Bugs

I have painted an idyllic picture of life in the north Georgia mountains—fresh air, beautiful vistas, friendly people, little traffic and so on. But all is not perfect in paradise.

What prompts this post was looking down and seeing a scorpion between my feet when I was taking a shower yesterday morning. It was only a little over an inch long but when you’re standing naked and discover a scorpion just a couple of feet below Willy and the twins, your immediate impression is that it’s the size of a Komodo Dragon—the scorpion, that is. Two questions instantly came to mind: Can scorpions jump and, if so, how high?

I had this sudden horrific vision of the scorpion leaping off the floor of the shower like a grasshopper on methamphetamine, landing on Mr. Happy and stinging me. I could see me trying to explain to the admitting nurse at the emergency room how I got a scorpion in my shorts. I imagine all the emergency room personnel would go home that evening and say, “You’ll never guess what I saw today.” Fortunately the scorpion proved to be passive, and I was able to wrap it in a tissue and flush it down the toilet.

Scorpions are not the only bugs around here that can sting or bite. There are also wasps, hornets, yellow jackets, bees, horse flies, deer flies, sweat bees, chiggers and ticks.

So far bees, ticks and chiggers have not been a problem. Not so with wasps, hornets and yellow jackets. I have no idea what the difference is between the three. All I know is that they come after you when they are disturbed. All three are all evil, mean and nasty and hurt like a bitch when they sting you.

I think wasps are the ones that build big paper nests the size of a football or larger. They are generally found in tree branches or under the eaves of houses and barns, usually at head height so you can bump into them. Hornets may be the ones that build small flared nests under stairs, wooden porches, picnic tables and outdoor benches—you know, places where you can’t see them but are likely to be in close proximity when you encounter them. I believe yellow jackets build their nests underground and come swarming out with a bad attitude when you disturb them. I may be confusing the three but I really don’t care. To me they are the insect kingdom equivalent of anti-personnel mines so I just lump them all together and try to stay clear.

What makes this discussion particularly relevant is that apparently late summer is wasp, hornet and yellow jacket season in north Georgia. I don’t recall there being a wasp, hornet and yellow jacket season in Florida. I guess it’s like the cold and flu season, allergy season and tourist season, only painful.

It’s the horse flies, deer flies and sweat bees that drive me crazy. They seem to seek me. Horse flies and deer flies don’t sting you; they bite and chew on you, and their bite is painful. In my case their bites raise a large red welt that is maddeningly itchy and can last for several days. Scratching the welt just makes it itch all the more. Sweat bees are tiny things so you don’t notice them until it’s too late. All three seem to have the ability to pursue you even when you’re in motion. I’ve been bitten or stung while mowing on the tractor.

I don’t want to give you the impression that it’s unsafe to go outdoors here. I’ll take these bugs over the swarming mosquitoes in Florida.

Speaking of bugs, last year I was writing about daddy long legs and wooly caterpillars. This year I’ve seen only a few daddy long legs and no wooly caterpillars. Maybe they are a fall phenomenon. If so, there is still time.

The fascination with wooly caterpillars is that they are supposed to be a harbinger of the type of winter you can expect. I’ve also heard that if the squirrels seem overly busy in burying their nuts in late summer that is an omen of a bad winter. And here’s a new one for me. I’m told that the number of fogs you have in late summer when it’s hot indicates how many snows you will have this winter. We’ve had a couple of good fogs so far.

At any rate, the word from the locals is that we will have a warm fall and a harsh winter. A couple of old time farmers told me that I needed to get my fall garden in by the middle of August in anticipation of a hard frost by mid-October. I’ve learned to listen to the old boys, and my fall garden has been planted. I’ve gone heavy on cabbages. Won’t Meredith be thrilled.

While we are talking about seasons, late summer also seems to be crow season. In the past week I’ve noticed a number of large black crows in the field. They’re so big they could be ravens. I wonder if they are supposed to be a harbinger of anything?

It’s funny, but since I’ve moved here I am more aware of birds and insects, the color of leaves, the rain, the temperature and the weather and the slow progress of the seasons. There are probably several reasons for that. I’m not immersed in a job. I spend a lot of time outdoors. I garden. Regardless, there is something deeply satisfying about being more attuned to nature.

