April 10, 2014 - One Response

Isn’t that a beautiful word? Four letters. One syllable. The hard vowel-v-softened by the ‘la’ and the ‘oh’.  People  love words. And they’re free, you know. You can write them, or speak them,  or  hear them.

Some people love words like superccalifragilisticexpialidocious.

The word has been defined as follows: super- “above”, cali- “beauty”, fragilistic- “delicate”, expiali- “to atone”, and -docious “educable”, with the sum of these parts signifying roughly “Atoning for educability through delicate beauty.” It is defined as ‘something to say when you have nothing to say’.

I think that says it all. Bernard Russell said, “Beware the guy who cannot say it simply.” But note, please, some people ‘love’ words like that. Love is the key. The subject, here. This simple word can be a verb, “I love you”. A noun,”Love is all.” An adjective, “A love nest.” The subject of a proposition, “He did it for love.”

Forgive me, that’s a bettejo. I love to be a ‘creative’ writer. Break all the rules.  Full speed ahead.

The point is, you can love anything. Everything. You can love books. You can love cats. You can love people. Oe a people. People  belonging to a place, religion, nation, race, language, class or culture. People  living on Kauai.In Hawaii. Golly, you can love all people. That’s a happy, healthy  thing to do.

“All you need is love
All you need is love
All you need is love, love
Love is all you need”

I think I’ll write a song. Oh, darn it,  somebody already did.

The world is so full of such beautiful things, I think we should all sing and let love praises ring.

I think we can grok love to fullness.

I think we can dance love.

I know you can fall in  love with the scent of honey. Or Night Blooming Jasmine. Or plumeria.

You can fall in love with a forest glade, a sea scape, a mountain peak, a cloudy sky, a desert in bloom, a field of poppies, a green meadow full of contented  cows or frolicking goat or horses or mules.

You can get lost in  a reverie of love in the shade. Under a tree. On a ski slope or a garden path. Riding. Swimming. Sailing. In a class room of  happy children. In a restaurant of satisfied  diners. In a theater  filled with laughter.

I think laughter is almost always the sound of love.

Find a comfortable chair, grab a cushion, sip a chilly cold drink-Chardonnay  goes well here, with crackers= and cheese= and read a poem.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee ……….

Watch a fun love film. Some Like it Hot. A classic.

I think we should have a happy love hour-not just in a pub-but  in the schools, at job sites, in the work place.









April 3, 2014 - One Response

I picked her up at the airport. She wore a backpack. This lady knew how to travel. We circumnavigated the Mall, taking  off for the golf course and a narrow  neck of suburbia. When the road turned, we were  in wilderness Kauai. Jungle growth, tall fields of green  grass. The narrow two lane road wound, dipped, and curved.

At a stop sign, where we turned right, my passenger gasped. It was heaven on earth. On either side of another narrow two lane road acres and acres and acres, on either side of the road, bloomed and blossomed and billowed with life. Natures’ patchwork  quilt of  green and gold sunshine.

“We grow lettuce and carrots and spinach. Maui onions. Tomatoes. We’ve got several citrus groves. Lemons, oranges, limes. Kauai oranges are ugly but  they’re delicious. Papaya and coffee and coconut groves. We’ve an apiary with the sweetest bees in the state. Their honey is sweet, too. They’re happy here.

We’ve  a large wind farm up by the highway under which a herd of  Angus graze in green meadows.”

“Oh, grief. They’re out. Someone left their gate open. They’ll be in the carrots.”

Suddenly  two bovine, contented Belle and Boss, appeared and ambled down the road. Vendors spilled from their road side stands trying  to turn them back.

“The guy who owns them is  eccentric. They’re his expensive hobby. They reside on ten acres.  He milks them himself. Sometimes he sells the milk. Sometimes he gives it away.We can do all this because the guy who owns this land  leases parcels yearly-at a reasonable rate-to those who are serious about growing organic food to feed people.”

When the road disappeared my passenger gasped. “What happened?”

“Underground parking. No automobiles allowed topside.”

I parked the car in the  expanse and we took an elevator up. When we stepped out my passenger gasped again. “Where did this come from?”

