The Colonel's Kernels

It was corn harvesting time here at the shallow northern end of deep southern nowhere last week, and the Colonel beat the critters to the kernels.

Back during June, the temperature climbed into the middle miseries, the clouds departed hereover, and nary a drop of rain fell for four weeks.  An acre of corn, beans, and cantaloupes planted by hand the middle of May began to wither in the wicked hot weather.  The Colonel carried buckets of water every evening down to the garden plot in the back forty, and lovingly ladled liquid on each and every stalk and vine. 

The corn survived. 

The cantaloupes thrived. 

The Colonel began to worry about four-legged veggie vandals and fruit thieves.

A scare-crow and a two-wire electric fence around the garden served to ease the Colonel's worries a bit.  Several fruitful late afternoon anti-critter patrols served to reduce the critter population substantially and put the remaining bandits on notice.  The best defense, after all, is a strong offense.  

Last week, the Colonel checked on the progress of his corn and decided it was time to harvest.  He pulled ears for a couple of hours and filled up the bed of his rusty red pick-up, Semper Fillit, with, well, shucks, a whole load of corn.

More corn than he'd ever grown.

More corn than he'd ever shucked.

More corn than he knew what to do with.

The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda took one look at the Colonel sitting on the tailgate backed by a mountain of corn, and remarked with obvious pride at her man's produce prowess, "What in the world are you gonna do with all that corn?"

The Colonel grinned like a mule eatin' briars and replied, "Not my problem.  I grow it.  You process it."

The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda thereby clouded up and commenced to rain all over the Colonel's harvest victory parade.  The Colonel hates it when that happens. 

After the corn had been shucked and cleaned, it became obvious that the mountains of corn on the cob and buckets of corn off the cob far exceeded the storage capacity extant in the one freezer in the Big House.  There are now two freezers in the Big House, and the economy has been sufficiently stimulated.

All told, the Colonel figures he brought in a corn crop valued at approximately $3.75 a cob, given the Colonel's valuable time and effort expended and the economic stimulus applied toward appliances.   

Berry Nice

One of the most abundant and valuable natural resources aboard Eegeebeegee--the Colonel's vast holdings here at the shallow northern end of deep southern nowhere; and capital of the Tallahatchie Free State--is a berry.  Blackberries.  Rubus fruticosus.  The soil here in this forgotten corner of Dixie--viscous, boot-sucking mud when wet, and shovel-dulling Confederate Concrete when dry--grows little well but loblolly pine trees and blackberries. 

Due to the Colonel's careful cultivation, blackberry brambles thrive throughout his heavily guarded territory and dominate the edges of most of the fields.  To the untrained eye of the casual observer, the Colonel's careful cultivation might seem more like benign neglect.  Some brambles might even seem to encroach willy-nilly upon the otherwise clear fields and glades of the Colonel's campus.  Nothing could be farther from the truth.  There is sheer brilliance in the apparent madness of neglect.

"Brilliance" hard to accept on the part of the Colonel? 

Those among the two dozen of you regular post-perusing wasters of valuable rod and cone time who are displaying disdain at the thought of the Colonel demonstrating brilliance in any endeavor have obviously never tasted a hot, buttered biscuit, slavered with a generous helping of the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda's homemade blackberry jam.  The Colonel has tasted upwards of two million hot, buttered biscuits, slavered with a generous helping of the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda's homemade blackberry jam, and is, therefore, the self-proclaimed, world-class expert on the topic of the most delicious food on the planet.   

The Colonel sticks to his self-assessment of brilliance.

Want further proof of the Colonel's brilliance?

While he is inside in the air-conditioned cool on this sweltering summer day, the Colonel's fair lady is out in the heat picking blackberries.  

Better go turn the A/C up a notch--it's gonna get hot in the kitchen when Miss Brenda comes in and starts cookin' jam...   

China Doll

The Colonel's baby girl began her 30th air-breathing lap 'round ol' Sol yesterday, even though her birth certificate says her 29th birthday is today--the 5th of July.

Sugar Bear, as she is known to none but the Colonel, joined the Gregory Clan in November of 1986.  Born in Hong Kong, she lived in an orphanage there until she was nearly four and one-half years old.  At her birth, none but God knew that she would be the capstone to the family created by the Colonel and the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda 35 years ago this month.

When the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda began giving birth to the Colonel's children, two robust man-children -- call signs: Hero and Juice (grist for another post) -- appeared on the scene in such rapid succession (less than sixteen months separation) that the Colonel and his Lady suspected that further procreation would lead inevitably to a house full of boys. 

The Colonel was okay with that.  Miss Brenda?  Not so much.

Snip. Snip.

The Colonel realizes that the Mississippi State and LSU grads among the two dozen of you who regularly waste valuable rod and cone time perusing posts hereon are scratching hat racks and doing the hound-dog head-tilt at his point.  The Colonel could have used the medical term for the procedure but the State and LSU grads would end up making futile trips to their respective schools' libraries to look up the word (it is the Colonel's understanding that all of the books held therein have already been colored in).

The Colonel shoots blanks.

The Colonel and his Lady still wanted a baby girl.

"No problem," the Colonel and the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda thought.  "We'll adopt."

Problem.  Counter-intuitive, incomprehensible problem.

Finding an American-born baby eligible for adoption is so much more difficult than one would think.  And, if a couple already has children, that couple goes to the back of the line. 

