I’m surprised Wade hasn’t taught Zed how to swing a hammer… although, when you are mending fences, a hammer isn’t the tool of choice. One of these will do the job better.
Remember when Zed worked at the “Big Box” Home Improvement store? He had to stay constantly connected to Sam ’cause he didn’t know one end of a screwdriver from the other. Of course, after a few years of dealing with the gummint, that’s one tool he definitely now knows.
April 12, 2016 at 8:47 am
RooftopVoter
You can’t teach mechanical aptitude. After much pain you might approach pass ability, but never competence.
April 12, 2016 at 1:16 pm
John Greer
What I always called fence pliers.
They are custom made for dealing with fence staples and wire. The serrated flat side opposite the spike is for hammering the staples back in.
Use these with a good pair of thick leather gloves.
April 12, 2016 at 8:41 pm
Old Codger
Some people simply have no talent for tools. My brother-in-law is one of them. He knows which end of the screw driver is the business end but that is about as far as it goes. But he is a great minister and a wonderful hospital chaplain.
Me? I dance like a drunk polar bear (was probably the only non-dancing “Matt” in any troop doing “The Fantastics” ever) but I can interface with any tool – be it a hand tool, power tool, computer software whatever. Takes all kinds to make a world.
April 11, 2016 at 10:07 pm
B Woodman
So, WHAT is for lunch that’s so stinky? Or is it just Sam’s cooking (or lack thereof)?
kimchee? I’d say “farmer’s cheese” but they don’t seem to have any goats.
April 11, 2016 at 10:13 pm
B Woodman
So, for all Zed’s skills with long range shooting, and close range shooting (the twins), swingin’ a hammer, not so much. No one can do everything well.
April 11, 2016 at 10:16 pm
B Woodman
Even John Wayne would be distracted by Sam’s and Jan’s . . . uhhhhh. . . distractions.
I don’t think either Zed or Damien married them for their cooking skills.
April 12, 2016 at 2:16 am
Neil Frandsen
Grin. Bob-waire _bites_! I have the knee scars to prove it! And driving fence staples with fencing pliers is a hard-learned skill, and is another reason for wearing deerskin roping gloves whilst working from a horse, or while standing beside one…
April 12, 2016 at 5:13 am
Bill G
Any skill gets rusty with dis-use. And if it was not at the top of your skill set to begin with it rusts fast.
April 12, 2016 at 6:57 am
MasterDiver
A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.”
— Robert Heinlein, Time Enough for Love[
I prided myself on having Heinlein’s “Necessary skills”, but as tempus fugits, I find myself more willing to call a contractor while I supervise from a safe distance. (I’m saving the last one for after the next election, if required.)
Is Sam’s “home on the range oven” gas or electric?
April 12, 2016 at 8:27 am
PaulS
I’d say, make the other guy die gallantly, but I doubt they have any gallantry. So back to Patton’s advice.
April 12, 2016 at 5:23 pm
John M.
The one about “…greasing the treads of our tanks…” or “…make the other poor dumb bastard die for HIS country…”
I’d rather eat open fire roasted rattle snake than eat food prepared in ignorance and inexperience. Even trained cooks can create disasters until they have had enough trial and error. A plate full of error can be a terrible thing to have to eat.
Dread – aren’t you being rather pretentious? Conservatives aren’t really like this. In most circumstances, they eat what is put in front of them. When you are out in the wilderness or on the ranch, you eat what you can catch. You don’t always have french gourmet stoves to cook it. I learned to eat what was available as a poor kid. The Army reinforced that. Fire, a little sat and pepper is all you need. You don’t need the food TV channel instructions to cook it. You don’t sound like you have ever been gut shrinking hungry. Sorry CM. I am not trying to be rude!
April 12, 2016 at 8:45 pm
Old Codger
For your information, Mr Dread, rattlesnake roasted over an open, smokey mesquite wood fire is damned tasty. Do you eat escargot?
