The Gelded Rooster, Or The Saga of The Backyard Chicken, Continued…

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Posted on May 13, 2013 by Michael Patrick McCarty

The City Council of Glenwood Springs, Colorado, in their beneficent and all-knowing considerations, have formally and unanimously agreed to approve an ordinance that will allow town residents to keep backyard chickens. Well almost, because after a year and more of deliberations on this most troublesome bird, the final verdict will come down after a second reading at yet another council meeting later this month.

Who knew that chicken keeping was so complicated? Obviously not the keepers of the birds, who in some cases have done so for many years, without issue or complaint. One would not normally consider it an issue of front page news, nor see it so hotly debated. The times they are a changing, I suppose.

The law would allow for the possession of up to 6 hens for the production of eggs and meat, and would be allowed only on single family lots of a certain minimum size, in the older part of town. Chickens would not be allowed in most subdivisions, because they generally already have rules in place prohibiting the admission of livestock. Roosters would not be allowed in any part of the city.

Still, a year plus more seems like a long time to fully “vet” the full concerns and side issues of such a proposition. After all, how long does it take for the planning and zoning commission to make its recommendation, or to document the concerns of Colorado Parks And Wildlife regarding the impacts of urban chickens?

In this case the possibility of a citywide election was discussed, and they listened to the voices of concerned citizens, for and against. They heard the opinion and discussion from the Glenwood Springs Poultry Club, who started the ruckus in the first place. They discussed the proper penalties for non-compliance, which remain unclear. They put in place a provision for warnings to be issued in that event, which will no doubt occur. It was also mentioned that chicken keeping is considered a privilege, and not a right, and made it known that privileges can be revoked. Apparently, no one gathered testimony of the chickens, or asked for their counsel.

In the end, the ordinance allows in-city residents to obtain a permit, the cost of which will be based on an accounting of staff time involved. Chicken coops must be built to comply with certain codes and standards, and are subject to inspection. All coops must be equipped with electric fencing in an effort to deter bears, mountain lions, foxes, and otherwise hungry people. And you would not want to let the general public and its unsuspecting citizens get too close, lest they be attacked by an enraged and murderous chicken, desperate for escape.

So there you have it. Another shining example of government at it’s best, taking a perfectly innocent and hopeful endeavor and caging it in multiple layers of bureaucratic jargon and micro managed stupidity. Odds are, they really don’t know much about a chicken either.

It is, of course, all so perfectly planned. Control of the food supply is a classic strategy used to tame all common people for millenia. It is used to divide, threaten, and conquer. The game is all about inventory, and control. It is misdirection by application, and permit. Approval, and command. Compliance, or penalty. The issue just happens to be about poultry, this time.

As for those aforementioned penalties, I have a suggestion. Why go half way? Why bother to warn or coddle the violator to obtain compliance? Off to the stockade, I say, in irons, for good measure. Or better yet, let us yoke the neck and wrists to the pillory in the public square. We deserve its full effects of pain and humiliation for allowing such a travesty to proceed.

These types of decisions continue to occur in all parts of the country, and the world. It would be sadly funny, if it were not all so true. It will continue, until we stop it. The future of private property rights, and our personal liberty, depends on it.

While we hesitate, the smiling benefactors allow some small permissions, but in the end only they have won. The cuckholds and chicken people gain little, and grow weaker and more contained with each turn of the perpetual hamster wheel. Our resignation and powerlessness grow more obvious with each silent and roosterless morning.

It’s better for the rooster anyway. He is by nature a proud and brave-hearted creature, and prefers to retain his private parts, and his voice. Meanwhile, the founding fathers of America, many of whom were farmers themselves, weep big crocodile tears for the daftness of our deeds. They marvel at our apathy, and cry for our sins, for they know not what else to do.

Michael Patrick McCarty

Poultry Keeping Is A Serious Crime In Garden City, Michigan

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Posted on May 13, 2013 by Michael Patrick McCarty

Stormy Weather

April 30, 2013 proved to be another infamous day in the long and growing list of bad days, treacherous acts, and bureaucratic tyranny continuously perpetrated on the American farmer and backyard food producer in the dark order of the new millennium.

We have been following the story of Randy Zeilinger of Garden City, Michigan, who has kept chickens on his property for the purpose of egg production since early 2009. In March of 2012 Randy received notice that he was in violation of a zoning law prohibiting poultry keeping within city limits. This was in spite of the fact that the Michigan Right To Farm Act strictly prohibits a local government from enforcing an ordinance which conflicts in any manner with a citizen’s state rights to operate a poultry business that falls within the guidelines of generally accepted farming practices. This state law explicitly supersedes any city laws that may forbid said farming.

Randy refused to comply with the ordinance and opted to take his case to trial, where it became clear that he was to be made example of in a town where the law did not matter. He was declared guilty of high chicken keeping crimes on April 11, and subsequently sentenced at the end of April this year.

Randy received a sentence of 30 days in jail, which was suspended if he complies with other terms of the judgement. He must report to his probation officer for a period of 6 months, satisfy a fine of over $1100, and pay for the court appointed attorney. He must also comply with “all city ordinances”, which in his case will surely mean that he must dispose of his flock of chickens and thereby lose his only source of income. It also means that if he fails to comply with the court order, he will be immediately and unceremoniously incarcerated.

Yes folks, your read that right. Thirty long days of time behind bars for collecting some farm fresh eggs.

I have no words at the moment to describe the full extent of my outrage at this merciless, jack-booted assault on liberty and honest living, nor the clearness of mind required to explore all of the foreboding implications for anyone who produces home grown food on their so-called private property. That is for another time.

For now, I will just say that it is yet another very dangerous example of brain addled big brother run wild, now probing and prodding so fully into every aspect of our private space and peace of mind. The scurrilous fingers harass and worry, and quite literally steal the very food from our mouths. They pluck away at our earnest livelihoods, and compromise our precious life-force.

I know this much. This is a battle we must fight. These are enemies we must engage. It will do no good to ignore it.

The “Right To Farm” Acts in those states that have them were put into place to protect against just this kind of government overreach and abuse. They were designed to shield the farmer from such blatant thuggery, and to prevent us from being bludgeoned into unconsciousness by an imperious army of code enforcers. We must stand to see that their guidelines are not only followed, but strengthened.

Every farm, every home garden, every parcel of private property, and every laying hen in every cherished nest has become a battlefield, and each in turn must be defended like our lives depended on it.

Because they do.

Today the attack may be directed at your small livestock. Tomorrow it may focus upon your heirloom seeds and your well-tended herbs. It has already begun. Who knows what the day after that shall bring, if we all continue to shuffle about with our hands in our pockets and our eyes staring at the sky…mumbling?

The stories pour in from all over the country as the lines in the sand grow deep. It is a conflict that will surely come to a town or a city near you, in time, if it has not done so already.

Randy has set up a website to inform the world of his plight, and to ask for help and donations for his legal battle. Click on the “help” link above and then the other links on his site. Be prepared to read, and weep. He is fighting the good fight, for his family, and for us.

Can you help?

I am sure that comments and moral support for Randy would also be greatly appreciated. And oh yes…spread the word, and let the trumpets sing.

Food Freedom!

Michael Patrick McCarty

You Might Also See The Gelded Rooster

An Undiscovered Country

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Posted on May 12, 2013 by Michael Patrick McCarty

nestor the rooster explore 12 apr 2009 l An Undiscovered Country

Moving Colors

The state of New Jersey was nicknamed the garden state in 1876, apparently because it was so obviously filled with so many good things to eat. Later, it became famous for it’s truck farms, which supplied a wide variety of agricultural and dairy products to the large appetites of New York City and Philadelphia. It was still pretty farmy and rural in 1958, when I came along. This was especially true of the southern part of the state, where I grew up.

We moved into a wonderful old house when I was about four years old, on what had once been a working dairy farm on the edge of the Wharton State Forest, and the soon to be protected Pine Barrens. The previous farmers had long since moved away, and the property was sadly neglected and over run with brush and debris. I don’t think my parents thought it was all so wonderful, considering the great work at hand needed to make a proper home for my bothers and sister and I. But it was more than wonderful to me, a young boy with adventure, and nature, close at hand, and just outside the big farmhouse windows.

It was a big, big world to explore, and our immediate acreage kept me occupied through the change of several seasons. After all, our towering and decaying dairy barn was full of pigeons and starlings and rats, and unknown animal moanings. Cottontail rabbits bolted from behind nearly every brush pile, and if I was lucky and quiet I could find a deer under our apples trees in the back lot, late in the evening. Every day held the promise of some new momentous discovery, and I was eager to escape the watchful eye of my mother each morning.

We built forts and played army, hide and seek, and tag, and other games. We fabricated crude animal traps and sat for hours in waiting. I don’t believe we ever caught anything. We hung upside down from trees, and dared our fates. We chased lightning bugs in the early summer evenings, and put them in jars, and watched them light up. We giggled and laughed for the fun of it. Sometimes, we just laid on our backs in the tall green grass and counted big puffy clouds. We did what all kids do when left to roam free, and the hours melted into time and childhood memory.

My mother let us have our heads, with some rules, of course. The big rule was that we were not to leave our property, or play by the roads. That worked just fine for many months, as I had no desire to leave her protective cover or test her motherly patience. That is, until the day I did.

Across the road stood an ominous tangle of tall, matted grass, impenetrable bramble, and forbidding brush that stretched to the forseeable horizon. It was dark and scary looking, and I had been warned many times not to go in there. Still, it beckoned and called, and I began to stare at it, and study. What was in there, I wondered? It begged to be investigated, and conquered.

I remember disappearing into there with another friend, one big, summer day. We steeled ourselves on the edge of the abyss, and dove in. We planned to stay together, for moral support, and of course immediately lost track of one another. I called a time or two with no result. My fear rose in my throat, and I wanted to spin around and jump back out. But my curiosity was stronger, and after some deep quick breaths I continued on, to face whatever lurked ahead.

Another step, and I was totally lost in a magical world of new life and unknown creatures. Any thought of time or past concerns receded into the hot and sticky air, and the sweat poured out of me and stung my eyes as I tried to take it all in. Insects buzzed in my ears. Small birds of all shapes and colors flitted all around me as I worked my way through the brush, and small things scurried in the leaves. Catbirds and mockingbirds called incessantly, pulling me on. A bobwhite quail flushed at my feet, disappearing through some unseen window into the open sky. There were so many birds it was impossible to see them all. Bluejays and meadowlarks called just ahead. Everywhere was birdsong and animal noises, so loud it was nearly deafening. I could not get enough. I had to hear and see it all. Nothing could stop me.

