Binford Tools and Grunting …
Yesterday I was fortunate enough to add a couple of key tools to my shop (the term shop is highly subjective here, mine being about 5’x5′ space between the chest freezer and a pile of boxes that just never seem to go away), in preparation of the many activities on the coming farm. Side Note: While we did not get the loan just yet, as I stated previously, we have a contingency in place that will still allow us to acquire the property. I won’t go into the specifics “cause I don’t want aw-ery one all up in my beness!”
Okay, now that I have established my “Street Cred”, I can sashay back to tools. The entire process of purchasing larger tools (miter saw, nail gun, compressor) was quite exhausting believe it or not. The process started with research … suddenly I was a Friar or Monk of old, studiously searching the ancient texts for clues to the dark secrets of power tools. While I was there, I figured I would also pursue the age old mystery of “how many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop”. Yes, I know that the crabby old Owl says three, but he has a dishonest face and unlike me, is entirely lacking in street cred. Upon finishing my laborious studies of dusty, old tomes, I prepared myself for my journey. I climbed aboard my black steed, jaw firmly set. I would not return without the religious artifacts I so desperately desired.
Unfortunately, once I reached Castle de Home Depot, something terrible and surprising occurred. Walking through the doors, I was instantly transformed into a 10-year old boy. I found myself elbowing a few of the other men to be first into the store. I slapped one dad and took off running to the power tool area, screaming at the top of my lungs “You’re It!” and giggling like a school girl. That was quickly squashed by an elderly store employee who told me under no certain terms, that there was no running in the store. Dang it! I wish I had known that prior to the tagging incident. I did my best Granny Speedwalk, directly to the nail guns, where I declared myself safe! Pwned sucka! While my victory dance didn’t do my ancestors proud, and probably won’t win me America’s Got Talent … prudes … it was incredibly liberating just the same!
I worked with a store clerk, whom I shall call Marvin the Magical (or M2M for short … steet cred hollar!) to get the big ticket and heavy items, onto one of those Paul Bunion carts. Once the goods were perfectly aligned on the cart, equally distributing the load on all 4 wheels, I suddenly felt empowered! There I was, grunting in all my manliness, climbing atop the pile of tools on the cart, striking my best Luke Skywalker pose from my favorite Star Wars poster, raising my tape measure to the sky! I asked Marvin the Magical to lay at my feet, playing the role of Princess Leah, to round out the scene. He wasn’t into it. And then of course I got “the look” from the elderly store employee. Well … that was short lived.
I raced home and spent the remainder of the day in the dark garage, hunched over my newly acquired tools, muttering to myself incessantly. I love my new tools, I admit it. They are wonderful, they are … precious to me … my preciousssss … gollum, gollum!
Grasshopper Farming …
I am desperately trying to figure out what to do about the plague of grasshoppers at the farm. They easily can be measured in the thousands or by the pound, whatever suits your fancy. I created a list on how best to handle the grasshoppers, in no particular order:
- I considered relocation, however this flash of brilliance was stymied by the lack of any grasshopper rescue organizations, unbelievable how selfish the human race has become.
- Perhaps I could acquire our flock of chickens early. Surely they would make short work of the offending arthropods. However, the fencing is not in place for chickens, and walking 40 leashed chickens at one time as if I was a big city dog sitter just doesn’t appeal to me.
- I mulled over the possibility of hiring Flick and his specs ops circus buddies to defeat Hopper and company. But of course he is booked this time of year and his schedule wouldn’t allow it!
- I am sure there is a pesticide out there that would melt the grasshoppers in their tracks. However, we really are interested in trying to co-exist with the environment and not destroy it. So items 1,2, and 3 are more probable than this one.
- Perhaps increasing the habitat for birds (a few houses, water, etc.) to help control the population.
- I understand that grasshoppers hate Cilantro. I guess I could stop at Chipotle on the way home, but seems like a waste of their delicious burritos.
- There are various natural oils that can also help.
- I actually considered just raising and nurturing the damn things. There has to be a market out there for them. Perhaps some amalgamation between Deena’s candy making prowess and protein rich grasshoppers. Christmas gift baskets suddenly don’t seem like such a pain! Eat carefully my friends.
I recently learned a evil, but none-the-less timepassing game with the grasshopper. If you thump it on it head just in the right place it kills it instantly. Falls to its death, feet in the air. It took me several tries to get this down to a now delicate science. Give it a whirl. Happy killing my friends. hugs from Texas. Much love, and please remove me from the Christmas goodie baskets. 😉
Ahhh … a seasoned Veteran of the Grasshopper Wars, I salute you! We could use someone of your Hexapod thumping prowess around the ranch … err … farm. Those fingers for hire Missy? (See what I did there? Missy and missy? Nevermind.) I can see it now, Deena out tenden' the crops, … you struttin' around the ranch … err … farm, fingers twitchin'. Grasshoppers sittin outside the fence, too afraid to cross into thumpin territory.
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