Jesus! Listen to me. I sound like a tree hugging hippy wuss. The next thing you know I’ll be joining the Sierra Club, eating tofu, recycling plastic and driving a Prius with a Coexist sticker on it. Screw that. I think I’ll go shoot a crow.

The Blue Ridge Rodeo

I know this is probably a sentimental and overly romantic view but there is some things about small town rural American life that strike me as pure and clean and genuine.

What prompted this gush of emotion is that Meredith, Mike and I attended the 18th Annual Blue Ridge Kiwanis Club Rodeo. We’re not talking about a huge rodeo like the Cheyenne Frontier Days or the Calgary Stampede. Those are state fair-sized affairs. No, this was more like something you would find at a county fair. It lasted two nights, and the arena probably held less than a thousand people.

This was a big event for little Blue Ridge. In the overflow crowd I saw mothers and fathers with their young kids, grandmas and grandpas and geezers with grey beards who looked like they had just driven in from the farm. There were wanna-be cowboys, chattering young girls with their obligatory smart phones, teenage boys duded out in their best blue jeans and coolest t-shirts, older women trying to look like younger women and high school couples on dates. There were kids running around the grounds, young children crying because their balloons had floated away and family members hugging each other in greeting as they met in the stands.

The boy scouts handled parking. The 4-H club sold cotton candy. Other civic and community groups circulated hawking soda, bottled water, popcorn, glow sticks and boiled peanuts. Behind the stands the small kids entertained themselves until they were sick in those inflatable bounce houses—$5 for all night. The loud speakers blared good old country music with an occasional southern rock classic thrown in. Of course, Meredith, Mike and I dressed for the occasion in cowboy boots, blue jeans and cowboy hats.

The show started at 8:00 pm when the arena gate burst open and two riders entered at a gallop.They circled the arena carrying large American flags to the applause of the crowd. They were followed by a precision riding team consisting of 10 young girls riding big horses and carrying banners. These were local kids from Blue Ridge and Blairsville and Ellijay. The youngest couldn’t have been more than 12 years old. Clearly, being part of a precision riding team is what these kids do in their spare time. I couldn’t help but think that your average urban teenager would not have a clue.

After the drill team had finished their elaborate routine, the announcer asked everyone to stand and bow their heads while he led the crowd in a cowboy prayer. I swear to you that everyone—and I mean everyone—rose, became quiet and bowed their heads. He described heaven as a place where the grass was green and stirrup high, and he prayed for the Lord’s blessing on all in attendance, on the men and women serving in the military and on the United States of America, all in the name of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior. I don't think anyone in the crowd was offended by that. 

After that the announcer talked about the sacrifice that our servicemen and women have made for this country, about the little girl whose father will not be returning from his deployment and about the veteran who will never be able to walk again after encountering a roadside bomb. Why, he asked, did they make these sacrifices? For freedom, at which point he cued up Aretha Franklin singing “freedom, freedom, freedom” from the song “Think.” The crowd responded with more cheers, whistles and applause. He then asked all servicemen and women and veterans to stand and be honored by the crowd. If I’m any judge, crowd’s reaction was genuine and heart-felt.

Finally, the announcer asked everyone to remain standing, remove their head covering and sing along as the National Anthem was played. I can remember going to high school football games in Pinellas County and getting pissed off at the number of kids walking, talking and sitting when the National Anthem was played. There was none of that in Blue Ridge at the rodeo on Saturday night. Not only did everyone stand respectfully with hands and hats over their hearts for the National Anthem, but I’d say that the majority of the people sang along…loudly and proudly.

At the conclusion of the anthem a young woman dressed in cowboy finery entered the arena astride a huge horse at full gallop with a giant American flag streaming behind her. As she circled the arena at full speed, the crowd erupted with the loudest burst of clapping, cheers and whistles of the evening.

I admit that this display of small town patriotism and devotion caused me to get a little choked up. I had to wipe the corners of my eyes under the pretense of cleaning my glasses. Only later, on the way home, did Meredith and Mike acknowledge that they were affected in the same way.

As I said, this is probably a sentimental and over-romantic view but I’d like to believe that Saturday night at the 18th Annual Blue Ridge Kiwanis Club Rodeo is the way that America once was and the way it should be. It may be hokey and jingoistic, but if you’re some liberal, east coast, pretend-to-be-sophisticated, ashamed-of-America jerk who looks down on the south and the in-between states, you can just kiss my small town, proud-to-be-an-American ass.