April 12, 2016 at 8:33 am
PaulS
My compliments to CM on what lately appears to be Sam’s body paint wardrobe.
April 12, 2016 at 12:46 pm
Grunt GI
Well, it’s getting warmer there on the ranch I guess…must be cooler to wear those outfits without that pesky constricting underwear.
April 12, 2016 at 8:42 am
Smokeboater
Speaking of distractions, has Sam had a bust reduction?
April 12, 2016 at 12:02 pm
NotYetInACamp
Any artistic licenses taken by Chris are perfectly acceptable to me and all show the various aspects of beauty that the human body can present.
Or, I just enjoy the pretty pictures. 🙂
April 12, 2016 at 1:24 pm
John Greer
Maybe she’s losing weight in the heat?
April 12, 2016 at 7:20 pm
Grunt GI
I think its all a matter of perspective. I’m sure from certain “angles” they are Yuge!!
Dread. I apologize. De gustibus non est disputandum.
April 12, 2016 at 12:39 pm
Kafiroon
Good going OCB. I ate what was prepared on dirt floors in mud huts or in the open when that is what there was. But, I Dang Sure headed for good cooking the moment I could. And that certainly was not French gourmet.
Kafiroon – you are so right. Many world travelers know one thing for sure: If it has ever crawled out of a hole in the ground or honeypile, or across the ground, slithered, or made it’s nest in a disgusting place, the French, like the Chinese will eat it. I do not hold those culture up as what I would like to emulate. Those who do, De gustibus non est disputandum..
April 12, 2016 at 7:06 pm
interventor
A famous French chef admitted part of their national.cuisine was based on famine. In all, they’d rather have a nice steak.
As to fence/self inflicted injury, what did somebody say upthread, Bob Wahr bites? Oh yes indeed he do.
The little pasture around our old Lake Okeechobee house, the same one that contained ol’ Wooly Booger the giant Brangus bull, feature a couple of rickety gates made of 2X8’s, that we ignernt daredevil yard apes liked to tightwalk on, not too easy as it would rock back and forth as you made your way across the 12 or so foot span…lose your balance and fall into Wooly’s space and you’d barely have time to get back over the fence or else just say your prayers.
So one Sunday when it was my turn I get almost to the end and start to lose it, Wooly watching intently from close by, and in an effort not to get stomped to death I tried to leap the last few feet to the little platform we had nailed to the end post. That didn’t work and I instead fell onto the adjoining 90 degree fence section, straddling that rusty ol’ bobwahr. I had on the typical boys tough levis so it didn’t do the damage that might be implied by that landing, instead it ripped my inner forearm flesh open like a ragged can opener, the blood starts spewing and I and my brothers and sisters start screaming.
Like I said it was Sunday, my hardworking old daddy’s one day off. The house was maybe a hundred and fifty feet away, and he was enjoying the Sunday paper while visiting the crapper when he hears the commotion, and as he later told me, he “cut one off in the middle”, pulled up his pants and ran outside, sure he was going to find one of his young’uns under hoof. Instead he extricates me from the grips of ol’ Bob, throws me in the back of our ’65 Falcon wagon (two door, like a little Nomad!), and floors that little six banger the six or seven miles into town to Everglades Memorial’s ER.
I lived, they sewed me up, but the ragged scar remains to this day, I’m looking at it right now. You’d think such an experience would lend a bit of judgment and reserve to a 12-year old wild child…but no, I did a whole lot of stupid shit after that…sometimes even still. Ain’t it a wonder that we survive?
JTC: Yeah, but you didn’t do it as badly each time. You learned a little or a lot from it each time. By the time you got into long pants, (until you went into the Army, if you did) you purt near figured out how to stay alive, or how to keep the pain t a minimum or live with it. Each time you did stupid shit, it obviously wasn’t as stupid as the time before, or we would be reding this from one of your descendants. Now we just raise flowers until they get mowed down, or li’l snowflakes until they get shoveled.
April 12, 2016 at 7:37 pm
Delilah T.
