#thick patches of weed on the side of a ditch

[mumblelard]

finn joined me for my walk on monday morning and i showed her the empty turtle shell just on the edge of the wetlands and the weeping conk no longer weeping. we looked at the new art in the park, and without us ever discussing it, she noticed the same thing i had when i first encountered it and she made the same joke

when i woke up in the middle of last night, it was cool enough to open the windows for a breeze before i went back to bed

my kids are in the mountains the rest of the week, staying in cabin we stayed at together so many times, swimming in a river we swam in together for so many years, but this isn't my trip to take with them anymore

sometime over the weekend andy had another heart attack. they thought he might never leave the hospital, but early monday morning he got a car home and he got in his bed and died there alone

i'm keeping my hands busy until they get back. cleaning a lot. sweeping up the piles of shed hair and fur, shed claws, and shed skin that pile up on the edges of everything

[mingoyeob-archive]

1 and 50 with oc😊

under the oak tree drabble game ⚔️🌳 to make up for my delayed release of part 3 of under the oak tree i’ve decided to do a drabble game! send me a number + any of the characters from under the oak tree and i’ll write you a drabble :)

jsfejfkhw these keep ending up longer than intended but I'm doing this for you anon <3 thank you so much for requesting!

I'm still taking requests guys if you want to send some in! check out my tag 'drabble game' to see which ones I've already done :)

1. “I can’t believe I’m doing this” + 50. “You’re lucky I love you” - jjk x reader - word count: 1.6k

Being new to Uwhen meant knowing practically no one. You would think living in a castle full of knights and servants and maids meant you would always have someone to keep you company, but no. Your naturally soft spoken ways and tendency to distance yourself from crowds only pushed you to hole yourself up in your room or hide outside amongst the courtyard and stables. Namjoon must've noticed how lost and lonely you always looked (it was his job to look after the castle and its tenants after all) because after your umpteenth walk around the garden that day, he took it upon himself to assign you a task that would, hopefully, put you in better spirits.

“Here, take this.” A small travel and a pair of petite leather gloves was shoved in your direction, dwarfed by Namjoon's hands as he held them out to you. You reared your head back in surprise, eyes fleeting back and forth between the items and his expectant face, “What are these for?”

“For you!” he exclaimed, eyes brightening and face breaking out into a dimpled smile.

You let out a noise of confusion and quirked an eyebrow, finger pointing to your chest in question, “For...me? What do I need these for?” You had no idea what had got into the man, he barely ever talked to you, always busy dealing with some issue in the kitchen or trying to order supplies. It made you feel kind of guilty, that was all stuff you should’ve been doing as the Lady of the Castle, but your lack of education and inability to manage money correctly made the tasks nearly impossible.

Namjoon just cleared his throat, dropping his outstretched hands when you showed no signs of taking them from him. “Well I figured, since you look so dreadfully bored, perhaps picking up a hobby would make you feel better. I believe gardening is a great way to pass the time.”

So cautiously you had taken them. Not even your father expected you to do manual labor back at home, so this was unheard of, “I can't believe I’m doing this.” you said. Namjoon let out a snort at your words before proceeding to show you the areas around the castle that needed the most help, not that you needed him too as you had already walked them probably a hundred times over.  But still, from that day forward, you woke up early to garden and after three years you had rehabilitated the garden, the areas around the stables, pruned the shrubs and even pulled up a nasty infestation of weeds that surrounded the cobblestone pathways. But with your husband Jungkook finally coming home you had begun to put off your to-do list in a last ditch attempt to try and get to know him better, which was easier said than done.

You often compared Jungkook to the stone wall that surrounded the castle, hard to get through and constantly surrounded in a grey monotonous mood. Your efforts to hold a conversation with him were typically met with one word answers or a measly grunt which you learned, depending on the tone, was either a ‘yes’ or ‘no’.  Sometimes you couldn’t even tell if he was listening, which you could understand was hard since most of the times you caught him he was either in the middle of overseeing training or stuffing food in his mouth. Still, sometimes you wished he would take a second to hear you out; to want to get to know you as much as you wanted to know him.

So today you had decided to put a pause in your plan to discover your husband and instead went back to tackling your goal of finally fixing up the courtyard. There wasn’t really much to do in terms of the small area, the circular shape didn’t allow much except for a few benches and flower patches here and there. The most challenging part was the large oak tree that stood right in the middle surrounded by crinkled leaves and dying twigs. It was almost sad. Yoongi had told you the tree had been here as long as he can remember, probably a few hundred years.

“It didn’t always look like this, ya know. The old maids in the kitchen say it used to be the pride and joy of Uwhen. Hard to believe that now though.” His words had basically been a challenge, even if that hadn’t been his intention. By the end of this year, you were going to revive the tree no matter what it took.

And that was how Jungkook found you, covered in dirt and cutting at thick grass that surrounded the trunk of the tree. He was used to waking up in bed with your side empty, sheets neatly tucked and spot cold. But usually you would find your way to him by the middle of the day, telling him all about what you had spent doing around the castle, and even if he didn’t show it those times were the favorite part of his evening. Listening to your relaxing voice after a hard day of training with pestering young knights and sitting in war meetings was like being soothed by the softest melody. Oftentimes it left him speechless. How was he expected to compare your lovely stories to his boring responsibilities? He preferred listening to you rather than himself. You were probably only doing this out of pity anyway; why would you want to spend time with him when he so obviously made you uncomfortable judging by how tense and shaky you always were when in his presence.

The sound of his heavy boots crunching must’ve alerted you to his presence, your head whipping around and working fingers halting. Jungkook stood there awkwardly, embarrassed to have been caught staring at you so openly, “Sorry. I’ll leave.” he said, turning on his heel.

But the small giggle you let out in response had him stopping in his tracks, his heart skipping a beat, “Why would you leave? This is your castle and you’re free to roam wherever you please. Just pretend I’m not here, I’m just fixing up the tree a bit.”

“Why would you want to do that?” Way to sound like an asshole, Jungkook thought. The wide expression you had at his question had him internally scrambling to correct himself, “I mean...it’s obviously dead. Why waste your time?” You shook your head and pulled the dirty gloves off your fingers to place them on the ground, “Well it's not a waste of time to me. It’s actually pretty fun! Here,” you extended a hand out to him from your spot on the ground, beckoning him forward. “Would you like to try?”

“Me?” he quirked an eyebrow and pointed a finger to his chest. Talk about deja vu you thought amused and let out a giggle,“Yes you! Come on, I'll show you how.”

Jungkook just stared at you with his signature steely gaze and for a second you assumed he was going to walk away, uninterested in having to spend more time with you than necessary. But you watched in surprise when instead he proceeded over to you, taking your hand as he sat cautiously down next to you on the ground. He wondered if you could hear his heart beating hard in his chest at feeling how dainty and perfect your hand fit into his.

For the rest of the day the two of you spent time sitting in the dirt, you showing him the correct way to cut out the invasive roots to prevent them from growing back or how to properly plant the seeds to make sure the rain didn’t wash them away. And for once, Jungkook actually looked like he was listening, taking the time to ask questions when he didn’t completely understand why you had to do something a particular way. One question actually had you throwing your head back in laughter, ugly snorts and squeaky noises escaping your throat at how amused you were.

You always did hate your laugh, but for some reason Jungkook was mesmerized at how beautiful you looked, too caught up in how the sunlight framed your face just perfectly and how the rays hit the expanse of perfect skin down the column of your neck. He must’ve not been paying attention and got distracted while trying to cut something from the ground, because the next thing you know he was letting out a hiss and you heard the thump as he recoiled his hand effectively dropping the small shears. You jumped towards him in concern, reaching out to take his hand in yours to inspect the wound on his finger.

“Oh! Are you alright, Jungkook?!” You say and pull the digit up to your face, turning it to fully grasp how serious the cut was.

Jungkook hadn’t responded at first, heart warmed by how worried you seemed. Your face was so close to his he became distracted again, only realizing you had asked a question when you peeked up at him waiting for a response. He nodded, “Yes. I’m fine. Just a cut.”

You tsked, “I think we might need to wrap it. We can come back later to clean up but right now let's take you to wash this off, hmm?” You gave him a small smile of confirmation.

Jungkook didn’t say much else as you two got up off the ground, following you back towards the castle. When he finally did utter something from behind you, his words made you gasp, “You’re lucky I love you.”

[amerie-wadia]

Painting JJ’s Nails

for the prompt “painting jj’s nails” by @maybanktho

this drabble somewhat follows canon pairings but you can read into my hints at mayward because i just can’t help myself. 

The Pogues had been out on the boat all day, mostly fishing but swimming a bit before the sunset and the water was still warmed from the heat of the day. It was the first true summer day they all got to spend together since John B and Sarah...well, since John B and Sarah came home. JJ was happy to give up the driver’s seat of the Pogue, too many weeks of just himself, Pope, and Kie riding in circles around the island desperate to find some place that didn’t remind them of John B. They never quite found that place.

Even with Sarah tossed into the bunch, it was the closest to normal JJ had felt in the past two months. Grief and loneliness had sent JJ into a spiral of isolation and cheap vodka. His head hurt, missing his buzz, and he had buried all his weed in the backyard so it didn’t tempt him. It still tempted him. He promised Pope he wouldn’t do that anymore.

It had gotten to be too much. Too much vodka too early in the mornings. Too many days of ditched work. Too many unanswered text messages. Kie had been livid with him. Pope had just been worried. Both were too hard to face, so JJ hid under his duvet and hung around Barry’s house more often that he’d ever admit too. Once he worked off the money he stole, he made enough to buy better vodka that got him drunk even faster.

JJ hasn’t taken a drink in five days.

To most people, five days doesn’t seem like many. To JJ, five days is a millennia.

Sarah and John B brought beer and JJ refused to make them stop when Pope told them JJ was trying to get clean. Kie has gotten mad again, but this time it was at John B. That didn’t sit right either so JJ chugged part of a gatorade and tossed his fishing line off the side of the boat to keep his hands occupied. As long as he didn’t smell it, it wasn’t too bad. Pope sat down next to him and started talking about hammerhead sharks.

Other than one uncomfortable moment, the day had been what JJ dreamt of for weeks. The air was warm and the breeze was glistening. Soft rock spilled out of Kie’s waterproof speaker as they drifted along the marshes, laughing and reminiscing about Kie’s Kook year and the summer before freshman year when they met Pope.

The sun set before they made it back to the Chateau, so it was dark and John B stumbled as the boat slammed into the shore, flailing around to find a thick enough tree root to anchor it to. Sarah pulled out her phone’s flashlight and shined it in his direction. Pope gave Kie a hand up and out of the boat. He offered one to JJ too, but JJ just rolled his eyes and hopped out of the boat, swinging an arm around Kie’s shoulder just to have her brush him off.

“Pizza?” Kie suggested as all five of them headed in through the porch and into the house.

“I can do pizza,” Sarah agreed.

“Hell yeah, then,” Pope chimed in.

John B scrambled through the top right kitchen drawer for the menu with the right phone number on it and then held it in Sarah’s direction as she called in their order.

“Don’t forget to ask for extra pepperoni,” JJ whispered midway through the call. Sarah just waved her hand at him as if she couldn’t believe that he thought she’d forget that.

“Wonderfull. Thank you so much,” she grinned, shutting off her phone and sticking the menu back in the drawer. “They said it will be about half an hour.”

“I should probably shower first,” Kie commented, studying the patches of dried sunscreen blobs on her arm.

“No,” John B whined. Let’s do something.”

“I feel so gross right now. You guys do something and in like ten minutes I’ll join you.”

“Fine,” John B huffed, looping his arm around Sarah’s shoulders as Kie headed into the bathroom and started up the shower. The sound of the shower water was comforting and JJ crawled into the corner of John B’s sofa so he could lean against the arm rest. Pope took the opposite end of his couch and John B and Sarah curled up on the loveseat.

“Shark tank?” Pope asked as he slowly flipped through the channels.

“Eh.”

“Friends?”

“Nah.”

“John B, what do you want to watch, then? Because there’s not much on other than the news.”

“Just give me that!” John B pressed, reaching out for the remote from Pope. Sarah used the moment to unwrap his arm from around her and she stood up. He was too engrossed in finding something to watch that he didn’t pay it much attention. JJ didn’t either, until she came back with two little glass bottles of nail polish.

