ESCHATON

 

Thunder and lightning SMASH down upon this small asset-stripped Texan farming community, shaking the ancient wooden timbers (what?) of the Compound. Like no kidding, a ferocious storm, turning night into day with all the fury of an electric universe.

Yes indeed, the climate's changed with elemental, eschatological fury. And so we stand, undaunted, on the rain lashed porch, daring our adversary to do its worst. 

Seriously, this storm's pretty crazy, be safe out there.

Apocalypse,

LSP

Good Church

 

What good church this morning. That is all,

LSP

Rivers of Texas

 

We had a ranch on the Red River, no more alas, but I get to fish the mighty Brazos and I love that.

All hail Texas,

LSP

STEAM POWER

 

You may have forgotten about Traction Engines, which are large steam driven tractors invented in the 1850s and used, in the UK, into the 1950s. But if we've forgotten these colorful "road locomotives," rural England hasn't. Team LSP reports, from somewhere in England:

"I'm at a Traction Engine Rally, in a beer tent, listening to Country and Western. Guess what, there's not a single rainbow in sight. But there's hundreds of engines.

"The rally hadn't been held for three years because of the scamdemic but now it's back. There were 24 vintage fire engines alone, and a steam car, a Stanley Steamer."

Being a conscientious editor, I gazed in awe at photos of land leviathan relics of the industrial revolution and asked for further detail, to add color to the story. "Send photo of beer tent, thx," and got a Stanley Steamer instead, "Didn't think you'd want a photo of the beer tent. My bad." 

Mutinous correspondents aside, the Stanley Steamer was an American car, with regular models capable of 75 mph. A Stanley even set the world land speed record in 1906, clocking 150 mph before it crashed at Daytona. And what can we say? Steam cars are awesome, I want one.

Who knows, perhaps they'll suddenly become an imperative when gas becomes totally unaffordable for all but the very rich who rule us. And isn't America famous for its machine shops?

Your Pal,

LSP

Just Out in The Field

 

Yes, this is Texas under a glowering sky. Note Cow Barn.

And tractor. I don't know why but Kubotas rule here.

A Shop.

I call this installation "Fence."

We recouped after a hard morning's work, "Wish you'd buy this place, brother, make for a heckuvva range. Put up a big berm by the tanks and off we go." My friend thought about this for perhaps a second as we took it easy on the side of his rig, "Dam! That's what I've been thinking about, berm and boom, shoot out to 450 yards." I agreed, "Right, put up a shooting tower back in the deal and have at it."

A moment of reflective silence and ES went ballistic, "Get going with a .50. But what if the round skips the berm and hits an 18 wheeler on I35?" I thought about it, a .50 BMG lofting out of the target area to power through an engine block on a highway a mile off.

Look, The Climate Changed!

"Utter disaster, my friend," and he agreed, "My wife told me I couldn't buy it, dammit. Dude, stop talking in case I do." And that was that, "Drive safe." I file this exciting story under guns and country life in Texas.

Shoot straight,

LSP

Country Sale Barn #2

 

I tell you, punters, never a dull moment in LSPland. One minute it's off-world supermodels in Paris and the next you're gazing at an '08 Kubota, waiting for a 20 yard dumpster and getting ready for a  country barn sale.

Yes. Tools, we sell 'em by the box, then there's anchors, welding tables, tool boxes, PVC fittings, jacks, literal buckets full of shovels, axes and picks. To say nothing of scaffold, dog pens (x5), steel pipe. tin by the yard, copper pipe, power tools and on and on.  Roll up, roll up my friends.

But there's a lot of trash, hence the dumpster which was supposed to arrive at 11 am but didn't, more like 4. But hey, it got there and Jose, with a rambunctious flash of gold dentistry lowered the grey metal beast into position, "Sound like thunder!" And so it did. 

Mission accomplished, he left for Waco and left me to close up shop as mighty hawks swooped down on the fields in search of prey. Ferocious predators! Watch them glide and dive with concentrated ferocity.

Then back to the Compound, where Blue was busy sleeping and all was well with the world. Tomorrow? We shall fill that dumpster.

Your Old Country Sale Barn Pal,

LSP

PS. There's great excitement, rightly, in the country about this sale and you're all invited. It's this weekend, Saturday-Sunday. But when you turn up bear in mind, cash on the nail, no "Visa." But people using the code "LSP" get a special 10% discount. Value, eh?

Morning

Behold early morning Texas. Maybe you think the Lone Star State will roll over and become some kind of Swedish Leftist paradise. What a great idea, and lookout Beto, and think again.

What's a "Beto" you ask? Something between a Killery and a Kasich. Yum, what a delicious sandwich. Or perhaps you say "how revolting." That aside...

 

Arduus Ad Solem,

LSP

Country Life

 

We were standing in a field, in the country. "Dam, LSP, with these clowns in charge anything could happen." Thus spoke my friend, a Master Plumber, and I agreed, "Ain't that the truth. Looks to me like the cheese slid off the cracker."

