Large Fierce Mammal

My Mother always said that those who won’t listen have to feel. This story illustrates that sentiment.

While I certainly don’t need to leave Lunenburg County to find some prime specimens of the sort you’ll read about here, I was inspired by the approach of St. Patrick’s Day to deliver this with an Irish flavour.

The Sons of Mary O’Flannery
(and That Which Befell Them)

By LFM

Mary O’Flannery lived down by the tannery
With her three thuggish sons she’d named Tim, Tom, and Dannery.
Of an honest day’s work, not a one was a fannery,
Their family business was theft and chicannery.

They went to the pub in a stolen white vannery,
Notwithstanding the lot of them under a bannery,
And it didn’t go well for they weren’t at all mannery —
Tim and Tom were laid low by a cast iron pannery.

The fray was concluded when the youngest one, Dannery,
Missed his swing at the barman then nimbly rannery,
Only to meet the fat end of a spannery,
Thus ending the issue of Mary O’Flannery.

A while back, Mrs. LFM and I were spending a soul filling Autumn day in Kejimkujik National Park, and at one point, with the aid of a handy boulder, she captured this perfect moment.

Mrs. LFM Photo — Click to enbiggen.

This is presently the banner picture on my personal Facebook page, and as it turns out, it caught the attention of my Esteemed Friend John, none other than the Whiskey Cowboy himself, of whom I’ve previously spoken.

John is also a professional photographer, and it was with the utmost delight that I received this message from him this very afternoon —

“Love your new banner image. I decided to play with it a bit to show you how I see it…. hope you like….”

Like it? We LOVE it! (more…)

The blade is but the tooth and claw
That Nature never gave,
So Man no longer hides in trees,
Nor cowers in a cave.

Why scrabble for what lives beneath
The rocks and rotting logs?
Take blade, go forth with Comrades bold,
And Trusty Hunting Dogs!

~ Tooth and Claw ~
(Excerpt)

If you’ve ever spent any time watching a butcher converting parts of an animal into meat for consumption, or a fishmonger doing the same with a denizen of the deep, you’ll immediately realize how little effort is being expended in the undertaking. This is because the knife is a True Tool, and for clarity, I’ll give you this as I have previously defined it —

“A real Tool then must be a True force multiplier – thus a True Tool, and to be that it must fit into one or more vital categories including, but not limited to, making a heretofore impossible job possible, a hard job easier, a risky job safer. In addition, it must conform to the following absolutes, each of which is so important that the order of their presentation is of no consequence –

• It must be maintainable.
• Its durability and longevity must not constitute a built-in guarantee of waste.
• Life with it must be superior to life without it.
• Neither its use, nor the job it was devised to perform, shall represent the creation of one problem while solving another.
• It must not represent the lesser of two or more evils.
• For any given task, it must provide a dividend in the form of time expended, materials used, and/or energy required.
• It must exist to do a job that is necessary within the context of sound ecological and ergonomic practice.

“In short, it must serve within the balanced Economy of Nature, and not the wasteful “economy” of dollars and cents in which the soothing buzzword “sustainable” really describes business practices that will permit continued rates of growth and consumption – business as usual – with a smaller discernible impact. For any organism, getting through a day requires expenditure of energy and resources for the purpose of acquiring more energy and resources. Simply living in place requires at least a “break even” on that balance, but a higher return is required if the organism must hunt and catch its prey, for reproduction, the rearing of young, migration, overwintering, or hibernation. Everything in Nature is about efficiency and balance, which is why life is, first and foremost, an exercise in energy management ….” ~ Worldly Wisdom Wednesday – Tools

So, the power of the blade lies, and has always lain, in the keenness of its point and edge, demanding nothing of its wielder beyond the physicality required to grip its handle, and the mentality to guide its point and edge with skill and sensitivity. This is really as simple as simple gets, and I see many similarities to interactions between a skilled Dog Handler and his or her working Dog. Every generation though, seems hell bent on reinventing the basics as though those old ways couldn’t possibly represent any kind of complete and reality tested methodology that shouldn’t be rebuilt from zero in this age of enlightenment, or even tossed out wholesale as irrelevantly unworthy of study.

In considering such conceit, my mind returns first to the words of David Tresemer, in this case on the subject of hand mowing with that most perfect implement, the scythe —

“… for every ‘rule’ or tradition I have for scythe design and technique, somebody someplace else did it a little differently and got the grass cut.”

And secondly, still in consideration of the same implement —

“Besides, even if one knew the exact number of stems per area, real life is often more colourful than an arbitrary classification based on head counts. Are the stems young and juicy, or are they old and tangled? Equally important, how sharp is your blade?” ~ Scythe Connection

How sharp indeed! (more…)

“I’ve spoken before of the Hávamál (sayings of the high one), that being one of the poems in The Elder or Poetric Edda, also known as Sæmund’s Edda.