One was turquoise and the other looked totally clear.

For some reason, JJ couldn’t help but watch.

She rested back up against John B but leaned over and rested her hands on the coffee table. Pope and John B continued to argue about the channel as Sarah began to coat her right hand’s nails in little blue strokes. The color was light and subtle and completely popped against her tan skin. Her strokes were precise and practiced, and none of the polish spilled out onto her skin or the wooden surface below. She finished one hand and began working on the next.

“What do you think?” she asked—surprisingly, looking directly at JJ.

“Looks great, babe,” John B answered as he flipped the channel again, barely glancing down to see the marvelous job she had done.

Her eyes didn’t stray from JJ’s. In fact, they widened in a bit of an offended gesture as if she was truly interested in JJ’s opinion on her manicure.

In all fairness, JJ did have an opinion on it.

“They look really, um, nice.”

“Want me to do yours?”

JJ choked on the air in his throat and Pope glanced over his way to assess the situation. JJ felt his cheeks flushing pink so he hit down on the inside of his jaw. Him? With painted nails. Pope’s eyes were warm and Sarah wasn’t laughing. Why wasn’t she laughing? It was a joke.

“What?”

“Do you want me to paint yours too? I have enough polish.”

JJ hasn’t been worried about the amount of polish Sarah had. He wasn’t worried about anything. Well, maybe he was a little bit worried about the weird urge to say yes.

“You can say no. I just thought it would be fun.”

JJ glanced over to John B, who was still completely focused on finding something to watch. Then he looked over to Pope, who just gave him a smile and then shifted his gaze back to the tv. Sarah was waiting for a response.

“I guess?”

“You can say no,” she commented again, hesitation lacing her voice.

“No, I mean yes. You can paint them.”

“Great! Do you like blue? I have other colors!” Her eyes were shimmering and JJ could tell why John B had fallen so hard for her. She bounced on the edge of her seat.

“Other colors?” he croaked, not understanding why his voice betrayed him.

“I only have a few here though. I think I have like a light pink and then a red. It’s dark though, like a wine red.”

That was too much description and JJ didn’t want to actually think about what he was doing.

“This one is fine,” he answered, pointing to the polish that she had already used.

“Easy enough,” she smiled, twisting the cap back off and slapping the coffee table lightly for JJ to put his hands down. He spread his fingers apart like he had seen her do. He looked to see if Pope orJohn B were watching but neither were, arguing yet again over which movie they were going to watch.

Sarah lifted up his right hand and her fingers were cold against his skin.

“Relax your hand,” Sarah instructed, holding up his thumb so the nail was pointed toward her. JJ tried to relax his hand but it only felt stiffer. After a few moments he found a sweet spot and Sarah grinned.

Once she began painting his nail it was too late to turn around.

He had expected to feel more of a weight or a tickle when the little brush floated across his nail but there was nothing other than the little stripe of blue polish. It was runny and it dropped to the creases of JJ’s nail beds and Sarah dug the corner of her own nail against it to prevent the color from seeping onto his skin. It chipped her own paint a bit but she was too preoccupied with moving along JJ’s hand.

It didn’t look as soft as it did on Sarah’s hands. His hands were too rough, too hairy—though it was bleach blond and JJ was the only person who actually ever noticed it—and there was bruising around his knuckles from when he’d gotten angry with Luke and punched a hole through his closet door.

It had only been a few days ago. The fight had been enormous and he’d gotten so drunk he genuinely thought he was going to die of alcohol poisoning. He was so drunk he couldn’t figure out how to answer his phone and let him know that John B and Sarah we’re home. He woke up the next morning to bloody knuckles, two broken ribs, and about thirty text messages from Kie and Pope. He’d promised to stop drinking that day, after he hacked up the entity of his stomach and dry heaved for about an hour. His head ached when John B pulled him into a hug.

“Don’t touch anything. Here, give me your other hand.”

JJ listened, setting his painted hand gently over his knee so his nails were out of harms way. Sarah picked up his other hand and began to paint.

“What the hell are you watching?” Kie’s voice asked suddenly. JJ flinched and Sarah gripped his hand hard to steady it after a brush of polish went across his index finger. Water droplets sprinkled lightly from her hair onto the couch beside JJ.

“Sorry.”

“Keep still.”

“What are you two doing?”

Her eyes felt hot on his own so he kept his gaze on his nails and shrugged. It was a rhetorical question—or at least Sarah and JJ took it that way.

“I can do yours too?” Sarah offered as she wiped off the excess polish from his finger and continued onto the next nail.

“Mine are already done. Maybe I’ll do my toes tonight.”

Girls painted their toes too?

“Ooh, good idea. I’ll do mine when I finish JJ’s.”

She had said it out loud. Obviously, JJ knew Kie could see it happening—knew everybody could see it happening—but it was still a bit uncomfortable to hear her say it out loud. And he couldn’t figure out why.

Because it looked really nice.

Sarah’s coat was smooth and even, no polish on his skin and it wasn’t too see through either. Her hand was steady and she carefully set JJ’s left hand down in the coffee table when she was finished.

“All done! You just need to let these dry for like twenty minutes,” she explained, twisting the cap back into place on the bottle.

Kie took a seat beside Pope and reached out for JJ’s hand.

“I wanna see!”

At first, JJ didn’t let his hands move—Sarah had said to keep still—but Kie was being gentle so he let his left hand fall before her and a big grin grew from the crown of her lips to her ears.

“They look amazing, Sarah.”

“Why thank you.”

Kie let his hand go and then Pope looked over to see the final result. JJ wiggles his fingers in Pope’s direction.

“Looks good.”

JJ refused to acknowledge the pink on his cheeks as the he continued to receive attention and praise for his turquoise nails. Sarah was talking to Kie about nail polish colors when John B finally settled on friends and finally looked over to see what all the fuss was about.

JJ was a bit more hesitant to show John B his nails—unsure as to why (probably because he idolized John B and if his friend said it looked stupid he would rip all his fingernails out).

“Cool.”

JJ’s shoulders dropped, tension easing from his spine.

“Sarah, remember that time you did those little flowers on your toes?”

“Yep.”

“That was sick.”

With his new found ease, JJ let himself admire the polish. It was beginning to dry but was still glistening and smooth. They looked absolutely perfect. And JJ kind of loved them.

He knew he would have to take it off before he went home that night. Luke would absolutely kill JJ if he saw the nail polish. But at least for a few hours JJ could enjoy the feeling of having his nails painted.

Maybe someday—if he could muster up the courage—he would ask Sarah to do it again.

[mattpeplow]

1.

Tempting Tincas

The tiny red tip of the float sat motionless in the gentle sway of the still water, anchored to the bottom with two BB shots. The float may not be the correct colour to grant the best visibility. There may be slightly too little or too much of it showing from your added shot, but you can see it, and that’s all that matters. All you want as you sit there, transfixed with anticipation, is for that pimple of colour to disappear, which it surely will. The yearning and the craving for a take and a squirming fight is like a drug. You could easily describe most fisherman as addicts, or dreamers in need of their next fix. It is an extremely strong addiction made up of potential new records be it British, world or personal, or just the knowledge that you are doing everything right and the hard work and preparation has paid off. The pride in catching a beautiful trout on a fly that you created yourself. Or just the peace a solitude of not having to worry about the daily grind, your only concern when on the bank is whether it’s going to rain or not. I confess I am an addict and there is no amount of cold turkey that can cure me, and to be honest, I don’t want to be cured.

The sun was beating down and my polarised glasses cut through the water to show a few dark shadows lurking below, sifting through my grounbait for more substantial offerings. Today’s location is Mythe, a private club water controlled by The Birmingham Anglers Association (BAA). At around 600 meters long and as wide as the River Severn which runs along its one side it is one of my favourite venues. The hot sun of the warmer months causes a large amount of weed to grow here which means only half of the pegs are fishable at certain times on the year. The riverside bank is a jungle, imagine an untrodden terrain with thick overgrown bushes, steep slopes, ditches and barbed wire making their upmost effort to bar your progress. If you do venture this way though, you will probably end up with a few leaves and twigs in your hair and down your collar and maybe a rip in your favourite fishing t- shirt however you will find some of the most beautiful swims from which you can temp a few bites. A fellow angler and good friend of mine Rich has spent countless hours secateurs in hand carving pathways to the waters edge. Rich is a font of knowledge when it comes to Mythe and he often regales me with tales of his trips 30 years earlier when all the pegs where fishable, he is an in-depth encyclopaedia of every peg on the pool and has a story to tell for practically all of them.

Clear spots can be found in amongst the thick weed and most the pegs have a patch of lilies or a deep hole in which to place your bait. Bream are in abundance here with weights of over 100lb regularly being caught on the method or open-ended feeder. Large bags of fish are also caught on the pole or waggler however, this being my chosen method for the day. Carp are a rarity as they are not targeted very often, but the few photographs I have seen of these old warriors show beautiful dark oak coloured mirrors with apple slice scales and striking bronze commons. Rich also tells me of an orange bellied common which has evaded capture for a long time, he has sent me many videos of fish close to 30lb taking floating dog biscuits from one of his many walks around the pool fish spotting. I have also heard rumours of an elusive Catfish hiding somewhere amongst the gloomy depths but who knows, this pool seems to be a bit of a mystery and I don’t think anyone knows for certain what zoo creatures it could hold. Catching one of these legends is on my bucket list, however today I am here targeting Tench, one of my favourite species.

I have selected a peg with a thick blanket of weed framing a deep weed less hole with lilies at my feet and to my left. The water is crystal clear gradually gaining a green hue the further out you look out towards the centre of the lake. After laying a few balls of gound-bait and a scattering of sweetcorn next to the lilies I lowered my lobworm and tightened my line pulling my float to where red meets black. I am fishing the lift method; my float is held in place by two rubber stops and is set at between 5 and 10 inches over depth with shot on the bottom. I pinch my shots onto a small piece of braid threaded onto my line using a rig ring. This is also held in place with rubber stops. Doing this means there is no weaknesses in your set up, some split shots have sharp edges and squeezed directly onto your line can cut into it and cause breakages under pressure. When the Tench takes my bait and lifts the shot off the lake bed the float will rise up and lay flat, however it is suggested to strike before it reaches that point.

Though still water specimen hunting is predominantly based around bolt rigs and buzzers there is a period generally from mid-May where this more traditional method for catching Tench is particularly effective. The warmer temperatures and longer days cause the Tincas to move in to the margins in search of damsel fly nymphs and other immerging insects and fishing at such close quarters the bolt rig loses its impact and a float fished correctly will produce a lot more fish.

I hadn’t arrived early for today’s session. A few beers the night before in the local pub had cause me to oversleep slightly but I didn’t mind as it was summer with plenty of daylight ahead of me. I had got to the lake at around 9am and had chosen my peg and set up for half past. My first bight came 10 minutes later. It was slow and tentative. The float lifted a centimetre and settled again, half a second later it did the same and started creeping slowly to the left. I strike into a small greedy Perch half the length of my lobworm. Returned, rebaited and repositioned I waited once more.

The sun had decided to hide for a while behind a thick white cloud. Thankfully not the thick black kind as I hadn’t even considered bringing my umbrella, not in mid-June. I always travel quite light when I am not targeting Carp. A decent sized bream was my next piece of the action, around the 4lb mark. A slow short fight then like a wet flannel it floated to the surface and was dragged motionless towards the bank. A few of these in the keepnet wouldn’t be a bad result for the day but sadly it was not the prize I was after. Unlike some anglers I appreciate caching bream. A large shoal of bin lids in your swim can make for a great day, especially in match fishing where large weights can be obtained quickly once you have got them feeding, which doesn’t seem to take long, these fish are eating machines and will make short work of a large bed of bait.

By mid-day the temperature cooled a little; it was still warm but not the blistering heat of the past couple of days. A scattering of clouds and a slight breeze made it very comfortable with intermittent blasts of sunshine and shade. I think if the weather had been the same as earlier in the week the fishing would have been very hard. This was proved a few days later when a session with my dad was cut short due to only two bites between us in 5 hours of fishing in relentless heat, we were rewarded with 2 small Roach and two rather sunburnt faces.