I laughed. “It’s huge. It’s high. It’s completely self-sustaining. It also snuggled into the cliffs. Camouflaged to blend. Greens.Purples. But the important thing is everything you need is within walking distance. Shops. Restaurants. Post Office. Banks. This is kind of the mall lobby. Offices are on the second floor. Studios, two and three bedroom apartments above.  The rich guy lives in the penthouse  but he walks around like a mortal. There he is. Looks like Robert Redford, huh? Wave. He loves to see people like you. You come from all over the world to see this.

Rich. Poor.  Young and old.  Black, white, yellow and brown walk around in here. Work. Play. Tennis courts. Pools. Miles of paths. There are quaint cottages, kind of old plantation style, clustered about. Affordable. We’ll visit one after lunch. Wanna buy some Kauai perfume?”

“Ladies,” the Robert look- alike called, “may I join you for lunch?”

When the rooster crowed at the break of dawn-I swear the thing was on the roof-I woke with a start. “I’m gonna grock you to fullness, bird. That was a good dream.”




Green Spring

March 27, 2014 - One Response

Spring has sprung

The grass has riz

I wonder where the birdies is?

Wonder no more, dear reader, all singing their hearts out in my  jungle. Waking up-and going to bed in my barn/house-is like waking up in an aviary. A feathered chorale fills the air with perfumed sound. If I could cage several in happy cages and install one in every household on Kauai the happiness factor would rise a thousand percent.

Another clue about health and happiness on Kauai-anywhere for that matter- is the importance of green plants  in your life. I’ve read that it is most important for the human eye to see green living things, but what I know is: first came the grass, then came the trees, then came life on planet earth, our home.

We all know green living plants are the best photosynthsizers. They turn carbon dioxide into oxygen. A day spent in the woods, or in a tree strewn park adds years to your life. Lying down on  a clean green  lawn or meadow can, if you allow it, fill you heart with joy. Add bird songs, blue skies, a sweet pineapple juice rain and sunshine-maybe a good book- and you have everything you need. It’s a universal truth. Try it.

Maybe part of what made my 83-year-old journey possible were the years I spent riding in those long tall gloriously green fields of sugar cane. I was out there five days a week-my leopard, Beauregard, was a union horse-with the field hands and the mules. They loved us. We loved them back.

Here is a really good suggestion about  making your life better. Grow house plants. Honest. Find a container-pottery, ceramic, porcelain, glass or  plastic-fill it full of the good earth. Potting soil isn’t that expensive and a bag  goes a long way- I’ll be happy to share some of Ari’s composted poop-then find something green you like- it doesn’t have to be exotic-and stick it in feet first. There are plants that love to grow indoors  Experiment. Water it with coffee grounds, slip it some cut up pieces of banana skin, talk to it. Touch it. Dust it. Give it a name. It will become as dear to you and your family as a four-legged pet. Easier and less expensive to care for, too.

Fill your house, every room-living, bedroom, bath and kitchen-with life. Turn it into a green house.

Philodendron is a good plant to start with. The name means tree lover. It’s beautiful foliage and there are several hundred species. Organic wheatgrass in little pots on table tops and clustered in  corners-some plants like company-can end  cut up and sprinkled on top of soups and salads. You can drink it, too. Herbs and sprouts are neat and tidy. Great aroma  Mixed in with hard-boiled-free range eggs-breadless egg salad sandwich style- and feel the energy.

Someone wrote, “If you want to be happy overnight, get drunk. For a weekend get married. For a lifetime learn to garden. Indoors.





Peace with the Elements

March 21, 2014 - One Response

Peace is a word that always attracts my attention. It’s one syllable and has a sweet feminine sound. In fact in Spanish, paz, has a feminine gender. It’s a girl’s name. Paz.

Elements? Well we think of rain and wind and snow and sun and —eeek—hurricanes and tornados and tsunamis and earthquakes and volcanoes. How in the world are we to be at peace with that?

What choice do we have? We’re human. We live on an incredibly beautiful planet, on a superfluously  beautiful island in the middle of a vast ocean which  often kicks up its heels in a fashion long to be remembered if we’re  caught in a little boat in the middle of one of its tantrums. Did you know the Hawaiian channel, Alenuihaha–’Ale as in jolly, nui as in phooey, ha-ha as in crutch’ as some modern-day sailor’s dubbed it– means,  in Hawaiian,  ‘very large trough like waves’.

Those of us who’ve sailed these channels know what that’s like. It’s rarely a peaceful experience. Anything but. But we hunker down. Fight our way through. What’s interesting is the Greeks had a god of the sea, Poseidon–I mean wouldn’t it be a god?–who also reigned over earthquakes and horses. How did horses got in the act?