He didn't argue, "Slid off and fixin' to hit the ground." Spit, "Point being, I don't trust banks, 'specially with this $600 IRS bullsh*t. Don't want no part of that." Yes, and we gazed at the big Texan horizon and a pile of old T posts laying there nonchalantly in the sun while time slowed down.

"Thing is," I offered, remembering a bloodied monkey, "Put the cash in a safe and wake up and find USD$'s worth 2 Cents. That's great until it's not." My friend stared aggressively at a rusting pile of scrap iron, laying there under the glaring October sun, "I like the safe strategy, but there is that."

Another pause and a fat dove flew over, "Boom!" we went in tandem, airgunning cerulean, "If we were loaded up that'd be two misses, or maybe four dove. Limit out." My pal grinned through his Oakleys, "Gotta invest in something man, park that cash. Silver?"

My mind went back to a roll-on, a great weight of sterling and a ferocious simian, "I know all about that." Meanwhile, lazy birds flew overhead in the absence of flak and I thought fiduciary, "So where you gonna put that money, fella? How about DOGE$?"

A nod towards an horizon not long tamed, "I got that dog coin, and plenty of him. Not fixing to sell. Unloading Bit and Ether tho. Sell those coins. And it's all good as long we got phones."

"And internet?"

"Yes."

We thought about this and then wisdom opened the door, "You know the old country saying?" My friend turned his head, "What?" I replied, "They ain't making anymore land." Minds met as one, exactly. 

I file this exciting and true post under "country life" and "anything else I care to think about." Also under "concealed carry." Better safe than sorry, what?

Mind how you go,

LSP

Patrolling The Aposcalypse

 

Eschaton

One of the things about the Apocalypse is that it's searingly hot. Imagine a preheating oven and in its midst are tiny fragments  of combustible dust, super dry, ready to ignite. No kidding, Texas in mid-September is like an air bomb about to go off. Terrifying.

It didn't fortunately, but dove did explode out of the trees as I patrolled their welcome shade. A few years back I thought nothing of walking the treelines in 100+* and scaring up dove, snapshot!, and you never know, sometimes the shot would even connect. Let's see those poppers.

an old fraud

These days an armed stroll in the oven doesn't have quite the same appeal, but the excitement of wingshooting does. Message to market? Go for a walkabout with a #20, shoot some fliers, hopefully, then set up along the flight path with some mojos and have at it.

Then put those morsels of apocalyptic goodness into cream-cheese-filled jalapenos, wrap the beasts in bacon and off you go, to Valhalla and beyond. But word to the wise.

chicom rubbish

Keep your finger off the trigger till you're ready to shoot.

Eschaton,

LSP

Shack Down

 

There it was on the corner of Crack and Meth, a shack. I used to drive by the shack and point it out to the Cadet, "Play your cards right, son, and you too could live there." But not anymore, the shack has gone, reduced to a small pile of inconsequential debris in this once prosperous farming community.

And it was prosperous, complete with shops, businesses and 20,000 people. All on a walkable, human scale too. You know the score or perhaps you've read about it, being able to walk around your town saying hello to friends and avoiding enemies, perhaps shooting the latter in this instance. Hey, it was the frontier.

Then the asset-strippers took over, King Cotton moved overseas and the town hollowed out as the socio/psychopaths in charge of the way we live now decided to turn our towns and cities into roads. What would you rather live in, a city or a road? Asked no one, not waiting for an answer.

Net result? Shacks, which are returning to nature. Imagine, if you can, how that'll play out in our vast suburbs over the course of the next few decades. Think Detroit on a continental scale. But maybe there's hope, maybe we'll turn this thing around and start living, approximately, as we should.

Who knows. Next time you drive into any one of our Mega Cities, look at the landscape to either side of the highway and ask, "Could we do any better? Or is there some kind of law that says, 'No, you have to create the ugliest possible environment to live in, otherwise you won't be so rich.'"

Demonic, eh? In the meanwhile, I thank  God I'm in the country, shacks and all.

Cheers,

LSP

Out And About

Redivivus

 

Blue needed a flea pill and I needed to go to the range for remedial off-hand rifle practice. But how could two such very different goals meet as one? Easy, the vet's on the way to the range. So, yummy pill administered, off we went to the shooting gallery. Straight shot, as it were.

To be honest, I hadn't been there in some time, mostly because of the ammo shortage and because I've been able to shoot at JF's setup, which is far more awesome. Still, I like this little 100 yard shoot 'em up. Just you, the guns and the big Texan sky.

A Happy Blue

Blue liked it too, big time, and grinned away as I let a couple of steel turkeys know who was boss with a gas gun, aka deadly assault rifle. Take that, steel enemy. Then, after searching the shooting house for precious brass, we headed back to the Compound via a dolla cheeseburger at McDonalds. Yum, if nothing like a hamburger.

Big Sky. Note Battered Steel

That last bit's tradition. Love it, like it, scorn it, whatever, it's just the way it is. And I tell you this, readers, it felt good to get out in the clean country air of Texas and shoot. Blue agreed, as you can see.

Gun rights,

LSP

Well Shoot

One of the things about this popular mind blog is that it's supposed to be about guns and country life, as well as anything else I care to think of. Fine, so where's the guns, so-called LSP? Good question, and to put the record straight I drove out to a churchman's ranch to burn some powder.

Some Guns

We started off slinging skeet and I wanted to see if the venerable Mossberg Ultimag was working, it'd had extraction issues. But hey, the gun worked flawlessly, knocking orange adversaries out of the sky like a good 'un. 

Next up, an over and under 12 made in Brazil under license by Stoeger, an unshot gift from a kind churchperson. Would it work? Magnum mysterium. It did, smoking clays with uncanny authority. Then on to a CZ 20 SxS. Great little gun and... I could've shot better. Obviously need some remedial 20 action.

Note 5 shot minute of Copenhagen group. Nice.

Next up, another unshot rifle, a Marlin .22 WMR. How would that perform under the big Texan sky, did its previous owner zero the beast in, and at what range? Was the rimfire weapon on? Turns out it was, with the best group hitting steel at 100 yards sub moa. Nice, especially with the Marlin's bizarrely stiff trigger. Whatev, compensate, and we took the target out to 200 yards, just for kix.

Yes, Freedom. #2A

Because awesome ballistic science, something like an 8" drop was on the cards, so I held at that and, after a few test shots got in the zone, putting rounds into center mass within minute of Copenhagen. Result. Then it was time to ride out on the quads.

What's This? A Tower!

First up, an inspection of a new-built ranch house. Note this, and note it well, all you house builders. This home wisely has a tower, which is awesome. Tour over, we roared about in a Polaris kind of way around the fields and trails of bucolic Texas. 

Look at this beautiful view from a TOWER.

What a lot of fun, and I really want to thank CR for a great day out. Powerful medicine. 

Shoot on,

LSP

Gone Fishing

 

A beautiful, balmy, spring day in Texas. So what to do? Go fishing, and that's exactly what happened. I drove off to Soldiers' Bluff on Lake Whitney and cast out into the depths. Would the piscine adversary bite?

Hard to tell, the climate's been strange lately, thanks to its Czar, Wooden Top, and this confuses the fish, so anything was possible. To be honest, I wasn't expecting much. But what am I saying? How much more do you want than an early afternoon under the free Texan sky?

As it was, I caught a drum and a couple of perch. Not bad, and all good action on a light rod. Then it was back to the Compound to recoup before jukebox action and tracking the Shiba on various charts. Stay tuned and regardless, a good day.

Fish on,

LSP

Country Life in Texas

Country life in Texas. What's it like, so called LSP? Well I'll tell you, it's much like any other sort of life except that people are mostly friendly, you don't have to sit in traffic on some kind of hideous commute, and it's searing hot, like a preheating oven. That's Texas for you.

But what's it really like? Foreigners, Germans, say, bless 'em, think of rural Texas as some kind of Wild West cowboy free for all, which is understandable because of the yeehaw PR. But the reality? I'd describe it as hard. 

A Typical Texas Porch Scene -- Get a Haircut, Fool

And no wonder. The climate's a fierce 100*++ for 6 months of the year and the people who live under it, just a step removed from the pioneers who settled this place, are accordingly tough. Country Texas isn't about safe spaces, onesies and the appalling New York Times.

That in mind, country Texans almost always tend to be more polite, friendly, considerate and, per England, sussed, than their urban cousins. They're also smart and haven't bought into our modern myths.

Remember the Alamo not the hideous Riverwalk

Viz. Removing statues of Confederate Generals will make persons of color flourish and prosper, paying a Climate Tax will cool the sun, gender's a construct, and getting rid of all your guns will make you safe. 

Did I say Frontier Spirit? There's that too.

God bless,

LSP

Sorry Commies, You Lose

Yesterday was Labor Day and the fish were staging a "go-slow" in solidarity with their Marxist comrades, the Dove. But one battle lost doesn't mean a war over, far from it.

Today we turned the tables on aquatic bolshevism, luring the scaly soviets out of their revolutionary committees with live worms, spinners and topwater lures.

That's right, a Heddon Tiny Torpedo which the voracious little bass couldn't resist. It'd been a while since I used one and they demand a bit of patience, the temptation being to try and set the hook as soon as the fish strikes. Big mistake, you'll snatch the lure out of the piscine communist's mouth.

Instead, let the aggressive revolutionary surge onto the lure, take it down into the proletarian depths, apply pressure and then reel the little commie in. Easy to say, hard to do because it goes against the quick and sudden hookset mentality that goes with a subsurface strike.

Still, I got in the way of it, casting off, letting the lure rest and then twitching it in to various rhythms. Speaking of which, fishing wisdom recommends you do your best to keep the lure as stationary as possible as you twitch it about. This apparently enrages the predatory nihilist bass who then launch themselves at their bourgeois oppressor.

Well it takes a lot of patience, so I emulated the method while changing it up with more aggressive retrieves and caught a lot of fish. They weren't huge but a fish is a fish and even a small bass striking topwater's a lot of fun. Great result.

Market-driven capitalism restored and the Red Menace put back in its box, I blessed a herd of horses and a barn. Then headed back to the Compound.

God bless,

LSP