Large Fierce Mammal

This poem was inspired by an event that occurred just last night on the south shore of Nova Scotia.

Symbols

Three Dogs and I went out last eve’
To fertilize the yard,
Yet soon I saw my comrades pause,
Each silently aguard.

Up stream upon the river
Was where each had set their gaze.
So I joined to watch and listen through
The Summer evening haze.

My weaker ears took longer
To discern the throaty hum –
A boat my comrades heard approach,
So knew was soon to come.

A modest craft soon came to view,
Scarce seen at first, then more,
Revealed by glimpse through gaps among
The foliage ashore.

T’was when it came abeam of us,
And all was clear defined,
We saw the battle jack that flew,
Full streaming out behind.

The flag of the Confed’racy
Passed there in stark review.
In the moments of its passing
We saw every stitch and hue.

Then the vessel and its standard
Steamed down river, out of care,
And my comrades turned attention back
To reasons we were there.

Holding not with flags and emblems,
Dogs will judge by how you act.
Defining who’s accepted
Or summarily attacked.

Deeds now done, it came to me,
As we were walking back,
That three of us were German kind,
And half of us were black.

If ever you’ve been blessed by Dogs
To share their senses keen,
You’ll read this poem friend, and know
Exactly what I mean.

Lukas William Whynacht (Mrs. LFM photo – click to enbiggen)

We’re short o’ sleep
Though full of Joy.
Sweet Mum is fine –
Th’ Bairn’s a BOY!

It was with those words that the incomparable Mrs. LFM and I announced the birth of Lukas William Whynacht – all 7 pounds, 13 ounces of him. This second perfectly crafted Son, brother of now nearly 2 year old Viktor Ryszard Lawrence Whynacht, entered the world loud and angry at 9:45 AM Atlantic Daylight Time on the morning of Thursday, 18 June 2015.

It’s said of the postpartum Mother that she’s prone to tears even absent provocation. I look at this, and others every bit as perfect from only less than two years ago, and feel no need to seek any counsel that would explain my own. (Mrs. LFM photo – click to enbiggen)

Mother and bairn are Home as of yesterday afternoon, and as Fort LFM now basks in this new and wondrous addition, you can trust that the fragments of verse and prose that presently roil in my head will soon be unleashed upon you.

Stay tuned Goode Reader. There is much to be seen and said!

Today’s title is a fragment of the sentiment spoken by Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto upon learning of the successful raid on Pearl Harbour:

“In the first six to twelve months of a war with the United States and Great Britain I will run wild and win victory upon victory. But then, if the war continues after that, I have no expectation of success.

“You cannot invade the mainland United States. There would be a rifle behind each blade of grass.

“I fear all we have done is awaken a sleeping giant and fill him with a terrible resolve.”

As I write from Canada, I am more than a little privileged to know an uplifting number of people – mostly Men but there is a gloriously growing component of Women – who live on the continent of North America and could easily haunt Admiral Yamamoto’s dreams today. Many I speak of are as old as me or older, and so remember the lesson, but all is not lost for I am happy to observe that the efforts of modern society to domesticate its youth have not been altogether successful, leaving me in hope that they never will be.

I hold that the Warrior Arts, expressed both inwardly and outwardly by the individual, are an integral and essential component of a truly secure society. Many making the decisions these days, both public and private, would rather cast these Arts and all they demand of the practitioner as a threat to the public good. To “the organization”. As THE problem rather than a vital component of the solution both today and forever forward.

Nay, nay, and THRICE nay! That one who pursues the Warrior Path be viewed as a threat to the society in which that Warrior dwells, and holds a vested interest, is directly opposed to historical precedent, for long before the treachery of Pearl Harbour. The defense of the realm has forever relied upon the readiness of its citizenry to bring tooth and claw to bear, and as an example, the recognized efficacy in this pursuit in the form of long range shooting is reflected in laws that, up until 1863, required all Englishmen to practice archery as a standing national readiness for war.

