Payback

For any of you that have followed my garden chronicles you would know of the pillaging and rape of my sweet corn crop this year.

And you would appreciate the sweet taste of revenge.

Payback is sweet

Weekend Update

It’s been an altogether decent weekend.

For me anyway.

My neighbor has been chopping corn for two full days already and isn’t finished yet.

Girlfriend and I did some woodcock hunting and came home empty handed.

Someone once said that a good day of lousy woodcock hunting is better any day of the week than a good day at work.

A walk in the fall woods is always good.

I also took the opportunity to sit with my bow and see what was happening.

And there wasn't much going on.

Saturday night about a half-hour before shooting time a little deer scampered into shooting range. Followed by a second deer. A couple of twin fawns. And very stupid - as I could have taken either one or both of them.

Mama followed.

Mom was the nervous sort and it was immediately clear that she was not comfortable with whatever is was that was hanging about in their proximity.

Bow up and with the release clipped-on the string I pondered drawing as soon as the doe turned away and taking her. I was thinking – Well, the fawns don’t have spots anymore – they’re not nursing. They’ll do fine.

With the completion of that thought the doe stalked-off with a stiff-legged gait and the fawns followed.

The frau and I began to get caught-up on more fall chores – namely stacking three cords of firewood for the winter.

The wood box in the house is full; the wood rack on the porch is stacked with the balance stacked in the barn.

For good measure I canned nine more pints of tomatoes and froze a pile of pumpkin puree. And a big, giant batch of sauerkraut too.

I’m not buying kraut anymore. We dined on Jaeger Schnitzel, spaetzle and homemade sauerkraut on Saturday night.

Squash and sweet onions are in the machine shed awaiting winter storage.

Quarterback Bargains

Now that the NFL season is in full swing it seems like an ideal time to take a look at the sport in a "Moneyball" sort of way.

Portfolio.com analyzed the cost-effectiveness of all 36 NFL players who threw at least 160 passes during the 2008 regular season.

Matt Cassell and Tyler Thigpen were the best bargains at the quarterback position last year in the NFL.

Go here to see how your team's quarterback ranked.

Friday Morning Music

Welcome to another earworm...

Green Bay Walleye Action

Lawyer and Sid have been seeking the secret to catching the elusive eyes on the Bay.

Rumor has it that they've finally stumbled-upon it.

Pictures from this past weekend...

Handsome Canines

Girlfriend and Little Buddy went to town recently to attend Bark in the Park - a fundraiser for the Door County Animal Shelter.

Aren't their fancy red bandannas eye-catching?

Girlfriend's mortal enemy - Harley the Camel was there too.

Girlfriend is normally a very tolerant person - but she does not like camels. Which is precisely why (even though I have several) I will not be posting a picture of the Evil One with One Hump.

Did I say - person?

Isn't it funny how dogs can carry funky grudges and prejudices just like people?

The Haints

Gilligan is either the best or worst watch dog ever.

For such a little guy he sure packs a load of spunk and he's always - I mean always - on high alert for an intruder, trespasser or threat.

If someone is even walking down the road the alarm is sounded with his very scary mixed terrier bark.

After the sun goes down the threat level increases to RED. Especially if the windows are open.

Because that is when the haints come out.

Girlfriend and Little Buddy will be snoozing peacefully when all of a sudden Gilligan will leap to his feet, howl the alarm call and run to the nearest open window to peer into the darkness. This is usually followed by sharp barks and glances to the adults in the room for further instructions.

The haints are out and there's no way they're going to find their way into the house if he has anything to do with it

Haints? What are haints?

Well - as my buddy Bill from Oklahoma would describe them, haints are those amorphous beings that materialize out of nowhere. They're usually to be found in the dark and their sole purpose is to taunt your dog. And wise old Bill would thoughtfully conclude that...

The dog can bark all it wants to only there haint 'nuthin there.

The Stand of Death

Lawyer and Sid and I assembled another deer stand in preparation for the hunt this fall.

This is it.

It also sports (not shown) a fancy railing that is equipped with a cammo shroud and fancy cammo padding for the seat and seat back and the gun rest.

The gun rest flips back so a shooter with a bow can utilize this stand as well.

It is quite capable of allowing for the indulgence of a nap without the occupant befalling any harm. (Pun intended)

This is our latest purchase of a factory manufactured stand.