Mockingbird

Still, fear was at the edge and began to pick at my adventure. Big black and yellow garden spiders hung in wide, embracing webs, and made me pause. Branches whipped my face and stung me silly. I tripped a few times and fell down. At times it was so thick I had to drop to my belly and slither like a snake. I hoped that I did not meet a real reptile, face to face, at least not then. Once, I became entangled in clawing vines so thick and sharp I began to panic and cry, as small spots of blood appeared on my skin. I wondered what in the world I had gotten myself into, and if I would ever be able to get back home. I thought of my mother, and what she would do if she knew I was here. Where was she? What had I done? Why had I left my house?

I freed myself from the briars and made one last push forward. I saw a clearing just ahead, and my excitement and sense of adventure returned instantly. I was fearless. I was brave, and I had won. A few more steps and I was clear of it, as I knelt to brush spider webs from my hands and pull leaves and prickly stickers from my collar.

I rubbed the sweat from my nose, then stood, and looked ahead. I could not believe my eyes, and the breath left me all at once! I gasped like a goldfish plucked from his bowl for the first time, with no past experience to cushion the shock of it. I had been transported to some other special place, in fact some other planet in a galaxy far, far away. It was the beauty of it all that grabbed me. It reached in and shook me, all the way to my toes.

Chickens of all shapes, and colors of the rainbow scratched gloriously in the yellow glow of the late morning sun. An iridescent rooster strutted about his hens, head high, and watching. Some bright, white ducks waddled across the yard heading for who knows where. A big blue peacock unfolded his massive tail and danced, in front of a hutch filled with giant, splotchy rabbits. Sparrows chirped and hopped about, no doubt looking for waste grain in the dirt. I saw a small pony in a stall in the shade of a big maple tree.

My feet could not move, nor did they want to. I knew I had stumbled upon an undiscovered country of limitless bounty. I stared at the dilapidated, drafty barn and the irregular lines of an old ramshackle house. Strange smells hung in the breeze, and the pIace had a feel all of it’s own. It was all so new that I had nothing in my small experience to compare it to. My mind struggled as it downloaded massive amounts of new data, racing to correlate and associate each new piece of information.

The place had the look and feel of a broken down but comfortable pair of old work boots.The buildings and yard had no doubt been hacked from brush like I had just come from, and was now losing the unending battle and melding back into nature’s turmoil. Vines and small trees grew under and through old farm machinery and scrap. Farm sheds were starting to list and fall, with sagging doorways and slipped siding.

oldnewjerseyfarmhouse3 An Undiscovered Country

An Old New Jersey Homestead

Still, every aspect of this eternal homestead bursted with sound and smell, and life. I was mesmerized. I wanted to know what was behind the next outbuilding, and explore every nook and cranny of that place. I wanted to become part of it, and maybe stay there forever. Or wrap it all up, with all it’s parts and pieces, and take it home. It was part of me, already.

Emboldened now, I took a step, and it all changed in a big hurry. Just one step, and the big rooster spied me and let out a warning cackle. He clucked to his hens as he gathered them up, and steered them towards their coop. A cow bellowed from the deep shadows of the barn, as a small herd of kittens stopped their shadow boxing with each other and turned my way. Morning doves stopped cooing from the tops of the huge oak trees above us. I heard a goose let loose, honking loudly from the back of the barn, followed by the strange and stuttering exclamations of some spotted guinea hens as they lept for the trees.

Everywhere I looked was some animal head peeking from in and around countless hiding spots. They had me dead to rights, as if some great spotlight caught me in midstride and lit me up for all the world to see.

I heard a small dog yap, and then a screen door slam, as I saw her. On the barn side of the house stood a large, plump women, with an ample bossum, held in threadbare cloths. She stared ahead from across the barnyard, framed by the vibrant green of tall cornstalks with yellow tassles. She was middle-aged or more, matronly, and perhaps a little near-sighted as she searched for the cause of the commotion in her barnyard. Something was amiss, and she would find out what it was.

She knew the sounds and tone of her world on a normal morning. It was etched within her consciousness, and any change was as obvious to her as a brass marching band in her living room. There was a disturbance in the field and fabric of their existence, and an intruder in their midst. They were tightly connected, one and all, communicating perfectly through various and mysterious means.

The little terrier growled and shook, as it glared at me from between the safety of her stout legs. She wrang her hands on a dish towel as she methodically assessed the situation. Still as a statue, I hung with one foot in the air and waited.

apparently, I was not too hard to find. No doubt she just looked where every other animal in the world was staring until she found me. I remember seeing her see me, as a bit of surprise, and annoyance appeared on her face. I have no way of knowing what she thought, but I am sure I was not what she expected to find.

My exhilaration and thrill of discovery had instantly vanished, and I remember feeling that I had somehow violated her space in a way most painful. I was a varmint, an uninvited party crasher, a barbarian at the gate. This was her kingdom, and I was far past the edge of my realm. At any rate, I had already exhausted my supply of courage. It was all too much for a young boy on his first expedition from home.

Before she could move or even say a word, I broke and took off like a cannon-shot into the world from which I came. I charged like the fox ahead of the hounds, and I scared the bejeebers out of a lot of birds and little creatures as I crashed headlong through the heavy understory. I don’t remember much about the journey, except that I completed the return trip a lot faster than the first one, and some skin was lost in the process. It took some band aids and a lot of hydrogen peroxide, together with some tender loving care from my mother, to make things right again.

I don’t think I ever told her about my true adventure or the woman in the barnyard. At the time it was far to big to capture and explain within the limited vocabulary of my youth. But, like all mothers, she already knew that I had been somewhere that I should not have been, yet had to be. It was a boy’s adventure, and mine to own, and hold. It is still there, when I need it.

I never did see the woman again. By the time I was old enough to freely wander the neighborhood, she was gone and her farm abandoned like so many across the south of Jersey. I never knew what became of her. I only knew that she was gone, and that somehow a way of life had vanished along with her.

I can still see her standing there in that place, with her animals all around. I wish I could talk to her and come to know a little of her life. I would like to know how long she had lived there, and if she had found herself alone as the homestead fell down around her. If I could, I would ask her if she had raised a family there, and where they had gone. I would ask her if she had raised a young boy or two of her own, and if they had brought her contentment then, and later, in her old age.

Most of all, I would apologize for my intrusion and hope it was not too much of a burden to bear. I would love to explain to her how she has stuck in my mind, and that I have not forgotten her.

Looking back, I wish things remained as simple and true as the bond between a mother hen and her chicks, or a mother and her boy. It would be grand if life was as safe and protective as an undisturbed barnyard, and as comforting as a farm at peace. I think I have hunted and searched for her barnyard ever since.

I will find it one day, somehow. I hope a small, wild child of a boy is just around the corner, and he will find it too.

Michael Patrick McCarty

You Might Also See Farming And Food Tyranny In The Land of No.

It All Falls Down

Rebels, Rebels, Everywhere

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Posted on May 12, 2013 by Michael Patrick McCarty

Garden Rebels: 10 Ways to Sow Revolution in Your Back Yard

Posted by: Daisy Luther | on May 7, 2013

Sometimes I think that the next Revolutionary War will take place in a vegetable garden.

Instead of bullets, there will be seeds. Instead of chemical warfare, there will be rainwater, carefully collected from the gutters of the house. Instead of soldiers in body armor and helmets, there will be back yard rebels, with bare feet, cut-off jean shorts, and wide-brimmed hats. Instead of death, there will be life, sustained by a harvest of home-grown produce. Children will be witness to these battles, but instead of being traumatized, they will be happy, grimy, and healthy, as they learn about the miracles that take place in a little plot of land or pot of dirt.

Every day, the United Nations and the Powers That Be take steps towards food totalitarianism. They do so flying a standard of “sustainability” but what they are actually trying to sustain is NOT our natural resources, but their control.

This morning I came across one of the most inspiring, beautifully written articles that I’ve had the pleasure of reading in a long time. Julian Rose, a farmer, actor, activist, and writer, wrote an article called Civil Disobedience or Death by Design and it is a “must read” for anyone who believes in the importance of natural food sources:

“From now on, unless we cut free of obeisance to the centralised, totalitarian regimes whose takeover of our planet is almost complete, we will have only ourselves to blame. For we are complicit in allowing ourselves to become slaves of the Corporate State and its cyborg enforcement army. That is, if we continue to remain hypnotized by their antics instead of taking our destinies into our own hands and blocking or refusing to comply with their death warrants. This ‘refusal’ is possible. But it will only have the desired effect when, and if, it is contemporaneous with the birthing of the Divine warrior who sleeps in us all. The warrior who sleeps-on, like the besotted Rip Van Winkle in the Catskill mountains.”

Does it sound dramatic to state that if things continue on their current path of “sustainability” that we are all going to die? If you think I’m overstating this, read on. The case is clear that we are going to soon be “sustained” right into starvation via Agenda 21.

The European Union is in the process of criminalizing all seeds that are not “registered”. This means that the centuries-old practice of saving seeds from one year to the next may soon be illegal.
Collecting rainwater is illegal in many states, and regulated in other states. The United Nations, waving their overworked banner of “sustainability” is scheming to take over control of every drop of water on the globe. In some countries people who own wells are now being taxed and billed on the water coming from those sources. Nestle has admitted that they believe all water should be privatized so that everyone has to pay for the life-giving liquid.
Codex Alimentarius (Latin for “food code”) is a global set of standards created by the CA Commission, a body established by a branch or the United Nations back in 1963. As with all globally stated agendas, however, CA’s darker purpose is shielded by the feel-good words. As the US begins to fall in line with the “standards” laid out by CA, healthful, nutritious food will be something that can only be purchased via some kind of black market of organically produced food.
Regulations abound in the 1200 page Food Safety Modernization Act that will put many small farmers out of business, while leaving us reliant on irradiated, chemically treated, genetically-modified “food”.

In the face of this attack on the agrarian way of life, the single, most meaningful act of resistance that any individual can perform is to use the old methods and grow his or her own food.

Growing your own food wields many weapons.