All this being said, and ever mindful of history, articles like the Field & Stream piece by J. Guthrie titled How to Make a 1000-Yard Shot make my black heart glad. The author’s reasoning for mastering this Art makes perfect sense to the Hunter part of my own Warrior Soul, and lest anyone in government or law enforcement anywhere choose to see his subject matter or my endorsement of it as a threat of any kind to “peace and good order”, I would say get over yourselves. It’s not about you, and it never was or will be for anyone I would trust with my children.

Gildor Inglorion: “That Gandalf should be late, does not bode well. But it is said: ‘Do not meddle in the affairs of Wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger.’ The choice is yours: to go or wait.”

Frodo Baggins: “And it is also said, ‘Go not to the elves for counsel, for they will say both no and yes.'”

~ The Fellowship of the Ring ~

Frustrated as Frodo might be, at least the Elves are working with traditional definitions of the negative and affirmative. For the rest of us, the arrival of election campaign season anywhere comes with the inevitable publication of conflicting public opinion polls pertaining to candidates, parties, policies, smoke, and mirrors. This happens every time notwithstanding the equally inevitable proof that the ultimate public opinion poll – the election results themselves – once again represent a sad statement on how much meaningful attention the average voter devotes to the formulation of informed decisions. (more…)

Click the image to enlarge. Source: http://www.huffingtonpost.ca/2014/05/26/d-day-photos-canada-anniversary_n_5393983.html

“I was born in 1957, and for Canadians of my generation, World Wars 1 and 2 can be compared to what can be said today of cancer, in that it would have been a difficult task during our formative years to swing the proverbial dead cat without hitting a member of a family that had been touched to its very marrow by war. Someone near and dear had died or been indelibly changed for the worst by it.” ~ My Poppy is Red

On this day in the year 1944, events unfolded that were the culmination of efforts I personally believe few now living could bring to pass. It is not for frivolous reasons that those who lived and died by these actions are referred to as “the Greatest Generation”, and I live in hope that their example will never be forgotten, nor “rebranded” into meaningless obscurity. (more…)

Mrs. LFM and SFM Viktor, our first born, on 3 September 2013, mere hours after an emergency C-section following 45 hours of hard labour. (LFM photo)

“While childbirth is, as the saying goes, one of the most truly Natural things in the world – a task that a Woman’s body is designed to perform repeatedly – it does not come without risk, and anything can happen. Here’s a reality check for you – as far back as our decision to pursue conception, we were in agreement that if things went south and I was solely faced with making a decision to save the life of Mother or child, I would choose my Wife.” ~ Advent of a Small Fierce Mammal – September 2013

On this day held forth as one for the celebration of Motherhood, let it not be forgotten that there is a dark side to the equation. Don’t get me wrong Goode Reader, for in this I don’t suggest for a moment that pregnancy and childbirth are things to be shied away from in fear of grievous bodily harm, nor are they to be viewed as mechanisms of tragedy. Neither do I imply that I have any reason whatsoever to expect loss of my beloved Wife in the course of this latest wondrous pregnancy, now mere weeks from fruition, nor to shun another after this.

Be that as it may, throughout history, women have died for a variety of reasons associated with Motherhood – some due to medical complications affecting the pregnancy and/or birthing process, others because they couldn’t conceive at all and thus felt the wrath of those who would have rather they did. I could go on, but let us stop there. As I said, there is a dark side to this joyous equation notwithstanding my craving for a healthy Mother and child at the end of it all.

Selfish bastard that I am, I see my Beloved Wife, and most perfect Mother of our children now and to be, physically manifesting her Love for me by placing her Life on the line for the most primal and powerful of reasons.  Proving, as if that were ever necessary, her loyalty and courage, as we plunge together headlong into the blessed state of Parenthood knowing all the while that the imperatives of Nature care not for the joys or the sorrows of Her Children. Only that She has them, Strong and True.

We treasure this adventure, Mrs. LFM and I, and every day along this Path I Love her more. So, I offer this collection of verse that I can’t, contrary my custom, read aloud to her before publication.

The vocal afflictions of emotion don’t you know.

My apologies my Love. I know how you enjoy my voice.

 A Covenant with Motherhood

By LFM

Joy abounding brought to this,
By Nature’s Laws and sweetest kiss,
My Love, that I may lose you now …
Please hear my mind, and know my vow.

