Michael Perry's Blog, page 393

This Sure Made Me Grin

C. Dale Young is a poet and an inspiration to me (in particular I have acknowledged him for a piece he wrote that helped me shape a part of Truck).  He just attended a literary convention and talked about it in a recent blog post:

Best thing overheard yesterday:

"I don't really know what they do here, but I know they all look like they are in pain. I think they are all writers."

–Convention Center person answering question from a participant of the Auto Show next door

A Poet and Pork

A friend forwarded this video of the poet Kevin Young reading four selections.  Last Saturday we had a whole crew of kin over to the place for a meal that included a big ol' tank of pork in various forms, and Mr. Young is right on the money regarding the joys of that meat ("Ode to Pork", commencing at roughly 4:35 in the video, but I'd watch the whole thing, this is good stuff) (and catch that "B/babe" joke in there).  Kevin Young will be appearing here, by the way.  Based on our schedules...

Attack From the Black

Remember a little while back I said I got to fight a wildfire with my old NAAFD crew (and the DNR rangers, and the Weyerhaeuser crew) when I was up north?  Just got some aerial photos of the fire, taken after we had the upper hand.  I was working up around the outer edge of the smaller lobe.  Foam, mostly, but also spent some time lugging a backcan (backbag, actually).

Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cheeseheads

It seems three lifetimes ago and in many ways it was, but once upon a time George House and I recorded some novelty songs in his basement.  I supplied the lyrics and ?lead? vocals, George supplied the band, backing vocals, and all sound effects.  Gotta say, this had all been long gone from my conscious when I showed up to spend an hour live on air with George a month or so ago.  When he played some of those old tunes, I was flabbergasted.  He put them on a CD for me, so I figure over the...

Reading for Runners

Rodale Press has just published Going Long: Legends, Oddballs, Comebacks & Adventures, a collection of stories from Runner's World magazine.  The anthology includes a profile I wrote of Olympic marathoner Ryan Hall.  I recall so clearly the smell of hot pine needles on the still day when I visited his family and met his wonderful grandmother.

Louder Long Bed

When Chris Ramey isn't putting the twang in the Long Beds, he's turning it up to 11 with the Jaggernauts.  Fun photos here (Chris is in red shirt) and how about Noel on that bass:

Chickens (and…?) on the Radio

When producer Todd Witter came up and spent a morning with me and our chickens, I had no idea what he'd do with the sound…he didn't really interview me so much as let me ramble.  When the following piece aired on Morning Edition as a "Wisconsin Life" essay, it was fun to re-imagine the morning (it was muddy and soggy as I recall).  But my favorite part of the audio requires a closer listen, and is never explained: All this talk of chickens, and yet…you can hear interlopers…

Mike Feeds Chickens

Hawking Chickens

I had tilled the oats patch.  The chickens quite naturally fanned out across it, scratching and pecking like feathered steam shovels.  How am I gonna get them back in the pen so I can sow the oats? I wondered.  Right on cue, a very large hawk rose from the horizon oaks and commenced to gyre just off the brow of the hill, at which point the chickens sprinted off the field and straight to the coop.

So what we have learned here is that there is the distinct possibility that if a person had the...

Rain?

Got a bunch of oats and rye planted yesterday.  Understand, when I say a "bunch" we're talking micro-scale here.  After all, this is my "planter":

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It was widely reported that rain was coming.  So I rushed around with the rear-mount tiller and the seeder and the old bed-spring (drag it behind the four-wheeler so as to flip a little dirt over the seeds so we don't have so much bird loss) (chickens stay in the pen during all this) and felt quite self-congratulatory as I stowed all the equipment j...

The Fresh Day

I ain't sayin' I was up early but when I opened the chicken coop door this morning the sky was just going pink and rather than the usual tumultuous cluckery and hen-pecking rush, I heard only a few mumbles within.  I went for a long walk to scout for firewood, saw deer, turkey, pheasants, wood ducks, and a great horned owl.  Revisited my pop-up deer blind (failed to retrieve it before the first big snow) and found it perforated by mice.  Upon my return the chickens were out and about.