The last time we purchased a store-bought elevated stand was more than ten years ago when we acquired a contraption from Fleet Farm that consists of a tubular steel tripod that has a platform with a swiveling boat seat precariously balanced on top.

We call it - The Stand of Death

It is a well-earned name since many a deer has been slain from that strategically located stand.

Alas - it is showing its age and rust is taking its toll. Further reinforcing its pedigree. That is why all the hunters grit their teeth when they clamber up one leg of the tripod to climb onto the flaking platform.

Now I know why I never see these being sold anymore. This flimsy thing is going to kill me when it collapses.

The new stand is much safer. And in recognition of the litigious nature of the world we live-in it sports a half-dozen blaze orange labels (Not To Be Removed Under Penalty of Law) that have all of the requisite legal disclaimers, warnings and heedings conveniently printed in teensy tiny print.

Sunday Night Lights

There is nothing like the spectacle of football at the world’s Mecca of football – The House of Lambeau.












Lawyer invited Sid, the Frau and I to accompany him to the Packer opener against the Bears.

It seems only right that Das Bus would appear here at the Campingplatz. (Hey. Bus guy. Bad grammar. Der Bus.)














No - that is not a flag growing from the head of that clown. It is a poorly composed picture by me.
















Speaking of clowns. These two clowns from Minnesota sat next to my Frau. One a Bear fan and the second a Viking fan. They were a pathetic duo. The sociopath in the Bear jersey insisted on wearing the Frau’s Packer feather boa. He is one sick dude. His sidekick sported a Viking jersey with old broken-down whathisname on it.

We had to put-up with the beer-soaked, drooling blather of these cretins for almost four entire quarters.

With barely a minute left in regulation play the Pack scored from behind to win 21-15. It was at this point that God (who happens to be a Packer fan) struck them dumb. Not a peep.

Good things come in fours. Four injured Bears players are taken from the field. And Cutler throws four interceptions.

Urlacher underwent surgery Monday to repair a dislocated right wrist and is done for the season. Stick a fork in him and check for yourself. He's done. Perhaps that will teach him a lesson for taking a cheap shot at Packer quarterback Aaron Rodgers.

Smell That Derrière

No. Stop. Wait.

That was supposed to read - dairy air.

The wind is favorable today - for my neighbor the dairy farmer - which means he is spreading manure.

When the wind blows in the direction of me and my neighbors - and not in the direction of the house where the farmer with the dairy herd lives - that means it is time to spread liquefied manure on the fields.

I guess we won't be hanging laundry out today...

Anger Management

There has been a great deal of anger and angst on some of the message boards I visit. A recent attempt to inject some humor on one of them appears to have fallen flat.

Oh well. You cannot win them all.

I think I’ll just stay away for a spell and post my ruminations over here at the Campingplatz.

And if all of all of those other folks want to get their undies in a knot that is fine by me. My undies are resting on the floor of the laundry room where the sauerkraut is fermenting.

It has occurred to me that those parents who hollered the loudest about the president speaking to their children might possibly be insecure about their parenting skill-set. Maybe that would explain why they were so afraid?

Sometimes I think that all of the angry yelling has deteriorated into revanchist enmity. Unlike the conservatism of Eisenhower, Nixon or Reagan modern conservatives in many ways have fallen into a pattern of anger and scare tactics.

They might benefit from a stiff dose of intellectual renewal and conquering the higher ground of loyal opposition.

Yet, what do I know.

Anyway - here is something to be scared about.

According to the Office of Management and Budget the estimated deficit for the 2009 fiscal year is $1.58 trillion. Did you know that it took 197 years (1789 to 1985) to amass a deficit of $1.58 trillion?

Furthermore, healthcare spending currently accounts for more than sixteen percent of our gross domestic product. That figure increases by about one percent every three to four years.

That might not seem like much - but the rate of increase is going to really pick-up the pace as all of us boomers get older than we already are. And if it continues on this course we will all end up giving virtually all of our money to the healthcare-industrial complex and not have a sou remaining to spend on other stuff like food, clothing and shelter.

So, in one of life’s great ironies we will be fleeced of our wealth and dead in the end.

Scary - eh?

The President spoke about this the other day and he is going to have an interesting time of trying to reconcile both of these irreconcilable truths.

