too nice to do that. But I'll know that each of them will be shamefully shaking their heads on the inside, feeling pity for me and sorrow for their sister.

I can have none of that. I must not allow my manhood to be questioned by them or anyone else. My male ego needs to remain firmly intact. I must be seen as a, "Man's man," an "Everyday Joe." Especially since I sometimes write about cooking. And not just cooking but sometimes even cooking with flowers. And I haven't mentioned this before, but I like interior decorating too. Drives Lisa nuts.

So projects have been slowly but steadily removed from my lists. I have found new motivation to overcome my fear-of-failure for anything requiring a saw or a hammer or a drill. As each task is completed I have experienced the added benefit of sticking out my chest and showing my handiwork to my lovely bride. "Yeah, baby, I did that. Built that thing from scratch. Even cut down a tree and made the lumber myself. It was hard work, but I got 'er done. Guess I'm still a stud-muffin, eh?"

Despite the fever-pitched activity around here, I have still found time to forage for spring-time goodies. The fiddleheads that I gathered were delicious and a hit at our dinner table. They also worked well with my overloaded schedule as the prep time was about as minimal as it gets.

Our patch of Ostrich fern behind the house. The area allotted to this delicacy will be increased dramatically next year.

The most time consuming aspect of preparing fiddleheads is cleaning off the brown debris from last season's crop. I rinsed them in a colander but then cleaned each individually under running water.

I melted a couple tablespoons of butter and added a drizzle of olive oil to a pan. After it was heated I threw in the fiddleheads and added sea salt, fresh ground pepper, and a little onion powder and let them saute away. When they were fully cooked I set them in a dish and sprinkled some wood violets over them. While not really adding anything to the taste of the fiddleheads, they did help make a rather nice presentation. Besides, if you're going to eat fern, you might as well eat flowers too.

Much like the morel mushrooms on Hillsong Farm, my only complaint about fiddleheads is that there aren't enough of them.

Scenes of the Season

2011-05-07T13:07:00.000-05:00

These are Nanking cherry bush blossoms that are located along our garage and near our gardens. Always loaded with beautiful flowers this time of year, the bushes buzz from the hundreds of honeybees and other insects that stop by for lunch. The berries are quite small (smaller than a grape) and quite sour. Still, the kids try to eat some off the bush every year. Lisa made a batch of Nanking cherry wine a few years ago. I'm hoping to use them for jam this year.

Lisa's tulips survived yet another Wisconsin winter. Some seem to have slowly disappeared, but this group does well every year.

These little yellow flowers are all over our southern-facing slopes in the spring. I'm not sure what they are. They look a little bit like Cowslip but the leaves are different, the petals are thinner, and they are not located in a marsh. Whatever they are, I look forward to seeing them each spring.

Wood violets are everywhere this time of year. They not only carpet the woods and hillsides in purple each spring but they are also quite edible. Most people use them in salads or to garnish everything from roasts to birthday cakes. I thought I'd try using them to top off the fiddlehead/stinging nettle soup that I plan to make next week.

You know, I occasionally write stuff that flows out from me quite naturally and sometime afterward I look at it and go, "Oh mama, what's happening to me?!" It's like having a sudden identity crisis. It's like waking up in some foreign land and wondering how you got there. It's like that sudden jolt of terror that strikes you when you finally let go of all denial and surrender to the fact that you are about to throw up. I just had that experience once again as I re-read the previous couple of paragraphs.

This is the view from the southern-facing slope where I took the wildflower photos. I tried planting about a dozen grape vines on this slope seven years ago, but only two have survived. Too bad, I always thought this slope would make a beautiful vineyard.

Nathan is filling in one of the raised bed frames that I built recently (and Addison and Grace painted... exterior only). This one is for russet potatoes, which Lisa planted as soon as Nathan was finished.

And these are fiddleheads. The four of these, located closest to our foundation wall, popped up before all of the others due to the warmth provided by the wall. It's easy to tell from this photo how they got their name. I resisted harvesting them, preferring to wait until there's enough for a meal.