The Colonel will refrain from leaping into his Pro-Life sermon at this point, but will leave you with this firmly held belief:  The vast majority of babies killed by abortionists would easily find love-filled adoptive homes.  Don't believe the Colonel?  Try to find an orphanage with babies in these re-United States.  The Colonel will wait while you search...

Since the Colonel has long since surpassed his own attention span on the topic, he will allow you to continue that futile search on your own and get back to him.

But, back to the Colonel's baby girl.

When the Colonel and his Lady shared with friends their frustrations regarding adoption, those friends recommended foreign adoption.  Long story, short; the little girl God wanted to be a Gregory was found in an orphanage in Hong Kong waiting patiently for the Colonel and the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda to get their act together.  

In November of 1986, the extent of Sugar Bear's grasp of the English language was counting to ten and a rapid-fire recitation of the alphabet, which far outstripped the extent of the Colonel's grasp on Mandarin.

A Mandarin/English phrase book facilitated a smattering of communication for the first couple of months.  Then, as if a switch had been flipped, Sugar Bear no longer understood her native tongue. 

Well, she no longer understood the Colonel's pronunciation of her native tongue.  

At any rate, January of 1987 was a very frustrating month on the communication front.  Stalemate.  Battle lines drawn.  Tons of tears.

Then, as if another switch had flipped, Sugar Bear began speaking English, daily gaining vocabulary and sentence structure at an exponential rate.  By the time she started kindergarten, her vocabulary far exceeded that of the average Mississippi State or LSU grad.  When she learned to read, she read everything.  Twice.  

The Colonel's baby girl is a month away from earning certification as a surgical technician, and has a job at the local hospital waiting.  The Colonel has taken to memorizing medical dictionaries to maintain his tenuous position atop the family vocabulary pole.  He is also not just a little proud of his Sugar Bear.

The birthday thing?  

Well, Sugar Bear once remarked that she wished she had been born on the birth date of her adoptive country--the Fourth of July.  The Colonel told her she had been.

"No, Daddio Pistachio," she responded, rolling eyes and sighing heavily in weariness at her Daddy's lack of calendar acuity.  "I was born on July 5th."

To which the Colonel launched into a two-hour lecture on planetary physics, geography, and international customary agreements, culminating in a description of the International Dateline and man's attempt to bring order to the longitudinal chaos of solar time-keeping on a rotating planet.  

"...and, so, Sugar Bear, when it's the 5th of July in Hong Kong, it is the 4th of July here in the Western Hemisphere."

The conclusion of the Colonel's lecture, delivered two and one-half decibels higher than a parade ground command of execution, had the desired effect of waking the Colonel's favorite daughter from her sermon-survival slumber, and she blinked in comprehension.

"Cool!"

Sugar Bear celebrates her birthday on the fifth of July every year, but the Colonel doesn't let her forget that she was really born on Independence Day.    

Critters of the Corn

The Colonel begs the forgiveness of the dozen or so of you who have absolutely nothing better to do than to regularly waste valuable rod and cone time perusing posts hereon for the lack of postage hereon of late.  Forgive him, dear reader, for the transgression; it has been two weeks since the Colonel's last mind-mangling missive.

Frankly, the Colonel's been a little busy.

It is the time of year here at the shallow northern end of deep southern nowhere in which everyone with a patch of dirt has a garden planted on it.  The Colonel has two.

One garden up near the Big House, nicknamed "Li'l Gitmo" for the massive amounts of anti-critter fencing and barbed wire ringing it, has begun to produce a bumper crop of squash, 'maters, peppers, okra, and cukes.  The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda, whose job it is to process the produce, has begun to give the Colonel the stink eye every morning as she navigates the limited floor space of the kitchen -- now further limited by buckets of fresh veggies. 

She'll get over it.  She has to -- the other, bigger, garden down in the bottom behind the Big House is beginning to make bountious amounts of corn, beans and melons.  

The Colonel has been advised by his domino-playin' buddies that the local coon cartel, a particularly violent and rapacious masked gang, will make short work of his corn if he doesn't take some rather drastic actions to prevent their depredations.

"Colonel, dem coons'll wait right 'til you decide to pick yore corn the next day an' they'll get into yore patch that same night, pull down every stalk and take a bite outa every ear."

"Really?"

"Yep, if'n you 'spect to get some corn from yore patch, you gotta pick it a day before you decide to."

Given that the Colonel has notoriously bad timing, and would probably end up trying to pick his corn the day after he decided to, he's thinking a multiple-strand high-voltage electric fence is a better option. 

That, and a surge of counter-critter clear and hold operations aimed at eradicating the threat.             

Setting Sun; Rising Dragon

The Colonel has, in several posts hereon and on many other occasions in many other fora over the last two decades, posited his strongly held belief that a major war between these re-United States and the Peoples Republic of China (PRC) is a foregone conclusion.  Nothing in the last few years has swayed that belief.  In fact, recent events and increasing tensions in the Western Pacific region have only served to concrete the Colonel's contentions.  

The Colonel maintains that the United States and its regional allies will go to war with China for much the same reasons that resulted in the War with Japan in the early 1940's.

Rising Sun

A wave-top summary of Japan's rise in the region, beginning in the last years of the 19th Century, and culminating in the Japanese military offensives begun in December of 1941 is instructive and necessary to understanding the current threat posed to the region by the PRC.