But I digress. Which is the problem with being alone with your thoughts.

I am having a great day today – puttering in my kitchen, doing the day job shtick. Taking calls, tapping out emails and replies to emails, talking with my people while all the time canning another (and thankfully) last batch of pickles. Tomorrow I do applesauce from this year’s vast crop of apples.

That is unless I am butchering a deer.

The archery opener is tomorrow and this is splendid weather to hunt in. Not too hot. Not too cool. We have gone almost two weeks without rain so there will be no pesky mosquitoes.

I think that tonight the Frau and I will go to town. We will have a cocktail, chat with our favorite waitress and enjoy a fish fry.

Life is good when you’re not angry.

The Skipper and Gilligan

We are from time-to-time a two dog family.

As if Girlfriend wasn’t enough to handle we also have Little Buddy living with us for a spell.

That’s not his real name. It’s just that when the two dogs are together they both remind me of The Skipper and Gilligan.

He is her side-kick. As the Skipper used to say – Little Buddy.

A big, blocky Labrador retriever and a pint-sized terrier mix.

And he’s always making trouble for the steady and reliable skipper.

The Skipper goes out on the lawn to squat to take a leak and he comes along and tinkles on her spot.

The Skipper leaves her Frisbee lying about and he’ll abscond with it resulting in a wild game of keep-away that he ultimately loses.

The Skipper is snoozing on the floor or the porch and he’ll come along and gnaw on her nose until she gives him a whap and sends him flying.

Little Buddy will attempt to mount and hump The Skipper and all hell breaks loose. Little Buddy is all heart.

The two of them get along famously and actually get excited at the mention of each other’s names in the absence of one another.

Little Buddy ordinarily lives with a related family member and he vacations with us when his owners are on vacation.

But unlike Girlfriend - Little Buddy is a city boy. He’s also a momma’s boy – but more about that in a bit.

When he’s with us it’s like sending the city boy away to camp.

There is all sorts of room to run about off-lead. Lots of fresh air and exercise. The world is filled with exotic scents and different scat to sample. There are dark nights lit only by the moon with all sorts of imagined threats to growl and bark at. Get up early and stay up late.

But there is also order and discipline. He has to sleep in his crate and he’s not allowed on the furniture.

He does come prepared with his own chow. And I am cool with that as canines can become accustomed to a certain diet.

Having said that – Little Buddy’s diet includes canned turducken. You know - that southern delicacy made from a chicken stuffed into a duck which is stuffed into a turkey and slowly roasted. A generous supply of which was sent along with him as part of his daily ration. I have never indulged in turducken. Have you? Heretofore I did not know that dogs ate turducken on a regular basis.

That’s not to say that if I dropped an entire, real, whole, turducken on the kitchen floor Girlfriend wouldn’t grab it and run for the border.

But canned turducken for dogs? Lest you not believe it here is the proof.

I swear - I am going to sample this stuff before too long because it smells really yummy when you open a can of it.

On the other hand Girlfriend eats kibble which can be purchased at Fleet Farm in quantities sufficient for a working dog. And she is hardly a picky gourmand.

Make no mistake - Little Buddy is a sweet guy. I just happen to think that he needs spend more time with his burly cousin The Skipper.

You know – toughen him up a bit. Sharpen those soft edges. Indulge his inner wolf.

For instance – he follows my wife around like a shadow. Not me – but the Frau. If she walks to the shed he follows. If she fetches the pick-up truck to haul something he’s right there in the extra cab with her. If she is in the shower he can be found right beside the bathroom door, peering beneath the crack and waiting for her to materialize.

If the Frau leaves to run an errand he’ll tolerate me but wait expectantly on the porch for her arrival. If I leave - I think he’s glad to see me go.

I have a theory about his disdain for me.

I think it is because I used a power saw and nail gun over the weekend and he now associates me – personally – as being the canine kingdom equivalent of Ivan the Terrible.

To top it off - just the other night I went out to the back yard to polish my target shooting with a pistol and after about 14 rounds my lovely wife emerged from the back door to politely ask if I could refrain.

Little Buddy was about to have a heart attack immediately following his tinkling upon the floor.

For The Skipper - gunfire is music to the ears. But my reputation with Little Buddy diminished further.

Yet, with time, Little Buddy is taking to the country life.