Weekend Activities

2011-05-03T23:20:00.000-05:00

This past weekend was a busy one on the farm. The weather turned out to be far better than what had been predicted, enabling us the opportunity to knock a few things off our very large, "To Do..." list. I also found time to sneak away to search for a few morel mushrooms. Sadly, I did not come across a single one.

I did find that our fiddleheads are about ready to be plucked. Fiddleheads are the early spring shoots of the Ostrich fern. Last year Lisa discovered that they are edible. While rather skeptical at first, I tried a couple that she had sautéed in butter. They were incredible! They actually reminded me of the rich, earthy taste of morels. The ones in the above photo are conveniently located just outside our back porch door.

They were named because of their shape, which looks very much like the tuning end of a violin when they are ready to be harvested. While other types of ferns produce similar looking shoots, it's important to pluck only those belonging to the Ostrich variety as they are the only ones that are edible.

I found most of my time consumed with building a couple of raised bed frames for the garden and preparing an antique door that will be installed on our garden shed. Lisa spent much of her time in her flower bed, while closely watched by our two dogs, Stella and Dugal.

Nathan spent much of Saturday putting together our newest wheelbarrow. I have found that you can never have too many of them. The same can be said of shovels and landscape rakes. It seems to me that I have bought a dozen of each since we moved out here nearly nine years ago. I would be fortunate to locate three of each around the place if I had to.

It never ceases to amaze me how things can disappear and yet our four kids are quite certain that they had absolutely nothing to do with the vanishing garden tools. They also profess their innocence relating to the numerous disappearances of my hammers and screwdrivers. It all remains a great mystery.

Despite the ongoing vanishing tool saga, good progress has been made this spring. We haven't completed nearly the number of projects that I was hoping to at this point in the year, but overall things are shaping up. I find myself cautiously optimistic that we might actually put a good-sized dent in our annual food bill this year with the fruits and vegetables that we will be able to grow ourselves.

Morel Mushroom Season is Here

2011-04-29T16:11:00.000-05:00

It’s the time of year when the first morel mushrooms start popping up through the ground. Every year, when the very short morel-hunting season is over, I run across ads for kits that enable you to grow morels in your back yard. Every year, because I’m hungry for more morels than we were able to harvest, I’m tempted to send for one of those kits.

I have always resisted because the ads seem cheesy and too good to be true. They remind me of those old ads for Sea Monkeys or X-Ray glasses (okay, I bought a pair of those, and no, they didn’t work) that I’d find in the back of my comic books when I was a kid.

I don’t know anyone who has purchased one of those kits and have been successful. If you are out there, I’d love to hear from you. I did, however, run across a little blurb at Mother Earth News that actually makes sense and gives me a little bit of hope. The following is a snippet:

“Submerge a batch of morels in a pan of water with a plate on top and place the pan in the refrigerator. After a few hours, take the pan to your back yard (or other "secret spot") and pour the water around a tree. The idea is that the soaking water now contains tiny morel spores. Twice after having done this, I had yellow morels grow in my suburban yard, miles from the woods.”

“Letters,” Mother Earth News, June/July 2003 issue

I don’t quite understand the “yellow” morels, but maybe that’s the color of morels in Indiana, where the writer is from. Perhaps he lives in a suburb of Gary. I think I’ll stick with the grey and brown one’s here in Wisconsin.

I’ll be trying this technique this year. I normally soak my morels in saltwater overnight to kill the bugs. I don't know what saltwater might do to spores so I've decided to soak them in water first, drain the water in a good spot, and then re-soak in saltwater for a few more hours. Unfortunately it will be a year before I can report on the results.

No Pay, No Poop

2011-04-26T14:01:00.000-05:00

I have tried to avoid political topics on this blog. My reason for this is purely selfish. If I were to offend a reader with my political views they may never come back to this blog. If people don’t come to my blog they will not click on any of the advertisements (those things to the right that google doesn’t want me to point out, even though the ads are frequently humorous and contradictory to my writings). If people don’t click on my advertisers’ ads I cannot make any money. If I cannot make any money my children will die from hunger. If my children die from hunger I will be very sad and very lonely until my body finished consuming all of my excessive body fat and then I too would die.