You are preserving your intelligence by refusing to ingest toxic ingredients. Many of these ingredients (and the pesticides sprayed on them) have been proven to lop off IQ points.
You are nourishing your body by feeding yourself real food. Real food, unpasteurized, un-irradiated, with all of the nutrients intact, will provide you with a strong immune system and lower your risk of many chronic diseases. As well, you won’t be eating the toxic additives that affect your body detrimentally.
You are not participating in funding Big Food, Big Agri, and Big Pharma when you grow your own food. Every bite of food that is NOT purchased via the grocery store is representative of money that does NOT go into the pockets of these companies who are interested only in their bottom lines. Those industries would be delighted if everyone was completely reliant on them.
You are not susceptible to the control mechanisms and threats. If you are able to provide for yourself, you need give no quarter to those who would hold the specter of hunger over your head. You don’t have to rely on anyone else to feed your family.

Consider every bite of food that you grow for your family to be an act of rebellion.

If you live in the suburbs, plant every square inch of your yard. Grow things vertically. Use square foot gardening methods. Make lovely beds of vegetables in the front yard. Extend your growing seasons by using greenhouses and coldframes. This way you can grow more than one crop per year in a limited amount of space. Use raised bed gardening techniques like lasagna gardening to create rich soil. If you have problems with your local government or HOA, go to the alternative media and plead your case in front of millions of readers. We’ve got your back!
If you live in the city or in an apartment, look into ways to adapt to your situation. Grow a container garden on a sunny balcony, and don’t forget hanging baskets. Grow herbs and lettuce in a bright window. Set up a hydroponics system in a spare room (but look out for the SWAT team – they like to come after indoor tomato growers!) Go even further and look into aquaponics. Create a little greenhouse with a grow light for year round veggies. Sprout seeds and legumes for a healthy addition to salads.
If you live in the country, go crazy. Don’t just plant a garden – plant fields! Grow vegetables and grains. Grow herbs, both culinary and medicinal. Learn to forage if you have forests nearby. Learn to use old-fashioned methods of composting, cover crops and natural amendments to create a thriving system.
Raise micro-livestock. This option may not work for everyone, but if you can, provide for some of your protein needs this way. Raise chickens, small goats, and rabbits, for meat, eggs and dairy. If you are not a vegetarian, this is one of the most humane and ethical ways to provide these things for your family. Be sure to care well for your animals and allow them freedom and natural food sources – this is far better than the horrible, nightmare-inducing lives that they live on factory farms.
Save your seeds. Learn the art of saving seeds from one season to the next. Different seeds have different harvesting and storage requirements.
Go organic. Learn to use natural soil enhancers and non-toxic methods of getting rid of pests. Plan it so that your garden is inviting to natural pollinators like bees and butterflies. If you wouldn’t apply poison to your food while cooking it, don’t apply it to your food while growing it.
Be prepared for backlash. The day may come when you face some issues from your municipal government. Be prepared for this by understanding your local laws and doing your best to work within that framework. If you cannot work within the framework, know what your rights are and refuse to be bullied. Call up on those in the alternative media who will sound the alarm. Every single garden that comes under siege is worth defending.
Learn about permaculture. Instead of buying pretty flowering plants for your yard, landscape with fruit trees (espalliering is a technique that works will in small spaces), berry bushes, and nut trees. These can provide long-term food sources for your family.
For the things you can’t grow yourself, buy local. Especially if space is limited, you may not be able to grow every bite you eat by yourself. For everything else, buy local! Buy shares in a local CSA (Community Supported Agriculture). Visit your farmer’s market. Shop at roadside stands. Join a farming co-op. Support the agriculture in your region to help keep local farms in business. (One note about farmer’s markets: Some farmers markets allow people to sell produce that originates at the same wholesalers from which the grocery stores buy their produce. I always try to develop a relationship with the farmers from whom I buy, and I like to know that what I’m buying actually came from their fields and not a warehouse.) Find a local market or farm HERE.
Learn to preserve your food. Again, go back to the old ways and learn to save your harvest for the winter. Water bath canning, pressure canning, dehydrating, and root cellaring are all low-tech methods of feeding your family year round. Not only can you preserve your own harvest, but you can buy bushels of produce at the farmer’s market for a reduced price and preserve that too.

There is a food revolution brewing. People who are educating themselves about Big Food, Big Agri, and the food safety sell-outs at the FDA are disgusted by what is going on. We are refusing to tolerate these attacks on our health and our lifestyles. We are refusing to be held subect to Agenda 21′s version of “sustainability”.

Firing a volley in this war doesn’t have to be bloody. Resistance can begin as easily a planting one seed in a pot.

About the author:

Daisy Luther is a freelance writer and editor. Her website, The Organic Prepper, offers information on healthy prepping, including premium nutritional choices, general wellness and non-tech solutions. You can follow Daisy on Facebook and Twitter, and you can email her at daisy@theorganicprepper.ca

Re-posted With Permissions. Thank You Daisy.

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Food Freedom, and Guns Too!

Michael Patrick McCarty

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You Might Also See The Land Of No

See the definition of rebellion here.

It Was A Chicken Keeping Crime

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Posted on April 22, 2013 by Michael Patrick McCarty

White Chickens Coop Farm It Was A Chicken Keeping Crime

Virginia government prosecutes homeowner with criminal charges for backyard chickens that produce organic eggs

*[Update 5/13/13] – Randy Zeilinger of Garden City, Michigan has been sentenced to 30 days in jail for keeping chickens within the city limits. No folks, you can’t make this stuff up! Randy has submitted a request for donations of $1 or more here. Please see his website, and the comments which follow this article.

*[Update 4/24/13] – Please see the Comments Section For More Poultry Keeper Travesties and other morbid examples of the ongoing criminalization of backyard food producers. MPM

Monday, March 18, 2013 by: Summer Tierney

(NaturalNews) An ongoing debate over the rights of homeowners to raise and keep their own chickens may soon gain an audience in the Virgina Supreme Court. Attorneys at the Rutherford Institute have filed a Petition for Appeal on behalf of Virginia Beach resident Tracy Gugal-Okroy, who faces criminal charges related to zoning ordinance violations for keeping chickens in her backyard. The organization, a nationally active group which is dedicated to upholding constitutional and property rights, is urging the court to protect local residents against what it referred to in a statement posted online as “onerous regulations that render otherwise law-abiding individuals as criminals simply for attempting to grow or raise their own food in a sustainable manner.”

Gugal-Okroy’s friendly flock has grown to 22 since 2011, when she purchased her first dozen baby chicks from a local farm. Each one is a family pet, she says, and her family has named them all. In addition to the enjoyment of their beloved companionship, Gugal-Okroy’s family has come to reap additional benefits from looking after the chickens — namely, the continual production of fresh, organic eggs, a steady supply of sustainable garden compost and fertilizer the chicken’s manure provides, and even natural pest elimination as the chickens feed on mosquitoes and other bugs. The chickens are quiet and well-protected from predators, keeping either to their coop or fenced-in quarters. And all are there with blessings from Gugal-Okroy’s neighbors, with whom she had consulted beforehand.

But her neighborly courtesy doesn’t mean much to local officials in the City of Virginia Beach. A January 2012 notice from the city inspector alerted Gugal-Okroy that by keeping her chickens on her property, she may be in violation of a local zoning ordinance referring to “agricultural and horticultural uses” within residential districts, and excepting “poultry.” Despite her subsequent appellate fight, which included multiple letters of support from neighbors, the City’s Zoning Board of Appeals maintained that chickens were not allowed in the city. A later subsequent to the circuit court also ended poorly for Gugal-Okroy, when in an October 2012 ruling, the court upheld the zoning board’s decision, finding that Gugal-Okroy had, in fact, violated the zoning ordinance. By that time, Gugal-Okroy had also received a summons charging her with violating the city’s ordinance, which included a possible fine of up to $1,000.

Attorneys at the Rutherford Institute are now hoping they can help to shift momentum in Gugal-Okroy’s favor. In their petition to the Virginia Supreme Court, they challenge the lower court’s interpretation of the ordinance, arguing that restrictions pertaining to keeping fowl or “poultry” within the city do not apply to animals raised as companions and pets. Nonetheless, the case does carry potentially serious implications for individuals who prefer to raise their own wholesome food.

“Burdensome rules, regulations and inspection requirements — many of which are indecipherable except to lawyers and bureaucrats — now impede the ability of health-conscious individuals and small farmers to raise and produce their own food free of corporate contaminants,” said John W. Whitehead, president of The Rutherford Institute. “This case speaks to a growing problem in America today, namely, the over-criminalization and over-regulation of a process that once was at the heart of America’s self-sufficiency – the ability to cultivate one’s own food, locally and sustainably.”

Re-posted with Permissions. Thank you Natural News.

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Michael Patrick McCarty

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Forever Humbled

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Posted on April 20, 2013 by Michael Patrick McCarty

Death Is Always A Possibility

“Obsessive pursuit finally led the bull of his dreams. Then something else took him over”.

There is a place I have been that many elk hunters must eventually visit. The mountains may shine amidst spectacular landscapes and it may look like typical elk country, but somehow things are different there. It is a land of mystery and natural forces inaccessible by horseback, jeep or other conventional means. Inward rather than outward, it is a journey of the heart on a path unique to each individual. It is a place you only know once you get there.

I found myself in such a place some years ago, while archery hunting in the high desert country of northwestern Colorado. Elk hunting had been my passion for a couple of decades, more often than not with bow and arrow as the weapon of choice. I’d hunted more than a few of Colorado’s limited-entry units with a fair amount of success. And my overwhelming concern had always been the pursuit of the big bull – the bigger the better.

He filled my dreams and consciousness and became part of my daily motivation for living and working in Colorado. I would find him, and I would launch a broadhead deep into his chest. Of course, with that event, fame and fortune would soon follow.

I have always paid attention to “The Book”, and to who shot what where. I wanted very badly to be one of those fellows with the 27 record-book entries, who had just returned from Montana or Mongolia, or that private ranch many hunters drool over. You know the ranch of which I speak, the one with a Boone and Crockett bull on every other ridge. I wanted all of it, the recognition from my peers and the life that would come with my great success. The more entries the better and as fast as possible. I ran for the goal and rarely looked back. I can’t say nothing else mattered, but by god it was close.

