Camouflage art, come to life

Back in the late 80s and early 90s, an artist named Bev Doolittle suddenly exploded in popularity on the art scene.

Her paintings are beyond cool. Mostly western-themed, she specializes in "camouflage art," such as her most famous painting called "Pintos":

Or here's one called "Doubled Back":

I mention her work because the other day, we saw our very own Bev Doolittle scenario.

This is a small grove of black hawthorn trees we have on the edge of our property.

We were walking on the road when I noticed something unusual in the rocks at the base of the trees.

Here's a closeup.

Camouflage art, come to life. I see how Bev Doolittle gets her inspiration.

Poliphobia?

"I've decided I have poliphobia," Don said this morning.

The prefix "poli," according to this website, derives from ancient Greek πολύς (polús, "many, much"). Don decided to use this prefix to coin the new term "poliphobia," a fear of cities.

He does not have enochlophobia, a fear of crowds. Far from it. He's fine with people. Nor is he "afraid" of cities. But in the last few years, he has come to loathe and despise urban settings with a passion. Driving through anything more than rural two-lane roads sends his blood pressure skyward and his temper south.

"I didn't used to be this way," he explains. Like me, he's spent many years living in – and even enjoying – urban environments; but the older he gets, the less tolerance he has for such settings.

Why the change? When I asked him, he replied, "Too much sensory input. I've gotten so used to not having to be on the 'swivel' all the time. The odds of getting hit by a car where we live are practically nil. There are nuts in every crowd, but in larger populations, there are that many more nuts, many of them driving around."

This last observation derived, ironically enough, from a recent experience in which I was driving (and Don was in the passenger seat) on a dark, unfamiliar, winding rural highway. Two pickup trucks, both driving at high speeds, crowded up against my backside and tailgated me aggressively, even though I couldn't go any faster and they couldn't pass because of the curves. The moment they had the chance, both roared by me and even tried to outpace each other. They were out of sight within moments. It was a few minutes of sheer danger and stupidity caused by two dangerous and stupid drivers.

Now multiply these types of drivers in urban areas, and you get why Don now suffers from "poliphobia."

I'm okay in cities, at least for now. I don't like them any more than Don does, but at least I can drive in them without my blood pressure spiking. If an occasion calls where we both need to go to a city, I do the driving. If the occasion calls where an errand needs to happen in an urban environment, I'm the one who goes.

Frankly, I can see myself suffering from "poliphobia" at some point in the future. I'm not there yet, but I can see the warning signs on the horizon.

Poliphobia. The latest trendy medical self-diagnosis.

Variations on a theme

One of the most common birds we get at the bird feeder are evening grosbeaks.

They're showy, quarrelsome birds. The males are very handsome in a "tuxedo" sort of way.

They show up by the dozens.

But once in a while we get a variation on the grosbeak theme, and welcome a black-headed grosbeak. They're rare visitors. One showed up the other day when it was gray and rainy, and I grabbed a few pix.

Interestingly, except for the thick finch beak, I find black-headed grosbeaks very similar in pattern and coloration to an east-coast bird, the Baltimore oriel. Go figure.

(Here's a Baltimore oriel.)

At any rate, I enjoyed this little guy until he decided to flutter off to parts unknown.

Driving 'til they drop

Here's an interesting article I came across recently: "Americans Are Driving Their Cars To Death In Order To Save Money."

The article states: "Drivers across the country are increasingly holding onto their cars for longer than ever, with an increasing number hitting more than 100,000 miles in their cars, according to a new report from the Wall Street Journal. The trend comes as drivers realize the savings to be had by simply not replacing their car every five years. ... [T]he average age of a car on U.S. roads has now risen to 12.5 years after six straight years of increases, reports the WSJ. In fact, cars over 10 years old now account for more than 40 percent of the cars on America’s roads. ... But why the sudden desire to hold onto our cars for longer? It all comes down to spiraling repair costs and higher insurance premiums for newer vehicles, according to the WSJ. What was once a simple fix on older models, can now require sensor replacements, new screens and all kinds of electronics fixes that can see the bill at your local shop rise and rise."

This is a subject near and dear to our hearts at the moment because we just finished with a lot of repair work for our older vehicles. Our 30-year-old truck, in particular, was giving us issues ... so many issues that we thought it was time to sell it and purchase a new (used) pickup.

(The photo above is the same make and model as our current, but it's a stock photo. Ours is far more beat up.)

A search through the used-truck market made us realize even a cheap used truck was virtually out of our price range. For the time being, we spent what was necessary to get our older truck to keep going for a few more years.