The seeds for the fruit of Japanese imperialism were actually planted by the United States in the middle of the 19th Century, when the U.S. and other Western European powers forced Japan to emerge from nearly three centuries of self-imposed isolationism.  The U.S. and Western Europe viewed Japan as fertile ground for new markets and possible colonial expansion.  Open contact with the West over the next few decades taught two important lessons to the Japanese--the potential gain from imperialism and colonialism; and the military modernization required to be a player in the region and on the world scene.

Many theories exist to explain the rise of imperialism/colonialism and expansionism in a nation. 

Hobson's "Excess Capital" theory can be dismissed as the reason for Japan's expansionism.  The was no excess capital available in Japan's largely agrarian economy at the turn of the 19th to 20th Century.  In fact, Japan incurred great debt borrowing to finance its military modernization.

Likewise, Lenin's Marxist view of imperialism as the last stage of capitalism prior to proletarian revolt can be dismissed in Japan's case.

Probably the most apt explanation for Japan's expansionism is a rapidly developing nationalism, a national social dynamic manifesting itself in the desire to increase standing (politically and materially) and security relative to other nations.  Japan saw the rapacity of Western imperialism and colonialism and adopted similar postures to both increase its standing and to ensure its national survival vis-a-vis the West.  The result was expansionist war with Russia culminating in the annexation of Korea and the occupation/colonization of significant portions of the Asian mainland.  Western resistance to Japanese expansionism in Asia gave rise to Western efforts to sanction and dissuade Japan's imperialism.  Japan responded with pre-emptive war against the U.S. and Britain. 

Rising Dragon

With the counterproductive era of intentional Maoist social upheaval far behind her, China is today rapidly modernizing and expanding its regionally hegemonistic and internationally relative standing in consonance with a national pride completely understandable in a people who comprise nearly a third of the planet's population.   The PRC's economy is growing at one of the fastest clips of any in the world and will, if maintained and supplied with resources, become the world's largest within a generation.

Couple modern Chinese nationalism (on the rapid rise since WWII) with a Hobsonian-satisfying excess of capital (thanks to abundant cheap labor and Western markets hungry for inexpensive goods) and you have all the makings of a rising dragon in the East whose size and reach will easily over-shadow the rising sun of a century ago. 

The relatively minor military campaigns we've been involved in since 9/11 can't rightly be called wars. Going toe to toe with China--now that will be a WAR. The war with China will rival, if not greatly eclipse, last century's war with Japan in scope and will be fought for much the same reasons. 

In the Colonel's not-so-humble opinion, the flash point for the next War in the Pacific is the region of the South China Sea and further south toward Australia. 

In the geopolitical category of "Who'd a thunk it?" the headlines from that region this week are about Vietnam's leaders (with whose predecessors the United States fought a debilitating decade-long limited war) asking for U.S. help against what they view as aggressively expansionist behavior by the PRC.  Besides Vietnam, we actually have treaty allies in the region with territorial claims and vital commercial interests (SLOCs, Spratly Islands' oil and fisheries, etc...) in the South China Sea area--Japan, South Korea, Philippines, Indonesia, Singapore, Australia, et.al.   The PRC is increasingly viewed in the region as expansionist, in much the same way and for much the same reasons as Japan in the inter-war years. 

While consuming all of the political, social, and media oxygen in the room at present, our current limited military actions in the misguided, mismanaged, and misnamed "War on Terrorism" (wars are conducted against nations, not against tactics), is but a sideshow interlude before the main attraction; in much the same way as U.S. military adventurism and interventionism in the inter-war years (1919--1940) was for the main attraction of 1941 to 1945.

Hot Water

The Summer Solstice may still be a couple of weeks away, but here at the shallow northern end of deep southern nowhere, the heat is officially on. 

It is hot.  How hot?

Approaching triple digits hot.

So hot the Colonel puts on his Kevlar overalls before going outside-- to protect against shrapnel from the gravel popping on his driveway.

So hot the shoreline of Lake Brenda is receding faster than the Colonel's hairline.

So hot the crows are carrying canteens.

So hot spittle sizzles before it hits the pavement.

The heat is quite an inconvenience.  The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda was working out in the garden the other day while the Colonel was supervising from the air conditioned interior of the Big House.  She was perspiring heavily enough to give the folks over in the Delta fresh worry about high water.  The Colonel felt bad about it, and stepped outside to check on her.

"Hey, Sweetie, I really hate to see you workin' out in the heat.  Could you please work in the flower bed on the other side of the house?"

The Colonel's Lady looked up from her work, mopped her brow, and asked, "Why, is it any cooler over there?"

"Nope.  But, I won't be able to see you 'round there." 

The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda shot the Colonel a not-so comely and slightly less than kind-hearted look, and returned to her work.  

Yep, the heat is on...and the water is hot.     

Freedom Flier

On the fourteenth of June of each year, the people of the United States, whether they realize it or not, celebrate Flag Day.   The day commemorates the anniversary of the 1777 resolution of the rebel Continental Congress declaring that "the flag of the United States be thirteen alternate stripes red and white" with a union of "thirteen stars, white in a blue field, representing a new Constellation."

The resolution made official a battle flag that had already led troops of the rebel Continental Army in combat against the British Army, loyal American formations, and mercenaries hired by the Crown.  By the time the Continental Congress got around to recognizing it, the blood of patriots had already christened what Francis Scott Key would, nearly two generations later, immortalize as the "star spangled banner."