Instead the bites were steady and with five perch in the keepnet and a few more bream I decided to mix it up a little and try a cocktail. A lobworm tail with two grains of corn on a size twelve hook. I sat watching the float twitch, bob, dip and sway for a about twenty minutes, there were a lot of small fish in the swim and I think my large bait was being picked up and dropped every couple of seconds by optimistic roach with mouths too small to take bait fully.

Finally, it lifted, this happened so quickly it was almost flat before I had chance to strike. Strike into weightless, air, weightless, nothing. “Bugger it”. It seems that I drifted into a daydream for a while easy to do when sat in the sunshine. I rebaited my hook and recast to the same spot and tightened up, determined not to lose concentration this time. I didn’t have to wait very long for another take and this time I didn’t miss it, my rod bent double and my 4lb line groaned and creaked painfully and my clutch hissed like and angry cat as the fish pushed itself into the weed in front of me. I managed to bully it back into open water and after a taxing battle I finally saw the olive-green shape and red eye break the surface. A few small final breaks for freedom and she gave in and slid into the web of my landing net. What a flawless specimen. A plump almond shaped body, black fins and a wide paintbrush like tale. Tipping the scales to 4lb 8oz I was pleased with my first Mythe Tench and what a beauty.

The next half an hour or so produced a few more Perch and Bream followed by another characteristic Tinca bite, my float raised out if the water and I lifted into another powerful creature. A lot of head shaking and dives to the weed almost confirmed to me this was another Tench. After a couple of minutes, the shaking stopped and I was left with a solid weight and no movement. The fish had hidden itself deep within the weed bed opposite. Doubtful, I lowered my rod pleading that it will release itself on its own with the line being slack. To my surprise and relief, I saw the line start to move. I tightened up to feel the relentless pulling once more. It seems the fishing gods are on my side today. The fish broke the surface and displayed itself for the first time. It was certainly a Tench but this one was unlike any I have caught previously. It had the typical bright red eyes and dark paddle like fins but its body was as black as coal. Securely in the net I admired its beauty and prepared the fish for its Photo shoot. What a beauty, and a lucky capture I think, that fish could have easily been lost. Returned safely it was time to pack up. I emptied my keepnet of 7 Bream and laid it out on the bank to dry, content with a successful day.

[sheepsandcattle]

Chapter 19

His hands are shaking from withdrawal or anger or both as he stirs the off-coloured liquid with the end of a syringe. His phone is pinging beside him, but he ignores it because he knows it’s Jeff asking where he is, and he can’t be arsed with it right now. He’s late. He knows.

Jules reckons he’s in over his head. He’s not making money like he used to, and he knows it’s because he got caught up in it all. He spends more time in the apartment than he does out on making deals these days. He’s barely making rent and Jules is charging him full for the drugs now and he was meant to be with Jeff and Dean an hour ago, sipping beer before they leave the apartment but instead, he’s doing junk on his bedroom floor because—

Hear him out. Everything’s just so fucking much recently. He’s always feeling so blinded and he just wants a bit of darkness.

Does that make sense?

The phone goes off yet again and he gives in, balancing the syringe on his knee as he sends a hurried text; ‘meet u there.’ He was meant to tell them ages ago. Most have forgotten.

After hurriedly drawing the liquid into the needle, he pulls the lace tight around his bicep to take the hit. When he’s done, he chucks the syringe into a mug and leans back onto the end of his bed. He’ll clean it later.

X-Ray Spex are playing so loud that the bass drowns out his pulse. The weight of it drags him into the ground, pins his hands down and his eyelids shut as he breathes through it; heavily through his mouth. He stays put for a while, listening to the music and letting the room evaporate around him until he’s floating in black tar.

He remembers listening to this album on a field with his best mate at seventeen, weed-high with his eyes shut and wishing he could disassociate; to stop feeling and smelling and seeing and hearing anything else around him. Just the music that made his brain jump about in his daft head.

Now he is buried in warm sand and all he can feel is the beat vibrating the ground and all he can smell is nothing and all he can see is black.

For a second, when the song ends and before the next one begins, he feels and smells and sees and hears absolutely nothing. Then Poly Styrene is chanting “I'm a cliché, I'm a cliché, I'm a cliché, I'm a cliché,” and all of his senses come back all at once.

He groans, counts to ten, and forces himself up from the ground. His legs fail him for half a second, but his elbow becomes acquainted with his dresser in time to stop the fall. He grabs a pack of fags whilst he’s there, counts himself in again, and slumps out of his room and through the apartment.

They’re going to a party tonight. It’s half ten at night and Jules has gone out for a fag, which he’d usually do inside but he’s pissed off as well.

He finds him sat on the curb outside, smoking steadily, eyes cast down to his phone. He looks up when the door shuts behind Curly, asks, “you ready,” and Curly nods.

They sit in silence in the car and split off when they get to the party. Curls finds Jeff and Dean almost immediately and sits with them in the living room, lighting a joint and sinking into the sofa as the conversation fills the rest of the air around him.

After an hour or so, Jeff asks, “Curls, are you good,” and Dean says, “man you don’t look right,” but he doesn’t feel like defending himself and he’s soon shuffling pitifully across the front yard to where Jules now sits on the curb with Oscar who’s fresh out of work.

Curls says, “I’m sorry, mate,” and falls beside Jules, arse hitting the pavement so hard his breath thumps and all the air within a twelve-mile radius fills his skull. He takes a long, deep breath to compose himself. “Sorry I’m a cunt, I aren’t like you. I’ve got nothing happening for me these days. It’s rubbish.”

He supposes he did blow up for no reason; didn’t want to come out tonight but didn’t want to be alone again. That’s all. He just wanted Jules to stay, because ever since he came clean about Jordan, he’s felt just a bit closer to his roommate, even if he never tended to say the right thing and, if anything, has become more distant than ever. He just wants someone to cling to for a while.

“That’s not my fault,” Jules scoffs, but he passes his lighter to Curly like a peace-offering. “You got fired. You ditched your guy. You cut your best friend off. You called your mom a… What was it?”

“A daft cow,” he mumbles, and they both laugh a little, but then pretend it never happened because they’re both still meant to be just a little bit angry.

“Right. You did that, not me.”

“I know,” he mumbles, and he feels so fucking minuscule. It’s not really that funny, is it? “It’s just… Shit. Feel like I’m going mental.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you need to get out more. Not just for deals,” Oscar chimes in now and great, he’s had enough of Curly, too. He wonders if Jules has filled their roommate in on Curly’s shit show. Jules nods along with Oscar.

“Yeah. I know, I know.” He doesn’t really know what else to say. “Can I nick a fag?”

Their place on the curb rings with a chilling silence, but the 'oh Curly’ type of laughter that follows washes the tension away and the air is breathable again.

The night feels easy after that and it turns out he isn’t fussed about being out of the apartment after all. The house is a bit rammed and Jeff is winding him up, giving him a look every time he opens another beer, but other than that, he feels comfortable. It’s the first time in weeks that he doesn’t feel like he’s buried in static and white noise.

“Hey Curls, you good?”

It’s a little later when Oscar nudges his shoulder and he’s drunk too, so Curly’s not embarrassed to slur his words.

“Yeh. Have y’got a lighter?”

“Ask me in thirty minutes,” Oscar says. “Oh, and Curls, go clean yourself up, man.”

Curly doesn’t understand why he has to wait or what he’s meant to be cleaning up, but he gets distracted soon after anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.

Dean kisses his cheek at some point. His beard itches and whilst he’s there he whispers, “you wanna crash with us tonight, buddy,” and Curly shakes his head but says, “cheers though.”

Dean’s wiping kitchen roll over Curly’s forearm and there’s a little blood on it but God knows why. Well, Curly knows why. Because he keeps forgetting to ‘rotate scenes’ or whatever it is Jules keeps badgering him about.

“Maybe you should head home,” Dean suggests. Curly walks off.

He dances alone in the kitchen for a bit, then in the living room and then talks to a bloke called Rooney about modern punks and how Curly reckons “it has a whole new meaning these days, and Morrissey is a complete arsehole. Always has been, mate,” but then realises Rooney is a knob who won’t pipe down about immigrants and all the rights he reckons they don’t deserve.

He tells Rooney to sod off and dances some more in the back yard instead with someone (or no one - who knows?)

Someone says, “your accent is bullshit,” and someone asks, “what are you on, dude? Got any spare?” Somebody else tells him, “yeah, no, I get it. Like I tried to go vegan once but…” something, something, something…

A boy with nice eyelashes tells him his hair is amazing and asks to touch it and, oh, at one point he speaks to a bloke named Henry. That’s his dad’s name and Henry says, “yeah, you already said.”

“Your hair’s growing like crazy,” Jordan tells him and... Oh.

Curly doesn’t remember starting a conversation with him, doesn’t even remember seeing him here. Doesn’t remember coming back inside from the back yard or how he ended up in an empty bath, fully clothed with him, shoes scuffing the sides of the tub.

“So why did you wanna talk to me in the bathtub?”

Oh. Alright. Wow, okay. Why did he want to do that?

He rubs his face. He thinks... He thinks. Think think think. Okay. The party was too full. Jeff said, “Curls, slow down,” and Dean said, “J, don’t bother. He’s had too much already.” Jules and Oscar went home (he thinks) and everyone said he should go with them, but he’s been having too much fun and doesn’t like being told when to stop.

“Everyone ’ad too much t’say.”

“Right… But what did you want to say?”

Fuck’s sake. What did he want to say? His head throbs when his temple hits the wall and, oh, was he tilting? Jordan’s hand slips between his head and the tiles, the other landing on the other side of his skull and bracing him.

“Curls, are you alright? Curly, hey.” Curly’s head is tilted back, J’s thumbs digging into his cheeks. “Open your eyes.”

“Yeh.” He does as he’s told, and it turns out his head isn’t tilted back after all, it’s just at the right angle to watch Jordan as he frowns. Didn’t even realise he’d closed his eyes in the first place. Why is he in a bath with— Oh, yeah. “I just… wanted t’say…. Fuckin’ell.”

“I’ll get Jeff-“

“No— jus’…” Curly’s hands are on Jordan’s face now, until the weight of them wins and they drop to his shoulders instead, grabbing the material of his shirt so they don’t fall away. “Are y’a’right?”

Jordan’s eyes narrow, his brows crease and his face tilts slightly. Then he laughs and Curly thinks God bless.

“You. You just wanna know if I’m alright?” His words are tinted with laughter and everything is warm and cool at the same time. “Yeah, Curls. I’m alright. Are you alright?”

He hums, blinking slowly, and when he opens his eyes, he’s on Jeff and Dean’s couch.

The apartment is dead quiet but there’s light coming through the blinds that someone forgot to close. He has a thick, knitted blanket draped over his top half, but he’s still got all his clobber on and his feet hang over the arm of the sofa, Dr. Martens weighing his ankles down. His arm is aching like mad when he feels around for his phone and when he looks down, he’s got a peeling plaster patched onto the crease of his elbow.

His phone has two missed calls and a new message. They’re all Jordan.

10:34 - text when your up

He’s ready to crawl up his own arse with embarrassment. He hesitates but texts back saying exactly that and, within two minutes, Jordan is ringing him.

He answers and forgets to say hello at first, but when he remembers, it’s sandy and his voice takes a second to wear in and the ‘h’ is missing.

“Morning. How’re you feeling?” Jordan’s voice feels worn and sleepy too and Curly can picture him now, in bed with his hair scruffy and his glasses on because contacts are too much effort for the first five minutes of his morning.

“Shite. Head’s killing me,” he grumbles, groaning as he rolls onto his back. “Fuck’s sake. Sorry for last night.”

Jordan laughs over the line and Curly hears him take a breath and reckons he’s getting out of bed or off the sofa. He wills himself to do the same, but only sinks further into the cushions as he listens to Jordan speak. “No need. You didn’t do anything.”

“Was I sick?” Silence. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, I was. Was it bad? Did I row with—“

“No, no,” he cuts him off and he’s giggling. Giggling. As if. “No puke, no rowing…”

Curly can’t quite decide if he wants more information or he’d prefer to stay blissfully unaware, so he stays quiet and waits for Jordan to decide for him.

“Your nose still bleeding?”

“What?”