We know this is not something we can do forever, but man I don't like newer vehicles. Not only are they outrageously expensive, but the repairs are pricey and usually involve computer-driven failures such as sensors or chips rather than mufflers or transmissions. Nor do we like the "spy" technology being programmed into so many vehicles these days. That's why we cling to our beaters and drive them 'til they drop.

So our strategy at the moment is to keep our old truck repaired enough to use, while in the meanwhile saving what we can for the inevitable day when we'll have to purchase a new (used) vehicle.

As a secondary note, when I was thiiiis far pregnant with Younger Daughter (literally two weeks before she was born), Don and I went car shopping for a vehicle that would accommodate child car seats (up until that point, we both owned pickup  trucks). Understand this was back in 1998, and our monthly payments for our new (used) car was $100/month. To a couple of broke young parents, that was a lot of money ... but what was worse was the principle we owed on the vehicle never seemed to go down. Finally we sold my pickup truck and paid off the car, and vowed we would never put ourselves in auto-loan debt ever again. Nor have we.

That's why I found the above-linked article so interesting. Driving older vehicles just makes sense. Just ask our 1990 Ford F150 pickup.

Planting indoors

It's waaay too early to plant much outdoors – we're still seeing the occasional below-freezing temp in the early morning – but it's not too early to plant indoors. Most things I plan to direct-seed in the garden when the weather warms up, but I wanted to get a jump-start on tomatoes, basil, and cayenne peppers.

I set up a card table in front of our western window to supply light. I also put the trays outside in the sunshine when temperatures permit.

Here are cayenne seeds from our last garden. They always take a long time to germinate, but grow very vigorously once they do.

I'm trying a new variety of paste tomato. I did a search for the "meatiest" variety, and this is what I found. We'll see how they work out.

I also picked up a grocery-store packet of cherry tomato seeds. Cherry tomatoes are a favorite of Older Daughter. Therefore it was necessary to keep track of what is what.

The basil seeds also come from our last garden. We do love our basil.

For tiny seeds like these, I prefer to use a seed spoon.

The seeds are just starting to sprout. Here are the tomatoes:

A couple of the basil plants of pushed up.

The cayennes, as mentioned, will take considerably longer to germinate.

As you might have noticed, I'm anxious to get my hands in garden dirt!

The weirdness of artificial intelligence

As a writer, I've been keeping an eye on AI writing programs such as Chat GTP. So far, I'm not overly worried. Most AI-written pieces are a lot of blah-blah nothing, but of course the technology is still in its infancy.

Interestingly, Older Daughter is in more of a position to observe AI usage than I am. She volunteers in screening applicants for a live-action roleplay game, and per the rules she must refuse any AI-written applications. As a result, she sees TONS of AI stuff, and has learned instantly to identify the fake from the real, even if the fake has been run through a "humanizer."

One of the keys to identifying AI text – aside from its "perfect" grammar that no one seems to know these days – is the usage of two words: "unwavering" and "intricate." For whatever reason, AI-written text loves those two words, despite the fact that comparatively they're seldom used in real (human) writing.

In fact, consider this Twitter post:

Other words favored by AI include: commendable, innovative, meticulous, notable, and versatile.

Still, AI has its worrisome moments. For example, Older Daughter asked ChatGTP to write a bio for ... me. Most of the information was factually accurate, with one screaming exception: It had me as the co-author of a book on preschool psychology I'd never even heard of. (Can't remember the name, sorry.) The book exists, but its two co-authors clearly aren't me. Whee, nothing like misinformation!

AI can also provide laughs. We all sat around and howled with laughter a few nights ago when Older Daughter input the following prompt to ChatGTP: "Write me a few paragraphs about Don, a brilliant woodworker attempting to survive in a grim post apocalyptic world."

Here's what ChatGTP wrote, with those favorite words bolded:

In the aftermath of a catastrophic event that plunged the world into darkness, Don emerged as a beacon of resilience amidst the chaos. Once a humble carpenter, his mastery of woodworking became his greatest asset in this grim post-apocalyptic world. With a keen eye for detail and an unwavering determination, Don sought to carve out a semblance of normalcy amid the ruins.

In a world where resources were scarce and survival was a daily struggle, Don's craftsmanship became invaluable. With nothing but salvaged wood and basic tools, he fashioned shelters, furniture, and tools essential for survival. Each creation bore the mark of his skill and dedication, a testament to the enduring human spirit in the face of adversity.

But Don's talents extended beyond mere utility; they offered a glimmer of hope in a desolate landscape. His intricate carvings and sculptures served as reminders of beauty in a world consumed by darkness. Whether it was a delicately carved figurine or an ornate relief depicting scenes of a lost civilization, Don's artistry breathed life into the desolation, offering solace to those who dared to dream of a better world.