Over the next century, disparate organizations and communities across America conducted their own unique patriotic celebrations honoring the flag.   On the one hundredth anniversary of the resolution of the Continental Congress, the United States Congress  recognized the occasion, but it wasn't until 1949 that the Congress passed an act declaring June 14th as Flag Day.

Twenty-six years earlier (1923), the National Flag Conference, attended by representatives of the U.S. military and 66 other interested national groups, adopted the first "National Flag Code" providing guidance for the display and care of the National Flag of the United States.  In 1942, the 77th Congress of the United States ,using the National Flag Conference's "Code" as a guide, passed Public Law 829, which included rules for use and display of the flag, as well as rules for conduct during playing of the National Anthem and recitation of the Pledge of Allegiance to the Flag. 

The United States Code (the official compilation of Federal Law) Title 36, Chapter 10 contains what is known as the Flag Code--the clear, unambiguous rules for properly and respectfully displaying and caring for the flag.  As you read the following excerpts (particularly §176) from that law, the Colonel asks that you recognize wherein you have been guilty of disrespect for the flag under which millions of Americans have fought for our freedom.
  
§170. National anthem; Star-Spangled Banner

The composition consisting of the words and music known as The Star-Spangled Banner is designated the national anthem of the United States of America.

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§171. Conduct during playing

During rendition of the national anthem when the flag is displayed, all present except those in uniform should stand at attention facing the flag with the right hand over the heart. Men not in uniform should remove their headdress with their right hand and hold it at the left shoulder, the hand being over the heart. Persons in uniform should render the military salute at the first note of the anthem and retain this position until the last note. When the flag is not displayed, those present should face toward the music and act in the same manner they would if the flag were displayed there.

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§172. Pledge of allegiance to the flag; manner of delivery

The Pledge of Allegiance to the Flag, 'I pledge allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one Nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.', should be rendered by standing at attention facing the flag with the right hand over the heart. When not in uniform men should remove their headdress with their right hand and hold it at the left shoulder, the hand being over the heart. Persons in uniform should remain silent, face the flag, and render the military salute.

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§174. Time and occasions for display

• (a) Display on buildings and stationary flagstaffs in open; night display It is the universal custom to display the flag only from sunrise to sunset on buildings and on stationary flagstaffs in the open. However, when a patriotic effect is desired, the flag may be displayed twenty-four hours a day if properly illuminated during the hours of darkness.
  
• (b) Manner of hoisting The flag should be hoisted briskly and lowered ceremoniously.
  
• (c) Inclement weather The flag should not be displayed on days when the weather is inclement, except when an all weather flag is displayed.
  
• (d) Particular days of display The flag should be displayed on all days, especially on New Year's Day, January 1; Inauguration Day, January 20; Lincoln's Birthday, February 12; Washington's Birthday, third Monday in February; Easter Sunday (variable); Mother's Day, second Sunday in May; Armed Forces Day, third Saturday in May; Memorial Day (half-staff until noon), the last Monday in May; Flag Day, June 14; Independence Day, July 4; Labor Day, first Monday in September; Constitution Day, September 17; Columbus Day, second Monday in October; Navy Day, October 27; Veterans Day, November 11; Thanksgiving Day, fourth Thursday in November; Christmas Day, December 25; and such other days as may be proclaimed by the President of the United States; the birthdays of States (date of admission); and on State holidays...

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§175. Position and manner of display

The flag, when carried in a procession with another flag or flags, should be either on the marching right; that is, the flag's own right, or, if there is a line of other flags, in front of the center of that line.

• (a) The flag should not be displayed on a float in a parade except from a staff, or as provided in subsection (i) of this section.
• (b) The flag should not be draped over the hood, top, sides, or back of a vehicle or of a railroad train or a boat. When the flag is displayed on a motorcar, the staff shall be fixed firmly to the chassis or clamped to the right fender.
• (d) The flag of the United States of America, when it is displayed with another flag against a wall from crossed staffs, should be on the right, the flag's own right, and its staff should be in front of the staff of the other flag.
• (e) The flag of the United States of America should be at the center and at the highest point of the group when a number of flags of States or localities or pennants of societies are grouped and displayed from staffs.
• (f) When flags of States, cities, or localities, or pennants of societies are flown on the same halyard with the flag of the United States, the latter should always be at the peak. When the flags are flown from adjacent staffs, the flag of the United States should be hoisted first and lowered last. No such flag or pennant may be placed above the flag of the United States or to the United States flag's right.
• (g) When flags of two or more nations are displayed, they are to be flown from separate staffs of the same height. The flags should be of approximately equal size. International usage forbids the display of the flag of one nation above that of another nation in time of peace.
• (h) When the flag of the United States is displayed from a staff projecting horizontally or at an angle from the window sill, balcony, or front of a building, the union of the flag should be placed at the peak of the staff unless the flag is at half staff. When the flag is suspended over a sidewalk from a rope extending from a house to a pole at the edge of the sidewalk, the flag should be hoisted out, union first, from the building.
• (i) When displayed either horizontally or vertically against a wall, the union should be uppermost and to the flag's own right, that is, to the observer's left. When displayed in a window, the flag should be displayed in the same way, with the union or blue field to the left of the observer in the street.
• (j) When the flag is displayed over the middle of the street, it should be suspended vertically with the union to the north in an east and west street or to the east in a north and south street.
• (k) When used on a speaker's platform, the flag, if displayed flat, should be displayed above and behind the speaker. When displayed from a staff in a church or public auditorium, the flag of the United States of America should hold the position of superior prominence, in advance of the audience, and in the position of honor at the clergyman's or speaker's right as he faces the audience. Any other flag so displayed should be placed on the left of the clergyman or speaker or to the right of the audience.
• (l) The flag should form a distinctive feature of the ceremony of unveiling a statue or monument, but it should never be used as the covering for the statue or monument.
• (m) The flag, when flown at half-staff, should be first hoisted to the peak for an instant and then lowered to the half-staff position. The flag should be again raised to the peak before it is lowered for the day. On Memorial Day the flag should be displayed at half-staff until noon only, then raised to the top of the staff...
• (n) When the flag is used to cover a casket, it should be so placed that the union is at the head and over the left shoulder. The flag should not be lowered into the grave or allowed to touch the ground.
• (o) When the flag is suspended across a corridor or lobby in a building with only one main entrance, it should be suspended vertically with the union of the flag to the observer's left upon entering...

