We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
Why the free ad for Maker's Mark? We are providing "equal time" due to the sympathetic post on Jack yesterday. Maker's is the best mass-market Kentucky bourbon.
A Democratic Party bigwig An antiwar activist A Union official An Islamic leader A Harry Reid staffer A radical Chicano separatist
Conservatives and climate change, by Rick. A good piece. Personally, the only politics I see in the climate bandwagon is that the Left sees in this a golden opportunity for more government, more taxes, more control, less freedom - and to put a ding in the mighty, uplifting power of free enterprise. One half a degree Centigrade in a century, even if accurate, matters not one bit to me. Count me in as one of the Not Afraid. I still cannot get a decent Beefsteak tomato crop up here, and, as I mentioned, it's snowing.
Nothing good will show up in the news until Bushitler is out of office and the Dems are back in. Nothing. Good news has been disallowed. If you want to find good news, you will have to look for it yourself.
Some things in life are foolish, inconvenient, uncomfortable, sometimes dangerous and often plain frustrating. Duck hunting is one of those things, work is another, and blogging is another, but a guy's gotta do what he's got to do. Photo is a two weeks ago. As you can see, the weather was a little bit too good for ducks, but we knocked down a few.
Jack Daniel's at Synthstuff. Don't do it - it's perfect for a fine Christmas eggnog. They should consider the poor, who can't afford a bottle of Jack for their eggnog.
Maybe this CNN storyhas legs, after all. Another Rathergate? Media people are scared of Hill and Bill: if you give them a hard time, they will never grant you another interview. Not just collusion - ratings. Still, I suspect CNN could be violating McCain-Feingold. And so will I, if given half a chance to do so on Maggie's Farm. Sue me: I have 200 smart lawyer friends here in Hartford, CT., and we will tie you up in court for a lifetime and cost you a bundle.
Doing what? We are making our venison mincemeat pies tongiht, for Thanksgiving, and for our friends. Aged for four weeks. The smell from the kitchen is amazing. Lucky friends. Ten to give, and two for Thanksgiving here for the beloved relatives. And we are not making pumpkin pies - we are going to make Butternut squash pies from winter squash from the garden. The challenge is to get the moisture out of the cooked squash so it's not to watery and bland.
That hootenanny post reminded me of Christopher Guest's spoof of the Folk Movement, the movie A Mighty Wind. The film is good for a few poignant giggles, especially if you have even a vague memory of that innocent, goofy era.
Here's one clip with music, and, below that, another clip from the film.
Governments don't produce wealth. A quote from Madden at TCS:
Unfortunately, many people are heavily influenced by some news media that preach a fixed-pie-and-keep-others-from-the-table mentality. Wealth creation is missing from their world views. Somehow they have overlooked the essential facts that business is a creative activity, and that something always must be created before it can be used by its creators, voluntarily exchanged, or sent to Washington to pay taxes.
Bring your guitar or banjo and sing Michael Row the Boat Ashore along with all your Commie friends! By 1963 there was a Hootenanny TV show. I think the 1962 flyer below, borrowed from this interesting blog, is genuine. It's printed (probably as an in-kind donation to The Folklore Center) on the old Merrill Lynch paper - Merrill Lynch, Pierce, Fenner & Beane. h/t, Sippican
When some were speaking about the temple, how it was adorned with beautiful stones and gifts dedicated to God, he said, 6‘As for these things that you see, the days will come when not one stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown down.’
7 They asked him, ‘Teacher, when will this be, and what will be the sign that this is about to take place?’ 8And he said, ‘Beware that you are not led astray; for many will come in my name and say, “I am he!” and, “The time is near!” Do not go after them.
9 ‘When you hear of wars and insurrections, do not be terrified; for these things must take place first, but the end will not follow immediately.’ 10Then he said to them, ‘Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; 11there will be great earthquakes, and in various places famines and plagues; and there will be dreadful portents and great signs from heaven.