Hawaiians have a god of the sea, too, Kanaloa, who ‘is symbolized by the squid and the octopus’. Figures.

But the Hawaiians also have a goddess of the sea–whew, at last–her name is Namaka and she’s the daughter of Pele. She has a guardian dog named Moela and is chiefess of the Menehune people. I like it that the Hawaiian guys have goddesses. They make it balance.

Pele, of course, was goddess of fire, lightening, wind and volcanoes. She’s passionate and capricious and volatile and some say she finally settled down and made her home in Kiluea. She also has a little white dog who sends messages to her people.  She fought with her sister, Namaka.

Round and round and round we go and where it stops nobody knows.

I love the stories–they should be told over and over– but they’re a long long way from the way us mere mortals have to deal with the elements. Like rain. It comes.  It goes. It comes.  It stays. It keeps our garden green. But the best us modern guys  have is  Mother Nature. And  whose side is she on, boys? The earth’s side, of course. The planet’s side. Our home.

Well, Mother Nature is life-giving and nourishing. She has a close relationship with fertility, abundance and Gaia who also lives in Kilauea. Wonder if she’s listed in the phone book? Found it. I’ll give her a buzz. “Gaia,” I speak with great respect, “will you make it stop? I’m drenched. My grown up puppy’s drenched.  My horse is drenched. My Macaw is ruffle drenched. My roof is leaking.”

“Sweetie,” she replied  sweetly, “have a bowl of soup. Better yet, write a book. Be at peace with the elements.”

Guess that’ll have to do.

Movie stars and Dinosaurs

March 18, 2014 - One Response

“I was a movie star once.”

“Ignore her. She’s trying out for a part in Jurassic World.”

“The oldest lady dinosaur in the flock?”

“Did dinosaurs come in flocks?”

“They came in herds-herbivores- or packs-carnivores. I’m surrounded by idiots. Shut up and eat your cracker. This is my story.”

“Pass the dip.”

“It was a hundred years ago. We were beautiful then.”

“This cracker is stale and the dip’s icky.”

“Columbia Pictures had blocked pesos in the Philippines, so they sent a flock of Hollywood types, a director, a darling starlit, a handsome guy who wore makeup in the day time and a couple of really weird scripts. I was a darling on the stage of the Manila Theater Guild and all guild members tried out for parts. I was cast as a singer.

Our set was a dive on the waterfront. I wore a black lace terno. Fitted to the knees and then flared, I loved it. Gorgeous sleeves. It was beautiful. It was me. It was mine.”

“Major production. Bring your own costume.”

“Yeah? Well, the night of first filming was big time.The entire  block around the joint was cordoned off. Yellow ribbons, cops galore. We arrived on the set in long black limousines. Glorious stars on a red carpet.  It was a dance hall and a bar, while bright white whirligig lights-the rage of olden days-spun and spattered as extras danced the night away on a cold hard solid concrete floor.

I think it must have taken twenty shots to get me through my big scene. I’m a terrible singer. But between takes I sat at a round table with the handsome Hollywood actor drinking coca cola laced with rum. My performance kept getting better and better. So I was told.

Between sacred move star land there was a  bar where commoners were corralled   behind a four-foot high concrete wall. But it wasn’t long before a tipsy scruffy groundling clambered over the wall and walked a crooked mile to our star-studded table.”

“I know who you are,” he blubbered  and began at the top of a list of famous names in the movie business. I shook my head. At the end of the list he slobbered in nasty anger, “Then who are you?”

“I’m Bettejo Dux,”I responded hiccuping with great dignity.

“Never heard of’ya,” he stumbled his way back to the wall and disappeared head first, ass over tea kettle, on there other side. I hoped he landed on his head.

“Isn’t that  pain in the neck?” My handsome companion said, continuing to rub my foot. Standing for hours holding up a mike does make your feet hurt. “Being accosted by creeps like that is part of the price we pay for fame.

“The price is too high.” I wobbled from the table took center stage and did a perfect take. All the extras  applauded. They could rest their feet.

I don’t like making movies. Being yelled at by a director with a bull horn is not healthy.


March 12, 2014 - 2 Responses

Fun is a three-letter word. Easy to read. Easy to pronounce.Hurrah. Hurrah. Find it on page 734 in the trusty Third Edition of  the American Heritage dic-tion-ar-y—honest, that’s what it says on the cover—and the definition of FUN is brief. I’ll accept the first.