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§176. Respect for flag

No disrespect should be shown to the flag of the United States of America; the flag should not be dipped to any person or thing. Regimental colors, State flags, and organization or institutional flags are to be dipped as a mark of honor.

• (a) The flag should never be displayed with the union down, except as a signal of dire distress in instances of extreme danger to life or property.
• (b) The flag should never touch anything beneath it, such as the ground, the floor, water, or merchandise.
• (c) The flag should never be carried flat or horizontally, but always aloft and free.
• (d) The flag should never be used as wearing apparel, bedding, or drapery. It should never be festooned, drawn back, nor up, in folds, but always allowed to fall free. Bunting of blue, white, and red, always arranged with the blue above, the white in the middle, and the red below, should be used for covering a speaker's desk, draping the front of the platform, and for decoration in general.
• (e) The flag should never be fastened, displayed, used, or stored in such a manner as to permit it to be easily torn, soiled, or damaged in any way.
• (f) The flag should never be used as a covering for a ceiling.
• (g) The flag should never have placed upon it, nor on any part of it, nor attached to it any mark, insignia, letter, word, figure, design, picture, or drawing of any nature.
• (h) The flag should never be used as a receptacle for receiving, holding, carrying, or delivering anything.
• (i) The flag should never be used for advertising purposes in any manner whatsoever. It should not be embroidered on such articles as cushions or handkerchiefs and the like, printed or otherwise impressed on paper napkins or boxes or anything that is designed for temporary use and discard. Advertising signs should not be fastened to a staff or halyard from which the flag is flown.
• (j) No part of the flag should ever be used as a costume or athletic uniform. However, a flag patch may be affixed to the uniform of military personnel, firemen, policemen, and members of patriotic organizations. The flag represents a living country and is itself considered a living thing. Therefore, the lapel flag pin being a replica, should be worn on the left lapel near the heart.
• (k) The flag, when it is in such condition that it is no longer a fitting emblem for display, should be destroyed in a dignified way, preferably by burning.

§177. Conduct during hoisting, lowering or passing of flag

During the ceremony of hoisting or lowering the flag or when the flag is passing in a parade or in review, all persons present except those in uniform should face the flag and stand at attention with the right hand over the heart. Those present in uniform should render the military salute. When not in uniform, men should remove their headdress with their right hand and hold it at the left shoulder, the hand being over the heart. Aliens should stand at attention. The salute to the flag in a moving column should be rendered at the moment the flag passes.

Daniels Down

The Colonel has allowed the balance of a standard calendar week to pass before proffering his assessment on the decision by Mitch Daniels not to seek the Republican Party nomination for the Presidency of these re-United States. 

As the dozen or so of you who regularly participate in egregious wastes of valuable rod and cone time perusing posts hereon will remember (and recoil in regret at the remembrance), the Colonel has, for the balance of a standard calendar year, vociferously promoted the candidacy (if undeclared) of the current Governor of Indiana.  One or more of the dozen of you would be quite correct in asking why the Colonel has not addressed Governor Daniels decision not to embark on the national rescue mission, the leadership for which the Colonel felt the Governor had the foremost qualifications.

Frankly, the Colonel has yet to work his way tortuously through the lengthy and laborious grieving process.

The Colonel just can't believe that Daniels has really decided not to run.  Maybe he'll change his mind.

How dare the Governor make such a decision!  The Colonel has invested the last remaining shreds of his public and private credibility in promotion of Mitch Daniel's candidacy.  The Colonel wants to grab the man by the scruff of the neck and shake him like a rag doll!

C'mon, Mitch.  Please.  The Colonel will spend every waking moment from here on extolling your virtues, if you'll just get in the race.  The Colonel promises he'll deliver the Tallahatchie Free State.   

This is so hard.  The Colonel just feels numb.  There's no reason to even care about the political process anymore.  The Colonel will just lose himself in his sawdust production chores.  Even that seems pointless.

Well, the Colonel guesses the Governor has his own good reasons.  Running for the Presidency of these re-United States takes an incredible toll on a candidate and a candidate's family.  Being President sounds cool and all; but the job is relentless and thankless, perks notwithstanding.  Probably best for him and his family that he not run.  He'd probably win, and then he would really be in trouble.  