Then, one long-awaited day, I found myself hunting a special-permit area in Colorado. It was indeed the land of the big bull, a trophy area of epic proportions and about as fine a spot as one could hunt without paying the big money. The animals were there. I had a tag, and I would fill it. I would take what was mine and move on.

I hunted a grueling 10 days. The terrain was rocky and mostly open, with occasional brush patches and stunted cedars. It looked like a moonscape compared to the timbered high country I was used to hunting. Getting close enough for a shot was tough, yet I was able to pass up smaller bulls and often found myself within arrow range of elk that would make most hunters lightheaded. They made me lightheaded. They were the biggest-bodied elk I have ever seen, with towering, gleaming branches of bone. They looked like tractors with horns.

As so often happens in bowhunting, however, something always seemed to go wrong. I made so many stalks and had so many close calls, the events are just a blur. I eventually missed not one but two record-book animals. Each time a shaft went astray, I screamed and wailed with self pity, cursing my rotten luck and the useless stick and string in my hand. The prize was so close, yet always so far away.

Toward the end of the season, I glassed a small herd a couple of miles below me. Two were big bulls. One had cows, and the other wanted them. They were bugling back and forth and generally sizing each other up. I hurriedly planned a stalk and rushed downhill toward my dream.

I stalked and weaved and became enmeshed in a moving, mile-long skirmish line. More than once I slipped between the two animals as they worked their way through the brush and cedars. I saw flashes and patches of hide but was never able to loose an arrow. I knew that within few minutes a monstrous set of headgear would be laying at my feet. I felt I had been waiting for this moment all my life.

Soon the largest bull swung into the open sagebrush a couple of hundred yards below me, followed closely by a small herd of cows. Words cannot describe his magnificence. He was one of the finest specimens of elkness I have ever seen, with muscles that bulged and rippled under his skin. He was a bull of unique and exceptional genetics with a massive and perfect rack that appeared to stretch behind forever as he laid his head back to bugle. He was certainly at his absolute prime and, if the truth were known, perhaps a bit past it and didn’t know it. He took my breath away. Then I remembered why I had come.

Meanwhile, the smaller and closer of the two bulls had become even more vocal, and soon it became obvious he would pass very close to me on his way down the hill. He was not quite as large as the old bull, but he was big enough all the same. My bow was up and my muscles taut as I began my draw – and suddenly he was running and he was gone. I watched spellbound as he broke into the open and headed for the elk below us.

It was one of those unexplainable moments when time stands still, and you become something more than yourself. I could have been a rock or a tree or an insect in flight. I was at once both an observer and participant in the great mystery, a part of something far larger than myself.

The air was electric and my body tingled as the two warriors squared off. The cows felt it, too, and crashed crazily over the ridge. It was as if they knew something extraordinary was going down and wanted no part of it. The bulls screamed and grunted wildly at each other from close range, with quite a bit more intensity than I had ever witnessed. And suddenly they were one. They would have made any bighorn ram proud, as they seemed to rear up on their hind legs before rushing and clashing with a tremendous crack. I watched as they pushed and shoved with all their might, a solid mass of anergy and immense power surrounded by flying dirt and debris.

They showed no signs of quitting. Soon it dawned on me that they were too preoccupied to notice what I was doing, even though there was virtually no cover for a stalk. My legs carried me effortlessly over the rough and broken ground, and I was giddy with the exhilaration of the end so close at hand. The larger of the two was obviously tiring, and I remember feeling a pang of sorrow for an animal that would soon be beaten, probably for the first time in a very long time, and would now have to slink off humiliated and cowless.

They pushed and they struggled and, for a few moments, seemed to have reached a stalemate as I neared bow range. The old bull hesitated, then pushed, and when the other bull responded, the old bull spun like a Sumo Wrestler, took the uphill advantage and charged. I stood dumbfounded as the two hit the top of a shallow ravine and disappeared from view.

When I reached the edge of the drop-off, the fight was over. The old bull crawled slowly out of the ravine, managing to keep the only two trees between us all the while. He moved sorely and looked like he had just survived 10 rounds with Mike Tyson. I was probably the least of his problems.

I found the other bull where I knew he would be. I sent a shaft his way and ended what remained of his life, although his fate had already been sealed. A very long tine had done its job as well as any arrow ever could.

I collapsed by the side of that marvelous creature as if I were the one who’d just been beaten, and in a way I had. I stared off into space, confused, a little angry, and barely able to grope around in my pack for a gulp of water, half laughing, then crying. I don’t know how long I remained there before a distant bugle brought me back into the moment, reminding me of the work at hand and the long uphill walk back to my truck.

His head hangs in my den now, and I still stare at him in wonder and amazement. When my friends and family ask why I didn’t have him officially scored for the record book, I usually mumble some vague and incoherent answer, as the right words never seem to come.

For some reason, antler measurements have ceased to matter to me. It has something to do with realizing animals are much more than the sum of their parts. Hunting and the hunted remain a significant part of my life, but my reasons for hunting, and my life in general, have changed in some way I have yet to fully understand. Perhaps more than anything, I realize just how much I love to hunt. And that in itself is more than enough reason for doing it.

The bull’s proud head on my wall will always serve to remind me of that special place I have visited and hope to never forget.

I am, and will always be, forever humbled. Perhaps you have been there yourself.

—”Michael Patrick McCarty, longtime bowhunter, buys and sells rare tomes and texts from his bookstore in Glenwood Springs, Colorado”

Originally published in Bugle Magazine, May-June 1999.

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A Sure Sign of Spring

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Posted on April 14, 2013 by Michael Patrick McCarty

Welcome Robin Winsome Bluebird 733x1024 A Sure Sign of Spring

New Beginnings

The heavy hand of winter can be particularly punishing in the high Rocky Mountains of western Colorado. It is the meanest of seasons, often impossibly long and completely covered with a certain color of white for months on end. Living here at this time of year is all about ice and storm and driven snow, and when conditions are right it seems that there is no place that the bone chilling winds cannot touch. They are alive, animated with purpose and jagged edges, and always ready to reach out to let you know that there is nowhere to hide, nor escape.

At its worst it is possible to convince yourself that the steel-blue landscape laid bare before your eyes could never recover from such terrible, life threatening blows. The earth rolls and creaks with the dark numbness of the night, and carries on with the dull resignation of harsh reality. It is a timeless conflict between something old and cold, and the thawing breath of something new. Spring becomes a disjointed and haunting memory; a shimmering prize on the edges of raging conflict in a battle for the heavens.

Old man winter suffers no fools. Fail to give it the respect it demands, and it will kill you quick, without remorse. At the heart of the matter it remains a clearly defined struggle between life and death for us and for all the little things. Often it seems a most special and personal test, designed especially for you.

The trial is not only physical, but spiritual, and mental too. It is a measure of wills in a contest expertly developed to discover who will break first, left to lie down defeated and shivering upon the frozen ground.

Who knows how many less fortunate men have buckled before the indescribable hardship and despair of an unforgiving winter, and simply relaxed into the false glow of hypothermia and its inevitable outcome? It is a sad result to be sure, though perhaps an easy choice for some, held captive under unbearable circumstance.

It’s best to prevent things from getting to this point, and I prefer a brighter strategy. At times like these, I think of birds. And not just birds of any random kind, but bluebirds, and robins.

They are birds of the common folk, but these are not your average feathered creatures. Writers with much better words than I have spoken of them for centuries, trying to capture the magic and momentousness of their arrival. They are the proverbial harbingers of Spring, the dawn breakers, and the shining bringers of light. No other birds can offer such cheer to the lonely, windswept soul.

In this part of the country the calendar may say it is Spring long before it appears it is so, and this year has been no exception. Typically, by now I am pacing about with one eye skyward, eager for a flash of blue or an unmistakable red. Turned to the south like the doting and overprotective parent, I anxiously search for the approach of the school bus now late for its’ scheduled stop. Things can get rough for the lover of birds.

It is no small wonder, this movement of life. No one can predict their arrival. They can not be tracked along their journey. Who knows what makes them head our way, or how long they dally at each stop. It is only for them to know, and they get here when they choose. This year it happened exactly on the first day of Spring, and it was the Bluebirds that graced us first.

I happened to be driving when I saw them, and as I turned a sharp corner on a back road the sky exploded with dozens of flittering bits of blue. It was if my world had changed in an instant, and I felt a great weight lift from my sloping shoulders.

Pulling quickly to the side to keep from crashing, I stared transfixed with wonder and joy and marveled at the colors in the early evening sky. It was a perfectly choreographed display of innocent beauty and it brought tears to my eyes. What else can one do when delivered before such grandeur?

[Post in Progress]

Michael Patrick McCarty

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“…Winter is no mere negation, no mere absence of summer; it is another and a positive presence, and between its ebbing and the slow, cautious in-flow of our northern spring there is a phase of earth emptiness, half real, perhaps, and half subjective. A day of rain, another bright week, and all earth will be filled with the tremor and the thrust of the new year’s new energies.” —Harry Beston, The Outermost House

“This is one of the earliest birds to arrive in the spring; it is a question which we are likely to meet first, the Bluebird or the Robin, but not infrequently a flash of the cerulean color tells us the Bluebird has won in the race northward.”
— Field Book of Wild Birds and Their Music, by F. Schuyler Mathews, 1904

“How the waiting countryside thrills with joy when Bluebird brings us the first word of returning spring. Reflecting heaven from his back and the ground from his breast, he floats between sky and earth like the winged voice of hope.” — WL Dawson, Birds of Ohio, 1903

*For more information and a great website about Bluebirds Click Here.

Bureaucrats and Other Pesky Critters

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Posted on April 14, 2013 by Michael Patrick McCarty

chargingelephant Bureaucrats and Other Pesky Critters

African Bull Elephant – On Alert!

For a couple of years or so I have been investigating the legal issues that relate to the rights of an individual to grow and sell meat, poultry, and other homegrown farm products directly to consumers. What would be the problem, you might ask? You can grow or raise, and sell, what you want to sell, right? We live in a free country, with free and open markets, do we not?

Well, not so fast. Being the rather cautious person that I am, I began some time ago to ask questions of people working in a long list of local, state, and federal government agencies that hold jurisdiction over the land, and of us. It has been a painful, core shaking inquiry that is not for the faint of heart. I have not enjoyed the experience.