Late Summer

It’s late summer here in north Georgia, not that you would know it from the weather. I’m told that it has been an unusually cool summer. The early morning temperature is consistently in the 60s, and the highs are in the upper 80s. One morning it was 48 degrees. I can get used to this.

Speaking of natural phenomenon, I’ve experienced my first earthquake. Actually, I didn’t experience it because I was asleep but Meredith and Mike did. They described a loud noise somewhat like thunder and said the house shook. Meredith thought it was a thunderclap or an explosion but Mike called it right as an earthquake.

It was under 3.0 on the Richter scale so it was not a very large one. I recall talking to two University of Georgia geologists earlier in the year who said that Georgia is a seismologically active state with multiple small quakes a day. So I guess that means I’ve traded hurricanes for earthquakes—not that I’m really worried about it. I’m mainly pissed that I missed out on an earthquake. It is one of those natural phenomena that I want to witness in this life. Maybe next time I’ll be awake.

One thing I’m pleased about is my garden. For a first-time north Georgia garden it has been very productive and in some cases over-productive. The scary part is that I only planted half the 6000 square feet that I laid out, I don’t think I have the soil pH quite right and I know that I have not added enough organic matter to the soil.

We have harvested well over 50 pounds of tomatoes. Because the tomato plants all seemed to ripen at once, Meredith has canned a lot of tomato sauce. I have a feeling that this winter I’ll be eating a lot of Italian cuisine.

I only planted one row of cabbage but it was enough to make a five gallon container of sauerkraut and seemingly endless bowls of cole slaw. There’s something about a row of mature cabbage that is very satisfying to a gardener. It makes me feel earthy or maybe Eastern European. I get this urge to put on big boots and peasant clothing, stand in the mud and play traditional folk songs on some weird stringed instrument.

For my fall garden I’m planting a couple of rows of cabbage. I want to make gallons of sauerkraut for winter. Nothing speaks of more of the organic life than sitting in your warm and snug cabin on a cold winter day with a case of the sauerkraut farts.

It’s a toss-up between the corn and the string beans as which is the more productive vegetable. We’ve harvested, eaten and frozen pounds of green beans. They are, apparently, the gift that keeps on giving. 

That being said, this is the last year I’ll plant bush green beans. My back can’t take bending over to pick bush green beans. I can do things standing up or laying down. Any position in between is out of the question. So next year I will plant pole beans. You can harvest them standing up.

As for the corn, I planted four 30-foot rows of sweet corn. I did not realize how many ears of corn that would produce. I’ve got so much sweet corn that I’ve been giving it away, and Meredith has frozen a ton of it. Next year I think I’ll plant the same amount of corn or even more, but in successive plantings so it does not become ripe all at the same time.

Corn is another one of those plants that make you feel like you’re a real farmer. My corn plants are well over my head. Almost every evening after dinner I go to the garden just to walk down the rows of corn to get that Iowa feeling. I’m waiting for Shoeless Joe to step from the corn rows.

I have no clue what I’m going to do with all those corn stalks once I’ve harvested the corn. Meredith wants some to make Halloween decorations. That still leaves about 500 pounds of biomass to dispose of.

Finally, at long last, my okra plants are starting to reach their stride. I have one 30-foot row of okra. In a week or so I anticipate that I’ll be picking at least 10 to 20 okra pods a day from the plants. As you have probably figured by now, I either underestimated how productive my plants would be or overestimated how much we can consume. What the hell am I going to do with that much okra? I figure I’ll be able to slime the north half of the county before summer is over.

I’m actually impressed with how productive a relatively small patch of dirt can be. My garden is about 60 by 100 feet, and I think it’s possible to grow at least half the amount of vegetables that two people can eat in one year in that space. I find that amazing. I guess that makes me a garden nerd.

I Talk Crap.

I sure have learned a lot about poop since I moved to north Georgia. I don’t know whether I’d hold myself out as a poop expert but I’m learning a lot of shit about shit. You would think that I would already be an expert on bullshit and chicken shit as former trial lawyer and city attorney but I’m talking about a different type of poop here. What I’m talking about is manure, and, specifically, I’m talking about the type of manure you put in your garden to help your plants grow.

There are several different types of poop in Fannin County. Besides the usual cow shit, horse shit, goat shit, chicken shit and rabbit shit there is also llama shit and alpaca shit. Each of these types of poop have different qualities, require different handling and have different availabilities. I'm thinking of doing a Wikipedia article on the subject.