“Never mind. Listen, about what you said last night: I get it. A’ight?” Curly racks his brain, trying to figure out what he could be on about, and Jordan must make sense of his silence. “If you don’t remember, it don’t matter, I just. I wanted you to know I’m sorry for—“

“Curly,” a voice chimes from behind him, and he finally pushes himself up from the sofa, met with Dean stretching his arms over his head as he makes his way from his room and towards the kitchen. “How are you feeling?”

“Is that…“ Jordan pauses. “Call me back later, yeah? We’ll talk about it.”

“No, it’s alright, now’s fine,” Curly insists, but the line’s already dead. Dean’s looking guilty, only now realising he’d been on the phone, but Curly says, “morning, mate. I feel like utter shit,” as he drops the phone into his lap.

“I bet you do,” Dean chuckles as he hobbles sleepily into the kitchen. Curly hears crockery clang as he calls, “hey, at least your nose stopped bleeding.”

[brownskinsugarplum76]

Loose and Easy, Part 1

New fanfic. NSFW FYI. Happy holidays! ❤️

At least the concert has gone off without a hitch so far, Joyce thought. Because zealous fans had trashed a concert arena in another town while waiting to buy tickets, she and the other guards were on alert here, but in reality there were just thousands of people enjoying the spectacle of the wildly popular British group, too transfixed to cause mayhem.

The worst part about working this concert has to be it going on for hours. Three hours of lunacy was what the lead singer had promised during a moment of coy banter with the audience.

Joyce’s shift had her standing at the front of the venue, and she couldn’t keep her eyes off of him. She had attended one of their concerts before, but her seat wasn’t this close to the front. I see why these girls are doing anything and everything to get his attention, she thought, thoroughly enjoying the view from her vantage point.

She was halfheartedly scanning for trouble in the crowd but looking at him in earnest. His body, which had transformed from willowy to bigger in all the right places over the course of the band’s existence, glistened with tangible signs of the energy, the heat, that he and his 3 rowdy co-conspirators brought to the night’s events. He effortlessly stalked his patch of the stage, shimmying, hip swiveling, passionately flailing his arms and arching his back when the palpable, electric current of the band’s spirit became too much for him.

So tasty. Her eyes hungrily lapped up the fine details of every inch of him, from curly head to white snakeskin booted toe. It was hard not to stare at him and his orgasmic enthusiasm, despite there being world-class musicians present who also were performing with equal parts skill and abandon, like it was their last concert, like they did every night.

She locked eyes with him on more than one occasion, and he kept his gaze on her for what seemed like an interminable amount of time. Each time she felt flushed and intoxicated. If this is his eye-fucking, what must the real deal be like? She considered that possibility for a minute, eyes still on him. Who am I kidding about surveillance? she caught herself and realized where her priorities really were tonight.

“Hey, Joyce, why don’t you go take your break now?” asked Rich, her boss, tapping her on her shoulder and breaking her concentration.

“Sure, Rich. Thanks.” She slowly wound through the crowd to the series of doorways and the lengthy stretch of hallway that would be a hotbed of excitement and last-ditch hookup attempts for the vast audience in a couple of hours. She hoped there was an once of seduction that the singer could see in her walk and the shape of her body as she made her way out, but she was enrobed in the drab polyester uniform that was required for the guards and did the best she could.

She procured a cigarette and a lighter from her locker in the back and proceeded to smoke in the hall. Moments later, he, the singer, emerged from the stage area. The sound of thunderous drums and his disappearance from the stage meant it was time for “Moby Dick,” which meant he would have a lot of time on his hands.

He recognized Joyce and smiled with satisfaction, striding confidently toward her on long, strong legs that were hugged unmercifully by skin-tight gold pants. “My personal bodyguard!” he said by way of a greeting and flashed his million-dollar smile.

Where do I sign up for tending to that body?  

His fully open rayon shirt trailed behind him as he stalked her way, chest forward, an assured lion of a man with a beautiful, thick mane of hair to round out that leonine image.

She was hypnotized by the louche swing of his hips, which was clearly a show for her,  the strip of waistband on those wonderful pants that was flush to his toned, tanned stomach, and then, of course, that ripe bulge of his that strained the clingy, satiny pants to their limits.

One of those nights for him, I guess. I think I know how that feels right now… I can’t take it, being this close to him…

“I’d kill for one of those.” He gracefully swept his lush curtain of hair from his eyes and looked in Joyce’s direction. She couldn’t tell if his powerful beam of desire was for her, or a cigarette, or both.

“I can’t have you killing anybody when the show must go on,” said Joyce. “I’m not just your bodyguard, you know.” She grinned and passed the cigarette his way.

He leaned against the wall while he smoked. “I’m glad you’ve been enjoying the show,” he said with a wink, back to holding her gaze for an extra long time again, then switching to eyeing her light brown skin and assortment of curves with the look of a hungry man ready to devour the best meal of his life.

If you only knew how much I’ve enjoyed it…

“The ocean of fans seems to be on its best behavior tonight, eh?” he continued.

Joyce returned a smile as her heart started beating faster in her chest. “It’s amazing. Everyone here is so into the music, into the energy of what you all are doing. I’m glad I had the opportunity to cover this concert, although I wish I could just enjoy it like a regular fan. I saw a show on your last tour, and it’s still the best concert I’ve ever seen.”

“The energy does feel good tonight.” He returned the cigarette to her. ”It’s made me feel loose and easy. Join me for a drink?” he asked, jerking his head to the side toward the dressing room.

The spoken request was harmless enough, but between them was the tangible air of where they both hoped things would go.

I’m probably already impaired by all that weed smoke, she thought–the guards were never fast enough to catch the many culprits–so she nodded her yes to a drink and smiled.

She crushed the cigarette, and he led her to the dressing room a few paces away. It was one fairly empty room with a fold-out table lined with bottles of various kinds of beers and spirits for the band. He picked up a vodka bottle and took a swig.

“Here you go.” He moved closer. Under the scent of the recent cigarette she smelled a mix of sweat and sandalwood on him, and it made her even weaker. She took a drink.

He moved behind her and put his large, bejeweled hands on her shoulders. “Bonzo is a little frisky tonight, so I think I have quite a bit of time to spare. Care to keep me company, so I don’t get bored?” he asked, his soft, melodious voice a devilish seduction in her ear that made her dizzy.

I can help you out, for sure.

Some critics called the lengthy jam explorations of his band an excessive indulgence, but Joyce called them a blessing in that moment. She faced him, smiled, and traced a finger down his chest. “I’m sure we could find something interesting to do together.”

She took a healthy swig of the bottle’s contents and then another, fully nervous to abandon her post for him, but in no time she started feeling more relaxed.

He watched, intrigued, as she took off her hat and took her hair out of the bun she wore for work and shook it loose. “That’s more like it.” He ran his fingers through her hair before tracing her full lips with a finger and then following up with an exploratory kiss.

“I hear you’re into blow jobs back here, but in case that might be boring, I’d like to propose something else.” She winked and unbuttoned some buttons on her shirt, and then some more, until her shirt was as open as his.

He took it off of her and promptly unhooked and removed her front-closure bra as well, freeing her full breasts. “I’m not bored at all now,” he said, his open smile taking on a wolfish meaning.

He took one of her nipples into his mouth while he rolled the other in his fingers. “Mmmmm,” she intoned, as she enjoyed the heightening sensations in her body and forgot that her break was ending.

She kissed him some more, entwining her fingers in his hair and gently pushing him forward to better unify their mouths and tongues. Then she pushed his shirt off his shoulders and he took care of the rest.

He stood before her completely naked, truly a “golden god,” with his body a uniform warm bronze tone. But more importantly, in an instant, she could confirm all the rumors whispered in the concert hall about him being breathtakingly well hung.

She peeled off the remainder of her clothes.

“I’d really love to savor this–and maybe we can, after the show?–but I know time is short for both of us. Let’s have a bit of fun now.” He kissed her hard, jolting her further into the mood. She yielded to the fantasy come to life with a contented moan while they both made a quick exploration of each other’s bodies with frantic caresses.

“So hard,” she murmured, grasping his cock. “I need it now.” Partly because I really do, but partly because who knows which band members or crew could show up back here? She walked over to the table with all the bottles, braced her hands on the table, and bent over.

“Great idea, love.” Knowing she was prepared to receive him, he entered her from behind. He was not disappointed. “You weren’t lying about enjoying the show, it seems. So wet.”

She savored a delicious sensation of complete fullness inside that she had never felt before. He gripped her waist tightly, and their insistent thrusting began to rattle the bottles on the table.

They moved with good chemistry. She delighted in the thump and sting of his balls hitting her pussy. “Oh, Robert, don’t stop.”

“Mmm, we will have to meet up again after the concert, ” he sighed. And then he lost his words.

She was worried that his primal screams and grunts would affect what the audience heard from him after the drum solo, but she delighted in this raw performance he was giving for her, an audience of one.

She matched his enthusiasm and desire. A nearly empty bottle toppled over the edge of the table. She lost herself in the wild, breakneck rhythm and the energy swelling and building in her body, and she cried out, too, overwhelmed by the pleasure.

When he skipped a beat, and then another and became noiseless, shaking violently behind her, she knew that their sensual duet was coming to an end. Her body began to sympathetically shudder, as if the current of pleasure he was riding had leapt into her. And then everything exploded inside of her, too.

She stood, closed her eyes, and tried to compose herself. “Wow. Not boring, right?” Rich will be furious about my absence, but it was worth it!

“Not boring one bit, love,” he said, circling his arms around her waist and drawing her close.

She fought the urge to invite Robert to put the world on hold and lie down on the nearby couch. Instead, she settled for a kiss before starting to get dressed. He followed her lead, equally reluctant to have to put more time together on hold.

He sat down on the floor to get his shoes back on. “Can you come out to play with me after you finish here?”

“I’d love that, she said, twisting up her hair in front of a lighted mirror before donning her hat again. “I may have all the time in the world if I don’t get back to my post soon, though. Rich is going to kill me!” What in the world can I use as an excuse? What will Rich believe?

“Let me help you with that,” Robert said, joining her at the mirror to fluff his golden curls. “I must let someone know how brave, how good you were at breaking up that fight backstage. Remember?” He winked. “You have a gift for…diffusing tension that should be rewarded. We’ll go back together, and it will all work out.”

A dirty mind, quick, clever thinking, a dose of compassion, a protective nature… I could get used to this.

They exchanged a smile and, as they left the room, they nearly collided with a man in a 1977 tour shirt running their way. “Oh, good, you’re heading back,” he said to Robert. It’s almost time.”

“I’m on my way. Hey, before I go, can you make sure she can get back here after the show? The name’s Joyce.” He smiled that charming smile at her again. Joyce gave Robert a puzzled expression.

“You got it.”

Joyce and Robert were on the move in the hall. How did he know my name? She was a little embarrassed that she hadn’t introduced herself before their episode. “My badge,” she said out loud, laughing.

“I have many talents–and I’d like to show you more of them–but clairvoyance isn’t on the list, I’m afraid. ” He joined along with her laughter as they continued to walk.

“Joyce, where the hell have you been?” Their connection was broken by Rich’s ire.

Robert quickly assumed a more conciliatory posture and began to weave his tale of Joyce’s valor, sprinkling on the magic dust of his infectious smile in full measure at the end.

Rich was suspicious but eked out a “Good job” for Joyce, in spite of the look on his face.

“One last request, Rich: we had planned a small party, and I’d like to invite Joyce as my guest as thanks for all she’s done tonight. Could I steal her away from you as soon as the concert ends?”

“Sure.” Rich said no more than this tensely delivered word, in a concerted attempt to keep from exploding. “Come on Joyce,” he said, walking back toward the arena.

She mouthed a silent “Thank you” to Robert, and he blew a kiss to her before racing for the door to the stage.

By the time Joyce made her way to the front of the venue, Robert was already on stage, grooving to the end of the song.

“Everyone still good out there?” he addressed the audience when the band stopped playing and received an appreciative roar in return.

“I’d like to thank you all for being on your best behavior tonight, so that my new friend–my bodyguard!–could have a good time.”

The band was used to Robert’s rambling messages for the audience but had to exchange glances as they realized this one must’ve had a double meaning that was tied to his disappearance.

A range of emotions went through Joyce’s mind, but she settled on equal parts annoyance at their interaction being shared, and satisfaction with having taken the risk. She would give him a lesson on manners later. There is a later, she thought, excited that the night wasn’t over yet.

