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Friday, August 1, 2014

A huge thunderstorm

It wasn't the loud thunder that woke me it was the smell of wet dog.
The farm dog whose name is not Stanley was standing next to my bed looking at me.
He went through the screen door.
I was still half asleep.
I put him back out and shut the slider.
I forgot about the main door.
I went back to bed.
When the next bout of thunder hit I woke up to whining.
From the dog...
Next to my bed...
There went the other screen door...
Then it poured.
I should have picked up bales last night.
I should have put the grain in the barn.
I should have put the mixer grinder in the barn.
There are big mud puddles, this can't be good.

Monday, July 28, 2014

Raking with a pickup truck

We had an inch of rain of rain last week. It went from 90 degrees to rain, to back to 90 degrees. Sort of odd for Oregon.
The straw is turning yellow.
I've been having a bit of trouble getting stuff done.
Lots of talking, lots of little things that don't work.
Saturday I attempted to grind feed.
I have five customers demanding feed.
It is sort of difficult to get the peas out of a tipped over grain tank.
Mid afternoon people started calling me to see if I'd tedded (fluffed) the grass straw I'm going to bale.
I ran the fluffer on our fields at home it is a wide awkward thing to haul down the highway and I figured they got less rain on the other side of the hill.
At five p.m. I decided I had to do it.
The tedder/fluffer that I was using does two windrows at one. It has a number of rake wheels on a wide frame. The wheels are set at a slight angle and the frame is straight across the windrow, rather than at a steep angle like a wheel rake. The wheels lift up the hay and as you go faster it also kind of spreads it.
It is 16 feet wide and the wheels are set wide apart. It is a pain to pull down the highway.
On the other hand, you can do 25 acres an hour.

Sunday Lulu and I went to Antique Powerland. We went early for church. They should have turned down the gain for "Jesus is the one and only", a little distortion on that one, but a good effort.  We spent the whole day. Didn't win a free bicycle. Listened to Southern Nights put on a country western show. Funny to see a bar band in broad daylight... No banjos...

Now it is back to work. Looking forward to that 90 degree weather and thousands of straw bales to stack...

Saturday, July 26, 2014

Picking up apples killed my uncle!

I figured it out!
Uncle H, was in great shape Saturday. We were fixing a waterline. He didn't feel like digging the hole and asked me to help. It was 90 degrees.
Later we had coffee time and then he cut some steel for a customer.
He was doing fine!
Then he decided to go home and pick up apples.
Now I've watched Hercule Perot and Inspector Morse, and White Collar and I know a clue when I see it.
I figure it was either aliens or apples.
I did not see any aliens so it had to be them apples.
How about them apples!
Apples killed my uncle!

Here are some photos from the last couple years...
I'm gonna go have something with corn syrup and wheat gluten. Perhaps I'll lock my dog in the car for a while...


Edit: Uncle H, did not want his photo on the internet. What happens? He dies and it is everywhere. Didn't even put the censor bar across his eyes. I swear (or rather, I affirm) I'm going get a phone call from him and he is going to tell me to take his photo down. I'm going to be like, "but my brother did it! Your grand daughter did it! They ain't gonna listen to me, have Aunt Elsie tell them!"
(Not that anything like that has ever happened before...)

Friday, July 25, 2014

The End of an Era....

My uncle died Sunday, or perhaps it was Saturday night.
He had been picking up apples in his back yard. He was in his slippers. There was a bucket of apples at his feet.
He sat down in the porch swing and looked like he decided to take a nap.
He was 87 years old.
My aunt couldn't get him to wake up when she found him Sunday Morning. Looked like she got him a comforter just in case he was just sleeping.

So, who will tell me to answer my phone, not track mud in front of the shop, tell me not to borrow money for any foolhardy ventures, not smoke chronic, or use regional idioms, like exclaiming: "What in the Sam Hill is going on here?!"
In a month will we have turned the store into a pot dispensary and will we all be sitting around eating Doritos  and listening to Peter Tosh surrounded by misplaced tools and mud from the irrigation tractors?
Will someone use real floor dry instead of 20 year old sawdust out of dad's basement?
Will I have borrowed $5 million to start an industrial hemp facility?
Time will tell...
One thing I know, I am not the man my father was, nor my uncle.
Perhaps, I will have to grow up now.

Thursday, July 17, 2014

I got the level app for my iphone

I discovered that when running a New Holland 1085 stacker side hill. The point when bales start sliding of the  second table is 36-37 degrees of tilt. At 38 degrees I stopped looking at the level app and started wondering if it was getting a little tippy. Slightly thereafter I discovered that one's butt cheek muscles will actually grip your new air-ride seat. I didn't get to the point where I had to turn down hill but it was interesting.
(I posted using the blogger app on my iphone and I couldn't figure out how to rotate the photo. Perhaps you could rotate your computer?)