“For those of us with eyes to see, ears to hear, minds to think, and hearts to feel, the world of now is every bit as dangerous as it ever was, and Manners are never out of style for the Warrior. In the chapter titled Wisdom for Wanderers and Counsel to Guests, Hávamál has much still timely advice that you would do well to heed.” ~ Dark Sentiments 2015 – Day 16: The Stranger at the Door

Tonight’s fireside finds me introducing Dr. Jackson Crawford about whom you can read and learn at length on his website here and his YouTube channel here. He’s going to entertain and educate us with The Cowboy Hávamál.

“The text called Hávamál (literally “Words of the High One,” or perhaps “Words of the One-Eyed,” either way a reference to Odin) might be considered a Norse equivalent of the Book of Proverbs, containing as it does a series of disconnected stanzas encouraging wisdom and moderation in living one’s life.

“‘The Cowboy Hávamál’ is a condensation of the wisdom of the first, most down-to-earth part of Hávamál (often called the Gestatháttr, it includes stanzas 1-79, give or take a few) into mostly five-line stanzas of a Western American English dialect. I have not endeavored to render this dialect phonetically in a thoroughly consistent way, but only to present an ‘eye dialect’ of sorts, to suggest the dry tones of the accent behind the words.

“While my other translation of Hávamál (in my translation of the Poetic Edda) is more complete, the tone of this one seems more authentic to me. The voice is that of my grandfather, sad with wisdom and cynical with experience, which I have always heard when reading this poem in the original.” ~ The Cowboy Hávamál

And so now, Goode Reader, find comfort, something fine to sip, and if you are as blessed as I am, someone even finer to snuggle up with, and give the Goode Doctor your attention for as long as it takes to absorb the message he speaks. (more…)

As long as society persists in refusing to acknowledge, or willfully forgetting, that “equality” as entrenched in law bears absolutely no resemblance to the same word as used to describe lack of variance between the quality of individual expression of human abilities, little progress can be expected.

While, undeniably, there are groups and individuals who can lay legitimate claim to finding themselves behind the curve simply because of who they are, and not what they can do or what intrinsic value that may bestow, this is not about them. It’s about the shrill, violent, and dangerous assemblage that drowns out all intelligent discourse in favour of simply getting even with everyone they feel is better off than they are. Their view of a level playing field drags everyone down and raises no one up.

No matter how loud the shrieks of denial, observable reality, history, and context speak more loudly, and with greater force of dignity. As with confused application of the words “rear”, meaning posterior, and “rear” in reference to the process of raising a child to self-sufficient adulthood, this component in society holds that no amount of superiority or inferiority exists, nor can be permitted to exist even in theory, between individual humans, and they demand the power to make it reality.

The Myth of Equality

By LFM

Our time is one of peril fraught
As any passed before,
With those who’d make reality
Of “1984”.

Again the lesson’s fading, in
This present Orwell prequel —
Equal people are not free,
Nor are free people equal.

This beautiful rendering is all over the Internet absent any accreditation. I use it here with every desire to learn, and credit, the Artist.

“It is Winter; the wind howls and Mother Nature lies sleeping, deep under a blanket of snow. Bare branches, stark against the slate gray sky, crack against each other like knucklebones, and when the winds really howl they snap, hitting the snow covered ground with a hushed thump.

“On the Great Wheel of the Year, this is the time of Imbolc. In the Celtic seasonal calendar, Imbolc marked the beginning of the lambing season. The ewes came into their milk and the first stirrings of Spring began.

“This is the ‘quickening of the year’; there is a spark hidden below the surface, like a new pregnancy, barely perceptible and yet urgently anticipated and holding great promise. The seed stirs in the belly of the Earth.” ~ Pagan Imbolc Stirs the Spirit, Shakes Off the Winter Blues

I was more than a little inspired to meditate on the time of Imbolc when Mrs. LFM and I were called upon last Thursday to put our skills to good ewes — a local Shepherd had lambs due in mere days and needed electronic eyes and ears on her two very pregnant ladies. Here is the result, at least so far.

Hark to the Quickening.

Imbolc

By LFM

Hid beneath the frozen ground
The Maid of Imbolc stirs,
And stretching, yawns without a sound
To twitch the ear of Hare or Hound,
But nonetheless Her will resounds
In Everything that’s Hers.

Fiery Brigid casts Her light
On chambers deep and shallow,
Her children far and wide She calls,
Who creak and pop in lofty halls,
Or huddle deep in tiny balls,
That not a one lie fallow.