The advent of our child draws near.
I’ll not diminish that with fear,
For Motherhood’s a Holy thing
The Mother of us All doth bring.

So as we know it, you and I,
That giving Life, there’s some that die,
My Love, we share this joy, us two,
Whilst pray me to The Gods – not you.

But know thee Love, that Nature’s plan
Lies far beyond the ken of Man,
And what my selfish wants require
May find us short of Their desire.

And so, whatever comes to be,
This covenant’s for you and me –
The Bairns we have, I’ll see them whole
To Warriors of Heart and Soul.

For though I crave with all of me
Forever more for US to be,
The way forever’s meant for us
Is through our Bairns, t’was ever thus!

I recorded events purely with my mind, eye, and pen. This photograph from the internets (source: http://www.forwallpaper.com/wallpaper/attack-eagle-164108.html) is offered as a representation, albeit but a tiny snippet, of the primal splendour I witnessed.

Springtime is a season of many and varying complexions here in Nova Scotia, and one of the many reasons affecting all the seasons leading us to often remark that if you don’t find the weather to your liking, just wait a few minutes. Because of this, choosing one’s attire for the day is slightly complicated by what can easily be a 10 degree variance from dawn to mid-afternoon. This is nothing a savvy bushman can’t manage of course, but I bring the matter to your attention on this, my birthday, as a lead in to recounting an interesting meeting that occurred just yestermorn.

I had been conversing with Mrs. LFM as we went about our daily ablutions, and checking the time, announced my intention to sally forth a moment to sniff the wind before deciding how best to dress for the missions of the day. Moments later, I was stepping through the door into our yard which borders on a wide expanse of woodland, and a neighbouring cultivated field. No sooner had I both feet on the ground than I caught sight of a large Bird  through the Pine boughs ahead of me. It was descending in a manner that made me think it intended to alight in a nearby tree, and other than that it was clearly a Bird of Prey, I hadn’t yet seen enough of it to identify its species.

Then, in mere seconds, I saw a mature Bald Eagle sweep swiftly up above the trees, its eyes fixed on something on the ground to our mutual right. With two powerful strokes of its wings, it rapidly executed a climbing right turn, its eyes still fixed on something in the neighbouring field. Reaching the apex of its climb, the Eagle tucked its wings, extended its talons, and in total lethal silence descended with increasing speed toward an expanse of snow. Transfixed by the splendour of the Eagle, it was a mere yard from the ground before I caught a sudden movement in the periphery of my vision. A medium sized River Rat bolted across the snow only to be snatched up midway through its second bound, released of its life by a quick ripping strike of the Eagle’s beak that left a crimson streak upon the white backdrop, and carried forth without again touching the ground.

With powerful strokes of its wings that made its every move seem effortless, the Eagle climbed away looking in my direction, and then banked toward me, holding my eye as it approached. Just as it was about to pass over me, it appeared to extend the limp Rat in its talons, as though it mattered to him that I saw it.

I cheered! The visceral explosion of joy and kinship in my heart at that moment cannot be explained in words, but I know that you will understand Goode Reader!

As I once wrote, “For this to be experienced I needed to be exactly where and when I was. So simple and yet so profound.”

And to paraphrase something I also put here a bit more than a year ago:

So what does it all mean? For me, every time I am gifted with such a moment, I feel honoured in a way that can only come from sharing it in time with a fellow creature of Nature, and the thrill I speak of can only come from an unscripted and decidedly un-coincidental encounter demanding that its participants converge under circumstances most will find impossible to believe. Impossible because it never seems to happen to them. Indeed, these events are of a kind that would never have happened if you even paused to hike up your pants, check your email, or if I had spent even an extra minute talking to my beloved Wife.

So …

I believe they happen to me because I’ve spent all of my life up to now learning to be the best animal – the best creature of Nature – I can be. My quest is far from finished, and I have no intention of stopping. I hold the World of Nature above the artificially built “reality” of human society, and in so doing, my relationship with my fellow Humans is enhanced.

