A Striking Memorial...

One thing that's always a bit of a surprise about hunting this forest is the amount of war reminders one happens on. Several times I have mentioned physical artifacts, and the immense cemeteries are terrifying. But memorials are EVERYWHERE.




Some are impressive and huge, like this one in Compiegne, reflecting ts subject:


But all aviators weren't famous, and to me the most moving are the little ones, from both German wars, usually at the site of an airplane crash. This is for an English air crew, but put up by the French:




More often they commemorate just the lone pilot. Sometimes truly in the middle of the woods, and all different- not some standard cookie cutter design. I've never seen one even slightly overgrown or in poor repair, even when there's not a path to approach it.

This is the most elaborate one I've found. The little roofed board has a picture of the flier with his friends, and some other information. His engine and wing remain from the crash.




He does, too.



It's been icy cold here for a week, those three bouquets of flowers are fresh and bear no politican's name.

I get very angry when I hear an American denigrate the efforts French people made to stop the Hun. This man wanted his next breath just as much as any paratrooper on D-1, and his family grieved for him, smashed and roasted in these lonely woods.

Merci, Lieutenant Monty. And to whoever cuts the woods back to keep your memory green.

Pierrefonds en la Neige....

Not a lot of neige, but still pretty.

Another Two Hound Day…

Another Two Hound Day…

And with Romance still among the pack.

At one point the whipper-in was rating a hound, and said (I thought) “Back to him, Climax!”

I said, “We have a Climax, too.”

“No, that’s (some other name). We don’t have a Climax.”

“You have Darling, Romance, and Passion, but no Climax? Then you are doing it wrong.”

Clear skies with rain.




I attached myself to someone I suspected belonged among my keen hunter hall of fame:


and I wasn’t disappointed.

First on a jungly hill- it’s late November in England, and look at the foliage!






In a good spot, she came down the ravine above us, then back up, and bang.

Then up again we went, this time in exactly the right spot:








Around behind us, and bang.




A redraw up the ridge, and back she came toward the same spot!

Meanwhile, from another corner of the wood:







She didn’t look hunted hunted to me, so I didn’t holloa. And in fact she wasn’t, but they lost her, and came back to that one.

Round and round in the woods below- she came almost right upto us but turned back and eventually got away.

Then up onto the moors, where we saw very little.




The rains came down, and home.

When I Travel I Have Enhanced Cravings...

And the Musee Maritime au Paris starts with a lovely representation:

Things I Never Thought...

I'd hear my littermate say:

"I may have to split this moose open and crawl inside ts steaming entrails".

I'd hear me say:

" This moose meat is excellent! The fried potatoes really detract from it."

Google wants to hook me up....

Google knows where I am. And for some reason, it wants to hook me up.

Fair enough, and very generous.

But I have to laugh at the name of the agency.

EMSOAB: Terry Pratchett Has Ridden Hunt Hirelings...

and certainly staff horses.   Adapted from "Moving Pictures":

"Victor was introduced to the horse. It blinked its long eyelashes at him and appeared to chew soap. It looked like a horse that had had a long morning and wasn't about to take any shit from anyone. So far it had kicked three people.

‘What's it called?' he said cautiously.

‘We call it Evil-Minded Son of a Bitch,' said the groom.

‘That doesn't sound like a name.'

‘ ‘S a good name for this horse,' said the handler fervently.

Victor leaned close to the horse and whispered, ‘Look, I'm a friend, OK?'

Evil-Minded Son of a Bitch flicked a carpet-thick ear.

‘How do you ride it?' he asked the groom.

‘When you want to go forward you swear at it and hit it with a stick, and when you want to stop you swear at it and really hit it with a stick.'

‘What happens if you want it to turn?'

‘Ah, well, you're on to the Advanced Manual there."

EMSOAB should be on LOTS of stall nameplates.

Off the Airplane, into the Hunting Field...

So landed in London at eight, into the car and away west. I had no traffic, and so I thought why not?

I found out where my favourite English pack was meeting (Thank you, Acorn Saddlery!) and headed that way.

And sure enough, after a refreshing stop with the charming and helpful staff at the Exeter Inn...

It was that same misty valley! Only not quite so misty.



Ant ten minutes later, that mob of black assassins came swirling over the hill, spilling along a line of scent like a swarm of bees. Their cry was marvellous, ripping up the clammy afternoon like lightning.

And a clammy afternoon it was!



But the star of a good long hunt. After a few circles, she came down eventually to a deep, fast river- and crossed! Most of the field were beaten, but this valiant critter went on, up and down heavily forested combes. Hounds were right on her, it was a true test for everyone involved.