As a general proposition, poop is hard to come by around here. That’s not because there’s a scarcity of poop in the area. There are plenty of animals who make daily contributions to the amount of crap in Fannin County. Though Fannin County is not full of shit like rural counties that major in hog and cattle production, I think it’s reasonable to say that Fannin County gets its fair share of shit.

Despite that fact that crap is relatively plentiful in Fannin County, it takes some searching to find a dependable supply. That’s because poop is a useful and, therefore, valuable commodity around here.

There are no large scale cattle farms, dairies, or hog farms in Fannin County. There is one smallish chicken farm that I know of. Large poop producers like chicken, hog and cattle farms process their manure and sell it commercially. I’m not sure what one does commercially with chicken crap (maybe send it to federal and state bureaucrats to be doled out as chicken shit), but I know that cow manure is composted and sold to the public in bags to be used in urban gardens. I believe hog poop is used as fertilizer also.

At any rate, there are no major poop producers in Fannin County. Gardeners like me who have large gardens and are unwilling to pay to buy crap by the bag have to get our poop from smaller poop producers or raise poop producing animals. If I had chickens, rabbits and a couple of goats or cows I probably would have enough poop to serve my gardening needs. Since I do not raise animals at this point in time I have to get my crap from other sources.

Fannin County is not lacking in poop sources. Many people around here have cows, horses, goats, chickens and rabbits. There are a couple of animal rescue farms and several riding stables in the county. There are even a few llama and alpaca farms around here. The problem is that much of this poop is already spoken for by other gardeners. In classical economic terms, while the poop supply is relatively high, the demand is even higher. This creates a poop scarcity. Now that I think of it, a supply and demand analysis of poop in Fannin County would probably make a great case study for MBA students.

Cow poop is widely regarded as the gold standard for a garden. Everyone wants cow crap. But good cow crap is tough to find—literally. Most cows around here are allowed to wander freely in pastures; they are not stabled. Cows are random crappers; they crap whenever and wherever the urge hits them. Thus, while cows are big crappers, their crap is spread all over the place. Wandering around a 10 acre cow pasture looking for cow patties is not an efficient way to acquire poop.

Fresh cow poop is too hot to put directly into the garden, and it must be aged for a year or two before it can be used. There used to be a wine commercial that used the line, “No wine before its time.” The same is true about cow crap.

Goat poop can be used in the garden. Once again the problem is collecting it. Like cows, goats are random crappers. However, many people who raise goats put them in a barn at night where, among other things, they crap when the urge hits them. Thus, people who raise goats have to contend with piles of crap. A lot of gardeners around here get their crap from people who raise goats. Like cow poop, goat poop must be aged.

Rabbit poop, if you can get it, is great for the garden. It has little odor and does not have to be aged to be placed in the garden. Unfortunately, not many people around here raise enough rabbits in sufficient numbers for there to be a lot of rabbit crap available.

Chicken shit is a great source of nitrogen, but it must be well aged before it can be used in the garden. Unless you raise chickens yourself it is hard to find chicken shit.

Horseshit is by far the most available poop around here. That’s because there are a number of riding stables hereabouts, horses crap a lot, and horses spend a lot of time in a stable so their crap accumulates in one convenient location. Horse poop is not as rich as cow poop and only needs to be aged one year to be used. Besides fertilizing the soil, it adds a lot of organic content to the soil .

Believe it or not, there are quite a few llamas and alpacas around here. I’m not sure why but there are. I’m a little vague on how much they crap. I’ve been told that they are fastidious little beasts and crap in one corner of their pen. This makes collecting their poop easy. I’ve also been told that llama and alpaca poop, like rabbit shit, does not have to be aged before it can be used on the garden. One old boy I talked to said it was the best garden manure there is. That’s probably the reason that it’s very difficult to find llama and alpaca crap that is not been promised to another gardener.

As I write this I realize that I haven’t heard anything about pig shit in these parts. I don’t know whether that’s because people don’t keep pigs up here or because it is so valuable that it never becomes available. I will have to make inquiries. It is a small reflection of what life is like in a rural area that a question like “do you know where I can get some pig shit” is not considered odd.

I never thought I would know this much shit about this much shit. You may think it's a lot of crap but if you have aspirations of living the rural life one day, you had better know your shit.