Rural Ministry #1

For some clergypersons, rural ministry is all about Morris dancers, medieval churches and these picture-postcard villages. 

You get cottages.

And big old houses.

But make sure you have a sturdy vehicle, the roads can be a bit primitive.

Also, where I live, you find abandoned hair extensions in the gutter. Well, it beats needles, I guess.

Blue Apocalypse killed a neighbor's chicken yesterday. I'm not sure what to make of that, but the neighbors, Maria and Pedro, don't care. It was one of many and they ate it.

I'm also thinking that open carry might not be a bad idea for when you take the dog for a walk.

Cheers,

LSP

Country Magic

Thanks to Global Warming Climate Change (GWCC) it was cold and wet this morning, so I drove to West in search of "Valu Paks" of .22LR and a haircut. The barber was closed, along with most of the town, but the rumored .22 was there. Good result.

Downtown West

I took some time to wander around because I like West and its interesting Czech history. I understand some people still speak the language but regardless, the town's seen better days.

West Has Seen Better Days

Maybe the place will find a new source of income and prosperity, then again, maybe it'll simply continue its slow slide into decay and ruin. Like Detroit, but in rural Texas. Struck by that, I headed back along I35 and stopped at my town's Outlet Mall. 

Dead and Dying Outlet Mall

This was opened in the 1980s, promising wealth and jobs. Today it's mostly empty; here's a review, off of Yelp:

What I have to say about this place is probably the same that I can say about Afghanistan: bombed out and depleted. Like another reviewer mentioned, the only thing that makes this location complete is tumbleweeds blowing across the parking lot.

I took some pictures because I like to record the fall of what passes for our civilization, and was stopped by "Security." 

Mall Security Guarding the Empty Shops

Our conversation went like this:

"You can't take pictures here! No."

"Why not?"

"Well... I'm not rightly sure, sir, but no pictures allowed."

"Look, they're not even real pictures, they're digital."

"Maybe they'll hurt the buildings, sir. I been working here ten years."

"That's a very long time! And it's been a real pleasure to meet you. God bless."

"You too, sir!"

I liked the old man and off he went in his blue golf cart into the empty car park of the empty mall. I didn't ask why or how the pictures would hurt the buildings. 

That was obviously magic, country magic.

God bless,

LSP

Country Life Dystopia I

Respect

This so-called "blog" is supposed to be about country life, instead of not-so-sly digs against the Axis of Gayness and its willing dupe ally, the Episcopal Church. So here's some pictures of country life, albeit when the cash runs out. See if you can guess/know where it is.

My Great Grandfather used to enjoy this resort, especially for its catfish. We owned a ranch near here; it was sold in the '70s. For Pennies in the Pound, my friends.

Rostrum

I remember collecting arrowheads, when I was a child. They were probably put there, to be discovered. 

Catfish

For some reason the resort lost traction and shut down, my Great Granddaddy's catfish restaurant with it. But it's still there, including the pool, which looks sinister and dangerous. It probably is. My Great Grandfather looked right Cherokee (location hint); he blamed most disasters on the godless Sov-Cubans.

Moral of the story; it's all fun and games till the cash runs out. After that? Look out.

We have three confirmations tomorrow. Pleased by that.

God bless,

LSP