Just last night The Skipper and Little Buddy raided a rabbit nest and stoked their inner wolf by dining on bunnies.

As their tummies were full they both went off to bed without supper. No kibble - no turducken.

The Skipper will make a man out of Little Buddy yet.

Just you wait and see.

Random Musings and Idle Chit Chat

That is black bean and corn salsa.

It's a recipe from Chef Andy Weber who owns the Nautical Inn in Sturgeon Bay. I recommend the joint. Tell Andy that Swamp sent you.

It's Labor Day weekend and the Frau and I have been laboring - constructing a picket fence around the kitchen garden.

She dug the post holes one by one, set the posts and mixed and poured the concrete. An industrious woman the Frau is.

This weekend we installed the pickets.

Speaking of Labor Day what do you think of all of that nonsense down at Mercury Marine? What were these people thinking?

I'm going to vote no and lose my job instead of a accepting a wage freeze and sharing more in my health care costs. I'm going to show them a thing or two. I'm going to teach them a big fat lesson. Just you wait and see.

Sanity appears to have prevailed in Fond Du Lac and the insanity has moved along and infected the radical right making them cower in fear over the President speaking to the children.

What is with all of this madness?

I have a good reason to be mad. I still haven't gotten over the loss of this year's corn crop to the raccoons. But yesterday I bought a big bag of sweet corn from Pierre for only two bucks. I guess at that price I shouldn't be engaging in risky corn-raising ventures. I should be letting the farmer down the road take that risk. For not a whole lot of money I can purchase a whole bushel of fresh-picked, bi-color sweet corn and save myself a pile of trouble.

I'll have to think about that before next springs garden planting.

We roasted a bunch of Pierre's corn on the Weber grill last night - along with a beer can chicken. And I just finished dining upon a sandwich of leftover chicken and lettuce and tomato from the garden. All topped with real mayo. That's living!

And what to do with the leftover corn?

You slice it off the cobs and make Andy's salsa.

Black Bean Corn Salsa

In a mixing bowl add:

1 C of cooked corn

1 C of cooked black beans. drained and rinsed

1/2 C of red onion - finely diced

1 small red bell pepper, cored, seeded and diced fine

1 jalapeno pepper, seeded and minced

1 t minced fresh garlic

2 T chopped fresh cilantro

1 t honey

Juice of one lime

2 T balsamic vinegar

1/4 t of chili powder

Pinch of salt

Lots of fresh cracked pepper

Stir to blend it all together and chill for at least an hour to allow the flavors to harmonize.

Serve with grilled chicken, pork or seafood.

Not wanting to drive to Sturgeon Bay for cilantro I skipped that step. I substituted red and green bell pepper and sweet onion from the garden.

I've got lots of fresh cukes so I whipped-up a batch of cold cucumber salad. Neighbors invited us over to grill tonight.

If Only The Dead Could Talk

Out riding my bike last weekend with some friends and just had to check-out a simple country cemetery.

There were cattle peacefully grazing in an adjacent field.

The graves of children haunt me and I always wonder what the story is behind the life snuffed-out at such a young age.

And then there are the portraits of the dead.

Like this handsome young man...

Built Like A...

Brick Shithouse.

And here it is.

In case you are interested in the etymology behind the term The most definitive interpretation I've found is located here.

Nonetheless - this privy has stood the test of time and after
more than 100 years and witnessing countless backsides...

It still stands.

New Blog Link

In case you are not observant enough to notice the new blog I am following you might wish to keep tabs on The Impromptu Traveler.

Andy is a member of our deer camp who will not be hunting with us this fall as his employer is sending him to an as-yet undisclosed location.

If you end-up in the part of the world where I think you're going to end-up we want to see pictures of hot women in burkas!

Good luck and be sure to let us know if there is something you need when you get to wherever you are going.

Church?

Nope.

It’s a chapel.

And above the door it says - Saint-Michel prie pour nous.

Large numbers of Belgian immigrants arrived in America starting a century and a half ago.

And one of the traditions they brought with them was the simple roadside chapel.

Prayer chapels are very common in Belgium. Here they were built along roadsides for people to pray – often for a family member suffering from an illness.

Many of these still exist throughout Kewaunee, Brown and Door counties.

It’s unlocked and open for business if you want to talk with the Big Guy.