1. A source of enjoyment, amusement, or pleasure, often noisy activity. It does go on. Eight lines that it takes my 83-year-old eyes specs and a magnifying glass to read.

And then there’s a USAGE NOTE that chatters and clatters  on for 20 more lines!? The end of which states: “At present however, the ‘attributive’ use (whatever that is) of fun may still raises eyebrows, and writers who want to stay on the safe side are advised to avoid….”

Yeah? Well tell it to da judge. Don’t tell me you fat three- letter- word over weight dic-tion-ar-y thingie what to avoid. Anyhow, I was never comfortable on the safe side. The safe side ain’t no fun. No how. I’d rather play the playfully incorrect game. Wouldn’t you?

I mean fun should be funny. Foolish. Silly. Amusing. Entertaining. Enjoyable.Have fun watching the herd-that’s the human herd-splashing at the beach. Surfing. Climbing and falling graceful- no broken limbs-out of trees. Feeding and window shopping at the malls.  Skating, biking, strolling on the scenic paths  or hiking in the hills. Young humanoids playing in a play ground.

Having fun is a very healthy  occupation. We should all indulge more.

Noisy activity? You betcha. Sing. Dance. Twang a guitar or a uke.  Enjoy a lively raucous-but peaceful-debate or conversation. Kick up your heels, it’s later than you think.

Hop, skip and jump. Clap you hands and chortle.

Watch other living things have fun. A dog chasing  a ball or its tail or just goofing around. A cat or a kitten batting a ball of string. I think birds have fun flying and dolphins and whales have fun cavorting in the sea and sleek  monk seals have fun soaking up sun on  the sand.  I think everything’s more fun when  it’s free.

‘Course it’s also fun to share a glass of wine, a bite of cheese,  a crunchy cracker. A slurpy chocolate ice cream on a stick. A cookie. A cuppa aromatic nose twitching coffee or  tea or a beer on a lanai or a porch or a garage turned into a party place when friends come calling.

At this very moment I’m having fun watching a speckled hen appear and disappear in a shady and  sun speckled  bank. The sun is out. They bask. A red necked crowing rooster follows at a distance.  They have a happy, healthy, freedom loving family. They swallow earth worms whole.

Robert Louis Stevenson, a Scott-he’s got a bar at the Hyatt, a fun place- said, “The world is so full of a number of things, I think we should all be as happy as kings.”

Maybe that should read, “The days are filled  with the funniest things, I think we should all be as funny as kings.”

Fast curtain


March 4, 2014 - One Response

When the rain comes down and the sky goes gray, it’s time a Golden froth to brew.

So healthy, so warm and filling  in the tummy, so easy to digest,  at times like this a  thinning bargain  broth is due. Did you ever stop to think, you can sip soup for breakfast, lunch or diner?

I’m standing at my end of the barn.The zoo is fed. I’ve made a warm alfalfa mash for Aristotle, rich with bran, carrots and molasses. He loves it. Duke is munching raisins, peanuts and other parrot goodies, watching water fall from the sky awhile  a finicky red cardinal splashes in a bird bath  instead of a puddle.

Boots, my grown up puppy is eating, as are the ancient cats.

Only I, poor ‘ting, am  running on empty. Another lesson my father taught me: always feed the animals first.

My beloved Vitamix, standing tall and silent, beckons.

Be creative my stomach grumbles, you can’t write without sustenance. Despite my visitation, I’m not a Breatharian..

I drag out a basket of vegetables. Lots of stuff. Potatoes, onions, garlic, celery, carrots and golden peppers. All allegedly organic. Cold pressed extra virgin  olive oil. Range free chicken bits I’ve saved in the freezer for such a moment. A  bottle full of homemade chicken broth. Artichoke hearts in olive oil. Salt, pepper, spices.  Brewer’s Yeast. Wheat Germ.

And then, a stroke of genius. I find a package of The Laughing Cow light and creamy Swiss cheese. Maybe a little too much fat? Well, it’s a cold and a rainy day- hey, hey- I’ll chew the fat. Eskimos do. I’ve lived so long in the tropics, days like this are arctic winter weather to me and 35 calories per wedge sounds good. Besides I love the red laughing cow, with earrings in her ears, on the box. She makes me happy. I love happy cows. Dancing cows in meadows’ green. Laughing cows in bovine heaven.