She smiled to herself, monitored the crowd, and enjoyed the show some more.

[dfroza]

A cleansing.

grace. to come to view life with the baptism eyes of a child of Light is the treasure of life on garden earth.

A point seen in Today’s reading of the Testaments with the paired chapters of Mark 1 and Ezekiel 36

from the ancient writing of the Scriptures that have been translated in English and conserved to reveal the pure significance of grace beginning with these lines from the book of Mark:

[The Wonderful News]

This is the beginning of the wonderful news about Jesus the Messiah, the Son of God.

It starts with Isaiah the prophet, who wrote:

Listen! I am sending my messenger ahead of you

and he will prepare your way!

He is a thunderous voice of one

who shouts in the wilderness:

“Prepare your hearts

for the coming of the Lord Yahweh,

and clear a straight path

inside your hearts for him!”

John the Baptizer was the messenger who appeared in an uninhabited region, preaching a baptism of repentance for the complete cancellation of sins. A steady stream of people came to be dipped in the Jordan River as they publicly confessed their sins. They came from all over southern Israel, including nearly all the inhabitants of Jerusalem. John wore a rough garment made from camel hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and honey of the wilderness. And this is the message he kept preaching: “There is a man coming after me who is greater and a lot more powerful than I am. I’m not even worthy to bend down and untie the strap of his sandals. I’ve baptized you into water, but he will baptize you into the Spirit of Holiness!”

[The Baptism and Testing of Jesus]

One day, Jesus came from the Galilean village of Nazareth and had John immerse him in the Jordan River. The moment Jesus rose up out of the water, John saw the heavenly realm split open, and the Holy Spirit descended like a dove and rested upon him. At the same time, a voice spoke from heaven, saying:

“You are my Son, my cherished one,

and my greatest delight is in you!”

Immediately after this he was compelled by the Holy Spirit to go into an uninhabited desert region. He remained there in the wilderness for forty days, enduring the ordeals of Satan’s tests. He encountered wild animals, but also angels who appeared and ministered to his needs.

Later on, after John the Baptizer was arrested, Jesus went back into the region of Galilee and preached the wonderful gospel of God’s kingdom realm. His message was this: “At last the fulfillment of the age has come! It is time for the realm of God’s kingdom to be experienced in its fullness! Turn your lives back to God and put your trust in the hope-filled gospel!”

The Book of Mark, Chapter 1:1-15 (The Passion Translation)

[Ezekiel 36]

Back to Your Own Land

“And now, son of man, prophesy to the mountains of Israel. Say, ‘Mountains of Israel, listen to God’s Message. God, the Master, says, Because the enemy crowed over you, “Good! Those old hills are now ours!” now here is a prophecy in the name of God, the Master: Because nations came at you from all sides, ripping and plundering, hauling pieces of you off every which way, and you’ve become the butt of cheap gossip and jokes, therefore, Mountains of Israel, listen to the Message of God, the Master. My Message to mountains and hills, to ditches and valleys, to the heaps of rubble and the emptied towns that are looted for plunder and turned into jokes by all the surrounding nations: Therefore, says God, the Master, now I’m speaking in a fiery rage against the rest of the nations, but especially against Edom, who in an orgy of violence and shameless insolence robbed me of my land, grabbed it for themselves.’

“Therefore prophesy over the land of Israel, preach to the mountains and hills, to every ditch and valley: ‘The Message of God, the Master: Look! Listen! I’m angry—and I care. I’m speaking to you because you’ve been humiliated among the nations. Therefore I, God, the Master, am telling you that I’ve solemnly sworn that the nations around you are next. It’s their turn to be humiliated.

“‘But you, Mountains of Israel, will burst with new growth, putting out branches and bearing fruit for my people Israel. My people are coming home! Do you see? I’m back again. I’m on your side. You’ll be plowed and planted as before! I’ll see to it that your population grows all over Israel, that the towns fill up with people, that the ruins are rebuilt. I’ll make this place teem with life—human and animal. The country will burst into life, life, and more life, your towns and villages full of people just as in the old days. I’ll treat you better than I ever have. And you’ll realize that I am God. I’ll put people over you—my own people Israel! They’ll take care of you and you’ll be their inheritance. Never again will you be a harsh and unforgiving land to them.

“‘God, the Master, says: Because you have a reputation of being a land that eats people alive and makes women barren, I’m now telling you that you’ll never eat people alive again nor make women barren. Decree of God, the Master. And I’ll never again let the taunts of outsiders be heard over you nor permit nations to look down on you. You’ll no longer be a land that makes women barren. Decree of God, the Master.’”

God’s Message came to me: “Son of man, when the people of Israel lived in their land, they polluted it by the way they lived. I poured out my anger on them because of the polluted blood they poured out on the ground. And so I got thoroughly angry with them polluting the country with their wanton murders and dirty gods. I kicked them out, exiled them to other countries. I sentenced them according to how they had lived. Wherever they went, they gave me a bad name. People said, ‘These are God’s people, but they got kicked off his land.’ I suffered much pain over my holy reputation, which the people of Israel blackened in every country they entered.

“Therefore, tell Israel, ‘Message of God, the Master: I’m not doing this for you, Israel. I’m doing it for me, to save my character, my holy name, which you’ve blackened in every country where you’ve gone. I’m going to put my great and holy name on display, the name that has been ruined in so many countries, the name that you blackened wherever you went. Then the nations will realize who I really am, that I am God, when I show my holiness through you so that they can see it with their own eyes.

“‘For here’s what I’m going to do: I’m going to take you out of these countries, gather you from all over, and bring you back to your own land. I’ll pour pure water over you and scrub you clean. I’ll give you a new heart, put a new spirit in you. I’ll remove the stone heart from your body and replace it with a heart that’s God-willed, not self-willed. I’ll put my Spirit in you and make it possible for you to do what I tell you and live by my commands. You’ll once again live in the land I gave your ancestors. You’ll be my people! I’ll be your God!

“‘I’ll pull you out of that stinking pollution. I’ll give personal orders to the wheat fields, telling them to grow bumper crops. I’ll send no more famines. I’ll make sure your fruit trees and field crops flourish. Other nations won’t be able to hold you in contempt again because of famine.

“‘And then you’ll think back over your terrible lives—the evil, the shame—and be thoroughly disgusted with yourselves, realizing how badly you’ve lived—all those obscenities you’ve carried out.

“‘I’m not doing this for you. Get this through your thick heads! Shame on you. What a mess you made of things, Israel!

“‘Message of God, the Master: On the day I scrub you clean from all your filthy living, I’ll also make your cities livable. The ruins will be rebuilt. The neglected land will be worked again, no longer overgrown with weeds and thistles, worthless in the eyes of passersby. People will exclaim, “Why, this weed patch has been turned into a Garden of Eden! And the ruined cities, smashed into oblivion, are now thriving!” The nations around you that are still in existence will realize that I, God, rebuild ruins and replant empty waste places. I, God, said so, and I’ll do it.

“‘Message of God, the Master: Yet again I’m going to do what Israel asks. I’ll increase their population as with a flock of sheep. Like the milling flocks of sheep brought for sacrifices in Jerusalem during the appointed feasts, the ruined cities will be filled with flocks of people. And they’ll realize that I am God.’”

The Book of Ezekiel, Chapter 36 (The Message)

and a mirroring of God’s Justice is seen in the reading of these lines from Psalm 28 for October 28:

I’m letting you know what I need,

calling out for help

And lifting my arms

toward your inner sanctum.

Don’t shove me into

the same jail cell with those crooks,

With those who are

full-time employees of evil.

They talk a good line of “peace,”

then moonlight for the Devil.

Pay them back for what they’ve done,

for how bad they’ve been.

Pay them back for their long hours

in the Devil’s workshop;

Then cap it with a huge bonus.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 28:2-4 (The Message)

with a sacred rewinding of time in a reflection of the Garden of Eden just as read in chapter #36 of Ezekiel seen in Today’s reading of Psalm 1 and 36 with the book of Psalms fully rewound to its beginning for day 301 of the year and Psalm 36 coinciding with the 36th day of Autumn:

Instead you thrill to God’s Word,

you chew on Scripture day and night.

You’re a tree replanted in Eden,

bearing fresh fruit every month,

Never dropping a leaf,

always in blossom.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 1:2-3 (The Message)

How exquisite your love, O God!

How eager we are to run under your wings,

To eat our fill at the banquet you spread

as you fill our tankards with Eden spring water.

You’re a fountain of cascading light,

and you open our eyes to light.

Keep on loving your friends;

do your work in welcoming hearts.

Don’t let the bullies kick me around,

the moral midgets slap me down.

Send the upstarts sprawling

flat on their faces in the mud.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 36:7-12 (The Message)

to be concluded by all of Psalm 1 in The Passion Translation:

Book 1

The Genesis Psalms

Psalms of man and creation

The Tree of Life

What delight comes to the one who follows God’s ways!

He won’t walk in step with the wicked,

nor share the sinner’s way,

nor be found sitting in the scorner’s seat.

His pleasure and passion is remaining true to the Word of “I Am,”

meditating day and night in the true revelation of light.

He will be standing firm like a flourishing tree

planted by God’s design,

deeply rooted by the brooks of bliss,

bearing fruit in every season of his life.

He is never dry, never fainting,

ever blessed, ever prosperous.

But how different are the wicked.

All they are is dust in the wind—

driven away to destruction!

The wicked will not endure the day of judgment,

for God will not defend them.

Nothing they do will succeed or endure for long,

for they have no part with those who walk in truth.

But how different it is for the righteous!

The Lord embraces their paths as they move forward

while the way of the wicked leads only to doom.

•

my personal reading of the Scriptures for right here & now, Today:

[andykoons]

CHAPTER 7 - LOST IN THE MAIZE (part 1)

The Leonidas Safe Zone had all but disappeared. I always thought that when I escaped Saint Joseph county, I would be going to New York City or Los Angeles, not just slightly to the left of Saint Joseph county. This apocalypse is bullshit.

Sammy and I tagged along behind Addy. She was like a machine, never slowing her pace, always facing forward.

There were cornfields on both sides of the road. Wild, overgrown corn fields, no longer in the neat rows it had been in the years prior. The brown stalks stretching skyward with no farmer to limit their potential. Weeds grew tall in the spaces between the stalks, making a dense meadow that rose above our heads. There was a small flock of crows. Every few seconds, one of the birds would swoop down into the wild crops and fly back up. Eating without fear of human intervention. This whole end-of-the-world situation was probably the best thing that ever happened to nature.

I motioned for Sammy to come closer so I could get my water out of his backpack. I took a good swig before placing it back in the bag, all while we still kept up the pace with Addy.

Sammy was staring at the sword on my back.

“So you made that?” He asked.

“Yeah.” I said. “It was a bitch to make, and it’s not the best. But it holds it’s edge well and hasn’t failed me so far.”

“Can I see it?”

“Sure.” I lifted the leather strap from my shoulder and handed Sammy the scabbarded sword. He took it and studied it’s features.

“What kind of sword is this?” He asked.

“Not sure, to be perfectly honest.” I said. “It’s half Katana, half combat knife. I call it ‘Sentõ’.”

Sammy looked at me the same way I used to look at people who said they preferred the Star Wars prequels to the originals, confused and slightly disturbed.

“You named your sword?” He asked indignantly.

“It was pretty common in medieval times.”

“We’re not in medieval times, though.”

“We’re not? Have you been sleeping for the last two years?”

He looked back to the sword.

“What’s it like to use it?” He asked. I had to think for a second.

“You can do a lot more damage from farther away. It’s heavier than a machete so you have to be conscientious of your swings, or it’ll cut right into your foot. Once you figure out the weight and get used to how it moves, then it becomes more like an extension of your arm and becomes extremely effective.“

“I’d love to try it out.” He said. “Do you—“

“Quiet.” Addy said. All three of us stopped. Addy stood like a statue, listening for something, searching with her ears.

The flock of crows had vanished. I saw the tops of cornstalks moving about ten feet from the edge of the cornfield. They were jerking sideways. Something was in the corn, and it was moving towards us.

“What do you hear?” Sammy asked quietly.