I’d guess the stove is a rebuilt Majestic with a gas/wood combo built into it. I only say that because Wade doesn’t strike me as someone who tosses a good thing that works in favor of a new toy.
I’d give my eyeteeth to have one of those. Keep you warm in the winter when the power goes out because ice-laden trees snapped the power lines, and let you cook any time, any season.
If you see Wade, tell him I said ‘Hi’. It’s barbecue beans and onion with smoked sausage for supper, plus all that other stuff that goes with it.
35 Comments
I’m surprised Wade hasn’t taught Zed how to swing a hammer… although, when you are mending fences, a hammer isn’t the tool of choice. One of these will do the job better.
https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/7f/54/5c/7f545c7d091ef173b51d42d6122430a5.jpg
Remember when Zed worked at the “Big Box” Home Improvement store? He had to stay constantly connected to Sam ’cause he didn’t know one end of a screwdriver from the other. Of course, after a few years of dealing with the gummint, that’s one tool he definitely now knows.
You can’t teach mechanical aptitude. After much pain you might approach pass ability, but never competence.
What I always called fence pliers.
They are custom made for dealing with fence staples and wire. The serrated flat side opposite the spike is for hammering the staples back in.
Use these with a good pair of thick leather gloves.
Some people simply have no talent for tools. My brother-in-law is one of them. He knows which end of the screw driver is the business end but that is about as far as it goes. But he is a great minister and a wonderful hospital chaplain.
Me? I dance like a drunk polar bear (was probably the only non-dancing “Matt” in any troop doing “The Fantastics” ever) but I can interface with any tool – be it a hand tool, power tool, computer software whatever. Takes all kinds to make a world.
So, WHAT is for lunch that’s so stinky? Or is it just Sam’s cooking (or lack thereof)?
You beat me to it…….
Curious minds want to know.
kimchee? I’d say “farmer’s cheese” but they don’t seem to have any goats.
So, for all Zed’s skills with long range shooting, and close range shooting (the twins), swingin’ a hammer, not so much. No one can do everything well.
Even John Wayne would be distracted by Sam’s and Jan’s . . . uhhhhh. . . distractions.
Now, now, have a little faith dear.
Faith, I got lots of. Patience, not so much.
I don’t think either Zed or Damien married them for their cooking skills.
Grin. Bob-waire _bites_! I have the knee scars to prove it! And driving fence staples with fencing pliers is a hard-learned skill, and is another reason for wearing deerskin roping gloves whilst working from a horse, or while standing beside one…
Any skill gets rusty with dis-use. And if it was not at the top of your skill set to begin with it rusts fast.
A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.”
— Robert Heinlein, Time Enough for Love[
I prided myself on having Heinlein’s “Necessary skills”, but as tempus fugits, I find myself more willing to call a contractor while I supervise from a safe distance. (I’m saving the last one for after the next election, if required.)
Is Sam’s “home on the range oven” gas or electric?
I’d say, make the other guy die gallantly, but I doubt they have any gallantry. So back to Patton’s advice.
The one about “…greasing the treads of our tanks…” or “…make the other poor dumb bastard die for HIS country…”
I’d rather eat open fire roasted rattle snake than eat food prepared in ignorance and inexperience. Even trained cooks can create disasters until they have had enough trial and error. A plate full of error can be a terrible thing to have to eat.
Dread – aren’t you being rather pretentious? Conservatives aren’t really like this. In most circumstances, they eat what is put in front of them. When you are out in the wilderness or on the ranch, you eat what you can catch. You don’t always have french gourmet stoves to cook it. I learned to eat what was available as a poor kid. The Army reinforced that. Fire, a little sat and pepper is all you need. You don’t need the food TV channel instructions to cook it. You don’t sound like you have ever been gut shrinking hungry. Sorry CM. I am not trying to be rude!
For your information, Mr Dread, rattlesnake roasted over an open, smokey mesquite wood fire is damned tasty. Do you eat escargot?