So I have made a business/personal/self-preservation sort of decision to avoid political commentary. “Leave the serious offending to others better versed in the intricacies of politics than I,” say I. If I were to offend I would only hope that it happen unintentionally and through less volatile subject matter. For instance, using a tasteless word such as ‘poop’ in this blog could be found offensive by some. It's a mildly comical word, but potentially offensive regardless of innocent intentions.

That said, I feel compelled to speak out about a piece of legislation that was passed by our state’s legislature a couple of years ago. This piece of – uh -- legislation deals with poop. So I find myself in the uncomfortable position of writing a post about politics and poop. The potential for offense and all of its ill effects runs quite deep with this post. Yet there are some times when one must take a bold stand without reservation, choosing to flinch not if the poop hits the fan.

This new law now requires all owners of septic systems to have their systems pumped and inspected every three years. Now I enjoy seeing a honey truck roll down the road as much as the next guy. I can’t help but smile in a schoolboy sort of way whenever I see one. But I feel uneasy having my state government tell me how often I need to see one roll down my driveway.

The program started from an E.P.A. (Environmental Protection Agency) study focused on rural septic systems and their impact on wells and ground water. The study concluded that many septic systems across the country are either functioning improperly or needing to be replaced altogether. The result of these system failures is that rural drinking water, as well as lakes, rivers and streams are becoming contaminated by human poop.

I find this shocking. Nauseating. Absolutely intolerable. I am in total agreement to right this horrible wrong and am greatly concerned if our septic system is part of the problem. The welfare of our environment is extremely important to me as it is to my family.

I would feel tremendous guilt and shame if I knew that some of my poop made a duck sick. And I would be absolutely mortified if some of our poop showed up in a downstream neighbor’s glass of ice water. How downright embarrassing for them as well if they happened to be entertaining dinner guests.

Fines are issued to those who choose a path of noncompliance of the new law. But how could I not comply? The intention and ultimate goal of the law are both very good and important things. However it’s roots were not, and that is what has caused the rumbling within me.

I got the scoop on the poop from someone in the government who will remain nameless. I was told through this source that the plumber’s union came across the original EPA study. As the housing market was beginning to take a plunge and plumbing jobs no longer flowed, the union hired lobbyists to educate state legislators about the study.

It was not only union plumbers, but plumbing supply companies, plumbing contractors, etc., that also stood to benefit financially from a law that would require the building of new septic systems. So they jumped into the mire and hired lobbyists as well.

Pretty soon politicians were shoveled all kinds of things about poop. Being downright familiar with poop shoveling, the politicians got their hands dirty. They pledged to flush privacy rights of landowners down the drain for the sake of the environment. After a great deal of paperwork, the new law was passed and county governments were given the task of sniffing out faulty poop systems.

I have never, ever, subscribed to the philosophy that the end justifies the means. In fact I believe that the means are not just equally, but in some cases even more important than the end. Politicians seem to be just fine with the former concept. If big money tramples on the little peoples but they (politicians) smell good in the end, so be it.

So I drug my feet for a number of months. “This’ll show ‘em,” I thought to myself. “I’ll flush their toilet.” In retrospect it was a rather weak, passive/aggressive protest.

I must also admit that I feared that our system would not pass inspection. While not knowing a lot about septic systems, what I did know is that they cost a lot. After waiting until we were three months out from the first fine, I finally called for a honey truck.

The arrival of the big truck driven by a big man with a really big hose turned out to be a weird sort of “family time.” We gathered around the hole in the ground like some folks gather around a Christmas tree on Christmas morning. Like wide-eyed children filled with anticipation and wonder, fixated on the treasures beneath the tree that longed to be freed from their decorative wrappings, we too wondered what we might see when the big man lifted the boards that covered the tank.

What we saw was not what any one of us was expecting. The top of the tank was covered with a thick, off-white foam. There was also far less of a smell than one would imagine. Not that it smelled good, it just wasn’t overwhelming.

We peered into the hole and watched as foam disappeared into the hose and revealed a brown liquid underneath, more like what we had originally expected. Slowly the level dropped and we were hooked. We were mesmerized, like standing in front of a front-loading washing machine at the laundramat watching the clothes rise and then disappear into the suds.

