Knowing that I desperately need to make a change that involves Away-From-Bville, it seems strange to dig in and yet I do. I've ordered all my seeds for the season, and it was perfectly delicious, perusing the catalogs, dreaming the new designs--probably the happiest thing I do every year. I ordered half the seeds from a new-to-me local Occupy-affiliated organic non-GMO distributor, and the other half from my regular California organic non-GMO distributor. But then, I went one step further:





The main way I've rationalized such resistance to needed mobility is my long desire to learn how to actually build things. I'm up to the offering of a growler and cigar for CR to teach me some of his much-skill in carpentry, an iota of which I would love to glean. Of course, there are also the adorable chicks, lovely ferocious modern-dinosaurs, and the challenge of getting my dog and mom/CR's dogs to not eat them.

But still, I wonder at myself. I don't write, I don't have but one or two local friends, my reading list is skimpy (rather unintellectual and out-dated, for sure), and I get depressed and bored here so regularly; why do I keep building? Oh, I guess I have family here, and I guess it's beautiful here, I reckon I have a job, and land to dig in, even if it's not mine, but land to dig in. always But Still... But, Wait a Moment... But Maybe and Who Knows... But, If It Could Happen There, Why Not Here?

Feathers feathers quills, little beaks with their levers.