12 ‘But before all this occurs, they will arrest you and persecute you; they will hand you over to synagogues and prisons, and you will be brought before kings and governors because of my name. 13This will give you an opportunity to testify. 14So make up your minds not to prepare your defence in advance; 15for I will give you wordsand a wisdom that none of your opponents will be able to withstand or contradict. 16You will be betrayed even by parents and brothers, by relatives and friends; and they will put some of you to death. 17You will be hated by all because of my name. 18But not a hair of your head will perish. 19By your endurance you will gain your souls.
We plow the fields, and scatter the good seed on the land, But it is fed and watered by God's almighty hand; He sends the snow in winter, the warmth to swell the grain, The breezes and the sunshine, and soft refreshing rain.
Refrain: All good gifts around us Are sent from heaven above, Then thank the Lord, O thank the Lord For all His love.
He only is the Maker of all things near and far; He paints the wayside flower, He lights the evening star; The winds and waves obey Him, by Him the birds are fed; Much more to us, His children, He gives our daily bread.
Refrain
We thank Thee, then, O Father, for all things bright and good, The seed time and the harvest, our life, our health, and food; No gifts have we to offer, for all Thy love imparts, But that which Thou desirest, our humble, thankful hearts
Matthius Claudius, Paul Erdmann"s Fest, 1782 (Wir pflugen und wir streuen); Claudius heard the words sung by local farmers;
Jane Campbell translated them from German to English in 1861, her version first appeared in A Garland of Songs, by Charles S. Bere, 1862.
While the Mrs. took the youngest Bird Dog theater-intoxicated and Shakespeare-intoxicated pup and her theatrical pal to the Vivian Beaumont to see the rarely-performed Cymbeline (the Beaumont is perfect for Shakespeare), my self-assigned chore was to clean up and polish ye olde farmhouse for the Thanksgiving hordes expected soon.
While finding many dust balls as big as alley cats, and some lost mail, magazines, a dried dog poo or two, and some important faxes under sofas, I cranked up my gigantic Legacy speakers for consolation.
They were the top of their line when I splurged on these darn things, delivered by an Airways Freight truck. 175 lbs. each, 5' tall, and they look like beautiful furniture. But what the heck was I thinking when I bought these monsters? (A movie-business friend told me I have the same ones Tom Cruise has in his house. Sheesh. That is not good.)
These speakers are powerful enough to knock down my walls or to blow a cow to the moon, but sensitive enough to capture the most subtle inflection of Dawn Upshaw's voice, like she is singing to you. The Messiah was on the CD player, from Eastertime. I listened to the whole thing while vacuuming, dusting, dog-poo-removing, polishing, and pickng up. How many Bibles do we have in this house? Well, I love that music and know every word, but I realized that I do music now on the computer. This dang computer-internets machine-thingy simultaneously shrinks and expands life.
I realized that I had not turned on that fine sound system, with the mega-ultra ultra amp, since Easter.
Talking about autumn foliage is about as cornball, old-fogie a subject as I can think of, but this fall has been the best in my memory. Since New England has been spared heavy rains, windstorms, and Nor'easters thus far, the leaves are still on the trees in many areas. A visual feast wherever you look, and nourishing food for the soul. It's uplifting, exhilarating, and it reminds me to be grateful for being alive.
Life is wonderful, despite being poor (statistically I am one of America's "poor" - which bothers me not one whit: just a humble, underpaid journalist junior reporter at a smallish newspaper).
I love this brisk autumn weather which leads the spirit to thoughts of thanks-giving. Life is good. I am going to cook the bird I shot this morning (with my Gramp's 20 ga. Parker) on lentils with shallots and gibier sauce, for my current chick beautiful, intelligent, super-special gal. Wish I had a bottle of Jarhead Red to relax her, but I have something else. (I mean a bottle.)
Try to tell me that I am poor! I am blessed. Poverty is a state of mind.