Okay, the Colonel will review the field of Republican candidates for a few days and let the dozen or so of you who regularly waste rod and cone time perusing posts hereon know, in short order, just who you should next support for the nomination. 

Apologies for getting you all excited about Mitch Daniels, but you are not alone in your pain.

He broke the Colonel's heart, too.   

Honoring the Fallen

This coming weekend America observes Memorial Day.  We shouldn't celebrate the day.  It is too solemn an occasion for that.

The Colonel begs the patience of the dozen or so of you who regularly waste valuable rod and cone time perusing posts hereon while he pontificates on his pet peeve.  The Colonel has few causes and crusades to which he devotes his energies that are more dear to him than the effort to educate those within reach of his voice and pen regarding the sacredness of Memorial Day, and the distinct difference between Memorial Day and Veteran's Day.

While he always appreciates the sincerity of the sentiment, it has always frustrated the Colonel to be thanked for his military service on Memorial Day. The Colonel did not die (at least he doesn't think he's in Heaven, at present -- although his vast holdings here at shallow northern end of deep southern nowhere are close, and the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda is an angel) on a battlefield in service to his nation.


Memorial Day was formerly known as Decoration Day--a day on which flowers were placed on the graves of war dead.  While many communities claim to be the birthplace of Memorial Day, it is widely accepted that Columbus, Mississippi holds as strong a claim as any on that distinction.  Cemeteries across the south were filled with both Union and Confederate dead, but it was at the 1866 Decoration Day service in Friendship Cemetery (hallowed ground in which many of the Colonel's kin are buried) in Columbus that flowers were first placed on both Confederate and Union graves.

Memorial Day is reserved solely for remembering those who gave the ultimate sacrifice of their lives in the wars to which our nation sent them. Memorial Day should not be a celebratory holiday. It should be a day of solemnity and thankful remembrance of our honored war dead. The trivialization of Memorial Day as a beach holiday and a shopping summons denigrates the memory of the fallen.

On the other hand, Veterans' Day, as the day formerly known as Armistice Day (in recognition of the date on which hostilities in the First World War ceased) is now called, is the appropriate day for recognizing all who served (past tense) in the uniform of the United States.  

If one wishes to use a specific day to recognize the service of men and women still in uniform, Armed Forces Day is the appropriate occasion for that.  And...you'll have to wait a whole 'nuther year for that -- Armed Forces Day was last Saturday. 

If you wish to properly observe Memorial Day, the Colonel respectfully refers you to:

http://thecolonelscorner.blogspot.com/2010/05/decorating-day-decorum.html 

Polk's Precedent

One hundred and sixty-four years ago today, at the behest of the greatest and least heralded U.S. President of the Nineteenth Century--James Knox Polk--the Congress of the United States declared war on Mexico.

The proximate casus belli was tension over the admission into the union of the Republic of Texas, including territory still claimed by Mexico.  In truth, the conflict was a war of conquest in fulfillment of the American foreign policy concept of Manifest Destiny.  At war's end, Mexico ceded, according to the terms of the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, all of the territory which was later to become the States of California, Utah, Arizona and Nevada (as well as territory that would become portions of Colorado, New Mexico, and Wyoming).  

Frankly, as much as the Colonel is a huge fan of Polk, he is disappointed with the 11th President for not annexing all of Mexico (as many in his party--Democrats--were rightfully demanding).  The Colonel can only imagine the economic, resource, and social advantages that would have accrued to our nation had the United States added a dozen or more States stretching from California to well south of the Yucatan.  Our present issue with illegal immigration and the violent Mexican narco free-fall toward failed state status would in all likelihood be...,well, non-issues.  

The Colonel has little doubt in his military mind that, at this point in this egregious waste of rod and cone time, there are many readers with hands reflexively to mouths in horror (or a liberal facsimile thereof) at the thought of our nation making such a nakedly imperialistic land grab.  The Colonel would point out to those of you hyperventilating from behind your cupped phalanges, that the history of man is the history of men taking territory from those who took it from someone else, and that if our American ancestors had not taken land from others we Americans would probably not exist as such nor enjoy the highest standard of living and wealth of social accomplishments ever seen in the solar system.

But the Colonel digresses.

Just prior to initiating hostilities against Mexico, President Polk's administration negotiated (some today call his negotiating style "brinkmanship" due to its bellicosity) the terms of the Oregon Treaty by which the United States gained exclusive possession of the territory that would later become the States of Washington, Oregon, and Idaho (as well as portions of Montana and Wyoming).   

Thus, President Polk's muscular foreign policy resulted in the extension of the boundaries of the United States all the way to the Pacific Ocean and increased the territory of the United States by a third.  In fact, Polk increased the territory of the United States by significantly more contiguous land area than did President Jefferson's much more highly lauded Louisiana Purchase.  

Polk was not only a foreign policy visionary with significant achievements attendant to his vision, but was a domestic policy champion as well.  He created the Department of the Interior, oversaw the establishment of the United States Naval Academy and the Smithsonian Institute, re-established an independent Treasury, and reduced trade-strangling tariffs.  Were he alive today, he would undoubtedly be a darling of the Tea Party for his veto of federal funding for state and local projects that forestalled, albeit briefly, the scourge of political pork rampant in our republic.

