April 27th, 2013

wayside cross

Sure as shootin'

I went over to Wilderstead Thursday afternoon to look at where the guy crashed through my upper pasture fence. Looked like he took quite a ride over the edge and down to where he stopped. Blew all his tires out, apparently. As soon as the crash report is posted online, I'll be having a little talk with his insurance company. The damage is minimal, but it's in an awkward place and stringing barbed wire is not my idea of fun, so I'll just let him pay for having someone do it for me.

I slept in nicely on Friday morning. It was chilly. I finally got moving and made some excellent progress on my lower retaining wall. Afterwards, I made some supper and relaxed. Then, I thought I’d do a little target shooting while I still had the light. So I set up three 2-inch targets on a woodpile about 50-60 feet away, and proceeded to take two shots at each target with a 12-gauge shotgun. I used an Upland Game load with eight shot per shell (e.g., for pheasant -- not that I have any plans to shoot pheasant or anything else, but they were the cheapest shells I could buy).

After taking my six shots, I retrieved my targets. I put thirteen shot in the first target, eleven in the second target (three of which were in the black diamond in the center), and six in the third target. Must have been getting tired or impatient with that third target, I thought. Still, I’m pretty pleased with that shooting.

Then I put a couple of empty pop cans on the woodpile and decided to take one shot at each. They were far enough apart so that the shot from one shell wouldn’t interfere with the other target, I thought. The first can fell over with five entry holes (and five neat little exit holes) in the can. Five out of eight’s not bad, I thought. But the second target beat me. There were twelve entry holes (and twelve exit holes) in the doggone thing. Now, I'm good, but I don't know how you can be that good, to put twelve holes in a can with only eight shot.

It’s a mystery.

I took a little walk on the further shore of the Pishon today, working with sickle and bow saw to make sure the trail was clear all the way from the main creek crossing to the back fence. I have several neat little campsites along the creek, each of which would suit a small crew or patrol. It would be fun to have some kids out to camp, using the cabin as a headquarters site.

I suppose next I need to get a helper and patch fence and post new signage along my perimeter. Deanne said there were some breaches and downed signs along the boundary line. Always something to do. Still, as the song says,
There's nothin' like a day in the woods,
Workin' the way an honest man should,
And at night with all the stars in the sky,
The Milky Way'll make a grown man cry.

-- "The Tooth of Time's Been Chewin' on Me"
his friend Jesus

Then shall come to pass the saying

After supper this evening I drove out to the airport. The District Camporee is there this weekend, and I'm supposed to do chapel for them in the morning before our own service at church. I wanted to make sure I knew how to get into the place and where we were going to worship in the morning.

The Scouts have been doing Aviation Merit Badge all weekend. It's been quite fun and they've learned a lot. Meanwhile, I've been wracking my brains on how to include the theme in the worship service. Now, sometimes worship gets itself organized by inspiration, but most of the time I have to work at it. As I left the airport this evening, an old RAF ditty was running through my head, which I don't think you'll find in many hymnals.
The Bells of Hell go ting-a-ling-a-ling
For you but not for me:
For me the angels sing-a-ling-a-ling,
They've got the goods for me.

Oh! Death, where is thy sting-a-ling-a-ling?
Oh! Grave, thy victory?
The Bells of Hell go ting-a-ling-a-ling
For you but not for me.
This service is going to take a little more work, I'm guessing.