All this being said, let me now give thanks to you, most splendid and perfect Eagle, who came yesterday to bring the gift of your primal joy, and likewise to all I name Friend as I – and you – know the meaning of the word. The happiness of my birthday to you all, and to my enemies, may you come to your senses or be cursed to never find what I have found.

Source: S. F. Kaufman

A year ago today, I wrote of a Man’s birthday, and how its occurrence at once delighted his Friends and dismayed his enemies as that of any True Man will. Well Goode Reader, I invite you to revisit that piece, placed here in honour of our Esteemed Friend Stephen F. Kaufman, and ask that you do so in the joyous knowledge that he has seen fit to keep his Wit and Sword among us for yet another year.

Happiest of birthdays Steve, and many, MANY, more! To repeat my advice last year, live forever, or die in the effort! Be fucking inevitable!

The Honourable Kaufman has a lot of things to say that speak to the LFM Clan, but today, and with his kind approval, I would like to share the perfect expression of one that ranks among the LFM favourites; in fact that was the title of last year’s celebratory piece. Delivered by the Man himself, I warn you that once you’ve heard and seen it, you’ll find more than ample reason to apply it in your own life, preferably with appropriate classical technique as demonstrated here. (more…)

“Death Dealer” by Frank Frazetta

For those of you who aren’t privy to the machinations of Canadian politics, our government is attempting to push through a piece of legislation that is widely held by the thinking population, including us LFMs, as a dangerous and intolerable assault on the rights and freedoms of Canadians, all presented as another one of those “for your own good” propositions. Put forward as Bill C-51,  with the working title of the Anti-terrorism Act, the government argues that we are “… at war …” with ISIS and that Canada, “… is under siege …”, thus justifying spying on the interior of the house in case an Ant gets in, instead of finding and rooting out the Ant hill.

Speaking for me and mine, we grow tired of childish parliamentary arguments over what “combat” means, and the persistent doctrine of incremental warfare where the time tested one called “shit or get off the pot” should really be dusted off and put back to work. It seems to us that if an enemy is so vile and unconscionable that its every moment of existence represents a threat to all that Canadians hold dear, then shoring up the ramparts at home is time and money less well spent than sharpening our swords and readying our ships to make the bastards sorry they ever attracted our attention.

In the end, turning the life of every Canadian into a government assigned fish bowl, and unleashing a pogrom, represent extreme ends of a complex but not exactly unheard of situation. One that, unfortunately, is at risk of being exploited in the former extreme. In Truth, if the threat to Canada really is that heinous, then our moral imperative is to turn it into a grease spot as soon as possible. If not, then my advice would be to shut up and go home, because in that case we have loyal people in harm’s way, faithfully carrying out orders to commit, or at least facilitate, violence of doubtful efficacy, all free from any sound reason to be there.

I will have more to say on this subject, but for now I offer the poem that follows, echoing sentiments uttered in The 13th Warrior:

Ahmed Ibn Fahdlan: “Have we anything resembling a plan?”

Herger the Joyous: “Mm-hm. Ride ’til we find them… and kill them all.”

Mark Twain said, “History doesn’t repeat itself, but it does rhyme.” This poem does neither.

Take the Fight to the Enemy

By LFM

“The sky is falling!” came the cry.
“Enemy at the gates!” echoed from the hills.
“War! Fear! Doom!” boomed from the ramparts.
Ears ringing, I left my work and made haste to the wall.

Mounting the stair to the battlement, I stood
And looked across the plain, the sweet wind in my face.
Upon the land below, cattle grazed, and men moved about their business –
Some good, some bad, most neither and both.

Of the Dread Enemy spawning warnings so dire,
None could be seen, and yet every act of mayhem is Theirs.
In the streets, Their name is spoken in whispers hidden in shadow
For fear that to name Them is to invite being marked as one among Their number.

The walls have ears, but none are Theirs, and few notice
That the spears of defense have come to point ever more inward rather than out.
Soldiers are sent with great fanfare to deal pinpricks hailed as triumph –
Muzzled War Dogs best kept leashed if they are not to slake their ravening thirst in blood.

In lofty halls, forked tongues entwine the words of conflict,
At once invoking the name of War whilst insisting the Soldiery
Stand upon the field for reasons otherwise.
That a Soldier exists as the bloody finality of his Nation’s tolerance is forgotten.