A suggestion: never measure. Just toss. Into the microwave goes the potato loving slathered in olive oil. Dump chicken bits, artichoke hearts, onions, garlic, carrots and slices of yellow pepper in a soup bowl to sauté in olive oil in the micro when the potato is done.

As they meld and mellow, cut the plato in half and toss in the Vitamix with some chicken broth and a wedge of the laughing cow. Be generous with the Brewer’s Yeast and Wheat Germ. When the vegetables have lovingly combined, dump them in the Vitamix and flick three switches.

Noisy critter. Almost as noisy as Duke. Boots, by this time, is at my feet with a  hungry look in her eye. She loves soup.

This brew turned out  so golden-the cheese and carrot mix, I guess-so frothy, it brightened up the day and contained everything a human needs for nourishment.  Protein. Vitamins. Essential fatty acids. Minerals.  Thin it down with more water for a larger family, or thick it up if it’s just for you. 

Enjoy. Enjoy.

The Visionary

February 27, 2014 - 2 Responses

1. “Characterized by vision of foresight.”

2. Having the nature of fantasies  or dreams; illusory.

That’s from the American Dictionary of the English Language. Third Edition. It’s a thick book-weighs more than me. Full of words. An oldie but a goodie, it has 2,140 pages

That’s a lotta pages. A lotta words. Writers love words.  Once an Editor called me a ‘visionary’. Is that good or is that bad? Words are a writer’s stock in trade. Some people buy our wares, some don’t. But, I’m thinking, is it good to be a visionary?

I know the value of ‘being here now’.  Love to spend a lot of time in the now. To immerse myself in the present, feel a cool caressing wind on my face.  Taste it, touch it with my tongue. Listen to the birds. I live in old Hawaii-lucky me-and birds love it. My land is alive with the song of bird songs. Songs they have sung for a thousand years. They sing most of their songs sitting on a branch or a fence or a table top between munchings

But I also love to travel in the past and adventure into the future. It’s  a three dimensional world.

As one grows older, it’s a temptation to live in lhe past. Indulge in reverie. All the good stuff, like cream on the top of old milk bottles, it’s a treat to all the inner workings of humanity. I love human beings. I love all living things. I think that’s  a healthy endeavor. But I don’t think it’s healthy to dwell there.

One of my fondest memories is a country horse show. A horse named Joey. Dapple gray Anglo Arab. His mama was an Arab, his daddy was an American Saddlebred. Joey could walk with any Tennessee Walker he met  up with. His was the classic American Saddlebred rack. A four beat walk that moved. The event I remember, though,  was this: the ring was in a ‘sunken’ amphitheater.  Horse shows were big time events in California in those days. A hundred people must have been seated above and surrounding the arena. Joey and I were standing on level ground at the top and in the ring a costume event was taking place. A cowboy on a horse and two guys in a cow costume, one the front legs, the other the back legs, were cavorting. Joey shorted, lifted his tail, arched his neck, and pranced his way through the seated crowd. I just sat there enjoying the ride. My mother almost fainted.  It was a risky business threading our way through the chairs.  We stole the show and the cowboys loved it. When Joey got close enough to see what they really were, he said, for all to see and hear, “What a bunch of goofs.”

So what has this to do with visionary? Well, you can envision the past. Relive it. Write about it as I’m doing here and I think that’s a delightfully healthy visionary thing to do.

Interview with a Breatharian

February 22, 2014 - One Response

The sun was shining all about, shining with all its might and I was whistling in the barn with a pitchfork in my right. I’d filled the wheelbarrow with straw and droppings from Ari’s stall and raked dry bedding away from the middle so wet spots could dry.  I wheeled the wheelbarrow to the compost heap and forked it inside. Ari and Boots, my grown up puppy,  love to watch this task, I don’t know why.

When the rapping came from the red gates, I was annoyed. I looked a mess, probably reeked of  a ladylike glow-some folk call it sweat-it’s healthy to break sweat- but it’s not a  good time to welcome company. When the rapping persisted, pitchfork in hand, I stomped, again in a ladylike fashion, to the gate. “Nobody’s home,” I said.

More rapping.

I  opened the gate a crack.  The sight that greeted  me took my breath away. A handsome golden Palomino with a gorgeous bare torso, shoulders arms and a handsome human head, smiled sweetly down. “You wanted to chat?”