A huge black mass jumped out from behind the curtain of corn and roared so loud I was sure my ears would bleed.

“The fuck?” Addy yelled. She raised her machete and walked backwards from the beast.

“Is that a motherfucking monkey?” Sammy said.

“No.” I said. “That’s a motherfucking Silverback Gorilla.” It stood tall and jet black right in the middle of the road. Most likely an escapee from the zoo in Battle Creek.

It was huge. Actually, ‘huge’ doesn’t do it justice. It looked to be twice the size of a body builder, and probably five hundred pounds, easily. It’s coat a deep black with a silvery patch on it’s back. Makes you wonder how it got it’s name. It bellowed loudly, spit flying from it’s jaws. It was probably scared shitless and starving.

The monstrous black beast stood and pounded his sledge hammer fists on his chest to establish his dominance. It worked.

“Sammy, Addy,” I said. “Lower your weapons and crouch down.”

They didn’t seem to like the idea. I remember seeing a documentary about gorillas and how they communicate. I don’t know if it will actually work since we’re not gorillas, but at this point, it’s our only option. A gorilla is just too fast and powerful to try to take with a sword and a machete. And this particular gorilla was about to tear our fucking legs off and beat us to death with them.

“Lower your goddamn weapons and get down.” I said again.

They listened. We simultaneously crouched down to show our submission. The gorilla beat his chest again and began to charge.

“Didn’t work!” I said. Addy reached for her machete and Sammy picked up Sentõ. We were fucked.

The three of us stood together, ready for the impact of this freight train of a primate, but the impact never arrived. It stopped dead in it’s tracks, staring at the cornfield.

It would look at us, then the fields, then back at us. It was trying to make a decision, whether to kill us or whether to do something else I couldn’t figure out.

A black cloud loomed over the cornfield. It was a massive swarm of crows. Their squawking grew louder and louder as the distance between us shrank. The gorilla made up his mind and fled.

“Afraid of a bunch of birds?” Sammy yelled. “Pussy!”

What had just happened didn’t make any sense. Are they zombie crows? Never seen those before, and I don’t think the virus affects animals. So I doubt it’s that.

“What the hell just happened?” Addy asked.

“I don’t know. But I think it had something to do with that.” I said, pointing to the cornfield.

The whole field came alive with movement. Just like before, the stalks were jerking around, but instead of one isolated area with the gorilla, it was the entire goddamn cornfield. And still the swarm of crows grew closer.

“I really think we should get going, guys.” I said. Sammy and Addy picked up on the urgency in my voice. I stepped behind Sammy and grabbed his knife from his backpack, some of his blood was dried on the hilt.

“You might get your chance to try out Sentõ.” I said to him. He pulled my sword from it’s scabbard and held it ready.

We started to run down the road when the birds started to fly overhead. I turned around and saw the first zombie emerge from the field and stumble into the ditch. It was followed by another, then two more, then ten more. the crows were swooping down, landing on the zombies’ shoulders and head and pulling off small bits of flesh and flying off before the zombie can grab it.

At least fifty had hobbled out and onto the road. They had changed direction and were headed for us. The dozens that were spilling out were just following the zombies directly in front of them. Which explains how such a large group can form, and also gives insight to their behavior.

I looked forward and saw more zombies walking out of the corn ahead of us. The zombies behind us were getting too dense to get through and the ones ahead of us was getting there too. We need to head west, into the other cornfield.

“Come on!” I yelled as I pointed North. We veered to the left. Addy sliced a path with her machete the best she could. We didn’t know what would be in there, but it beats the horde behind us.

“Go west about a hundred yards then turn right.” Addy commanded. “We’ll eventually reach the end of the cornfield. If we get separated, wait there until we all can meet up.”

“Okay.” Sammy acknowledged.

I was running as fast as I could, which was more difficult than usual in the thick crops. I turned my head back and saw that nothing was close behind. My body came to an abrupt halt and I collided with something solid. I hit the ground and it nearly knocked the wind out of me. I scanned my immediate surroundings to see what I hit. Of course, it was a zombie. It was on the ground next to me and it’s grey eyes found mine. I must look pretty tasty because it began to crawl toward me, bellowing an eerily human yell. I dropped Sammy’s knife when I hit the zombie and couldn’t find it. The zombie grabbed hold of my shin and pulled toward it’s twin rows or dark brown teeth. I kicked hard with my other foot and it let me go. I crawled backward to gain some distance.

Suddenly, it became very easy, and I realized all the corn stalks were bent down in a large circular clearing. I stood and turned around, Sammy and Addy were there, staring in silence. It took me a moment to process what I was seeing.

There were at least half a dozen smaller, circular mounds of corn stalks, sticks and foliage taking the shape of craters. In each of the mounds sat a female gorilla, most with a baby hanging on their back or suckling at their breast.

“What is this?” Sammy asked.

“It’s a nest.” I answered. “And we need to get the fuck out of here before—“

A familiar deafening roar cut me off mid-sentence. The male silverback we ran into minutes before burst into the clearing, and he was pissed.

“Seriously?” I muttered.

The silverback pounded his fists on the ground and made a series of unfriendly grunts. We not only imposed on his territory, but now we crashed his boning pad with shiny pointy things. I get it, I’d be upset too.

The giant gorilla was aggressively inching forward, but a wall of the undead materialized through the corn, shifting the animal’s focus onto them. They descended upon the creature. He tried to fight them all, some were thrown around like rag dolls, sailing ten feet in the air. In the end, which was only a few seconds later, the sheer number of the meat sacks subdued the beast and the silverback became another victim of the zombie apocalypse. The female gorillas grabbed their young and fled in terror, grunting loudly as they sprinted off.

The sight was unbelievable, and if it wasn’t for Addy punching me in the arm and telling us to run, I probably would have been eaten myself. We followed the females for another hundred yards before turning northeast. This time we stayed together, making sure not to lose sight of each other.

I kept my eyes forward. I didn’t want to defensive end myself into another zombie. The corn stalks kept smacking me in the face. I’ll never eat the shit again.

We finally reached an old path in the field and stopped to catch our breath. I planted my hands on my knees and huffed like the fatass that I am.

Twin lines where tires had beaten the dirt beyond the capability to support life ran north and south. It connected the road to an old farm house where a farmer presumably cultivated the corn that we were running in.

“This guy better have a fucking bazooka and a fucking helicopter.” I said. “And a fucking manual for that fucking helicopter so I can learn to fly it and get us to the motherfucking Alamo safe zone.”

I had to stop swearing for a second so I could breath.

“Fuck.” I added.

“Relax. A little cardio isn’t going to kill you.” Addy said.

“Yeah, well that kind might.” I responded.

We didn’t say another word. We just straightened up and moved past the path and into the corn again. No longer running. No longer in immediate danger. Addy was able to more effectively cut a path through the corn with her machete since we were at walking speed.

At least half an hour went by before we reached the end of the cornfield and emerged onto a vast green meadow. We must have been heading north northeast because the road we were on before was about a mile away.

“Do we get back on the road?” Sammy asked.

“I don’t think it’s necessary. We’ll have to go north anyway when we hit the old highway.” I answered.

We looked at each other, nodded in agreement, and continued walking.

Athens is a little over eight miles from the LSZ. You go east on sixty-six, which turns due north a few miles south of Athens, and goes right into the small town. We had been walking for probably an hour and a half. At our speed, the total trip should take about three hours. However, we just had a snag in our route. The last half hour of walking was slower since it was in a cornfield, but we might have made up that lost time by accidentally walking straight towards our destination. After we reach town, it’s just a matter of following Addy to this guy’s house. Assuming “a few miles” means three miles, it might be another half hour from there. So total, we have added probably seven hours to our whole trip. Not nearly as bad as I thought. I may have been a little overdramatic in my protest of going to Athens.

I’ll keep that to myself. I thought.

I maneuvered around beige discs of old cow shit. When I was living on a farm as a kid, and was actively throwing hygiene to the wind, I would take these naturally forming frisbees and send them sailing through the air to my sisters. I was a huge asshole back then. The memories were embarrassingly fond and very saddening at the same time.

“Oh god.” I whispered.

Are my sisters safe? Are they even alive? I thought.

Olathe, the town my older sister lives in, is right outside of Kansas City, and my younger sister is in Somewhere, California. Someday, I’ll need to accept that I’m probably the last remaining Becker kid. Not right now, though, I have to focus on getting to Athens. Eventually, however, I’ll have to come to terms with the fact all the people I grew up with are most likely dead and eating people.

“You okay, Miles?” Addy asked.

“What?” My concentration broke. “Yeah, sorry. I was zoning out.”

“Looked like you were trying to burn a hole in the ground.” Sammy added.

“So, Sammy,” I said, shifting the attention off of me. “What did you do before it all went down?”

Was that a dumb question? I thought.

“What did I do?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah.” I answered.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Homework?”

Yes, that was a dumb question. I thought again.

“High school.” I said in my most adulty, dad-voice. “I had a lot of fun in high school. Lots of good memories.” 

“That’s because you peaked in high school, Miles.” Addy said.

“That is true… bitch.” I responded, we both chuckled. She didn’t mean any harm, and neither did I.

“Your high school experience was better than mine.” He said.

“Why do you say that?”I asked.

“Did your high school girlfriend take a bite out of your mom’s face?”

I didn’t answer. I just looked forward.

“Yeah. High school fuckin’ sucked.” He said somberly.

We walked a few more steps in silence.

“Sorry, Sammy.” Addy said softly. He turned to her and forced a smile, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

Addy put one of her small arms across his shoulders and pulled him close to her, hugging him and letting him know that even after losing both parents to the dead, he was not alone. I gently pat his back and smiled at him. It was all we could do for him.

[josephkitchen0]

Breed Profile: Chèvre des Fossés

Breed: chèvre des Fossés (ditch goat) or chèvre des Talus (bank goat) or chèvre commune de l’Ouest (landrace goat of western France).

Origin: The chèvre des Fossés is local to Brittany, Normandy, and Pays de la Loire in northwest France. Earlier origins are unknown. The breed’s characteristics suggest descendence from cold-weather goats that accompanied the migration of early settlers across northern Europe 5,000 years ago.

History: In the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, poor rural families kept these small multi-purpose goats for milk, meat, and skin, as well as for managing local paths, banks, and ditches. They were known as the “poor man’s cow.”

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A family owned one or two females, which they tethered at the side of thoroughfares to browse the bushes by day. Goat-kids would accompany their dams free-range. Children would peg out the does on the way to school, or the grandmother would position them on a different patch each day. In the evening, the children or grandmother would collect the goats, and the grandmother would milk them to feed the baby or make milk pudding for the family. The kids were destined as meat for the Easter celebration. Bucks pulled carts bearing the father’s trade paraphernalia or even invalids. These goats were not recognized as a breed, although they were clearly distinctive to this region.

Chèvre des Fossés doe and kid

Chèvre des Fossés: A Rare Breed Almost Lost

The modernization of agriculture and shopping habits in the 1980s lead to marginalization of the chèvre des Fossés to the point that it was almost lost. Farmers sought to improve their stock with popular lines, which had become more readily available. Local breeds were disdained as old fashioned. The population of the local landrace diminished to only a few hundred head.

One farmer, Bruno Paysant, remembers how his family had a herd of 80 does and four or five bucks that they bred to produce kids to sell to local workers in the 1970s. They sold about 80 kids per year to be raised as meat for special occasions, as goat meat was half the price of lamb. Sales had diminished by 1985 with the opening of superstores.

Goats released during the 1970s and 1980s had formed a feral herd on the Normandy cliffs. They were discovered by a coastline conservancy in 1989. Meanwhile, Laurent Avon was seeking out local livestock breeds for conservation for Idele, the national livestock institute. In 1994, he came across a few remaining indigenous goats. He named them ��chèvres des fossés” when he described them to the region’s livestock conservancy, the Ecomusée du Pays de Rennes. These parties teamed up to search the area for remnants of landrace herds. They found two domestic crosses and one pure-bred female, and took them to the feral herd to mate. Later they found four unrelated females and four unrelated males of different purebred lines. These goats form the basis of the rebuilt population of the breed. Enthusiasts bred and developed herds to increase numbers. By the end of the 1990s, Idele and regional conservation bodies formed a technical committee to manage breeding and protection. Numbers increased rapidly from 62 females in 1999 to 515 in 2006.

