Another Day at Friday’s Freehold

One of my favorite bands, the Beastie Boys, put out an album of some of their earliest songs, from before they got famous, when they were, like, twelve years old (judging by the photos) and had a girl in the band. It’s called “Some Old Bullshit”.  I love that title.  When I’m too tired, lazy and/or hungover to come up with new blog material, I’m going to repost some of the longer entries from my personal Facebook page and my last blog, FreeStateObserver (no longer online).  That way, these pearls of wisdom <snort> will be saved for posterity, and I’ll be helping the environment by engaging in “Reduce, Reuse, Recycle”.  So these posts may look familiar to people linked to me on Facebook and/or who remember my blog from several years ago. Sooooo sorry, but hey, you get what you pay for. :-p

Background info: I’ve been caretaking seven geese for two neighbors who are also Free State Project early movers (one from Kansas and the other from Finland).  They’re a lot of fun (I mean the geese… not that the people aren’t OK, too). I never lived in a rural area before buying a log cabin in the woods of New Hampshire four years ago, and have zero experience with any sort of livestock.  I’ve also been regravelling a path that runs through my yard, a project that has now been going on for four months but that I pray to the Flying Spaghetti Monster will be completed within the next week.  Also, my nickname for my property is “Friday’s Freehold”, an homage to one of my very favorite writers, Robert Heinlein. Also, I used to have a cat named Thomas O’Malley; he died a year ago and I buried him in the garden. Also, I’m unemployed.

So anyway, now that the background info almost exceeds the contents of the actual post… Here’s an update that I posted on Facebook back on Sept. 13th.

Gather ’round, children, and I’ll tell you a tale filled with drama, humor, pain and goosedown. I call it “Another Day at Friday’s Freehold”.

I went outside with my cell phone, intending to take some photos of my fruit trees. (You’ve heard of “pushing up daises”? Well, Thomas O’Malley must be pushing up fruit; the trees are so laden with apples and pears, one of them has its branches reaching down to the ground.) To get to the fruit trees, I had to walk past the geese enclosure. They all spotted me and started honking excitedly from the far end. I said “Hi guys!” cheerily. They were SO excited, they took flight and were HEADED RIGHT FOR ME (which is quite exciting, maybe I’ll try to capture it on video sometime. On second thought, maybe not.) Four of them didn’t even stop in time and went right over the fence, then proceeded to waddle off in an entirely unacceptable direction like a bunch of gangsters… geesters… anyhow, it was completely unacceptable. I had to go trecking through knee-high grass to get around them and start herding them back to the mowed path that encircles their pen. They cooperated nicely, all the way up to the gate, which was closed. When I opened the gate, they took off in the direction from which we had just come. So then the five of us walked all the way back around the pen, in the wrong direction. I managed to get only one of the three to walk *back* in the right direction and go through the gate. Two of them got confused and tried to defy the laws of physics by squeezing their bodies through the mesh of the fence to get back inside. I picked those two up and threw them over the fence. This left just one, who had managed to wedge himself in between the new fence and the preexisting fence. I stepped over the fence to get at him, then got my foot caught in the mesh, fell on my back and was impaled by I-don’t-know-what but I’m in rather a LOT of pain now. I’m sure he found this hilarious. I don’t even remember what I did with him, I think I just picked him up and threw him at the rest of the flock. Then I staggered back inside, covered in mud and possibly bleeding from the shoulderblade (it’s hard to see back there). Then my cell phone rang and I did a job interview, like a BOSS. I didn’t mention mud, blood or pain to the recruiter. Now, I’m going to buy alcohol. The end.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

*