Fall is heavy on the air. Storms far off at sea bring heaviness to the air. The falling of the leaves add a subtle scent. A light frost usually comes sometime before Thanksgiving. On my calendar, Thanksgiving is the close of Fall. The day after is the beginning of Winter

The weeks after Halloween leading to Thanksgiving were a time of preparation during my childhood as my mother, aunts and grandmothers began the system that led to a feast. Cake layers were cooked and put in the freezer. Some cakes were finished and frozen. Chickens were cooked and the broth saved. My mother could get more meals from one small fryer than anyone I’ve ever known. Cornbread was prepared for the dressing. But the deserts, the heavenly deserts.

Now I won’t call my mother cheap, but I will tell you that she could pinch a penny into quarters, both geometrically and financially. She came by it honestly though being raised as the youngest of eight children on a north Alabama dirt farm that raised more children than crops. As a matter of family legend, an exceptionally good crop was what led the family to becoming Republicans when a FDR bureaucrat came by and told my grandfather that he had planted to much of a certain crop and had to plow it back into the field

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Jeremiah was pretty jealous

Over the years, I’ve had a problem with timber rattlers in the dog pens. A few of  the pack has been bitten. I finally gave up and wrapped all the pens in 1/4 inch hardware cloth. DSCN3931

I haven’t had a problem with timber rattlers since.  Copperheads are a different matter. I haven’t seen one in over ten years here on Rabbit Run. I’ve killed two this year

Jeremiah was pretty jealous when I went to the pens just before lunch today because the dogs were raising cain. Teddy NoPass had a copperhead hemmed up in a corner and wouldn’t let him into Jeremiah’s pen. I shot it with the .45 Judge I carry loaded with .410 #6 shotDSCN3935

I’ll keep an eye on Teddy. It looked like he had a bite on the bridge of his nose but no symptoms of a bite

Some Reruns for your Halloween entertainment

Grubby and the Pumpkin Bottom Haint’s
Haint (n) archaic rural for spooks, ghosts. As in “Help, help, a haint’s got me”
redneckin Dictionary of common terms


In the dark. At night. With a full moon


Grubby’s Revenge

Woooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Woooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 
The sound seemed to rise from the old Leeds house, gliding eerily on the tips of the tall white oaks and sweet gums whose limbs capped the holler leading into Phenix City’s Pumpkin Bottom cemetery. 


Hattie was an ageless tiny black lady with snow white wooly hair cut short all over. Blue gray eyes of a long dead fish on ice peered from a leathery wrinkled face the dark brown color of a well handled buckeye. Eyes that gave you a vague unsettled feeling when she fixed them on you, seeming to look over you, through you, into you, like you were some curious specimen opened for dissection.


Grubby and the Year of the Moogly

Red Owl’s deer skin moccasins slapped against the sand along the wigtacjsji (which roughly translates into where one trips over his guts once in a generation or two because of the return of the Moogly) creek bed as he ran in the darkness. He glanced over his shoulder in fear. He had earned the name “Red Owl” for his daring during the night hours, a time when most Indians of the Creek nation tried to avoid moving alone. 
He knew fear now. Not fear of the dark, but fear of that which fed in the dark.


Catapults; Weapons of mass distraction

I came across this post in a old hard drive

Catapults; Weapons of mass distraction

Summerville Elementary, with its vaguely green faux stucco cement exterior and pea graveled asphalt playground/ball field, would have been considered quite inadequate, if not downright dangerous even by Phenix City’s standards of the day. If we had had any standards to apply.

Six classrooms, six grades, with the Principal doubling as the sixth grade teacher.
Worn wooden board floors were gray from years of industrial cleaners and buffed to a dull sheen by countless pairs of Ked’s forming lines down the three sided hallways leading to the assembly/rainy day gym/ lunchroom. The smell of soured milk, rutabagas and greens emanating from within competed with chalk, crayons and the sweaty little bodies lined up outside for preeminence in the heavy southern air .

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The Great Loop or bust

GF and my plan to sell out and do the Great Loop has limped into a holding pattern or maybe even limbo.  For those not in the know, The Great Loop is a 6,000 mile trip from your home port up the Atlantic coast through canals into the great lakes then down the Illinois, TennTom waterway into the gulf and around Florida. Where you are cruising is season dependent. The Gulf and off of Florida is winter to avoid hurricane season. The Atlantic coast is spring. The Great Lakes area is summer and the TennTom is fall
We had looked at this (or at least I had) as the last great adventure of my life. A chance to create some memories for my declining years and memories for my bride who will, God willing, outlive me by an estimated 30 years. Besides, since GF will sell Rabbit Run after I pass from this mortal coil, why not sell now and enjoy a share of it. No need leaving GF a pot of money to spend on her next husband.
Our plan had been to buy now, move on the boat in the spring of 2019 on the St Johns river in Florida for a year of shakedown and training. Lamont who lives in Jacksonville was to have been GF and my guru. In the spring of 2020, we would move north on the intracoastal with the rest of the fleet of 2020 on the loop
What has brought our trip to a halt is a series of events. Read More

The Battle of the Fleas

We here at the East Alabama Rabbit Hunters & Souse Eaters Social Club have had an ongoing fight to the scratches with a flea infestation in the Rabbit Journal’s Pack. In my attempts to kill the fleas, I’m surprised I haven’t killed half the pack

In the earliest chemical warfare battles, I deployed Pet Armour Plus purchased from Amazon. The active ingredients are Fipronil and (S)-methoprene..  The results were amazing. It was like I put a dab of water on each dog.