Chèvre des Fossés buck

In 2004, the national ministry of agriculture recognized the breed. Pioneering breeders formed their own conservancy, the Association de Sauvegarde et de Promotion de la Chèvre des Fossés (ASP Chèvre des Fossés) in 2007. This organization defines the standard, seeks out bucks, maintains the herdbook, collects semen for a cryobank, connects breeders, and promotes products and business start-ups.

Conservation Status: Endangered (risk of extinction in the short term) — 900 head (700 females) in 110 holdings.

Biodiversity: Historically, local inbreeding has reduced variability. However, the Ecomusée has collected and preserved samples from different locations to introduce new strains. Idele collects genetic data and analyses genealogies. Currently offspring have an average of four known generations, but more thorough family tracing is desirable. Inbreeding persists (average 4.5 percent), but it is not as severe as in most small populations (45 percent of females are completely unrelated). For a small population, there is a good source of different lines. Breeders aim to improve genetic management.

The Ecomusée holds and manages the cryobank of frozen semen (133 samples per buck) of fourteen bucks from eleven different lines, of which nine are completely unrelated. It also keeps a herd of typical females. Staff use a variety of defrosted samples from the cryobank to fertilize the females. Since 2010, the Ecomusée has raised male offspring as potential breeders until they are 30 months old. At this age, bucks fully express their characteristics and breeding qualities. Good quality bucks make new stocks of semen for the cryobank and are available to breeders to improve biodiversity in the field.

Since 2016, the ASP issues certificates of origin for young animals, giving details of their family origins.

Chèvre des Fossés doe

Standard Description: Small/medium size, light boned, with long/medium-length coat, and thick undercoat in winter. The head is small and round with a straight nose and narrow, V-shaped ears, which remain pricked even at rest. Both sexes bear horns: the female’s are fine and parallel, while the male’s are large and impressive. Goat wattles are absent, while beards are standard.

Coloring: A variety of colors and patterns including white, cream, black, gray, and brown, often mixed or in patches.

Height to withers: Bucks 25–30 inches (65–75 cm).

Weight: Bucks 110–130 pounds (50–60 kg); does 65–90 pounds (30–40 kg).

Temperament: Docile, friendly, affectionate, and maternal, they respect fencing and housing.

Great Goats for Yard Maintenance and Making Goat Cheese

Popular Use: Originally multipurpose backyard goats, they are now mainly kept as goats for yard maintenance, or to preserve the breed. New developments include small-scale dual-purpose (meat and dairy), dairy pastoral farming, and organic production. Wethers are increasingly popular for maintenance of open spaces due to their ease of management, excellent capacity for brush clearance, and pleasant temperaments. Herds are still mainly owned by private individuals. However, there are several commercial dairies and professional land clearance businesses now using this breed.

Productivity: Milk yield is approximately 440–550 pounds (200–250 kg) per goat per year. This rich, creamy milk is perfect for making goat cheese, as it yields twice as many solids (5 ounces per pound/300 g per liter) compared to commercial dairy goat breeds.

Adaptability: Thrifty browsers, they thrive on rough and woody forage, and are thorough weed eating goats. They are hardy and well-adapted to the mild and damp oceanic climate. They live outdoors with rudimentary shelter all year round. Naturally resistant to foot-rot and internal parasites, they rarely incur veterinary bills in their local environment. Females are very fertile, and it is easy to detect estrus. They give birth without difficulty and are great mothers. Very few newborns die. Tough and resilient, they live long productive lives.

Chèvre des Fossés doe

It Isn’t Really Chèvre des Fossés If: there are black and tan markings typical of chamoisée French Alpine goats. Due to the popularity and wide-spread use of Alpine goats in France, cross-breeding is frequently found.

Owner Quote: “Chèvre des Fossés is a very sturdy breed. Their coat allows them to thrive in winter weather although I highly recommend getting them a shelter. They are very good mothers and give milk which is very rich in both protein and fat. I use them as an ‘organic mower and strimmer [vegetation trimmer]’ on our smallholding and they are very efficient. They are very easy to handle and one of their best assets: they do not jump over fences!” Pauline W., Mayenne, France.

Sources: Races de Bretagne, ASP Chèvre des Fossés, Danchin-Burge, C. and Duclos, D., 2009. Situation et perspectives d’avenir des races caprines à petits effectifs. Ethnozootechnie, 85, pp.10-16.

Originally published in the July/August 2018 issue of Goat Journal and regularly vetted for accuracy.

Presented by: Tamsin Cooper www.goatwriter.com.

Breed Profile: Chèvre des Fossés was originally posted by All About Chickens

[firstchapters-blog1]

Abram’s Children [Working Title]

Family. End of the World. Eden. 

https://www.wattpad.com/464101597-abrams-children-working-title-1

Debauchery-fuss.tumblr.com 

Dust hung, shimmering in the night fall. There was no disturbance to string up the dirt, but the feeling of a current whispered through the ground, hummed as the sun dwindled and scooped away the day. The light dragged, staining the ground with long, stretched shadows from small stones and bumps. The land was barren, it hurt with light; bleached by it.

A man slumped slightly and squinted at the waning light with harsh objection. It caused him to stop suddenly, and the load he carried on his back patted his shoulder with gentle fists.

“Daddy, do we put our coats on now?” he turned his head slightly, making out the young girls smile just in the corner of his eye. She glanced up quickly at the glowing sky, its burning fire sinking rapidly, before tapping him again for an answer.

“Alright,” he muttered and plucked her from his back. His shoulders screamed relief as he set her down on the dust. The girl wobbled slightly, hugging his leg for support, and giggled. He checked the sun again while she pushed about the sand with her stumped legs.

“Nathaniel?” the man muttered, turning his attention to a much older boy. Nathaniel, rooted apart from the pair, gave a small frown.

“We can’t stay in the dust,” he challenged, averting his eyes to catch the sun’s final minutes.

“It’ll be too cold to travel within minutes, we have to put up.” The father spoke low and sharply, making quick glances at the orange sky between breaths. He sighed as Nathaniel pulled the packages from his shoulders and began to pitch a tent. The father sat the young child down and began to wrap her bare arms and legs in a variety of cloths, until she was bundled up in a small ball. He was careful about her stumps, stretching multiple thick socks until they almost resembled feet. She giggled to him as he carried her to the tent.

“I’m all snuggly Daddy” she affirmed with a nod. He gave her a weak smile and tucked her under the blankets in the far corner. With a quick kiss to the forehead he left her to the night.

“Nathaniel, you’ll freeze to death in this, what are you doing?” His son had pulled a thick coat over his shoulders, now standing out as a darker blotch amongst the sudden ice. The cold pinched at every protruding part of his face, and still he squinted through the quickly storming dust at the last slithers of light fell away from the blue.

Nathaniel joined the man and the child in the tent, breathing heavily into his fingers to rub in some warmth. His father had already settled down for the night, curling in solace. The older boy waited, laying motionlessly, until his father’s breathing had settled into a deep pattern. He cast a glance at the zipper, watched it shiver in the cold, and pulled on his hat.

He crawled over to the girl and lay beside her, wrapping an arm over her small frame. She was, compared to every other hostility, correctly snuggly warm. He pressed his face into the blankets and cracked a private smile as she giggled. He took her hand, breathed some warmth into it, and rubbed the blue away.

“Tell me a story Nate?” she whispered. He propped up on his elbow slightly.

“Which one?”

“The one about the start of the world,” she hugged the arm that had been wrapped around her.

“Well, there was a big bang.” She almost laughed out in agreement, as if she could remember it herself. It triggered a familiar notion in him, a memory. His grandfather, when telling him the tale himself, had claimed to remember it. Drained white, and rebreathing his breaths, his father’s father had remembered the start of the world.

“There was a man outside our city, he is our witness, for he saw the crime. He stood outside the city, watching the fire and clouds it brought with it, and met with a warrior. The warrior is an honourable woman lost from battle, and is the second.  

‘I must go into the city,’ the man says to the warrior, for he has a wife and a child there, and he was beginning to miss them greatly.

The warrior denied, ‘there is nothing left but dust in our city, see how it burns?’”

He could feel the child becoming easy, restful finally.

“And he saw how it burnt, and after a very long time the dust that fell from the sky made our new world”  

Abram let the children sleep longer that morning, still wrapped together despite the sudden heat. He gazed at them both for a lengthy time, how their hair stuck wet to their faces from the condensation. Glossy innocence still fit Nathaniel well, as white and as worn as he was; he looked similar to the child he held, only then.

They were mostly different, the siblings, his son more ashen than he knew possible, inheriting his dark hair from a distant relative Abram had never known. The girl was a creamy brown all over, her features less harsh than her brothers. She smiled for the world, Nathaniel for nothing at all.

Abram left the tent quickly, and the heat took his breath.

The sun, although still low in the east, scorched. He soldiered towards a tarpaulin set up, feeling the heat like a thick duvet thrown over his back. It was physical, it dragged.

“Isla... 5 more minutes yeah?” he heard Nathaniel mutter from within the tent. Isla chirped something excitable and was cast outside.

She fumbled out, staggering about on her stumps like a toddler. For a second it disturbed Abram, more so when she gleamed.

“Morning Daddy!”

He scooped her up. “Morning baby! Hot today, isn’t it?”

She nodded, giving the horizon a long glance. There was nothing, not through the heat; the line between heaven and earth had been blurred in the sun.

“What’s that?” she pointed into the distance, squinting with unease. He followed her hand to the dark line of the horizon. A slow, constant track. It was nothing.

“I don’t see nothing.” Isla frowned and protested, but could not find the words to express what she could see.

She snapped round to Nathaniel, throwing her arms out at the distance. He gave his father a dubious glance, before staring long and hard into the horizon. Abram watched him squint, cup his eyes for shade, and lean in a little closer.

“You’re eyes are going,” he smirked at them both “old man.”

Abram looked out again, filling his vision with the black line that smeared the horizon. It was almost oscillating, a long continuous wave amongst the flat. Hard and dark. Abram let out a long breath.

“Mountain’s.”

They noticed the ground beginning to bump and curve long before the mountains came into full view. Patches of shrubbery appeared more often, straggling through the cracks, pining for the light. Abram suspected a forest, tropical and lush, flourishing meters below their feet. A maze of bunker life, just so out of the scorches touch.

Isla had no cap for her wonder; her small mind was as wide open as its limits would allow. With each step her brother carried her, she breathed in different air. The sun seemed friendly as they entered wetter land; a source of life.

They approached a stream unexpectedly. It burst to life out of the hilly grass, stretching a foot or so across in width, and jumped up over rocks and up ditches, only to fall again with a sudden crash that fell into fuelling a few currents. Skittering the surface were insects, of some sort anyway, whose feet grazed the water so minutely. Nathaniel sat down beside them, swinging Isla into his lap, and pointed out all the things he knew about water life.

“There’s no fish, Dad”

Abram knelt beside the water, pulled out a small vial from his inner coat pocket, and pulled of the cork with his teeth. He collected an inch of the stream and held it up to the light as it reacted with the inner lining of the container. It was dormant for a brief moment, before fizzing and turning a ghastly shade of orange. He scowled and poured the liquid back into the stream; now deep and viscose.

“Kids,” Abram studied the insects carefully, “don’t touch the water.”

They walked along the stream, analysing the distance of crossing. Nathaniel grunted in dismay as the stream began to widen, and his father called for them to retrace their steps.

“Which one is in the water?” Isla had wrapped her arms round her brother’s neck, clinging to safety in her practised way. He thought for a quick second.

“Orange means Cobalt,” he chirped, looking over at his Father. The man made no move to confirm or deny, and instead wondered vacantly at his own feet. Nathaniel scowled again.

“It’s not even dangerous,” he spat. He turned his head to her, and she gave him a curious tilt of the head. He broke his frown with a small smile, patted her hands, and followed his father down their new trail.

“You gonna be a scientist Isla, one day, I know so,”

He’d heard the word before, some distance from the gushing, toxic stream where they then tread. Isla giggled at his bright tone over his strange words, waved a hand in the air, and asked him what in the world he meant.

“It’s a person who asks questions all the time, is all.”