“I did?”

“I’m a Breatharian,” his tenor charmed the birds.

“You look like a centaur.”

“I am. Call me Art.”

“Art. How appropriate.  Please come in. I’m cleaning the barn.” He nodded. I opened the gates wide, then closed them.  Boots and Ari went east as Art and I moved west.  ” Aristotle is my horse. He eats. Poops. I’ve a clean stall. Perhaps he won’t mind if we chat there.”

“He won’t.” He lay down in the fresh straw.  We were suddenly staring eyeball to eyeball.

“Where on earth did you come from?”

“From  Sirius. In the constellation Canis Major the brightest star in the winter sky.”

“Why are you here?”

“You called me.”

“No. I mean on planet earth?”

“I’m here to teach you how to clean up the mess you’ve made of this beautiful planet. “

“If you could teach Aristotle not to eat and poop that’d help.   Tell me about yourself.”

“I live on light. Vibrations. Composite vibrational aspects can collectively be thought of as having one composite quality. “

“Of course.”

“You’d  love my planet. The sea and the sky are pink. Vibrant froth that smells like Shalimar.We loved that scent. We took it home with us. Grass is blue and many trees are shimmering silver. We’ve kept our planet gloriously clean.’

“Are there lady centaurs?”

“Yes. But when they come to earth, they come as human ladies. They’re Avatars, Ascended spirits. Life loving maternal beings. They teach humans  to let go stress and greed and hate and depression and heart-ache and addiction to violence.”

“That sounds good. Healthy. I’m not surprised they come as women. I think I’ve met some. Many women on earth today seem so much wiser, kinder, stronger  than men.”

“These women naturally, spontaneously manifest  themselves emotionally and spiritually to a place that resonates peace and love…”

With that he  vanished.

I love fantasy. Kids should be taught to fantasize from the get go. It’s a healthy human condition.


February 17, 2014 - 2 Responses

Want to pursue one hot topic?  Try food for a subject.  Amazing how complicated the basic need to eat food has become,and we all need to eat I’ve heard of Breathtarians–believers who claim food and possibly water are not necessary-but as a devout non- believer I sincerely doubt their existence. Never met one in person.  If there’s one in the vicinity, I’d be happy to have a little chat.

I’m not one. I love a good hot bowl of soup as well as the next guy. Better than the next guy more than likely. All due to my faithful Vitamix.

When I was a little kid there was no such animal. Making soup has always been easy but it was a long process. Making broth to use in soup is still a long process, takes about three hours simmering broken bones in a pot of water, salt and vinegar.

Thinking about food in the past is a human indulgence  I sometimes love to wander about in.

I remember milkmen with milk bottle in milk trucks . The bottles had a narrow neck with a metal cap and the top two inches  was a yellow rich cream that sometimes my mother would let me skim off and add to a bowl of cereal and strawberries. Home grown strawberries raised  in a ceramic pot that looked, i imagined, like a miniature hanging garden of Babylon.   The cereal was usually Quick Quaker Oats-which can still be found on grocery shelves in round cardboard boxes with a picture of a  white-haired, white-scarfed  Quaker gentleman in a blue hat on the front-and brewed as it’s been brewed aromatically for generations. I still love the smell.

Then there were soda fountains  Milk shakes, all flavors, root beer floats. Chocolate cokes in coca cola glasses I drank too much of when my mother wasn’t looking.

Today, eating is so complicated. What to eat? Where to buy it? How to cook it?  So many questions, quizzes and debates a guy could go hungry trying to respond or answer all of them.

All kids drank milk. Loved vegetables ’cause their mothers knew how to cook them. Ate fresh laid eggs collected every morning. Shared food-fruit, vegetables, eggs- with neighbors, friends and animals. Dogs loved eggs and vegetables. Cats loved cream.  Hens  loved bugs and worms and no one complained about crowing roosters. Fertilized eggs were his contribution and his harem of hens proud members of the family. Sometimes we’d let the eggs hatch and give the young away.I never could tell what was a girl chick, what was a boy, but my father could. This was how people lived. Even those in the city bought produce from small and large farms, ranches, dairies

Today, it’s so complicated. Best not to ask question and-for goodness’ sake-don’t dare whisper the word ‘Franken’ lettuce. So what if it bred with a rat? Be tolerant.

Two easy questions. Do you eat to live? Or do you live to eat?

Yes or no?


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