Hunted this morning. Four or five hours in beautiful woods and swamps, busting brush, and one fine grouse in the bag. Not bad. We only put up three birds, but who cares? Thanks to my friend who lets me hunt his land with its old orchards, tangles, raspberry brambles, and streams. We saw no Woodcock, alas, because I know how to make a killer Woodcock hors d'oeuvre on toast, using its sauteed guts and liver with a bit of wine, garlic, and butter as a sauce for the tiny legs and breasts.
Thoughts about Conservatives and Climate Change. Tigerhawk.
Who is blogging, and why? Is the blogosphere in a digestion phase? h/t, Flares. Lots of interesting data on blogs and blogging. Would somebody please remind me why we do this?
Jarhead Red. Made by Marines, with profits to the Marine Corps Scholarship Foundation. Nothing fancy, but it tastes fine. (I checked, to make sure.) Each Thanksgiving we give thanks to God, to our ancestors, to our friends and family, and to our armed forces. Not to our politicians - never.
A fellow blogger has told me that he has troubles with freezing and slowness when visiting Maggie's, resulting in the dread Blog Frustration Syndrome. Does anybody else have that problem?
I have had that problem with Theo and Atlas but I assume it's my machine (which is about to be replaced), not their sites.Maybe caused by too many images? We love to post images, but the volume of images, combined with the length of our front page, might be a bit of a strain on a slower machine or a slower connection.
At Dino: Do you feel manipulated yet? Why isn't this CNN media collusion a scandal? Easy answer: because it's media collusion. Who is going to report this stuff except blogs?
Myron Magnet tours Monticello, and reflects on the mind of Jefferson. A quote:
It’s true that Jefferson had his moments of wanting to withdraw into “intellectual pleasures” that “ride serene and sublime above the concerns of this mortal world,” as he told Maria Cosway: his taste for unworldly abstraction is nowhere clearer than inside Monticello’s empty dome, a stupendous and costly exercise in pure geometry, breathtakingly beautiful with its giant, Michelangelesque baseboard and the light pouring in from its round windows and central oculus, but virtually unusable because its echoes make conversation impossible, it’s unheated, and its access is steep and narrow. Even the sumptuous mahogany double doors built for symmetry opposite the dome’s entrance open only onto a jumble of rafters and attics.
But usually Jefferson’s intellectual pleasures fully engage the world: for him, the increase of knowledge is meant to improve man’s condition. When Buffon “affected to consider chemistry but cookery,” for instance, and to equate the laboratory with the kitchen, Jefferson took sharp issue; chemistry, he lectured the count, is “big with future discoveries for the utility and safety of the human race.” Did not people justly esteem “Dr. Franklin’s science because he always endeavored to direct it to something useful in private life”? Were not phosphorous matches, for example, a boon to mankind, and would not interchangeable musket parts, which he saw in France long before the Colt factory used them for mass production in America, change history?
Pontius Pilate's sarcastic, ruthless yet also sympathetic and challenging question to Christ (for which he did not wait for an answer) will echo in my mind as long as I live.
"Substituting science for religion is like swapping a series of case-notes on senile dementia for King Lear."
It has always seemed to me that non-scientists, and non-students of the hard sciences and math, put more faith in "science" than do students of science.
Non-students of science seem quick to find truth in the results of the scientific method than scientists themselves, who, like the great Polanyi, tend to be humble about knowledge, and are always questioning their methods and their findings. Science is about "theory" and a search for facts, not about Truth. Scientists never talk about Truth.
It was good to see Polanyi referenced in a piece by John Polinghorne in the UK's Times Online, titled The Truth in Religion. He uses Dawkins and Hitchins, et al, as starting points for a serious discussion of the relationship between faith and reason. One quote:
No progress will be made in the debate about religious belief unless participants are prepared to recognize that the issue of truth is as important to religion as it is to science. Dawkins invokes Bertrand Russell’s parable of the teapot irrationally claimed to be in unobserved orbit in the solar system. Of course there are no grounds for belief in this piece of celestial crockery, but there are grounds offered for religious belief, though admittedly different people evaluate their persuasiveness differently. Religion does not have access to absolute proof of its beliefs but, on careful analysis, nor does science. In all realms of human inquiry, the interlacing of experience and interpretation introduces a degree of precariousness into the argument. Yet this does not mean that we cannot attain beliefs sufficiently well motivated to be the basis for rational commitment. In his book on the philosophy of science, Personal Knowlege (1964), Michael Polanyi stated that he was writing in order to explain how (scientifically) he could commit himself to what he believed to be true, while knowing it might be false. That is the human epistemic condition. Recognizing this should encourage caution, but not induce intellectual paralysis. It is in this spirit that the dialogue between science and religion needs to be conducted.