At one point she made what I thought was a fatal error, when she stopped and doubled back for a couple of rods, heading right toward onrushing doom. But no, she had just missed her turning, and scrambled up a little gap in the hedge and into the woods. Hounds blew right past, and she put an extra fifty yards between them.

Finally just as dark came on, she ran into a good sized field of (You knew it was coming) gorse- and didn't come out.

And it was decided not to go in and find her.

Well done, Miss- you earned it.



And you earned your ride home!

And so I managed to make myself useful, carrying two subscribers (and then two staff) miles back to the meet to get trailers.

And the lovely and charming one of the subscribers drives farther than I do to hunt!

Here, in the land where "The journey of a hundred miles begins with a plan to stop and spend the night half way."

My Antepenultimate American Hunting Week End...

Was a tragic casualty of closed territory and no scent. First of three hunts in two days was a morning with the O. F. H. It's a plough country, and the crops are finally in. Not a leaf has fallen!




Still cubhunting, so one of the whippers-in wore a bicycle crash helmet and EOD jacket. It is dangerous work!




They tried, and struck pretty quickly. And ran almost directly into recently sown wheat fields, off limits! So stop off, come back, and draw again.



And off to the same place! I think they pressed "RESET" three times, with the same result. Aggravating day to whip in, pulling hounds off when they are running right. They give you such looks!

But the day suggested that this may be a good season this year down South.

On north to the O. H. H. A pretty blank day, couldn't hold onto much of anything. Not surprising, look at that filthy weather!



Third day was opening day at the N. H. H. At the new and gorgeous house of a very fun landowner, so plenty of party.

I learned more about Mike Huckabee than I ever expected to!

The blesser of the hounds was assigned to me to carry, and it turned out to be fun. First, instead of the usual perfunctory service, he talked a bit about St. Hubert and made an effort to remind us about how what we do is (what I would call) a bit of a sacrament or act of witness to faith.

And he turned out to be actually interested in what we were doing! He fishes and stalks, so his curiosity was from a background of knowledge. I always like to carry interested learners, pedant that I am.


He had to take it all on faith, though. There was no scent at all. One rider saw a coyote, and hounds were on the line in less than two minutes- not a peep. These hounds have been going well so far, so it was definitely the day not the dogs.



The other sort of bad day to whip in, nothing happening.

But, six days until England!

A New Quarry, in the Atlanta Airport...

So I'm passing through the ATL, and as I wait for the boarding call I walk around the corner. There's a row of cases containing prohibited wildlife things- elephant foot stool, bear head, and so forth.

And a stuffed Brown Hyena!

What's my first, unbidden reaction?

"I'll bet they would run like crazy!"





Break time is none too soon.

Bottom Rail On Top Now!

Tennessee now has a rat- err, "independent"- proof Republican majority State Senate, State House, and Federal Congressional majority.

Those old Jeff Davis Gerrymanders are out the window!

As they are in the:

* Alabama House and Senate
* Indiana House
* Iowa House
* Maine House and Senate
* Michigan House
* Minnesota House and Senate
* Montana House
* New Hampshire House and Senate
* North Carolina House and Senate
* Ohio House
* Pennsylvania House
* Wisconsin Assembly and Senate

I'm sure the 9th Federal district will get special consideration, obviously impossible to get a Black candidate elected among those raaaacists!

Plus, STACEY CAMPFIELD WON, against both the Democrats AND RINOs!

The Prettiest Sewer...

Once upon a time, there was a public consensus that we were proud of what our public employees did, that we demanded that they work in beauty at a place that shouted that it was built for the ages.



Even the place that pumped the sewers.

I wonder if somehow they knew that government service in general was about to go right down the toilet?

It's a shame Mr. Parkinson never revisited Chapter Six. What would he have made of today's public buildings, known to be shoddy, temporary trash at the time of their design?

The old buildings are gorgeously human, though. Enjoy.

Lauren Cooper at School...

Catherine Tate (not the Camden one) makes me laugh sometimes with Lauren.

She really just has one bit most of the time- this one with the Queen is typical, but most of the others are pretty repetetive.

But then there's French class, wait for it...

But English is the best.

Cruelest. Headline. Evar.

Shark attack victim had 'the sweetest heart,' mom says

Next time you read an editorial from the Los Angeles Times telling you for whom to vote, or that some conservative is stupid or mean spirited, remember this headline.

Fight the Gell-Mann effect!

Two Days Autumn Woodland Hunting...

Off for back to back days. Saturday at eight, frost on the ground but too warm within a half hour.



