Psychoacoustic Jamming

The way we are dealing with the bat is this: we bought this thing that makes a horrible noise, constantly. It's called, "psychoacoustic jamming". It's supposed to work to keep out rats, mice, birds, bats, hippies- you name it. Every time we leave the house for an extended time, we turn it on. The idea is that the bat will hate the noise and find someplace else to live- like one of the two nice bat houses we bought and placed outside the house and the barn. So far, I don't know of it's working.


"Psychoacoustic Jamming" is also a synonym for, "Lee Family Reunion".

The Grey Economy Cult didn't mean to strike back!

I talked with Rolf today. He didn't get the message I left on Friday because his wife deleted a bunch of messages accidentally. He was very nice and very apologetic. He said he would never have planted on our land- he knew the land was sold to us, and he wasn't planning on doing anything on it, but he forgot to mention it to his "Agronomist" (the guy in the truck). (Another possible band name, "The Agronomists".) So, no worries!

"I hope you haven't lost any sleep over this!" said Rolf.
"Oh, I didn't." But I did blog about you...

It takes a lot more than this to make me lose sleep. My nickname is "Mommy E. Newman".

The conversation ended awkwardly. Neither of us knew what to say.

"Okay, thanks! Have a nice Spring!" I said, and quickly hung up.

The Grey Economy Cult

Lately, I haven't gotten any sub jobs. Actually, it's a good thing, because I've gotten so much done on the farm. Bad-Ass Husband (BAH, recently upgraded from Tender Lovin' Banjo Player for reasons that will not be disclosed) says that I have joined "The Grey Economy". I have no idea what that really means, but I love it. It sounds outlawish. What he means by it, I think, is that I seem to have gone askew of the normal resource venders, and tend to find things from "That guy who lives by the coop" and that sort of thing. I call around. Use the phone book. Talk to people who tell me to talk to other people. Etc.

Today, for instance, I got a three quarter ton load of pea gravel to build a little driveway parking spot, from a place with a little sign asking you to call Tim for help. There was a number. I called Tim, who didn't answer, but then called me back right away and appeared from a nearby farmhouse. He didn't have a working scale, but he dropped what he supposed was three quarter tons into my truck, and tallied up the bill with a calculator, I paid cash and off I went.

Also, today, from going around running my mouth about how I'd like some sheep and goats and such, I located a lady who raises some sheep, and she wrote down my number that she's going to give to a lady who raises goats and might have a kid to spare.

I am also hot on the track of the leader of a conservation society who will probably be able to help us plant a little tall grass prairie in the mud hole that the geothermal dig left. He's on the answering machine. I should really do that right now, actually.

BAH thinks that if I keep this up, we will soon be initiated into the cult. The cult that makes everyone out here so darned happy, that is. Our neighbor up the road, who we share the drive with- every time he drives by, he has this enormous grin on his face. Same with his wife. It's uncanny, really. It could be a cult, but more likely, it's just the air out here.

Incidentally, I realize I am now rambling, but people are so darn friendly out here. We all know each other's business. We just do. I don't believe those stories of criminals hiding out in the country. At least not in Wisconsin. Maybe somewhere else, but you couldn't live out here for long without everyone talking. Just because. The Grey Economy, you know. We're onto you!

"The Grey Economy Cult" - another good band name, no?