Next I sprayed the pens and bedding with a combination of  Permethrin and a IGA regulator to prevent the eggs from hatching along a dose of Capstar followed by Pet Armor Plus purchased from Wally World a week later. Pretty much the same results. The fleas were gone off the dogs for a couple of days and then they were back

Next up will be a combination of spraying plus Comfortis

Well, that was pretty embarassing

Especially with a witness.

I went to the barn this morning to tend to the animals and a friend, Ricky was already there. He told me to look at the end of the run through the  barn. There set a big buck rabbit!

I walked to the end of the run and the rabbit took off towards the dog pens stopping only about 10 yards from the legendary Rabbit Journal Pack. I casually walked to the pens and through the gates open.

The rabbit headed south and dove through a section of hog wire. The dogs took off north celebrating being out of the pen without a thought as to the rabbit

I ended up walking the dogs all around where the rabbit had run and they acted like their smellers were broke. I could tell that Ricky was a little embarrassed for me especially with all my bragging about how great the dogs had done last season


The Cup

the cupPeople become attached to some strange things. These items mean the world to us. We become upset if they become missing or are by our definition, misused. The item might be an old pocket watch that loses time in an age where time can be accurate to the nano second in a cell phone. Or it could be a pocket knife that has been sharpened and resharpened to the point that there is a pronounced bow in the blade. I’m talking about myself, of course. But I’m willing to bet you have things like that yourself. These items give comfort, a familiarity that bring back memories. Some of these memories might be a little painful such a my knife post, “Careful! He’s armed”

One of my favorite items that will have no meaning to anyone when I pass from this land of the mortals is a coffee cup that I’m sipping my fresh ground Colombian bean from this morning. Oh, I have a cabinet full of coffee cups. Themed to holidays, everyday use, giant mugs, and travel mugs, I invariably reach for that humble brown cup. Coffee though is not the only beverage that the cup has contained. Over the years it has held everything from water to mushroom tea to soft drinks to almost every type of alcohol known to man. In other words, almost every drinkable liquid known to man. And some that shouldn’t be drank by man or beast.

The cup is made from a brown material that you don’t dare put in a microwave. I saw a similar cup that had been microwaved. The results looked much like a piece of particle board that had been soaked in water.

And I don’t trust the dishwasher. Oh, the cup has been handwashed which by my definition is rinsed out and turned over on some handy, mostly clean, surface. Washing it that way, the character of the cup and the subtle flavor imparted by the myriad layers of previous liquids that have dried on the inside isn’t compromised. Since it hasn’t be scrubbed clean, some future scientist could test the layers and see exactly what I was up to by analyzing layers like they are rings of a tree.

An astute observer would know I was right handed by the stain on outside rim. They would surmise that I had some tangential relation to the military by the stamped “U.S.” on the outside bottom of the cup

I acquired The Cup as a young man who still didn’t need to shave but twice a week. The Army, however, in its infinite wisdom insisted I shave daily. I followed orders and at least twice a week made sure I had a blade in the double sided razor. This example of Army wisdom was the same that dictated that I, a young man raised in the woods, swamps and rivers of a hot and humid south should not be sent to Vietnam but instead assigned to Northern Italy where I provided communications for a Sargent missile battalion in the Italian Alps. At this time we had no cell towers, no infinite fiber optics and no satellites for communications. We were somewhat limited in the fact the Earth was round and radio signals traveled in straight lines. Bouncing radio signals off the ionosphere to compensate or relay them from radio to radio to radio was our only method to communicate.

But I digress. Leaving the mess hall at Fort Knox where I was in AIT, I carried out my coffee without the Mess Sargent seeing. The Cup has been with me ever since except for brief periods that inspired irrational behavior

Shortly after GF (GirlFriend as opposed to lower case casual for the moment gf) the Cup became missing. GF says it was one of the few times that she had considered ending our relationship The irrational searches, the accusatory looks, the moaning, and heavy sighs severely stressed her commitment to being GF and brought about a longing for her old gf status. Fortunately for her, the Cup was found in the livewell of a old johnboat I was working on a week later. There was mold growing on the remaining coffee but a through rinsing restored it to it’s former glory.

What is your cup?