It was a pretty day to be out, reasonably cool and the sun was pretty coming through the trees.



Hello, Domino's?

I shouldn't talk, I was texting my littermate in Bulgaria at the same time. Miracles and wonders.


Big old hawks are everywhere now.


We have farm diversity!


Equine, too- there were a couple of Swedish Sled Ponies out.

Actually they are Austrian Haflingers, but someone said Swedish Sled Ponies and it sounds more exotic.

The next day, at seven thirty, so cooler.



Again with the artistic misty shadows.



Hounds found in a big cedar wood, and pushed him around and around. He never left covert, but was viewed- a grey fox!

The first hunted around here in a looong time.

A lovely couple of hours, hounds never quit and the music was enhanced by the echoes and breakup effects from the woods and hillsides.

Sometimes those days are just what the doctor ordered, no scampering, just drinking it in.

Just Send Me My Million Dollars Now...

(Click on the blue links to understand what I'm referring to.)

Some things are just meant to go together, a perfect, um,
marriage.

Those of us who originate the matchup idea ought to get something for being clever.

Another million to SR for the inspiration.

Good Morning Coyotes! Break's Over...

At last! Cubhunting at 8. A shame we didn't go at 7, it was perfect:



Quite a good day, the noise of hounds pushed a herd of deer from a wood.



Five minutes later, hounds drew through and only two puppies even noticed the deer's trail. Kermit and another feathered along a bit, but they were just checking-



L. spoke to them and back to the pack they went.




Ten minutes later, and BANG! Music crashed out, hounds were all on and tearing after a coyote.

Break's over, indeed!

They ran him for a while, but couldn't hold on and got strung out.






Then a couple more draws, and they put three out of one covert, young ones it looked like. Again, late in the morning, heat was making it more difficult.

Still, a pretty day to be out.



Of course, a few hounds were off on frolics and detours of their own.



I hate radios, but I luuuurves me some:



radio collars. MUCH easier to find those electric dogs.

Germany finally pays off for 1914...

"On Sunday the last bill is due and the First World War finally, financially at least, terminates for Germany..."

And there are still two Allied veterans alive!

Molly Norris, Another Martyr for Liberty, Another Victory for the Jihad...

Molly Norris is a hero, just like Ayaan Ali Hirsi.

I'm proud to share citizenship with her.

And like Ms. Hirsi, she's welcome to hide out at my house.

When that jackass in Florida came up with his Koran stunt, or people griped about the mosque, lots of people who opposed them talked about doing so as Christians- how their Christian faith made them oppose burning those books or protesting the mosque. Not because they were Moslems, but becayse it was important for Christians to demonstrate to Moslems that Christianity is about love and respect for people, even unbelievers.

Christians stood up- under their own names- for respect for Moslems. Because that was Ms. Norris' point- that if we all "go Spartacus" and stand up, the decent people win.

I would be ashamed to claim a faith and be silent in the face of its hijackers. My faith is being an American, and that's why I offered to hide her out.

Shame no powerful "moderate Moslems" think as much of their own religion.

Wouldn't it be refreshing to see a letter like this, with one of these signatures:



"Dear Ms. Norris;

First, as a devout Muslim, I have to tell you that your actions were disrespectful to my Faith, and to all Faiths. It is, at the very least, poor manners to mock the honest beliefs of others.

But Islam does NOT teach murder, or incitement to murder. Those who threaten you insult and betray genuine Muslims who can distinguish between mockery and mayhem.

My Faith teaches its followers to reach out to our fellow men and stresses the value of hospitality. That is a more important tenet of Islam than anything about drawing pictures.

It is more important to show the world that Islam is NOT about slaughter, but about decency and respect. It is the Religion of Peace, not of terror.

With this in mind, I offer to provide you with the hospitality of true Islam. If you would like to come to stay in my home, among my family, you may do so. You would be protected just as they are.

If you do not care to travel, I will personally provide you with whatever funds you believe are necessary to insure your safety. That includes living expenses and the cost of guards to protect you. I will pay the funds to a person you designate, so that I do not personally know your location or what steps you take.

And in any case, I want the world to know that Molly Norris, her family, and her property are under my personal hospitality. Anyone who harms or threatens to harm her does so to me as well.

I stand against terror and threats. Allah is a great and merciful God. He neither fears nor makes war on cartoonists. "

H. M. King Abdullah bin Abdulaziz Al Saud, Riyadh

H. H. Emir Sabah Al-Ahmad Al-Jaber Al-Sabah, Kuwait

H. H. Sultan Qaboos bin Said Al Said, Muscat

Sen. Larry Shaw, Chairman, CAIR

THERE IS NO SUCH ACTUAL LETTER, which is my point.