Souce: https://www.etsy.com/sg-en/listing/268349529/quote-whiskey-the-water-of-life?ref=landingpage_similar_listing_bot-7

“And I wish to add here in all seriousness that whatever may be your scruples against the use of liquors, don’t go into the woods without whisky—rye or Scotch, according to preference. Alcohol, of course, is good for poison ivy, but whisky is better. Maybe it is because of the drugs that wicked men are said to put into it. Besides, whisky has other uses. The guides told us of one perfectly rigid person who, when he had discovered that whisky was being included in his camp supplies, had become properly incensed, and commanded that it be left at home. The guides had pleaded that he need not drink any of it, that they would attend to that part of what seemed to them a necessary camp duty, but he was petrified in his morals, and the whisky remained behind.

“Well, they struck a chilly snap, and it rained. It was none of your little summer landscape rains, either. It was a deadly cold, driving, drenching saturation. Men who had built their houses on the sand, and had no whisky, were in a bad fix. The waves rose and the tents blew down, and the rigid, fossilized person had to be carried across an overflowed place on the back of a guide, lifting up his voice meanwhile in an effort to convince the Almighty that it was a mistake to let it rain at this particular time, and calling for whisky at every step.

“It is well to carry one’s morals into the woods, but if I had to leave either behind, I should take the whisky.” ~ Essential Supplies

Today marks arrival of the first real Winter storm of any severity to land hereabouts, and naturally, “essential supplies” are much on everyone’s mind. It should therefore come as no surprise that today we’ll be talking about whisky/whiskey; or rather, someone who makes it his business to talk about it. (more…)

Whether you observe this particular day of the year as significant from a religious, secular, historic, or clueless perspective; feel it thrust upon you as something to be endured, or just don’t give two shits, there is one thing that can’t be denied where we live — the liquor stores are closed.

With this, the LFM Clan would like to wish all and sundry every bounty of the season to which your past and future life choices may have rendered you entitled.

I would also like to announce that this year’s run of A Long Winter’s Night has been unexpectedly bounced from its customary 21-31 December time slot, explaining the sudden record skip heard ’round the world the night after Day 1 went live. This verse may help explain the matter.

The cause of this speed bump, if I’m to be blunt,
Was some vital technology being a cunt,
So we rolled all the scrolls, and we set them aside,
For these holiday breakdowns just won’t be denied.

LFM, and Long Winter’s Night, will return in January 2019, so you won’t have missed a thing!

Until then Goode Reader.

One imagining of The Wild Hunt — Click the image to enlarge.

The Winter Solstice occurs at 18:23 Atlantic Time tonight. After that, the nights get shorter, the days longer, and you should curb your enthusiasm because most of the parts of Winter that will kill you haven’t happened yet.

In Elder times this was Midwinter’s Night, and while I understand the meaning, marking the longest night of the year and the start of a long slog toward Spring, from a climatic perspective, my Canadian Winters are saying, “‘MIDwinter?’ Hold my beer!”

This was the night the Wild Hunt went forth, exactly who they were and what they were hunting depending on where and when you were when you asked. We’ll get further into that as we progress through these ten days of A Long Winter’s Night.

To kick things off, here is a suitably raucous poem.

The Ride is Nigh!

By LFM

Hark! The horn! The Ride is nigh!
Hounds and Huntsmen rend the sky!
Sling your hanger! Don your furs!
Join the fray! The night is Hers!

Shun ye not the Elder Way!
Fie!  The hearth’s where cowards stay!
Harken to their raucous call,
Frigg, Odin, Ravens, Wolves and all!

No matter what the hunt pursues,
This night’s for saddles, not for pews!
For quarry brought from chase to fare
A lusty feast for all who dare!

Lee Miller in the bathtub of Hitler’s Munich apartment on 30 April 1945, literally and symbolically washing off the filth of Dachau her boots have left on his mat. Click to improve the view.

“How they set it up. She cannot be shown nude (this is LIFE, not Man Ray); a figurine on the table does the trick. In front of the bath, her combat boots, ‘the dust of Dachau still on them’ according to Scherman. And at the back on the left, the portrait. It is a voodoo gesture, the sort her Surrealist friends would approve of, an all-American blend of sass, violence and sex. Nuts to you Führer! I am naked in your bath with my Jewish lover, we are taking your picture’s picture, we are stealing your life-force. The date is April 30th, 1945. In a bunker under Berlin, Hitler places a gun to his head.” ~ Lee Miller in Hitler’s Bathtub, The Economist, photograph by David Scherman

Elizabeth “Lee” Miller, Lady Penrose, was born exactly 50 years before me, on 23 April 1907. Beginning her career as a New York City fashion model in the 1920’s and ultimately moving to Paris in 1929, she came to realize her gifts and passions lay behind the lens. This article is festooned with links that will aid you, Goode Reader, in getting a grasp of the Life, indeed Lives, of this remarkable Woman, and I encourage you to explore each and every one. (more…)