The view was quite nice. Kind of warm out...

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

GMO paranoia vs consumer freedom of choice

I understand that many people have concerns food from genetically modified seeds. I'm a bit skeptical about modern science and the absolute refusal to tell the truth by large corporations and big government in the twenty-first century.
On the other hand, I'm even more skeptical about lawyers and lobbying groups and I do not support the  initiative petition to require labeling of products containing GMO seeds.
I do not trust the anti-GMO people. I suspect ulterior motives.
I mean look, I would start my on anti-something group and do fundraising if I could lie effectively.
So yesterday when I was stacking annual ryegrass straw in 90 degree heat on a seemingly 90 degree slope and feeling a little stressed, I looked in my cooler for something to eat and found this fig bar.

I like these fig bars. You used to be able to just scoop them out of a big bin at the bulk food store. Now they are packaged. Probably health concerns or something. I feel so much safer now that I'm paying for paper packaging. Today I actually read the packaging.
This fig bar is certified GMO-free, kosher, and natural. Don't know what natural means, probably nothing... The pretty "natural" colors make me want to eat it and the confidence that it is GMO-free makes me so much more reassured so that when I fall off the stacker I will have no GMO contamination when I am paralyzed in the hospital.

So, if you don't want GMO, there will be a market for Non-GMO. Why is it your responsibility to force labeling? If you create a demand then the market will supply it. I am moderately happy to supply you with non-GMO chicken, pig, and cow feed. Although, I do take a while to get it done.
Why not just go ride your Mr. Garrison bicycle on narrow country roads if you want to annoy people? Why the missionary complex in the country? Why do we have to have a law for every special interest? Why can't you just leave me the #$%^&* alone?
Just saying...

Do I force you to listen to the Legendary Stardust Cowboy?


Sunday, July 13, 2014

I hate Cycle Oregon

Hardcore bicyclists are complete arseholes. I awoke this morning to loud talking outside my window.
It is Sunday and while I'm not working as hard as I should be, I'm working hard enough to want to sleep in till 7:30 a.m. on Sunday.
Yes, it is time for Cycle Oregon. The two days when thousands of bicyclist wobble down the highway, talking loudly which freaks out everyone's dogs, taking up both lanes of narrow roads, making it impossible to get down the road with tractors. I can accept the blocking the road for one or two days as long as they wave at me. What really annoys me is the attitude that they own the road because they are not using an internal combustion engine...
There is a basic conflict between those of us in rural Oregon and those who live in the city. Here's the deal...
I have no urge to got to Sherwood, Beaverton, or housing developments in McMinnville and drive my tractor in front of people's houses and yell at their dogs. But...people who live in the city/suburbs dearly love to ride their bicycles past my house and yell at my dog.
I can see how it would be much more fun to ride past my house, but read your own bumper sticker, share the road.
AND, don't yell at my dog who is sitting in the lawn. This causes him to get up and come over to see what is going on. Stanley has a job to do. This job is to prevent your meth-head criminal kids from stealing our gas. He is supposed to bark at you.
If you don't want to get attacked by farm dogs don't yell at them, don't yell loudly back and forth between groups of fellow bicyclists, and carry a lot of dog biscuits.
My wife was sitting in the yard enjoying the cool weather and hanging out with Stanley and watching the bicyclists.
A bicycle lady screeched at Stanley.
Stanley got up and barked.
The hardcore male cyclist behind the lady told my wife to, "control your f......g dog."
I didn't hear it as I was finding my shoes to go out and yell at Stanley.
Pretty soon a race official came by in a pickup and stopped. Stanley went out to greet him. I went out to greet the race official but I did not know the cyclist had yelled an obscenity at my wife.
The race official was very nice and said Stanley was a nice dog and not a risk and thanked me for coming out. (In shorts and a tee shirt and my hair looking like a mad scientist or Harpo Marx.
The race official said to expect 2500 cyclists past our house.
I should go pick up a load of straw before church so my brother can irrigate corn.
I had a similar bicyclist experience on Muddy Valley road yesterday.
I was going to stack and met the whole pack on Muddy Valley road.
They were racing down hill and in my lane.
Several people were wobbling.
Does this look like a bicycle killer to you?
Of course, one of those hard-core cyclist guys, you know, one of the guys on the Mr. Garrison bicycles, gives me the signal to slow down. I'm not the one out of control, I'm not racing another stacker down hill, I'm not going to hit a pothole and fall over...
I'm going 30 mph.
Did I mention, I hate bicyclists?
Except for the nice regular folks who are not wearing spandex and look kind of tired and wave at you. Those people are fine. Don't mind sharing the road with nice people.