The MSM is famously poor with science reporting. A new member of our blogroll, The Frontal Cortex, says we need Science Critics - with a good example of junk "science."
Indeed we do need journalists who understand the mysteries of statistics, science, and math. Otherwise, they just take whatever they're fed at face value - assuming that if it's "scientific", it must be true.
Columbia capitulates to hunger strikers. Utterly pathetic and shameful. Were I Pres. of Columbia, I would have expelled them and had the cops carry them off campus, to re-apply if and when they decided to grow up.
Perhaps this is about Columbia's "effete moral gymnastics." I have an idea: Let's get 100 alumni donors like me to hold a hunger strike in front of Butler, to protest Columbia's endlessly-exasperating PC weeniness, and see what happens after we call the press to watch.
Heck, it could be fun, like the '60s. Plenty of lite beer, and a band - maybe we could get my old college pals from Sha Na Na to play. (They were/are good guys, and good students too.)
I could afford to lose a few pounds for a good cause - for the sanity of Alma Mater, from whom I have two degrees from the pre-psychotic era. (thanks, Opie, for alerting me to this depressing story.)
Canada Goose-looking birds come in widely different sizes and ornithologists, who love obsessing about taxonomy, have a lot of fun with the subject.
The subject comes up because we shot quite a few Cacklers in Canada in October, which were probably what we used to call Hutchins' or Richardsons' Goose.
These birds are high-Arctic breeders, and only winter on the East coast as rare vagrants. Bird Dog says he has seen them occasionally on the East coast. Their CLO link here.
Photo: Canada Goose with Cackling Goose
For the part of the Wikipedia entry which reviews all of the taxonomy, see continuation page below.
Conservatives and climate change, by 
Jack Daniel's at 
A good day in the field. Cold as heck putting up the decoys in the dark, in the lights of the pick-up, but it was warmer by 9.
We plow the fields, and scatter the good seed on the land,
While the Mrs. took the youngest Bird Dog theater-intoxicated and Shakespeare-intoxicated pup and her theatrical pal to the Vivian Beaumont to see the rarely-performed Cymbeline (the 
Talking about autumn foliage is about as cornball, old-fogie a subject as I can think of, but this fall has been the best in my memory. Since New England has been spared heavy rains, windstorms, and Nor'easters thus far, the leaves are still on the trees in many areas. A visual feast wherever you look, and nourishing food for the soul. It's uplifting, exhilarating, and it reminds me to be grateful for being alive. 
Hunted this morning. Four or five hours in beautiful woods and swamps, busting brush, and one fine grouse in the bag. Not bad. We only put up three birds, but who cares? Thanks to my friend who lets me hunt his land with its old orchards, tangles, raspberry brambles, and streams. We saw no Woodcock, alas, because I know how to make a killer Woodcock hors d'oeuvre on toast, using its sauteed guts and liver with a bit of wine, garlic, and butter as a sauce for the tiny legs and breasts.
A fellow blogger has told me that he has troubles with freezing and slowness when visiting Maggie's, resulting in the dread Blog Frustration Syndrome. Does anybody else have that problem?
Myron Magnet tours Monticello, and reflects on the mind of Jefferson. A quote:
Pontius Pilate's sarcastic, ruthless yet also sympathetic and 
Canada Goose-looking birds come in widely different sizes and ornithologists, who love obsessing about taxonomy, have a lot of fun with the subject.