It's Yellow

Haven't the time to write but I wanted to share this picture, because, well -

It's yellow.

h/t, AmishStories

Stephen

My Old Friend

My old friend, a fine writer of all things survivalist related, has returned.  Please, take a stroll over the mountain and say hello.

Tell him Stephen sent you.

Self Sufficient Mountain Living.

Thanks.

Stephen

Unsettled Weather

Our local weather forecasters warn of unsettled weather for North Florida this weekend. Fine with me.

For the last couple of days I've stepped from my front door into warmth filled with birdsong and the scent of salt marsh. As I walk towards my truck squirrel cut pine cones litter our walkway and the cicadas sing at full roar - a gentle entry into an otherwise long hot day.

The storms will arrive, I'm sure, and I will ride out its winds and rain with a cup of coffee and a smug smile all tight and secure within the shell of this vintage building.

Elsewhere in Florida another storm is forecast. Many believe the Zimmerman case will slam shut and riots will place the period to his fifteen minutes of fame.

I doubt it.

Then again human nature is almost impossible to predict. There is the possibility critters will jump and howl and show their collective asses. Some are sure to bust a window or two. It's the truly black souled moon fleas one must always keep in mind.

This morning, in the truck, I took a few extra minutes and pulled my critter getter from its case. I swapped magazines and refreshed the fodder. She's ready for action, should opportunity present a target rich environment.

As I've said, I doubt the storm predictions. Still, I've taken a nice piece of 550 cord and made it ready to accept trophy ears. The line, once filled, should look nice against the background of my black shirt.

We're in for a stormy day, if the forecast is correct.

Should be fun.

Stephen
 

What I Hate

You know what I hate?

Okay, I'll tell you. I hate the fact it's me and not you saddled with the job of balancing my accounts and writing these offending checks. My head hurts, my coffee is lukewarm and it's a beautiful warm morning - yet here I sit.

*****

By the way, today is the official 'switch out your carry piece day.'   (um, or what the heck ever you wish to refer to it day.) For the next quarter I shall pack a sweet little nickled Chief's Special. If you need me to explain why a member of the gun culture should swap his or her carry piece on occasion - well, never mind. Please burn your membership cards.

If you haven't as yet read my friend Duke's blog this week you should know he has written two great articles on the philosophy of concealed carry. Give 'em a read.

Now, run along and give your black polymer handgun a rest. Open the safe and remove a dusty queen and give her a place on your belt. As you rush about your day, reach back and give her a tug, present her to that faraway target on the office wall and say, pew, pew, pew.

She'll appreciate it.

Later.

Stephen

I Must Confess

If we owned a doghouse I'm fairly certain it would be my residence for the rest of this year. I hate to tell on myself, really I do, but to carry this guilt for the rest of the evening would, I'm sure, do great damage to my marriage. You see, she isn't aware I shot out one of her dining room windows.

Sigh.

Arrived home about 1600 this afternoon. Since Monday is my normal day off I thought I'd close the shop early. After all business was slow, and I had a couple of chores I wanted to tackle. Time on my hands, don't 'ya know.

My first order of business was to run a line check on our irrigation system. As each station cycled I followed along and observed each sprinkler carefully for trouble. Station four soaks our backyard.

Just as I took a step around the corner of our home I spotted movement under our deck. Two whopping sized armadillos. Two. I retreated for aggressive action.

A few moments later I'm back and armed with one of my little Rossi .22 pump rifles. Now, here I must pause and build a case for my defense.

Our home has a brick walkway laid on three sides of our yard. The bricks, though firmly bedded. are subject to movement by tree roots. Not all the bricks are even with the rest and it's very easy to catch the toe of your boot and stumble if you (me) aren't careful.

It's hot. I have copious amounts of stinging sweat in my eyes (which didn't help my vision) and my breathing was uneven from the quick dash inside. Pretending to be a woods wise Indian, I eased around the corner and spotted my nemesis - the hated saber toothed armadillos.

The suckers held tight to the underside of the deck. Target acquisition was difficult. I held my breath, took a bead on armadillo one and fired. The sucker flipped. I shucked the bolt to reload and the friggin rifle jammed.  Booger number two was about to make his escape. I quickly reached and released the magazine tube which takes pressure off the rounds, and then, slammed home the bolt.

Problem is as I worked to load a fresh round into the chamber, I like a damn fool, tried to step forward in order to gain a fresh sight picture on almost dead armadillo number two. Remember, hot, excited, killer instinct has kicked into high gear - I wanted blood.

My boot caught a fraction of an upturned brick, and like an amateur, (Oops, get ready.) my finger still caressed the trigger. I had not fully released my booger hook. On this particularly rifle if you hold the trigger back and slide the bolt home it will fire. Well, guess what.

I stepped, stumbled, and fired. Remember folks, muzzle awareness is very important to firearms safety. By the way I missed zombie armadillo two.

But, I shot a pretty round hole in our formal dining room window. Low, on the frame. Clean hit. I felt like a fool. (Go ahead, laugh.)

It's a tiny hole. Nice and clean. Glass fractured pretty as you please. It's amazing what a tiny .22 short will do to metal and glass. Never underestimate a .22's ability to kill game or its decorative effect on windows.

I held my head low and slowly walked back to the garage and into the house. Didn't even wipe my boots, just tracked inside to the dining room. I expected severe collateral damage. Her sheer curtains took a hit. I bent and carefully tracked the path of the bullet. As expected it shattered and two small pieces entered one leg of her (Lord help me.) antique china cabinet. I ran and grabbed a tube of that stuff that restores the color of wood and wiped away the evidence.

I quickly scheduled an appointment with a window repair service.

I truly hate armadillos.

There. It's done. I've confessed. Maybe I'll wait for the repair people before I tell her....it's possible she won't notice the damage.

Isn't it...possible.

Stephen 

Silver Tease

Oh, kymber....

I know, I'm a bad boy.

Three ounces of pure beauty.

Stephen

Just for kymber

I need to rename this dish Belly Popper. Kymber, my dear, here's the finished product. My chicken and dumplings.

Above. I've just placed the dumplings into the pot. This picture doesn't give justice to the dishes deep golden richness.

Now, the finished dish.

If anyone can eat more than three of my dumplings and still walk they're superhuman.

Not a bad two hours work. Now, about that recipe....I'll think about it. First I need to take a long walk.

Stephen