An Enemy so offensive yet so weakly pursued,
In concert with the noble quest for avoidance of offense.
So empowered that we must fear our own children, and throw open our homes
To the benevolent vipers sent to lurk protectively beneath our beds.

That the Enemy hath power to change the hearts of men
And turn them to ignoble cause seems strange to me,
For have there not always been those among us who would
Cleave to any cause offering excuse to release whatever particular evil they hold dear?

Standing there upon the wall, the wind stirs my hair
As I ponder how such an evil is granted the power of cowering fear
Instead of a righteous outward vengeful flood with but one goal –
To ride until we find them, and kill them all.

It’s said that you must never suggest to a woman that she might be pregnant unless there is a baby coming out of her at that very moment. In a similar fashion, I would advise that while survival demands recognition of the potential defensive and offensive use of any object, however mundane, as a weapon for or against your continued happiness, suggesting to an otherwise mannerly and devilishly handsome Gentleman that any implement he may have upon his person, and may deign to make visible, might brand him a scoundrel or a brigand is, at the very least, more than a little rude, and deserving of correction.

Here’s a fun story.

Back in the September of 2013,  Mrs. LFM and I dropped by the house of a Friend on the way back from a day canoe trip in the woods, and so I was openly wearing the usual bush gear with the likewise usual sharp and pointies. We live in a very rural hunting and fishing heavy environment, so nothing I had on would have raised an eyebrow if I stopped by a store on the way home. Not that I flaunt it, but one must understand one’s audience. At any rate, there was a young woman visiting who had come with a man my Friend works with, and who was, let us say, young beyond her years. I recall that her name was Dominique, and I was soon to learn  that she had embraced the implications of that moniker to a degree marvelous to behold.

Upon being introduced to me for the very first time in her life, and sharing with me the status of invited guest in another Man’s home, this ever so young woman immediately and pointedly expressed her concern about my being “armed”, thus presenting me with the option of indulging her in one of “those” conversations. She wasn’t shocked or panic stricken you understand, just opinionated in a dangerously and rudely misguided sort of way. The whole thing was made all the more interesting considering the venue – my Friend has an extensive sword collection and has them prominently displayed all over his house.

Now I’ll skip to the entertaining part.

Normally I’d have cut the visit short and to the point, but I was game in the moment and I said, “So the simple visible presence of my safely sheathed knives bothers you. Let me ask you this; what if I’d come in wearing my favourite tweed dinner jacket, with all this still present but hidden underneath. Would that be better?”

She replied, “Well, ignorance is bliss, right?”

Ah Goode Reader! Never were words spoken that so perfectly encapsulate the incipient doom of society! For my part, after a derisive snort and a pause to sip the whisky my Friend had so generously placed in my hand, I replied, “No. Ignorance is most certainly NOT bliss.”

Mrs. LFM was there, at the time so pregnant she was ready to pop any second. We knew well before then that we were expecting a boy, and I finished with this – “We’re having a little boy soon. Let me use that to illustrate how the mere presence of an object is not necessarily a representation of intent. Let’s say you visit us after he’s born, and as you’re leaving you notice I’m filling the baby size bathtub. Nothing positive or negative about the event, I’m just doing it, but the filling tub and the naked baby, are in plain sight as you leave. Now enlighten me – can you tell from my possession of a baby and a filled bath tub if my intention is to give him a bath or drown him?”

That was a show stopper. Of course, there was the inevitable argument that knives and bathtubs aren’t the same, to which I brought her back to the matter of intention – a bathtub used to willfully kill in such a scenario is, by definition, a murder weapon, but it has no power to become so absent human intention. It was then there came a crystalline moment of blessed silence, Goode Reader, before she suddenly changed the subject to her new found preference for lesbian sex, and I can tell you from long experience that’s a remarkably common segue from disquieting talk about perceptions of certain implements as “weapons” where no justification exists.

Coming forward to today, I’ve never set eyes on the young woman again, but I feel safe in saying this – while I sincerely doubt she’s any smarter, she’ll at least avoid me when we might end up alone together and a body of water is nearby.