Not Just Drug Dealers Profit From Drug Crimes...

That money goes lots of places.

Are the Irish are Crazy Enough to Try This...

Look, I know they love their carted deer hunting, and are not happy about losing it.

So...

Or is all that craziness just big talk? Hmm?

What's In That Snowball, Crispus Attucks?

Thanks to Tam and a chain of wookie suiters, just saw this interesting advertisement:





I find it particularly hilarious that at 2:32, the ZBV is about to drive across the site of - wait for it-



the BOSTON MASSACRE.



I recognise it from July 4 2009, when I stood right there, listening to the Declaration of Independence being read for the 209th consecutive year and crying like a baby.

(Yes, I know it was a bogus street riot inflamed by insurgents and that the soldiers and their officer acted with great restraint. But it's an iconic event in U. S. history none the less under that name.)

Take THAT, Winston Churchill!

The Spitfire Factory is DOOMED !!!

My Ground Zero Mosque Rant...

"Behold, Aziz! The Americans prattle about freedom of religion and private property, but as soon as the Faithful try to exercise those rights, the Crusaders go crazy! How easy it is for us to tell our people that the Christians are bigoted against us, with this example to point to!"

If the Methodists could do it, the Moslems can.

I have layers of problems with the whole thing. First is being irritated that they even need permission. Private property, remember? If this were something we liked, that is the first argument we'd use.

And whether we like it or not, Islam is a religion. We may despise its filthy tenets, but they qualify just like Hasids and Carmelites.

I think what bothers me the most about this is that by opposing it, we accept a very basic cultural outlook of our enemies. I mean the permanent enemies of liberty, not the current Moslem ones.

Yankees forget, this country is already full of explicitly triumphalist memorials specifically designed to humiliate defeated Americans . Placed on the exact spots where the victories occurred, constant, daily reminders, to those who personally bore slaughter and defeat of their loved ones.

White Folks forget too, and not just down South.

It seems to be a tool of tyrants to keep this sort of eternal, collective, multi generational, distracting enmity going. Look at so many hell holes of the world, and how often you find people fighting about something that happened before they were born. No one needs a list of these permanent blood feuds.

The English- following their own Civil War, and the Anglo/ Americans, following their Civil Wars in 1782, 1814, and 1865, decided not to make those hates permanent and active parts of their futures, and by and large did that. In America, from the start, the tolerant (and therefore forgetful) spirit marched, even when Englishmen still disabled Catholics at home. The old country hates didn't survive very well in the free soil here. (Sure, we talk sometimes, but Irishmen don't murder their English landlords, or Moslems blow up Jews, here. At least not wholesale.)

We despise irredentism, Balkanisation, and grudge baiting when our enemies do it, because they are poison to free people.

We're better than that generally. And we're better than that specifically, too. Stopping this mosque won't change our enemies.

Let them dance in the blood of innocents. It won't alter what happened on September 11.

And it reminds us of what they did that day, and what they remain.

Sorry, that's a lot of talk. But I really think we're fundamentally wrong by opposing this, and playing into their hands besides.

Is Bill Haslam Muslim?

So today I was hailed down by some politically active Tennessee Democrats. Because I grew up in Bill Haslam's neighborhood and know him and his family, they asked me the BIG QUESTION:

"Is it true he's a Muslim?"

"I heard the real name is Has-salam". Et cetera.

My responses, some voiced, some not:

1. This is America, and that's not an American question.

2. Article IX, Section 2 of the Tennessee Constitution, trash. I don't speak for him, but I expect he might say that he supports that part of the Constitution, too.

3. What difference would it make, religious bigot from the party of diversity and tolerance for people we already like?

4. I suppose even bigoted voters should know the truth. So no, the Haslams are as racially pure as the driven snow, jackass. If you can't tell by looking at that English face, do five minutes of research. The name comes from hazel trees, dufus.

5. They also profess the Christian faith, and actively attend a congregation thereof. My dam long attended the same Church.

6. You are really stupid. Not as stupid as the lawyer who once tried to get a pathologist to say that Novocaine would produce a positive on a test for Cocaine because they were "Both from the CAINE group, aren't they?" (What, like candy cane? Michael Caine?)

7. Actually more evil than stupid, because you are looking for a tool to appeal to and encourage religious bigotry. There are really good reasons why that's not an American question.

(I'm all pi$$y about gossip today.)

Mistresses and Skin Deep...

In a conversation the other day in which the subject of how people denigrate those who trade on their looks came up, and the phrase "beauty is only skin deep" was used.