I can discuss the actual laws and regulations pertaining to selling food later. What I can say now is that, with rare exception, I have confronted a nearly impenetrable wall of mind numbing and intimidating legalize, wrapped in doublespeak, and spouted gleefully by a largely incompetent army of no sayers and useful idiots. I hate to say it that way folks, but I have to call it like I see it.

Apparently, the government at all levels is an equal opportunity employer. I have been treated rudely and dismissively by condescending staff from the city level right up to the big ol’ federal government.

Typically, I’ve been told to call a certain department or agency. I’ve been told by that department to call another because they did not regulate this or that. I have called the referred department only to be instructed to call the department that just referred them. I’ve been put on hold so many times and for so long I don’t know if I can ever listen to bad music again. I’ve been disconnected while on hold, hung up on while talking with someone, given so many bad phone numbers, and forwarded to so many unrelated or defunct departments that I no longer know which agency to question.

More often than not, I’ve been given information that is incomplete, misleading, or completely incorrect. In many instances I have discovered information at a later date that I felt was deliberately withheld at the time. I have had to constantly reassess the nature and purpose of my original question, and to doggedly return to the trail, like a bloodhound casting for scent. I can assure you that the government’s left hand does not know what it’s right hand is up to. They don’t even know where the other hand is, except to be sure that it just picked your pocket. They didn’t even say thanks.

I was in a good mood when I started my inquiries. I was positive and full of hope about the possibilities of new ventures, new businesses, new relationships. That’s gone now, and I feel like the cat that has caught a mouthful of tail feathers and no bird. I am still hungry, unsatisfied and empty, left with a bad taste in my mouth that I find hard to spit out.

I can barely talk to someone now without shaking my fist at them in my mind’s eye. I want to scream at them and ask if they somehow managed to forget that hey, by the way, you work for me don’t you know…for us?

I was mocked by a county “authority” a few weeks back. During our conversation he laughed and said something like “You just didn’t know you were biting into an elephant did you? Ha, Ha, Ha!”. (I think there was an unspoken “did ya boy” in there somewhere).

No, I guess you did not know that you had bitten into an elephant. I am wounded. You have drawn first blood. Like Howard Beale’s famous speech in the movie “Network”, I am mad as hell and I’m not going to take this anymore. The pen is mightier than the sword, or so I’ve heard. I shall add my voice to the cry of raw milk and cheese producers, home kitchen warriors, small organic growers, and many others similarly wronged.

This is not right. This will not stand. I hope more will join us. We shall see what part of the elephant you are, and what kind of elephant am I.

After all, I just wanted to sustainably grow and honestly market some healthy and nutritious food to other people of like mind. I wanted to feed my family from my private property and maybe generate some small income to help with a myriad of escalating expenses. I have been stopped at every turn, without recompense, nor quarter.

To deny a person’s right to sell the food one produces defies all common sense. So, I say, thank you for laughing, Mr. Bureaucrat - and calling me to action. It may not be wise to step between a wounded elephant and it’s children. The laws must be changed. We will have food freedom.

Has this happened to you? I am currently collecting stories from farmers and growers about their like experiences. Unfortunately, the horror stories have become more fiendish and pervasive, and all too common. Care to share?

“No tyranny is so irksome as petty tyranny: the officious demands of policeman, government clerks, and electromechanical gadgets” – Edward Abbey.

You might also like: Permissions To Come, The Gelded Rooster, Farming and Food Tyranny in the Land of No, or Tarantulas.

Food Freedom!

Michael Patrick McCarty

charging bull elephant2 Bureaucrats and Other Pesky Critters

Up close and Personal!

“You take my life when you take the means whereby I live”. ——–William Shakespeare

It Was the Best of Food, It Was the Worst of Food

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Posted on December 17, 2012 by Michael Patrick McCarty

beartracks1 It Was the Best of Food, It Was the Worst of Food

A Good Reason To Look Over Your Shoulder

running rabbit It Was the Best of Food, It Was the Worst of Food

Full Charge!

The best meal I ever ate, anywhere, featured cottontail rabbit fried hot in an electric skillet, hunted up fresh from the fields within sight of the big picture window of my friend’s southern New Jersey family homestead.

I had eaten many a rabbit by the time I had nearly finished highschool. Rabbits were our sportsman’s consolation prize. They were everywhere in our neck of the woods, and we could always count on bagging a brace or two when we could not find a covey of bobwhite quail or other small game.

But the rabbit of my experience had never tasted like that. My friend’s mom knew her way around the kitchen, and she knew exactly what to do with farm fresh ingredients, be they wild, or not. She was, in fact, a culinary wizard, conjured up to look like an ordinary woman.

What she did I suppose I will never really know, but I suspect it had something to do with buttermilk, flour, a perfectly matched selection of spices, and hot lard. The meat hit the pan with crackle and sizzle, and it spoke of blackberry leaves and sweet clover and sun dappled woodlots.

It literally melted in your mouth, and I remember watching as a heaping plate of rabbit pieces disappeared into smiling faces around the long farm table. It was ordinary fare, dressed in high style, and I was the honored guest of their simple realm. I knew then that I would never forget that wonderful dinner, and I have never looked at the unsung cottontail in the same way since.

farmtable3 300x150 It Was the Best of Food, It Was the Worst of Food

Farm Table Magic

Contrast that with the worst meal I ever had, which I had the displeasure of ingesting in a windswept caribou camp somewhere below the arctic circle, in northern Quebec.

It was a vile concoction of rancid grease, pan drippings, and rendered fat, and we ate it with a big metal spoon of questionable cleanliness. My native guide kept it stored in a good-sized mason jar, and he carried it around like it was the holy grail of gourmet cuisine. He ate it while sporting a huge grin, and I tried it because he wanted me too, and because he acted like it was so damn tasty. Who knew?

It seems that many people in the far north country can develop a bad case of “fat hunger”, as a result of their super lean, high protein diets. This affliction is also called “rabbit starvation”, having been given it’s name by those unfortunate souls who at one time or another subsisted solely on rabbits.

A hefty jar of partially congealed fat can be a highly prized commodity in that world, where calories count, and the lack thereof can literally mean the difference between life and death.

One throat gagging spoonful was quite enough for me, followed by an old candy bar of some kind to dull the taste, and washed down with some lukewarm canteen water. To this day, the occasional thought of that wretched goo turns my stomach inside out, now almost 40 years later.

With that in mind, an honorable mention must go to the partially raw and burnt slices of elk heart I skewered over an aspen fire one clear, brisk night in the colorado back country.

I should have been more than happy that lonely, star filled night. I had taken a fat four point bull elk with my recurve bow just hours before, and I was headed back to my friend’s small hunting shack when I ran out of daylight, and flashlight batteries.

I took a breath snatching fall from a low cliff, and by all rights I should have hurt myself badly, but did not. So, I gathered up some branches and hunkered down for the night, and thanked my guardian hunting angel. The animal’s heart and liver was all that I had packed with me.

It wasn’t so bad, after all, if you enjoy rubbery, half-cooked offal, but it could have used some salt. And it would have been far better if I had some water, which I had run out of during the hot afternoon. The head pounding hangover left over from the previous night’s shenanigans was still with me, which did not help my predicament.

In my defense, let the record state that it was the weekend of my bachelor party, and it is fair to say that the boys’ and I had just a little “too much fun”. I had been the only one to stagger out of camp that early morning, and only then because I had somehow managed to pass out in my hunting cloths, with boots on. One downhill step, and I was on my way.

My head and parched throat told me that I was in for a rough night, but my heart said that there were far worse places to be than in the abiding lap of the Rocky Mountains, with elk bugling all around, even if the meal was merely marginal. It’s how memories are made, and I would not trade them now for all the world. We laugh about it still.

The supper I am most grateful for consisted of one big can of yellow cling peaches, packed in heavy syrup. I ate them while huddled in a sleeping bag, in the low light of a small gas lamp. I did so from a short bunk in the cabin of a small crab boat, anchored just off the beach somewhere in Prince William Sound, Alaska.

My guide and I had spent the day above timberline hunting mountain goats and glassing for coastal brown bear, and we had been late getting back to our pick up point. Loaded with the heavy hide and meat of a white robed goat, we struggled down through the rocks and heavy underbrush in a race to beat the faltering late night sun. We didn’t make it.

Left with no easy choices, we made our way to a gurgling stream in the bottom of a canyon, and waded in. We thrashed and slipped and bullied our way down through knee-deep water for more than a few miles, while desparately trying to keep our feet under us. It was a truly dark and soul searching night, made far worse by the occasional loud crashes of large, big things, just out of sight. These things most probably had huge tearing teeth and long, flesh ripping claws to go with them. It was not a pretty picture, and I am not proud of the terrified thoughts and hobgoblins which danced and screamed inside my head and nearly got the better of me.

I have never been so happy to break clear of thick brush, and to see a low slung skiff waiting hopefully on an open cove in the light of a wispy moon. My father could barely speak, relieved from his duty of pacing the shoreline and imagining the worst. Once on board the main boat, and safe, I had enough energy to slurp down those aforementioned peaches that had appeared under my nose, to then lie back and fall instantly asleep.

A can of peaches is certainly not much of a meal, but it was heavenly sustenance to me. It was much better than the alternative, which most importantly meant that I had not become the hot and ready to eat snack of a snarling 10 foot beast. Thank god for life’s little graces.

Last but not least, I savored my most memorable meal on the day after my wedding in the high mountains of colorado. We spent a pampered night or two in Aspen’s only five-star hotel, and dined in its’ fine restaurant.

The company and the conversation was grand, to say the least, as was the atmosphere, and the setting. The hotel has a grand view of the area’s towering, snow-covered peaks, and sits within close proximity of summering herds of elk, and the occasional black bear. It was a most appropriate location from which to approach a colorful plate of elk tenderloin with sun-dried cherry sauce and sweet potato fries, duely crafted by the expert hands’ of one of the world’s greatest chefs. I can only describe the entire experience, as well, absurdly, …grand…

Now that was a preparation for the ages; a far cry from a flame scorched elk heart to be sure, and almost as good as that lovingly tendered rabbit dinner of my youth.

So, these are some of my food highs, and lows, in the proverbial nutshell.

No doubt you have several of your own. If you do, we’d love to hear about them.

Care to share?

cannedpeaches1 205x300 It Was the Best of Food, It Was the Worst of Food

Canned Peaches – Nectar of The God’s

Michael Patrick McCarty

Food Freedom!

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Ode To The Pigeon

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Posted on April 14, 2013 by Michael Patrick McCarty

A Marvelous Bird

“The modern city pigeon is a descendant of the rock pigeon that in the Old World dwelled among the cliffs and crevices above the caves in which early man built his first fires. He has been with us since our emergence from the ice ages and has adapted as readily as ourselves to the artificial canyons of man’s first walled towns. He has known the Grecian palaces and the metropolises of Byzantium. His cold flat feet, adapted to high and precarious walking, have sauntered in the temples of vanished gods as readily as in Boston’s old North Station”.

From “Home Cookbook Of Wild Meat and Game”, by Bradford Angier.

Think about that, next time you contemplate a pigeon.

A Skunk Is A Down Low Odiferous *Weasel (But That’s O.K.)

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Posted on September 8, 2012 by Michael Patrick McCarty

skunk1 A Skunk Is A Down Low Odiferous *Weasel (But Thats O.K.)

The Striped Skunk, Ready For Business

Just about everyone with a most basic understanding of the natural world knows to stay away from the back-end of the black and white critter called skunk. Forget that little fact and they will be quick to leave an indelible impression upon your person. Or ask any family dog that has disregarded that squared up stance and upturned tail and suffered the indignity of a well-aimed spray. Unfortunately, this is a minor inconvenience when compared with the real damage often inflicted by their front end.

Skunks possess powerful forelegs which they use to burrow and scratch about for food. Digging and the churning of earth is really what a skunk is all about. They are also great fans of a free or easy meal and a frequent backyard visitor. A poultry dinner is top on their culinary hit parade, and they are notorious nighttime raiders of the barnyard and chicken coop. Their tunneling skills are legendary and deviously effective, much to the chagrin and unmitigated consternation of small animal breeders and poultry keepers for hundreds of years.

I was reminded of their penchant for tragedy when I entered my pigeon keep a few days ago. The telltale signs of the obvious break-in were written plainly on the ground, as was the bloody aftermath. Once again, the scene screamed of dastardly polecat, and the wind held the last remnants of that unmistakable and musky perfume.

I soon discovered that my favorite bird was among the casualties, and it hit me like an unseen blow. He was the biggest of our Giant Runt’s, and he had always been scrappy and bold and proud. I had bred him down from a successive line of top-notch parents and he had never let me down in the squab producing department. We called him “the bomber”, and I had always looked for him first amongst his comrades.

Skunks have an uncanny ability to make it deeply personal in some unpredicted way. We have probably lost more birds of various kinds to them than any other predator, though I have worked hard to stem the tide. Once locked on to a target they can become incredibly determined, often working for several days to accomplish their clandestine mission. You have a full-fledged skunk problem when they do, because they will not give up without a fight. They can be incredibly bull-headed about it all. Once joined in battle they generally need to be forcefully persuaded to see the error in their ways.

They are also extremely good at pointing out the errors in yours. An unwanted entry means that you have not done your job as an animal husbandman, whether you care to admit it or not. It means that the cage or coop is not built as well as it could be. Or perhaps that small repair you have put off has returned to haunt you. In the end it is your fault and your’s alone, although I cannot say that the acceptance of such responsibility can make one feel much better.

It would be easy to hate the skunk out of hand, but I refuse to accept such an easy fix. A skunk is a skunk after all, and he is just doing what he must. They are a necessary and vital component of a healthy ecosystem. Perfect in design and function, they are more than beautiful in their own way.

Still, I am sad for the loss of our pigeons and it will be some time before I can stop myself from looking for the big guy. I have no doubt that he faced his end as best he could, with dignity and noble character. In my mind I like to picture him wedging his body in front of his mate, staring his adversary down and delivering a solid shoulder punch or two before being overwhelmed. At least I’d like to think so.

It makes me wonder what other beastly trials and backyard tribulations take place under cover of the dead black night.

Michael Patrick McCarty

Food Freedom!

You Might Also See Nuisance Wildlife Laws In Colorado and Coping With Skunks

– *Historically, skunks have been classified in a subgroup within “the weasel family”, or Mustelidae. Biologists began to understand that they had been misidentified all along. They were assigned new classification in the late 1990′s, and now belong to the family Mephitidae. So you see, they never were a weasel, after all.

—Weasel (Informal) – a sly or treacherous person.

Up And Coming Blogs

Featured

Posted on January 13, 2013 by Michael Patrick McCarty

Forever Ready

Mr. Todd Walker of Survival Sherpa has been kind enough to mention our blog in his recent article entitled “Top Ten List of Not Famous Yet Preparedness Sites”.

We are honored to be included among such an outstanding group of creative and dedicated bloggers.

We highly recommend that you take some time to review Todd’s most excellent work at Survival Sherpa.

Food Freedom!

See the full article here.

Michael Patrick McCarty

The Wild Garden

Featured

Posted on April 12, 2013 by Michael Patrick McCarty

The Monarchs of Spring

“Nature ——wild Nature——dwells in gardens just as she dwells in the tangled woods, in the deeps of the sea, and on the heights of the mountains; and the wilder the garden, the more you will see of her there. If you would see here unspoiled and in many forms, let your garden be a wild place, a place of trees and shrubs and vines and grass, even a place where weeds are granted a certain tolerance; for gardens which are merely pick and span plots of combed and curried flower-beds have little attraction for the birds or for the other people of the wild. Yet, into any garden, no matter how artificial or how tame, some wild things will find their way. It is a shallow boast, this talk we hear about man’s conquest of nature. It will be time to talk in that fashion when man has learned to check or control the march of the seasons or when he has brought some spot of earth so thoroughly under his dominion that it remains insensible to the impulse of the spring. He has not done that yet, and he never will. Spring in a garden is as irresistable, as incredible, as a spring in the heart of the wilderness”.

———From Adventures In Green Places by Herbert Ravenel Sass

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Michael Patrick McCarty

Photo credit: eclectic echoes / Foter.com / CC BY-NC

One For The Circular File, Or… Not!

Featured

Posted on March 12, 2013 by Michael Patrick McCarty

Agricultural Census: Time for Civil Disobedience

By Celeste Bishop

The National Agricultural Statistical Service (NASS Agricultural Census) is due February 4th and people are scratching their heads wondering why they received the census and what to do with it. The most popular thought is to throw it in the waste basket but that is a mistake unless you are prepared to suffer the consequences.

Do I have to fill out the Agricultural Census?

Yes, you must reply. Do not throw in the garbage. While you must respond (or receive penalties) you can respond by cover letter saying for these reasons:

Religious
Constitutional

“I decline” to participate in the voluntary submission and verification process and transfer of my personal information to the federal government.

What happens if I do not fill out the NASS Agricultural Census?

If you fail to respond to the Agricultural Census you will be harassed by “mail, phone or in person to obtain a response.”

What the penalties for failure to respond or fraud?

According to the Agricultural Code: Title 7 USC, 2204g:

Fraudulent answers: If you do not tell the truth a penalty of not more than $500 will be assessed.
Refusal to answer each question shall be fined not more than $100.
Failure to provide a social security number there will be no fine or penalty.
Religious Exemption: ” no person shall be compelled to disclose information relative to the religious beliefs of the person or to membership of the person in a religious body.”

Am I a farm?

There are several new twists this year in the, “As the Census ReTurns” soap opera.

NEW: The definition of a farm has changed slightly to any, “premises that has potential to earn $1000 from agriculture. This does not mean that you engage in agriculture. You can grow flowers in a pot on your porch and be designated as a farm.

NEW: This year the NASS is saying that if you receive the census you are a farm. It does not matter what the truth really is. DO NOT let them get away getting to voluntarily “agree” that you are a farm. Do you like paying IRS taxes? When you voluntarily agree with the government self-validating that you are a farm you are opening yourself up to thousands of pages of regulations, invasion of privacy, new taxes and fees. With new regulations you become a premises and will be assigned a US asset number. According to real estate experts the government then assumes first position on your title and you become secondary. There are two problems with this:

Your title then becomes clouded making it difficult to sell your property
With the coming Agenda 21 “regulations” you will be liable for a plethora of insane “Save the Planet” mandates.

In the NASS’s own words: “If you own horses, backyard chickens, large urban gardens, etc., you may qualify as a farmer.”

Where does my information that the NASS collects go?

While the census claims it is to benefit agriculture and local policies the aggregate data is sold off and shared between agencies for a variety of reasons and eventually finds its way as a tool for trans-national agriculture (agri-business). With the American debt exploding and the new traceability mandate your assets are being subtly transferred to the government who claims them as their asset.

Respectful Civil Disobedience:

If you have received the NASS Agricultural Census now is the time to exercise Civil Disobedience with your eyes open. You can respectful answer without answering in a cover letter or suing the religious exemption while you still can. As with the muscles in your body if you do not exercise them you loose them! This is a great opportunity to learn the ropes of civil disobedience.

Cut off all bar codes!

Before you send your response to NASS be sure to cut off all bar-codes if you want privacy! These bar-codes are embedded to track who you are and what you own for their own nefarious purposes that will soon unfold. These bar-codes, 17 letters and numbers include your name & address. They may also be on each page.

A word from them trenches

I have been respectfully implementing civil disobedience for many years successfully! It actually is a pleasurable experience turning the tables on those who would invade your privacy without permission. Over on the right side on this website I have templates for objecting and responding that have been used for all manner of census and surveys.

*Reposted with permissions – Thank You Celeste! See the original article here.

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Michael Patrick McCarty

You Are The Resistance – Food Freedom!

“Food Should Be Made With Love”

Featured

Posted on March 17, 2013 by Michael Patrick McCarty

Food Should Be Made With Love – That’s Real Survival Training

Barbara H. Peterson

Farm Wars

One of the most intimate things you can do with your body is eat, and most of us do it several times a day. So, why do we think that we can shove just about anything made by anyone out of who knows what down our gullets and not expect to get back exactly what we put in?

We might not have much in the way of material possessions, but here at Farm Wars, we love our critters. We care for them, feed them, trim their tootsies, scritch them when they want, give them shelter, and keep them safe. They, in turn, provide us with eggs, milk, transportation, and affection. This is in stark contrast to today’s hustle and bustle lifestyle that leaves no room for anything but fast food and fast heartburn, not to mention the various ailments plaguing our “microwave” culture of “gotta have it now or never.”

It’s time to take a good, hard look at just what is important and what is not. Too much time is spent valuing the things that have no value, and discarding the things that do because we simply do not recognize their worth. We are blind to the consequences of our actions, running with tunnel vision to the next stop on a train leading to complete enslavement.

I want to control my own food choices, not have some mega-corporation with profit as its foremost concern, and genocide as an acceptable outcome feeding me and my family. I want to know what my animals have been fed. I want to be able to recognize what is real and good and what is artificial.

I don’t care what it says on the package, if it was processed for long-term storage and long distance transportation so that it still looks and tastes like food for months or even years, with ingredients intended to artificially enhance flavors that no longer exist in their natural form because real food simply does not last that long, just how much nutrition is it providing? Wonder why companies put added vitamins and minerals in their products? Because the naturally occurring ones simply are not there anymore.

All creatures on this earth were placed here with a purpose, and certain ones can live and work with us if we just take the time to listen, learn, and develop relationships with them. I have said for quite some time now, that a goat will keep you alive.

This is real food storage. Sure, a pantry stocked with processed food will help you get through hard times in the beginning, but what happens when your pantry runs dry? What happens when you can’t get to town? What happens when the store shelves are empty? What happens when you can’t get that box of cereal, or carton of milk, or flat of eggs? Between goat’s milk, a garden, geese and chickens, we can survive, and be healthier for it.

It’s time for a revolution of the personal kind. There is nothing more effective than changing one’s own life by rejecting the artificial and digging in to create a real, honest, down to earth, “local living” lifestyle. It’s time to put love back on the dinner plate. Will it happen all at once? No. Will you start to see changes in your health and attitude just by changing a few things? Yes. Is it worth it? Yes, and double yes.

Re-posted with Permissions – Thank You Barb!

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Michael Patrick McCarty

Remember Me…

Quote

Posted on March 19, 2013 by Michael Patrick McCarty

Stand Up And Be Counted

“I wish it to be remembered that I was the last man of my tribe to surrender my rifle”.

*Sitting Bull, Chief of the Lakota Sioux

More quotes here.

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Michael Patrick McCarty

True Facts & The Agricultural Census

Featured

Posted on March 27, 2013 by Michael Patrick McCarty

Private Property Sign Closed Farm Field Crop True Facts & The Agricultural Census

USDA agricultural census program is a covert surveillance operation to compile government database of food and farm assets

Wednesday, March 27, 2013
by Mike Adams, the Health Ranger
Editor of NaturalNews.com (See all articles…)

(NaturalNews) The USDA “census of agriculture” is a government-run farm surveillance program designed to register and inventory detailed private data on farm assets, operations and personnel. A census form is mailed to each farmer in the United States, accompanied by threats of compliance and a warning that farmers who do not comply will be visited in person by government agents.

These agricultural census forms — see a link to a scanned copy below — demands farmers reveal the following information, all of which is compiled into a vast government database:

• # of acres of land owned
• Physical location of the land
• # of acres of croplands harvested
• # of acres of pasture land
• # of acres leased for cash
• # of acres irrigated
• How much money you’ve received from state or federal agricultural programs
• The exact number of acres grown and harvested for each crop: corn, oats, peanuts, cotton, rice, soybeans, wheat and many more
• # of acres of hey or forage crops
• # of acres used for Christmas trees or maple syrup
• Detailed inventory of your greenhouses, vegetable seeds, mushrooms and “propagative materials”
• Detail inventory of tobacco plants, berries, aquatic plants, sod, flowering plants and more
• # of acres of beans, cantaloupes, potatoes, corn and various melons
• # of acres of various fruit and nut crops including apples, grapes and pears
• The total dollar value of all the crops you sold
• Detailed inventory of berries, including blueberries, strawberries, blackberries and more
• Details on the number of cattle and calves
• Value of all cattle sold
• Details on pigs, horses, sheep, goats and other animals
• Details on aquaculture operations, including type of plants grown
• Details on poultry production, # of chickens, what kind, how much money, etc
• Details on bees, alpacas, bison, deer, elk, rabbits and more
• Full details on all production contracts including chicken eggs, feed, seed and more
• Full reporting of all income from farm-related sources
• Full details on all farm labor, how many people you hired, what you paid, etc.
• Grain storage capacity on your farm
• All production expenses: A full accouting of money spent, almost a full tax return all by itself
• Details on all fertilizers and chemicals applied to your farm
• Details on all organic food production
• The market value of all your land, machinery, buildings and equipment
• Details on all your tractors, what kind they are, how many horsepower, and all attachments
• Details on all sources of energy, including solar, wind, geoexchange, biodiesel and more
• Details on land use practices: erosion, conservation, cover crops and more
• Details on all your farming practices: crop rotations, reclamation projects, biomass harvesting, etc.
• Details on the dollar value of direct sales for human consumption
• The names and descriptions of all farm operators, including name, sex, age, race, hours of work and more
• Household income details
• Details of internet access

See a scanned copy of the full form (minus the first page) at:
http://www.naturalnews.com/files/USDA-agriculture-census.pdf

All this information will be used to seize farms as already approved under Obama

Most Americans don’t yet realize that President Obama has already signed an executive order declaring government ownership and control over all farms, food, livestock, seeds, farm equipment and more. I’ve covered that news in full detail here:
http://www.naturalnews.com/035301_Obama_executive_orders_food_supply….

The executive order is published at WhiteHouse.gov:
http://www.whitehouse.gov/the-press-office/2012/03/16/executive-order…

Just over a year ago, on March 16, 2012, President Obama issued this executive order entitled, “NATIONAL DEFENSE RESOURCES PREPAREDNESS.”

This executive order states that the President alone has the authority to take over all resources in the nation (labor, food, industry, etc.) as long as it is done “to promote the national defense” — a phrase so vague that it could mean practically anything.

The power to seize control and take over these resources is delegated to the following government authorities:

(1) the Secretary of Agriculture with respect to food resources, food resource facilities, livestock resources, veterinary resources, plant health resources, and the domestic distribution of farm equipment and commercial fertilizer;

(2) the Secretary of Energy with respect to all forms of energy;

(3) the Secretary of Health and Human Services with respect to health resources;

(4) the Secretary of Transportation with respect to all forms of civil transportation;

(5) the Secretary of Defense with respect to water resources; and

(6) the Secretary of Commerce with respect to all other materials, services, and facilities, including construction materials.

Obama already asserts authority to seize your farm, greenhouse, livestock, seeds and grain

As is readily apparent, the executive order admits that the federal government can seize all farms, food, seeds, livestock and water resources any time it wants. The USDA agricultural census document provides the U.S. government with a “registration list” of all farms, seeds, tractors, livestock and water resources. It tells them what each farm possesses and exactly where to find it.

Remember, the U.S. government has already purchased 1.6 billion rounds of ammunition and thousands of armored assault vehicles to use domestically, against the American people. The global economy stands on the verge of collapse, with food shortages almost certain to follow a banking collapse. Once that happens, starvation is only days away, and it’s not unreasonable to imagine the federal government using the USDA agricultural census database to compile a “seizure target list” of farms to raid for food, tractors, seeds and livestock.

No farmer in America is safe from the government. A government that wants to take away your rifle will have absolutely no hesitation taking away your farm. My advice is to refuse on both counts.

USDA census is a violation of Fifth Amendment right to remain silent

The USDA census is, of course, ridiculously invasive and onerous. It places an enormous burden on farmers to fill out the forms and derive financial numbers that are, frankly, private information. Legally speaking, the census forms are a violation of Fifth Amendment rights which say no American shall be forced to testify against himself.

Beyond the obvious invasion of privacy, census forms have become a frightening system of surveillance where the government pries into the private lives of innocent, hard-working farmers who are just trying to make a living by producing honest food. The government will obviously use this system to try to enforce its National Animal Identification System (NAIS), a federal animal tagging and tracking system that thrusts an onerous burden on farmers and ranchers.

The USDA, predictably, claims your data is all protected. “Once you fill out the Census, your personal information is protected by federal law. These laws require USDA to keep your identity and your answers completely confidential,” they claim on their website. (http://www.agcensus.usda.gov/Help/FAQs/General_FAQs/)

But that’s a complete joke, of course, because in 1791 we were promised a Bill of Rights that said “the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed,” yet it is routinely infringed by the federal government at every turn. Obama promised health insurance would become more affordable under Obamacare, but rates are actually set to double. The Fourth Amendment guarantees us a right to be safe in our person and our belongings, yet the TSA violates that every single day.

Let’s face it: the government lies. It uses coercion to try to force people to do its bidding. So a promise by the USDA that all your private financial data will be “protected by federal law” holds zero credibility. Especially when the top law enforcement official in the nation — Eric Holder — was himself engaged in illegal gun running that put thousands of guns into the hands of Mexican drug gangs. When the government itself becomes the criminals, it’s hard to believe any promises of confidentiality.

Case in point: The Social Security Administration once promised your number would “never be used for identification.” Now it has become the de facto numerical ID of all Americans, without which you cannot hold a job or open a bank account. Governments LIE and routinely break promises.

People have good reason not to trust the government with their private data and personal farm details. In an age when the DHS is arming to the teeth while refusing to answer questions about why it’s buying enough ammunition to wage a 20-year war with the American people, we are wise to distrust government promises from any federal agency, including the USDA which routinely conspires with Monsanto.

It’s nobody’s business how many chickens or goats I’m raising

I raise chickens and goats, and it’s nobody’s business how many I care for. The USDA says that everybody with backyard chickens is a “farmer” under their control and therefore must fill out this form or face fines and a possible personal visit by government agents.

The USDA itself admits all this, saying:

Even if you do not believe you qualify as a farmer. You may be surprised to learn that a farm is defined as any place that produced and sold, or normally would have sold, $1,000 or more of agricultural products during the Census year. Many people who do not think of themselves as farmer actually meet the definition according to the Census. If you own horses, backyard chickens, large urban gardens, etc., you may qualify as a farmer.

Thus, by their own admission, even if you do not produce any food whatsoever, the mere act of living on a piece of land that COULD produce food makes you a farmer! If you have a “large urban garden” you must spy on yourself for the government!

If you refuse to fill out the form, the USDA will send government spies to your property to confront you in person. In their own words:

“For those who do not respond by April 5, NASS will begin following up by telephone and personal visits.”