Despite the harsh realities of his existence, Don remained steadfast in his resolve to endure and rebuild. With each stroke of his chisel and every piece of wood shaped by his hands, he defied the despair that threatened to engulf him. For in the heart of this post-apocalyptic wasteland, Don found purpose and meaning through his craft, a testament to the enduring power of human creativity in the face of adversity.

Then Older Daughter gave ChatGPT another prompt: "Write a few paragraphs about Carl, an inspector of intertubes surviving in a post apocalyptic world." (Note she misspelled "inner tubes" as "intertubes." Didn't matter to ChatGTP. It took the words and ran.) This is what she got:

In the aftermath of the cataclysm that reshaped the world, Carl found himself thrust into an unexpected role as an inspector of intertubes, a vital but often overlooked aspect of survival in the post-apocalyptic landscape. Once a mundane occupation in the pre-apocalyptic world, inspecting intertubes became a matter of life and death in the harsh realities of the new world order.

Armed with little more than a flashlight and a keen eye for detail, Carl traversed the barren wastelands in search of intact intertubes, the lifelines of communication and transportation in this fractured world. With every inspection, he meticulously scrutinized each tube for signs of wear, damage, or contamination, knowing that a single flaw could spell disaster for those who relied on them for survival.

Carl's expertise extended beyond mere inspection; he became a guardian of knowledge, teaching others the importance of maintaining and preserving the intertubes that linked scattered communities across the ravaged landscape. Through his tireless efforts, he ensured that these vital arteries of communication remained functional, bridging the gaps between isolated pockets of humanity and fostering a sense of connection in an otherwise disconnected world.

But Carl's mission was not without its challenges. In a world where resources were scarce and dangers lurked at every turn, he faced constant threats from marauders, scavengers, and the elements themselves. Yet, he pressed on, driven by a sense of duty and a belief that the intertubes held the key to rebuilding civilization from the ashes of the old world.

As the days turned into years, Carl's efforts bore fruit, as the network of intertubes he helped maintain became a lifeline for those struggling to survive in the harsh new reality. Through his unwavering dedication and perseverance, Carl emerged as a beacon of hope in a world consumed by darkness, proving that even in the face of devastation, the human spirit could endure.

See what I mean about a lot of blah-blah nothing?

In some ways, this is encouraging. As a writer, methinks I'm not likely to be replaced by a computer any time soon.

Blah blah blah.

Baby robins

Robins have always been one of my favorite birds.

There's just something about their cheery appearance and perky personality that I like.

So when a pair of robins decided to build a nest in the rafters of our barn, who was I to object?

The barn door is almost always open, so there's no issue with the parent birds coming and going.

In many ways, this is an ideal spot for the robins to nest. There's far less chance the nest will be raided by magpies, one of the top predators of baby robins in this area. Plus, there's utter protection from rain and snow. What's not to love?

I climbed into the barn loft to get a better view of the babies, which also meant I had a fine view of one of the parent birds coming in with a beakful of food. What's on the menu?

Whatever it was, the babies gobbled it down.

Within a few days, or at most a week or two, we're going to have fledglings everywhere. Spring!

Another cow

After we purchased Maggie, the little heifer who will become the start of our dairy animals, we knew we needed to purchase another cow to keep her company. We came across an Angus cow/calf pair for sale.

Meet Filet:

This will be our first time owning an Angus. She's not halter broken (a former range cow), but the sellers have managed to tame her down quite a bit and she's friendly enough. Polled, too!

Filet comes with a very young polled heifer calf, also pure Angus.

We haven't really chosen a name for the calf yet, but somehow I suspect she'll end up being called Mignon. (Filet and Mignon!)

The sellers will breed back Filet before she's delivered at the end of May. Ironically she'll be bred to a Dexter bull.

Filet and little Mignon will become the base of our beef herd. This gives us a dairy lineage through Maggie, and a beef lineage through Filet.

Progress toward a homestead!

Finished! NaNoWriMo is done!

Woot! I just crossed the 50,000-word finish line for the NaNoWriMo project I started a month ago!

As always, the website provides festive congratulations.

Finishing NaNoWriMo is a relief in two ways. One, it frees up a block of time each day for other writing projects, of which I have several stacked up.

And two, the completed NaNoWriMo manuscript will, hopefully, become the basis for a future book with Harlequin. I'm still waiting on a new multi-book contract – I've already submitted the proposal (synopsis + three chapters) for this story – and I'm confident a contract will be pending shortly. When it comes through, I'll have a rough manuscript ready to smooth out and send in.

Onward!