Slight of stature and temperate in nature, Polk was nonetheless renowned for his oratory (often without notes and always without a teleprompter) which earned him the sobriquet "Napoleon of the Stump." In office, he was referred to as "Young Hickory" after his mentor and fellow Tennessean Andrew "Old Hickory" Jackson.  The youngest man (49) to assume the Presidency to that time, Polk was not without qualification, having served as Chairman of the U.S. House Ways and Means Committee, Speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives, and Governor of the State of Tennessee.  

Polk is still the only Speaker of the House to serve as President.   

The Colonel would be remiss to not mention the one blight on Polk's memory--he was a slave-owner.  He was in "good" company as such, however--nine of his predecessors and four of his successors, were, or had been, slave-owners at one time.  Polk's will stipulated that his slaves were to be freed upon his wife's death.

Polk's accomplishments as President are all the more impressive given that he did not overtly seek the office, and, once nominated by his party as a compromise candidate, pledged to serve only one term.   A pledge he honored without prevarication.

Who is the man with Polk's temperament, moral and physical stature, foreign and domestic policy principles, and breadth of leadership experience in American politics today?


Mitch Daniels.

No Cause for Celebration

As he told a friend earlier this past week, the Colonel wishes with every fibre of his being that he had been the last person to see the light of life in Osama bin Laden's eyes.  Yet, the celebration surrounding the death of the evil man who visited terror on our nation has seemed to the Colonel to be...well, unseemly.  

The Colonel couldn't quite put his finger on the reason for the unease he felt at the gloating and exuberance displayed by Americans at the death of the terror chief. 

Don't mistake the Colonel's feelings for any sort of remorse--bin Laden  needed to be dead, and by our hands.  

The Colonel is not the least bit sorry that an enemy of the United States has assumed room temperature.  However, the excessive verbal victory dancing at his demise just seems tawdry and, dare the Colonel say it, un-American.  Part of what makes us so special as Americans is our quickness to celebrate positive achievement.  We revel in feel-good stories wherein good things happen to good people.  If every American wore a medal on his or her lapel denoting citizenship, the obverse would have the likeness of one American applauding another.

On the reverse of that medal would be the likeness of someone displaying what used to be the common trait of uncommon humility among we who proudly call ourselves Americans.  

Midst all of the pumping and bumping of fists last week, the Colonel was reminded of the admonition credited to Coach Vince Lombardi.  One of his running backs had celebrated a bit too excessively, in Lombardi's estimation (probably far less celebration than is common in sport today).  The legendary coach caught the player by the arm as he returned to the sideline and said to him, "The next time you score a touchdown, act like you have been there before."     

In his Bible study this week, the Colonel read the following passage in God's word and was struck by its timeliness:

"Do not gloat when your enemy falls; when he stumbles, do not let your heart rejoice, or the Lord will see and disapprove and turn his wrath away from him."  Proverbs 24: 17-18 

Seems to the Colonel that we have gloated and celebrated a tad too much at bin Laden's death--even if he was evil incarnate and harbinger of unprecedented havoc in our once-safe harbor.  

The Colonel smiled a bit (no overt celebration, mind you) at the irony of bin Laden's burial at sea.  Such an action is truly only an honor to anyone whose life is connected with the sea--commercially, militarily, or even recreationally.  To anyone or anything not connected in some way to the sea, burial at sea is just disposal.

We swept up some trash last week, and dumped it overboard.  No cause for celebration. 

Hoosier Daddy

The man behind whose as-yet-unannounced candidacy for President the Colonel has thrown his admittedly inconsequential support--Indiana Governor Mitch Daniels--took a manly step toward the Republican nomination late last week.

The governor signed into law a bill passed by the Indiana legislature that, among other things, prohibits state taxpayer funding of Planned Parenthood of Indiana; presumably to prevent public funds from paying for abortions.   In so doing, Daniels has left himself open to attack from the left, not only for signing a Pro-Life bill, but also for seemingly backtracking on his call for a national "truce on social issues" in order to get the nation's financial house in order.  Mitch is seen by the left as pandering to the social conservatives whose votes will make or break his quest for the Republican nomination. 

Were the Colonel advising Governor Daniels, he would have him point out that he proposes a NATIONAL social issue truce.  Indiana's financial house is already in order--the state's budget is in the black.

The Colonel will subject the dozen or so of you who regularly waste rod and cone time perusing posts hereon to a lengthy treatise on all of the reasons why he strongly supports Governor Mitch Daniels' candidacy for the Republican nomination for President in another post.  In the meantime, the Colonel will sum up his support for Mitch in one short sentence:

Mitch Daniels is the anti-Obama -- not cool; not a Marxist

As the dozen or so of you who frequently waste valuable rod and cone time perusing posts hereon know, the Colonel is a vociferous opponent of the practice of infanticide.  Cloaked in the euphemistic mantle of a woman's right to choose whether to carry a (and the Colonel quotes from the "Pro-Choice" movement's own words) "non-sentient mass of cells and tissue" to full term as a human child, convenience abortion is the most heinous of crimes against humanity.  

But, the issue is much larger than the public funding of abortion.  The real issue is whether any non-governmental agency or organization--no matter how well-meaning--should receive taxpayer funding.

The Colonel argues, particularly given our nation's current debt crisis, that NO non-governmental organization should receive federal funding, in whole or in part.

Not NPR.  Not Planned Parenthood.  Not Utah's Cowboy Poetry Festival.  Not the NRA.  Not the NAACP.   Not for any of their projects, no matter how well-meaning. 