Now to start with, that disregards bone structure, muscle mass, and grace of carriage.

But there's nothing wrong with skin deep sometimes:

A few years after my father died, his best friend told me a story. Father, at this time approaching 40 (and unbeknownst to himself sudden death) , was visiting Friend in another State. Father was of course married to Mother, who was like Father and his Friend attractive, clever, and a serious person. Her brilliance and drive fit poorly with the life choices she made, and she was difficult.

Accompanying Father was a girl, about 22, who struck Friend as being dim though gorgeous. At some point, Friend taxed Father about this.

"Staghounds Sr., I know she's pretty and all that. But she's ignorant and stupid with it. What on earth do you talk about?"

"Friend, you are right. She doesn't know nothin' about nothin'. And some weekends, that's exactly what you want."

And sometimes it's not just skin deep, either:

I once knew a professional Mistress well enough to talk to. Her paramour hunted, and she and I became friendly. She was also gorgeous, poorly educated, pretty ignorant about things in newspapers, and just as nice as could be. Once she talked about her choices with me. At the time she was about 27.

"Look, I flunked Algebra. I know I'm no genius. What am I going to work my way up to, assistant manager at MacDonalds?

When I go back home at Christmas, all my friends b!tch about their lives. They live in trailers. Their husbands hit them, cheat, or have just run off. They have squalling babies, they are fat, they have never been any farther than Florida. Most of them work, and teller at the bank is the best job they will ever get.

I haven't punched a time clock or paid a bill in three years. I have a nice little house in my own name, and he's making the payments. I've been to Paris and Rome and New York and Hawaii. I have $15,000 because I never quite spend everything he gives me for clothes and jewelry. It's in good investments because I listen when he talks to his friends about that stuff. I'm having this pleasant conversation with you on a Thursday morning in Somerset, England, watching a crack pack of hounds.

He treats me good, doesn't cuss or hit me, and we both know that when he gets tired of me he will set me up in a job I can do. I'm not smart, but I'm smart enough not to sell what I have cheap."

No one gives Michael Jordan, Lance Armstrong, or any random construction worker grief because they use the physical part of their DNA to make a living.

Just a strange paradox.

The Japanese Way of Capital Punishment...

This BBC article about the recent execution of two murderers gave me a few thoughts.

"Ms Chiba (the Justice Minister and an opponent of the death penalty) said that as justice minister she believed it was her duty to witness the executions in person."

Good. I wonder if she considers it her duty to go to homicide scenes, autopsies, and notification of families of murder victims?

"Prisoners are not told when they will be executed and their relatives are told only after the sentence has been carried out."

Exactly like the people they killed. Seems fair.

(Sorry, up all night on a murder.)

I write like Jack London...

For serious- computer analysis proves it!

I write like
Jack London

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

And,

I write like
Stephen King

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

I write like
Dan Brown

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

I write like
Jack London

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

(again!)

I write like
Ursula K. Le Guin

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

I write like
Chuck Palahniuk

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

I write like
Vladimir Nabokov

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

I write like
Mario Puzo

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

So where are the checks?

The software is pretty amusing, especially if it hasn't heard of the actual author whose entire story one enters. It thinks James Joyce wrote The Phantom Rickshaw, Edgar Allan Poe is responsible for The Open Window, and that Esmé is an Artur Conan Doyle product.

Whereas it attributes Conan Doyle's Brigadier Gerard stories to Mr. Kipling.

Enjoy

Then again, I Don't See a Fulbright Coming Here...

"We enjoy being able to release our trophies back into the woods for another day when they are bigger, badder and even more pissed off."

And there's a reason!

Thanks, of all places, Samizdata.

Eagles, Foxes, Horses, Mongolia, a Woman, and Your Taxes...

...and spend the next ten months with a horse and golden eagle pursuing fox across the lonely Altai mountains...

THIS is the way to spend my tax money!

I thought I'd blogrolled Lauren years ago, sorry. Truly amazing life as art as life.

So, via Ann Coulter, a fun little movie...

Yes, that Ann Coulter. Go figure.

It has just about everything:

Pretty music, and a snappy song.

Bonus behind the scenes look at a holy place.

Two profoundly gorgeous dancers.

Someone than whom I dance better. (A very rare thing indeed)

AND, it looks like everyone connected with it had a good time every minute.

Thank you for making me smile and hum all day!



Next time I'm in London, drinks and dinner for Leanne Hainsby and Shelina Somani.

Hey, I can daydream too.

PS, Joe Stilgoe gets it from his father, here's an earworm for you: