No gardening for me this morning. This time of year, the pre-dawn hours are the best outdoor hours of the day. I have been working the trails in the main garden, starting between 3 and 5 a.m. There is no time clock to punch in the Arf Garden. I seldom notice precisely what time I start. I use only hand tools in my garden, so keeping it quiet enough to avoid disturbing neighbors is not a big deal. I garden more by feel than sight, so full light is not necessary for most of my gardening. The Central Texas October sun still has enough bite to be worth avoiding in the late morning and afternoon.

Last night, eldest son (35) pitched a tent near the garden. I set to work on the end of the garden furthest from his tent. Shoulda knowed better. . . The Seven Naughty Word (George Carlin) Rat Sass stream started pouring through the nylon walls of his tent. It is the same Rat Sass song he has worked to perfect since the early to mid 80's, with the onset of his narcolepsy. The middle aged tones in his voice add quite a distinction. My support dog came running to me. Eldest son's dog was not far behind. Even in childish tones, eldest son's Rat Sass had the strength to send domestic animals running for the protection of my feet. In man tones. . . Ouch. . .

Eldest son's tent is dangerously close to the chick pen. His manly screams will not silence them effectively. Not that effectiveness has anything to do with his tantrums. I have been there to greet them every dawn as they tumble from their chick house in the pen. They are already beginning to chirp their greeting to the dawn. I do not care to watch their reactions to eldest son's scream stream, but. . .

Sure hope eldest son finds another place to pitch his tent tonight.

Just venting. Insert Joni Mitchell song here: "And we go round and round and round in the Circle Game."

The folks with the barge cook job called again last week. . .

Thanks for the vent space.