Eventually the big man reached the bottom of the tank and slowly shook his head. Our septic system, as we had fearfully suspected, did not pass. It was an old metal tank and he showed us, using the hose as a pointer, where holes were located in its bottom.

There was no more hiding. No more passive protests. No more denial. Regardless of how the law came about we needed to do the right thing and invest in a new septic system.

And so I pay. And I pay. And I pay. $275 to the State of Wisconsin to approve plans that I paid a plumber $500 to draw up (which probably took all of ten minutes with his plumbing design software). I’ve paid the county for the septic system permit, for various other permits, and for permits that allow me to have all of those permits. I’ve shelled out over $2000 since we started this project last fall, and to date we haven’t even broken ground.

When you boil it all down I guess it’s the ridiculous amount of money for and number of permits required to do the right thing that eats at me. In these difficult economic times (I would use the word ‘recession’ but my government has told me that the recession is over) it feels as if we have become our state and county’s economic stimulus fund.

But it’s all right. I have devised a plan of revenge.

After committing to the septic system project I began pondering about how one might get by without a toilet in this day and age. Building a two-seater behind the house was out of the question. That would simply duplicate the problem that already exists. Composting toilets are a possibility, but I think they’re creepy.

I then settled on a new plan that I named, “Visit a Different Neighbor Each Day.” In short, we would slyly invite ourselves over to an unsuspecting neighbor’s home for tea. Once at our neighbor’s home (obviously one that does not live downstream from our septic system) the lead person (pre-designated in the planning meeting) would ask if they might use the bathroom. That person, concealing an extra roll of TP and a mini can of bathroom spray, would complete their task, hide the TP and spray in a predetermined location, and make their way back to the tea party.

Once that person returned, the next pre-designated person would quietly count to 100 and then discretely ask if they might use the bathroom. This pattern would continue until the final family member had his or her turn. That person would have the additional responsibility of recovering the extra TP and mini can of bathroom spray.

In my mind the biggest problem with this plan is that it targets our neighbors rather than our state government. After discussing this with my wife, we developed a different plan of attack.

We launch this operation with the purchase an annual state park admission sticker. Each day thereafter we will run the family up to Governor Dodge State Park, a mere15 minutes from our home. We will use their facilities and save the wear and tear on our new system as well as decrease our own water and TP costs. Additionally, beginning in April and running through October we will take our daily showers at the park using as much of the State’s hot water as we possibly can. Who knows? We may even bathe our dogs.

The mission and its objective are two-fold: run up the state’s bills like they’ve run up ours and reduce the use of our new system. I realize it will take a long while to settle the score financially, but I’m also certain the showers and the, uh, well, you know, will be the most satisfying that I’ve ever had.

Michael Perry FREE Live Performance April 21st in Monroe

2011-04-20T16:35:00.000-05:00

For all of you Michael Perry fans that live in southern Wisconsin/northern Illinois, here is something you probably don't want to pass up: a FREE, live (always better than those dead ones) performance tomorrow night in Monroe, WI. While the picture above shows Michael with his band, "The Long Beds," I believe his performance tomorrow is his, "Clodhopper Monologue." The following is the info that they e-mailed:

"Here are the basics (as usual, more details and active links available on the Live Events page of sneezingcow [dot] com) [NOTE: just to be sure we both wind up at the same place, we always recommend you confirm dates/times/details with the venue]:

Thursday, April 21, 2011. 7:00 p.m. Monroe Arts Center. 1315 11th Street
Monroe, WI 53566-1744. Reading and discussion will the held in the Gunderson Stiles Concert Hall. This event is free and open to the public."

For those of you who don't know Michael, he is a local (northern Wisconsin) author/humorist/farmer/musician/volunteer fireman/EMT who also hosts, "Tent Show Radio from Big Top Chautauqua," which can be heard on Wisconsin Public Radio and other listener supported stations across the country.

Lisa and I went to see him with some friends of ours (neighbors as well... nice when that happens) a few months ago and the Mineral Point Opera House. I highly recommend seeing him. The guy is an absolute hoot and the price for this gig is certainly right.