The trio stopped briefly to gaze at a singular, rotten post that had been hammered deep into the opposite side of the river, some meters away from the bed. It reached just out the bush, perhaps as high and as thick as a sapling, but perfectly square. Abram did not give an explanation, nor a single suggestion that it was of any significance, and led them on. They kicked further up the hillside, a little more sluggish than before, until the stream ran down and deep into a valley. Nathaniel followed it with his eyes, to the very base of the hill.

Squatting there beside the water, like a creature straining to drown in the narrow thing, were a collection of tall, scorched posts.

They formed a square, almost, and dark ash buried the ground surrounding them. Bricks were lodged in between a few posts, bent outwards and cracking, and weeds crawled through each gap so thickly one could mistake them for foliage. They skirted and weaved through the posts, each positioned barely a few meters from each other, and stared upwards at them in awe. His father did not breathe until they were far past.

The flowers and grass appeared under their feet once again, after they had fully abandoned the scorched ground, but their sparked nerves had not fully passed before a cluster of posts confronted them again.

The further along the riverbed they ventured, and Abram was in no spirt to bargain a retreat with his son, the more frequent the post sightings became. Nathaniel had not noticed, at least not until Isla whispered a form of a question to him, that they had become immersed in a strange valley of black, charred posts and beams until they were amongst the middle of it.

They kept straight, following the main pathway through the dead forest. They shuffled through dust, sometimes as deep as their ankles, and kept their gazes on the built up forest that rolled up above the hills. The wind did not rattle the beams, no creatures nor birds nor insect made nest there. The dust muffled their footsteps, kept their lungs closed, and filled where all noise could go.

The beams became structures; huge squares connecting to other squares. Doorframes, Nathaniel knew about those, stood to hold together the crumbling walls. Everything that remained was charred black; small plants grew from every crack. It stretched as far as they could look, over the horizon, along the mountains. There was no system for the structures, no reason, they were just.

Isla kept her chin tucked on Nathaniel’s shoulder, silent, and picked at the fingers she half locked together around his neck. It was cold.

No one could guess how long they had been in the barren forest when they heard the noise. A low hum vibrated from inside one of the more broken structures, filled with a prickly bush. Nathaniel stopped, shuddered when his father followed suit.

The noise continued, low and threatening, and then a high pitched squeal. Abram leaped in front of the children, a hunting knife firmly in his grasp, and made a wide legged tiptoe towards the wall. Nathaniel followed, hushing his sisters nervous whisper, and over his shoulder gazed upon a pair of large, golden eyes.

The rest was fur, shapeless fur. It met at a nose and a black, wet mouth, and its ears stuck back. It was as big as him, but not something his father couldn’t wrestle and spear if it willed him too. It sat half in the bush, scraping its front paws in the dust. They were thin and matted.

The creature muttered and whined; retreating into the metal cove it had made home. It barred it's teeth, but Nathaniel could see even from his distance that it would not pounce. He swung Isla round and held her on his waist, pointing out the funny features of the funny thing. She giggled, albeit nervously.

It gave up suddenly. Its eyes rolled, bloodshot, and chest hummed like a woodpecker. Yellow drool, resembling puss from a badly infected boil, collected on the floor underneath its chin. Abram relaxed a little.

“It’s sick. Dying.”

He turned away to continue, but Nathaniel stood rooted, transfixed by the thing. It grovelled, rubbed its aching face along the ground, rubbed its ears with its bitten out paws. The creature hacked out a gentle stream of blood into the dust, snorted it back in with its misguided breathing, and coughed again.

“You should kill it Dad...”

Abram shook his head; glared. He turned around and continued walking. Nathaniel huffed and caught him up.

“Come on, it’s cruel to leave it like that!” Nathaniel threw his hands up in the air. Abram halted with abruptness, pointed his finger, and gave his son a quiet, wide eyed denial. Nathaniel sunk back, scowling, and figured him a coward.

[inthenameofrosesiwillpunishyou]

Adventure

I’ve lived in or visited multiple different states. I’ve enjoyed the sights, sounds, and smells of many different environments and eco-systems. I now live in one of the most beautiful states in America, Colorado. I haven’t done much adventuring, but I will soon.

I can’t say I have a favorite environment. I’ve stumbled across magical woods, trudged through mysterious swamps, and got lost in wild forests. I can however share some of my best memories of places that meant a lot to me.

I barely remember the couple years I lived in Florida, the state I was born in. I do have a memory of being very young and small. I was outside and we lived in an area surrounded by a bunch of Redwoods(I think that’s what they were calling but I was very young). I can almost vividly hearing birds chirping and looking up to see nothing but trees taller than any I had ever seen. The ground was super soft. not from grass but from dirt and leaves that had turned brown. This is my youngest memory. I remember feeling so tiny compared to these trees. I was completely awestruck. Looking back on it now I’m sure they weren’t half as big as I remember being a little over 2 ft tall, but the magic of the moment will stick with me, I hope, for many years.

I grew up for the most part in three different states. Louisiana, Minnesota, and Arkansas. Louisiana is the state I claim as my home state. I’m not a big fan of Florida and I barely lived there. Louisiana is an all around mysterious and eery state, but not in a bad way, like in a, using this word again, magical way. I am a witch by birth, when I was younger I did not know this because I didn’t know my father very well nor did I ever see him, but apart of me also sensed something...different or special about me. I was always drawn to nature and seemed the thrive when in it. So I classify myself as a nature witch.

Louisiana holds some of my worst and best memories. My great grandparents, and grandparents were farmers. Not livestock, just fruits and vegetables. One of my fondest memories, I’m tearing up remembering it, was being in the field with my great grandfather. I was in kindergarten at the time. I can still feel his hand rustling my hair. He and my grandmother taught me so much about gardening. We grew strawberries, corn, greens, cabbage, blueberries, blackberries, watermelon, potatoes, bell peppers, carrots, string green beans, there was a fig tree, peach tree, and I do believe an apple tree. I would spend hours in the field watering, fertilizing, weeding, I even talked to the plants. Finally when harvesting time came it was like winning an award. Nothing, and I mean nothing tastes better to me than homegrown strawberries, watermelon, and corn straight out of the field (rinsed under the house of course). The smells I remember make my mouth water. I never wore shoes when I was younger and if I did it was sneakers to school and flipflops at home. I loved feeling the grass in between my toes at my great grandparents. I lived with my grandparents 2 minutes up the dirt road. I raced my cousins so many times barefoot running up and down that road. It truly makes me nostalgic writing this. My grandmother and my great grandfather, and occasionally one of my great uncles, would harvest the fruit and vegetables. While me, my grandmother, and great grandmother would preserve the harvest. We made jam that was so damn good. My grandmother would have my climb the fig tree while she picked the ones closer to the ground. We would talk for hours and it was so much fun. I truly miss it. In my grandparents driveway is a Magnolia tree and a tree I don’t remember the name of, but it grows beautiful pink flowers. At the right time of the year the petals would begin to fall and I would pretend I was one of those girls in the anime I sneakily stayed up late to watch. It was so beautiful I would often sit in the gazebo placed slightly to the side of the trees and just watch the wind blow the flowers. I used to get the ones off the ground and decorate the gazebo with them. There is a ditch at my great grandparents right before the mail box. So they had a bridge with one of those crisscross pattern archways where my great grandmothers roses grew. Both of my great grandparents have passed away. I think about them everyday and the lessons they taught me growing up. I often think about watching my great grandmother draw her butterflies, she used glitter gel pens and they always turned out so gorgeous. My great grandfather used to give me dum dums and I would sit in his lap on the porch swing while he dipped and told me stories about the war, or meeting my great grandmother, or when my grandma and her SIX brothers (she being the only girl and the oldest) were young and played in the same yard I did. Along the fence that went down the road to the bus stop, wild honeysuckle grew. When I would walk home from the bus stop, with or without my cousins, we would often grab a couple to suck on. Louisiana is beautiful full of swamps, creatures, and an amazing culture that is worth visiting.

Minnesota was a little different. Or a lot different really. I saw snow for the first time there. I lived with my Aunt and her now ex husband. We had a nice townhouse in a rural area. Behind out house was a small, and not very thick treeline I treated like my own personal forest. Behind that small little forest was a huge open field I never felt like exploring, not to mention I would get in so much trouble for going that far out. I would run through those woods with my next door neighbor and/or cousins and build booby traps and little huts. To the left of our back yard was a small patch where they grew bell peppers, and peppers. When the left overs would die close to winter it had such a pungent smell. I’ve never smelled anything like it. It wasn’t bad per say, I actually was very fond of it. It would begin around Halloween time. I would rake the leaves to put into those big, orange, pumpkin yard bags they have during Autumn. I loved raking the garden remains because it smelled so good. I had to be super careful about rubbing my eyes or mouth though. The peppers were still spicy dead or not and the spiciness seemed to infest the whole garden. Halloween was great in that neighborhood. EVERY house participated. My Aunt and her husband would go all out and turn our garage into a super creepy scene that scared even teenagers. I loved driving through the neighborhood and seeing all the decorations, same went for Christmas. The snow was beautiful, but there was always so much. I loved it though. It didn’t stop me from going outside. I would spend around 2 hours tops at a time outside because my aunt is very protective and didn’t want me to get frostbit or sick. I often built snowmen and sometimes she would come out and help me. After playing outside I would come in and she always had hot coco waiting for me. There would be a bowl of Halloween candy on the dining room table which I would pick whichever chocolate I was in the mood for that day and drop it in my coco. I wasn’t in much wild nature besides at my cousins house. There were a couple duck ponds that were fun to play around even if we were told not to. Minnesota is so very pretty. The snowfall is so mystical, you would almost expect faeries to be fluttering around.

Arkansas is the state I just moved from. I have most of my worst memories ever in this state. I can’t complain though because, in some areas, its a truly beautiful state. At some point after turning 18 I met a cousin of mine and his wife. They introduced me to crystal mining and let me co-own their shop with them which they sold jewelry with crystals attached and crystals just by them self. Crystal mining is an amazing experience. It is so rewarding digging through dirt and mud and bugs to come across a beautiful little druzzy(term they used to describe crystals with no particular name). If it could still be my career, it would. It was an amazing experience and I would go back to crystal mining in a heart beat, but in my current location. I lived in an apartment underneath my landlords who happened to be a close friend of mine’s parents. They helped me learn a lot about myself and taught me anything I asked to be taught. The lived on top of a cliff, if you followed the concrete to the gazebo you would see the small path that led to the end of the cliff. Below was a lake. I spent so many mornings there drinking coffee or tea thinking, and meditating. My 20 birthday was spent with two people I hold very close to me on that cliff casting a fire spell to bring me luck for the next year of my life. In Arkansas I found many beautiful little hiding spots, because that’s mainly what I was looking for. Somewhere to hide, to get away for a little while. I met and married my husband in this tourist town that we lived in after we were married, I moved into his apartment. Often after 10 or 11 we would walk around downtown for exercise, Pokemon Go hunting, or just to go and smoke and get out of the house. It was one of the most magical places I had ever had the pleasure of enjoying. Night time was the best time, the spirits came out to play, and obviously there was a LOT less people. The town we inhabited happened to be a big Wicca/Pagan community and was full of hippies. So the energy was so much fun to feed off of. My most favorite, and last I’m going to share, memory is of this place my brother and his family, we have different dads, went swimming, help parties, and barbecued at called the blue hole. Besides having to watch for snakes, watch the current, and get used to the cold it was SO BEAUTIFUL. My brother’s dad always says “They don’t call it the blue hole because the waters always blue, its because no matter how hot it is that water is going to turn your lips blue!” Yes, the water was always this magical light blue color, and yes it was freezing cold no matter how hot it was. It is a circular body of water that derives from a fresh spring. There is a wall of cliff. which is the primary way people get into the water. It’s too cold to just wade in slowly so mainly everyone would dive in off the cliff side. People built a rope swing, and even installed a diving board. It’s a beautiful area I would advise visiting.

Other places I’ve visited include Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas, Iowa, New Mexico, Arizona, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, North and South Dakota, North Carolina, South Carolina, Kentucky, Tennessee,  West Virginia, Virginia, Missouri, Nebraska, and Wyoming. 

I would advise you, no matter what age, race, ethnicity, culture, sex, social class, etc to get out there and explore. Adventure. Learn this country or other countries. There is a beautiful world out there waiting for you to explore it!