It’s time for my annual “How much of the the first verse of Paul Simon’s Have a Good Time are you?” quiz. Yesterday it was my birthday True I hung one more year on the line True I should be depressed False My life’s a mess False But I’m having a good time True I am 60% of the first verse of Paul Simon’s Have a Good Time. According to my answer sheet, that’s a perfect score!

The B-52’s put on a fantastic show Friday night within the cozy confines of the fabulous 40 Watt. Unfortunately, I was not in attendance. The show was a benefit for Nuçi’s Space, a resource center run by the Nuçi Phillips Memorial Foundation. The foundation provides mental health counceling and other resources to Athens’ musician and arts community. Getting the B-52’s to come back into town was a great thing for them, and they kept it under wraps until a week or so ago. By the time I found out about it (having moved out to the countryside, my finger is no longer on the pulse of Athens’ cultural scene), the few hundred tickets were long gone. So instead of hanging out with the drag queens in blue beehive hair-dos (well, actually I did a little, while having dinner at Clocked a couple doors down from the club), I spent the weekend at home. I did have some farming to do, but weather tried to make up for being absent most of the summer by raining. A lot. We got somewhere over 6 inches of rain over the weekend. I tried to keep track, but the guage managed to overflow at one point. So, little farming got done, but the plants growing had a great time. Instead of working outdoors, I took the opportunity to make three gallons of Irish stout and five gallons of blackberry mead. The stout will be ready in a few weeks. The mead, in a few months (or years … mead is not for the impatient).

If you’re ever in central Missouri, even just driving through, take the time to visit the town of Hermann. It was settled by a group of Germans from Philadelphia in the early 1800’s, who fully expected the town to be even larger than Philly some day. They failed in that aim, but the town itself is quite the charmer. Early architecture abounds and the German heritage is evident everywhere. Before prohibition, the third largest winery in the world was located there. One of the things you’ll discover during your stay was how brutal the feds were in enforcing prohibition: hundred year old vinyards were uprooted and burned, immense imported oak barrels (often carved with scenes fitting for a European cathedral) where axed and destroyed, and wine cellars were blocked off. Nevermind that all of these things had legitimate non-alcohol uses. The wineries have slowly returned over the last thirty years, and all are open for tuors and samples. And, for accomodations, you can’t go wrong with Birk’s Gast Haus, a wonderful (and inexpensive!) bed and breakfast. The hosts there went well beyond the call of duty to insure a comfortable stay and even loaned us bikes to get around town with. There are 40+ B&B;’s in town, but none could be better than Birk’s.

The missus and I are taking to the road again tonight, with a whirlwind trip to Hermann, Missouri and back. One of my best buddies (going back 22 years) is getting married, so there I’ll be. I’m taking advantage of some of the neat toys we have lying around the office, too. For example: a Magellan GPS unit that plugs into my Handspring Visor (a palm pilot-like device) and tells us where we are, were we’re going, and exactly how to get there. With maps and the whole nine yards. I’ve got my laptop loaded with MP3s and audio books, enough to last us for weeks should that become necessary. We’ll be back late Monday. To the deer that have been hanging around the house: you’ve already eaten all of our beans. Please leave us at least some of the squash while we’re gone. Thanks!

James Whiton plays double bass. He plays double bass as creatively and as well as anyone I’ve ever heard. He used to be in a band that should’ve been huge, Apricot Jam. They played around the southwest (mostly New Mexico) for a few years before moving to Portland and then splitting up. In the middle of his stint with that band, James had a motorcycle accident and shattered his bass-playing arm. Turned a good chunk of the bone to dust. He remained consious enough to make sure the ER docs didn’t cut it off and then proceeded to nurse it back to shape again, pulling off one miracle after another through sheer determination. Seeing him on his comeback tour with the Jam was one of the most inspriational things I’ve witnessed. James is still making beautiful music in Seattle, as a tour of his webpages reveals. He has music for sale (including the Jam CD I never managed to aquire until now). His new stuff, though different from the Jam, is still first class. He’s got several free MP3s available – give him a listen.

How’d you like to live in the country’s only Conservation Community with its own record label?

A short record of the creation of the Green Zebra tomato, one of the most popular we’ve grown this year.

I just noticed six days have gone by since I last wrote here. I don’t know why it’s been so long, and thinking back, I don’t know if anything’s really happened during the last week. I went to market on Saturday and sold out of everything. People even bought my samples. That’s never happened before. I started rehearsals for Larry Shue’s The Foreigner last week. I’m directing, and my pay will allow me to buy a greenhouse this fall. After a week of rehearsals, I promptly lost my lead actor, but I was able to find a more than capable replacement. Though it wasn’t due to your constant urges, I went and saw a professional for my back last week. A Kinesiologist who has done some wonderful work with others I know. He’s helped me isolate my pain to a single muscle, and I have stretching excercises to help me heal it. No drugs needed. But other than that, nothing’s really happened.

November 25th, 1997, marked the 134th anniversary of the battles for Chattanooga. On that day, Dave Buckhout and T.C. Moore retraced the route along which these battles flowed. They had cameras, a road map, and an ‘86 Buick. The resulting website is an example of what’s wonderful about the internet.

“A new generation of young people who have never heard of Ruby Ridge are now emerging from the public-school system and are heading off to college and will thereafter begin their careers in business, education, journalism, government, and other fields. This generation will find it hard to fathom that the federal government could have killed a boy and an unarmed woman and then tried to deceive everyone about what had actually occurred and, in some instances, rationalize what did occur. That is why it is important to remember Ruby Ridge.” I remember when this happened, and thought “there goes another bunch of racist separatists”. That’s what was being reported at the time. When the truth came out though, I knew that depite the fact I wouldn’t have been friends of the Weavers had I known them, I couldn’t in any way support what happened to them that day.