Add yet, even though you are threatened with being visited by government agents for failing to fill out the form, the USDA admits their own website doesn’t even work much of the time and loses the information you’re trying to fill out:

We are experiencing intermittent connection issues and are working to resolve them as soon as possible. We understand that some respondents have lost their connection or received an error screen that does not allow them to return to the information they already entered. We greatly apologize for this inconvenience and we hope to have the problems resolved very soon. (SOURCE)

Furthermore, you are not allowed to answer any question with, “I don’t know.” As the USDA explains:

NASS does not provide an option for respondents to select “don’t know” because your best estimate is always better than “don’t know.”

Of course, the government can always imprison you for providing inaccurate information, so the mere act of attempting to fill out the form automatically makes you a criminal for reporting inaccurate financial data. It’s a catch-22: Refuse to fill out the form, and you earn a visit from government agents along with possible fines. Choose to fill out the form, and you incriminate yourself with possible felony violations for “lying to the government.” This is the crime that sent Martha Stewart to prison, by the way.

Read what farmers really think of the USDA and its census surveillance demands

Here’s some of what’s posted on the LocalHarvest.org forum:

USDA Census harassment
Has anyone else been hassled by USDA for refusing/neglecting to fill out their census form?

They kept sending me copies, and I kept throwing them away, because as we increasingly see, USDA fashions its every policy with an eye to promoting the interests of Corporate Ag while squashing small family farms.

In particular, given what we have seen of USDA’s lies, deception and coercion in pursuit of their disastrous NAIS policy, I do not trust them to honor their privacy assurances, but rather I expect they will use information from the census to feed into NAIS.

We know that they have lied to the public and to ag organizations about the NAIS policies, e.g. that the program is voluntary when it is in fact coercive, that it will benefit farmers when it would in fact destroy small family farms, etc. They have demanded that vendors of livestock feed require a NAIS “premises id number” or you can’t buy feed, in some locales.

NAIS is simply impossible for small, already overworked family farmers to comply with. It would subject anyone keeping any farm animals, even a couple of backyard chickens, to more scrutiny, intrusion and surveillance than a violent felon or convicted pedophile. The record-keeping and reporting requirements are unbelievable. If the strain of all this added time and labor is not enough to ruin family farms, the fees and potential fines for violating their stupid reporting requirements will finish the job.

So, I told this lady, I am not cooperating with USDA because of their anti-family- farm policies including GAP (see related thread), organic certification (see related thread), and especially NAIS. I told her I did not trust their “privacy” assurances.

She was nice enough but finally said, “I’m not threatening you, but a federal statute requires you to submit this census, and USDA can fine you. You’ll be getting letters from the USDA about this.”

This is outrageous. We need to be writing our congresspersons about the way USDA is being used to bludgeon family/small farms. We need to build public awareness about what is going on. Let your customers at your Market know, and urge them to talk to local, state, national officials about the desperate need to nurture, rather than impede, community-based agriculture.

I see this situation worsening by the month, as nanny state bureaucrats seem to be crawling out of the woodwork like so many termites. If we don’t get active and fight back, we are lost!

RE: USDA Census harassment
Yes, I too have been harassed by the USDA for not wanting to fill out their VERY lengthy survey about pretty much nothing..in my opinion. I too finally 1/2 filled one of the three they sent me with SOME of the information they needed to know. The rest was none of your business answers. I too was threatened with fines etc. Personally, I was sick of the mailings, letters, and phone calls!!!

There are two fines – one if you do not reply to it and another if you provide incorrect information (lie to them). So when I get this I write in bold letters “None of your business” on every page. Then on the last page I write “This is my response and its the truth.”

Yes, I also was harassed 3 times. Called the USDA the rep. said they would not enforce the fine. Finally got around to filling it out with several sections labeled “NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS”.

Re-posted with permissions. Thank you Natural News.

See original article here.

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Michael Patrick McCarty

You might also see One For The Circular File

Tarantulas, and Other Monsters

Featured

Posted on April 11, 2013 by Michael Patrick McCarty

GiantTarantula1 Tarantulas, and Other Monsters

How Nightmares Are Made

Recently, scientists have been stunned to discover what is most likely a new species of venomous, giant tarantula in a remote corner of northern Sri Lanka. It has caused quite a buzz.

Apparently, this gentleman is not slow and lumbering like most others of its kind, but lightning fast and extremely potent. It belongs to the genus of “tiger spiders”, and prefers to dwell in the trees and branches of old growth forests. It is distinctly colored and as wide as a person’s head. A quick tap from one of these guy’s is generally a “medically significant” event, at best.

It is rare to find such an imposing creature at the edges of our probing awareness, yet they were crawling about the canopy all along. It is thought that they have been on the move and hence more visible as they have become increasingly disturbed and displaced due to habitat loss. It must be quite unsettling to walk through such a forest, knowing what lies above.

Similarly agitated, American gun owners have been shaken from their drugged-up stupor of denial, only to find a small army of government agents and enemy sympathizers eagerly marching to take their weapons. It is not a dream, and the approaching forces of gun grabbers will not melt back into obscurity without a fight.

New animal species are discovered all the time. Tyrants and the enablers of authority, on the other hand, are nothing new. They have been lurking around since the beginnings of mankind, always watching and waiting and dying to strike. The venom drips ominously from their fangs, and they can feel the death-blow coming.

Well, not so fast, I say to those so eager to disarm us. Do not mistake our measured restraint for weakness, for our patience is wearing thin at the edges.

We pray that you will come to your senses and cease your diabolical advance, though we know that you can no more change your course than a leopard can change it’s spots.

Have no doubts that we see you quite clearly now, as your intentions are plainly obvious and no longer hidden in the shadows. We have felt you coming for centuries, and we are much more prepared than you know. If it is battle that you truly want, then you shall have it

I, like many, are terrified of even the tiniest of spiders. I know that my disproportionate fear of them is largely ungrounded, but that does not put down my overwhelming urge to panic and run at every sighting. You might think that an encounter with such an elegant horror as a giant tarantula would leave me paralyzed and huddled on the floor.

But not today.

Today I am God’s own tarantula tree, immovable and as resolute as any mountain.

A .357 Magnum Hello

Infringe upon my inalienable right to keep and bear arms, and you will conjure up an entirely different beast. I am an elemental force to be reckoned with, as are others so compelled to stand behind a line drawn so simply, yet so boldly, in the sand.

It is time to rip the suffocating arms of tyranny from our upturned faces. The hour is late. We must hold off the hovering monsters from the dark realms, and beat them back to the slithering viper pits and vaporous jungles from which they came.

Give me liberty or give me death, and give me a handgun to reach out and touch those who wish to offer me the latter.

Like our friend the tarantula, we can deliver a most powerful wallop when provoked.

donttreadonme2 233x300 Tarantulas, and Other Monsters

Fair Warning!

You Might Also Like Bureaucrats…, or Lady Liberty.

Food Freedom!, and Guns, More Guns

Michael Patrick McCarty

Tarantula Photo Ranil Nanayakkara

Favorite Quotes & Words of Wisdom

Featured

Posted on April 9, 2013 by Michael Patrick McCarty

Magnified Favorite Quotes & Words of Wisdom

It’s All Just Under Our Nose

Like many of you, I am often captivated by the words of others. I try and save them when I find something particularly interesting or appropriate to whatever subject I have been working on.

We have listed many of these in our “Quote Section” on the left hand margin. I am sure you will find them as fascinating as I, so scroll down and read away. They offer great insights into the problems of our complex and troubled world. They also offer some marvelous solutions, if we listen.

Almost everyone has a favorite quote or two. We would love to hear some of yours.

Below are just a few of ours:

Random Hunting & Fishing Quotes

Boy Fishing by Winslow Homer 1892 watercolor San Antonio Museum of Art Favorite Quotes & Words of Wisdom

What Boy’s Do

“The woods are made for the hunters of dreams, the brooks for the fishers of song”.

–Sam Foss

“Rich, ‘the Old Man said dreamily, ‘is not baying after what you can’t have. Rich is having the time to do what you want to do. Rich is a little whiskey to drink and some food to eat and a roof over your head and a fish pole and a boat and a gun and a dollar for a box of shells. Rich is not owing any money to anybody, and not spending what you haven’t got.”

–Robert Ruark, The Old Man’s Boy Grows Older

“When a hunter is in a tree stand with high moral values and with the proper hunting ethics and richer for the experience, that hunter is 20 feet closer to God”.

–Fred Bear

“In this quiet, peaceful time of twilight there is, in this great circle of life, an awful lot of hunting and fishing and catching and killing and dying and eating going on all around me. As the old fisherman said, ‘That’s the way with life. Sometimes you eat well; sometimes you are well-eaten.’”

–Paul Quinnett, Darwin’s Bass

“Come warm weather, I’m going to take a kid fishing; I hope you do to. But nothing would make me happier than to look across the cove or down the stream and see a young one help an old one remember what it is like to be young in Springtime.”

–Gene Hill

“How like fish we are: ready, nay eager, to seize upon whatever new thing some wind of circumstance shakes down upon the river of time! And how we rue our haste, finding the gilded morsel to contain a hook.”

–Aldo Leopold

“No human being, however great, or powerful, was ever so free as a fish.”

–John Ruskin, The Two Paths

____________________________________________________

Michael Patrick McCarty

Oh, and don’t forget. Our motto is “Books spoken Here“. We would love to hear about your favorite reads too.

*You Can Browse Our Book Catalog Here.

We never tire of talking books, so please let us know if you don’t see what you are looking for in our catalog.

Food Freedom!

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Photo credit: jakebouma / Foter.com / CC BY-NC-SA

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Do I have to fill out the Agricultural Census?

What happens if I do not fill out the NASS Agricultural Census?

What the penalties for failure to respond or fraud?

Am I a farm?

Where does my information that the NASS collects go?

Respectful Civil Disobedience:

Cut off all bar codes!

A word from them trenches

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

USDA agricultural census program is a covert surveillance operation to compile government database of food and farm assets

All this information will be used to seize farms as already approved under Obama

Obama already asserts authority to seize your farm, greenhouse, livestock, seeds and grain

USDA census is a violation of Fifth Amendment right to remain silent

It’s nobody’s business how many chickens or goats I’m raising

Read what farmers really think of the USDA and its census surveillance demands

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