Prrivacy

I confess this photo is staged. The macho pickup/camper and the manly John Deere 318 were placed for a reason. Namely, I need the Chuck Norris points after having, and I swear this is true, made drapes. I really haven't had all that much trouble with tourist ladies hiding in the bushes with binoculars, hoping I'll change shirts or something in the wide open living room, but you never know.

In further defense, I created the curtains in a way that would never occur to a cute fellow in the lime green jumper and yellow ascot.

It is perfectly possible to create window-treatment elegance with a vintage flannel sheet printed with what someone (maybe the fellow mention supra) believed to be an authentic American Indian motif. It merely requires pinking (blush) shears, a Stanley 30-foot tape measure, a stapler, and a roll of Gorilla tape. The latter two items help fabricate the tunnel through which the curtain rod goes.

N.B. Above the window hangs a nicely scoped .30-06 in further testimony to my masculine status. It was cropped out, however, too black,  because my three volt cockroach by Canon couldn't solve the contrasty light problems.  

In lieu of writing about the equinox

Walnut on slate, 2012

With me pike upon me shoulder

And you're of the country, aren't ye, lad?

Aye, the son of kings. Maybe the kings of the Annaly bogs but p'raps of the Fearghael  kings of  of the wild Wickelow mountains. 'tis hard to says since the bloody English burned the baptisimal certificates. Anyway, won't I be celebratin' this lovely day in a quiet manner? And won't I not be be with the Germans and Dutch and like pretendin' raff in Emmetsburg? And even if a few sons of the Auld  Sod be there, haven't I already seen me Paddy brothers and sisters brawling' and pukin' in the streets  before and them not even knowing about Colonel Farrell up on Kilgarry Mountain?

But if you're of another mind, lad, don't I wish ye the best of St. Patrick's Day, and as an act of kindness don't I remind ye to keep a few punt in your boot for bail money when the black and tans jug ye just for bein' what youse are. 

Bad bangs

If you pull the trigger and the bang does not sound quite right, you might want to open your action and take a peek.







Mainly, you're looking for a hole through the barrel, confirming the round you just fired made it all the way out. Apparently one didn't when two young snow goose hunters went into action near here this week. The injured fellow lucked out with just minor injuries. 


... (The victim)  was hunting with 19-year-old  (buddy) ... (who) had taken a shot but the shell in his gun didn't fire properly. (Buddy) reloaded and when he fired again, the barrel exploded. Authorities believe the barrel was blocked by the misfiring of the first shell.


It can happen with any ammunition, of course, but reloads are the usual suspects. (I'm particularly sensitive to this because my buddy had a close call shooting unknown reloads in his 1911 a few years back.  And I had provided the mystery rounds. I was shooting them myself. Very, very dumb even though I had reason to trust the guy who sold them to me.) 


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I borrowed the picture from a good Shotgun World thread.