My compliments to CM on what lately appears to be Sam’s body paint wardrobe.
Well, it’s getting warmer there on the ranch I guess…must be cooler to wear those outfits without that pesky constricting underwear.
Speaking of distractions, has Sam had a bust reduction?
Any artistic licenses taken by Chris are perfectly acceptable to me and all show the various aspects of beauty that the human body can present.
Or, I just enjoy the pretty pictures. 🙂
Maybe she’s losing weight in the heat?
I think its all a matter of perspective. I’m sure from certain “angles” they are Yuge!!
Dread. I apologize. De gustibus non est disputandum.
Good going OCB. I ate what was prepared on dirt floors in mud huts or in the open when that is what there was. But, I Dang Sure headed for good cooking the moment I could. And that certainly was not French gourmet.
Kafiroon – you are so right. Many world travelers know one thing for sure: If it has ever crawled out of a hole in the ground or honeypile, or across the ground, slithered, or made it’s nest in a disgusting place, the French, like the Chinese will eat it. I do not hold those culture up as what I would like to emulate. Those who do, De gustibus non est disputandum..
A famous French chef admitted part of their national.cuisine was based on famine. In all, they’d rather have a nice steak.
As to fence/self inflicted injury, what did somebody say upthread, Bob Wahr bites? Oh yes indeed he do.
The little pasture around our old Lake Okeechobee house, the same one that contained ol’ Wooly Booger the giant Brangus bull, feature a couple of rickety gates made of 2X8’s, that we ignernt daredevil yard apes liked to tightwalk on, not too easy as it would rock back and forth as you made your way across the 12 or so foot span…lose your balance and fall into Wooly’s space and you’d barely have time to get back over the fence or else just say your prayers.
So one Sunday when it was my turn I get almost to the end and start to lose it, Wooly watching intently from close by, and in an effort not to get stomped to death I tried to leap the last few feet to the little platform we had nailed to the end post. That didn’t work and I instead fell onto the adjoining 90 degree fence section, straddling that rusty ol’ bobwahr. I had on the typical boys tough levis so it didn’t do the damage that might be implied by that landing, instead it ripped my inner forearm flesh open like a ragged can opener, the blood starts spewing and I and my brothers and sisters start screaming.
Like I said it was Sunday, my hardworking old daddy’s one day off. The house was maybe a hundred and fifty feet away, and he was enjoying the Sunday paper while visiting the crapper when he hears the commotion, and as he later told me, he “cut one off in the middle”, pulled up his pants and ran outside, sure he was going to find one of his young’uns under hoof. Instead he extricates me from the grips of ol’ Bob, throws me in the back of our ’65 Falcon wagon (two door, like a little Nomad!), and floors that little six banger the six or seven miles into town to Everglades Memorial’s ER.
I lived, they sewed me up, but the ragged scar remains to this day, I’m looking at it right now. You’d think such an experience would lend a bit of judgment and reserve to a 12-year old wild child…but no, I did a whole lot of stupid shit after that…sometimes even still. Ain’t it a wonder that we survive?
JTC: Yeah, but you didn’t do it as badly each time. You learned a little or a lot from it each time. By the time you got into long pants, (until you went into the Army, if you did) you purt near figured out how to stay alive, or how to keep the pain t a minimum or live with it. Each time you did stupid shit, it obviously wasn’t as stupid as the time before, or we would be reding this from one of your descendants. Now we just raise flowers until they get mowed down, or li’l snowflakes until they get shoveled.
I’d guess the stove is a rebuilt Majestic with a gas/wood combo built into it. I only say that because Wade doesn’t strike me as someone who tosses a good thing that works in favor of a new toy.
I’d give my eyeteeth to have one of those. Keep you warm in the winter when the power goes out because ice-laden trees snapped the power lines, and let you cook any time, any season.
If you see Wade, tell him I said ‘Hi’. It’s barbecue beans and onion with smoked sausage for supper, plus all that other stuff that goes with it.
Yumm!