Not the Boy Scouts.  Not because the Colonel doesn't like the Boy Scouts of America--he earned Eagle rank in 1972--but, because the nation can't afford the luxury.

No federal taxpayer-provided funds should pay for anything not directly related to the aims put forth in the preamble to the constitution under which our republic was established:

"...in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution..." 

Granted, everyone who has a favorite non-governmental organization or project can probably make the case that his or her organization or project does one or more of the things above.  The Colonel can make a fairly convincing argument that federal funding of some of the projects on the Honey-do list posted by the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda conspicuously on the fridge would go a long way toward insuring some "domestic tranquility" here at the shallow northern end of deep southern nowhere.

However, the question we citizens of these re-United States must ask ourselves at this particular juncture is whether our nation can afford to fund (even partially) our favorite non-governmental organization or project, given the fact that our national debt is rising at several million dollars a minute.   

The Colonel makes no judgement here on the efficacy or worthiness of any non-governmental organization or project.  What he does judge is the wisdom of continuing to spend money we don't have on luxuries we don't need for national survival right now.  It is purely a matter of priority.  Some might even call it triage.

The Colonel has lots of projects aboard his vast holdings that he would like to fund now.  There's just this little issue of the availability of funds.  He's not going to borrow money to fund non-essential projects.  Were he to do so, he would fast reach the point where required payments on debt would swamp his ability to pay for essential survival items.

The Colonel isn't borrowing beyond his means to easily pay back.   Nor should our government, until our budget is balanced and our debt is paid off.

Governor Daniels rightly calls our massive debt, recalling early Cold War rhetoric, "The New Red Menace," and correctly identifies it as the greatest threat to our continued existence as a free republic.

The Colonel concurs. 

"Pond would be good for you"

One of the favorite pastimes this Spring for the Hope of 21st Century Civilization--dashes 1 and 2 (H21CC-1 & 2) is slipping off down the hill from the Big House here at Eegeebeegee to the shores of Lake Brenda for a fishing trip with the Colonel.

The Colonel fishes.  The grandsons..., not so much.

Not unless you define "fishing" as peeling off every stitch of clothing and participating in a full, frontal frolic in the shallows.  

This afternoon the Colonel sat watching the two splash in a muddy froth at water's edge and was reminded of the scene in that cinematic classic, Caddyshack, when Bill Murray's character asks Chevy Chase's character if he had a pool at his place.

Chevy's character answers, "We've got a pool.  And a pond.  Pond would be good for you." 

That reminder sent the few remaining cells lying fallow in the amorphous goo settled in a cranny in the Colonel's brain-housing group into a dizzying dance down memory lane.  One particular memory parked in long-term parking at the synaptic terminal leapt to the fore and the Colonel remembered the first and next thirty times he watched Caddyshack.

Nearly three decades ago, the Colonel, then a brash young lieutenant, was assigned as the Training Officer for the HQ of the 31st Marine Amphibious Unit, forward deployed in the Western Pacific.  On amphibious shipping in those days movies were shown each night on the mess decks and in the officers' wardroom.  The movies were played on 16mm reel-to-reel projectors and flashed onto large screens.  Ships left port for several weeks at sea with a few dozen movies and would trade movies with the sister ships in their squadrons at sea.

Most of the movies were horrible.  Often, only one of a dozen would be worth watching at all, and when that one was determined, it was watched repeatedly.  

Caddyshack was the best of the bunch on one stint at sea, and that tells you exactly how bad the movies were that were given to ships at sea in those days.  On the night of its first showing in the wardroom, it was immediately re-wound and shown again.

Bill Murray blew up the gopher tunnels three times the next evening. 

By day three, many sailors and Marines on board the USS Tripoli had huge chunks of the movie's dialog memorized.  By the end of the first week, the sound was turned off while the movie played and members of the audience spoke the lines.  

In the wardroom one evening, instigated by a group of young officers, with whom the Colonel can neither confirm nor deny conspiracy, a majority of those who showed up to watch the twenty-something screening of Caddyshack were not in the required uniform of the day, but rather wore golf attire or a reasonable facsimile thereof.  The officers sat waiting on the ship's executive officer (aka: XO; second-in-command) to arrive so that the screening could begin (the Commanding Officer had his own mess and the XO, therefore, was the senior man in the wardroom).   

Every time the door to the wardroom would open, all eyes would turn expectantly to see the XO's reaction.  The XO was running a bit late this particular evening, attending to some important matter relative to keeping the water on the outside and late-comers were streaming into the wardroom, delayed by their own duties relative to keeping the water on the outside.  Each time, an officer would either enter in golf garb or quickly run back to his stateroom to change when he noticed the situation.    

The XO was a man not particularly known for his sense of humor.  The atmosphere in the wardroom full of officers in unauthorized attire was a mixture of nervous giggling and tense anticipation.  More than a few officers thought better of the whole deal and slipped out of the wardroom to change back into the uniform of the day--only to be met by a chorus of cat-calls when they returned.

At last, the door to the wardroom opened and the XO strode into the room.  Before he could launch into his customary "Lights, camera, action!," he was stopped short by the undisciplined sea of non-uniformed officers flooding his normally highly disciplined and formal wardroom. 

The XO's head swung back and forth, and a deep frown slowly took control of his facial features.  He spun on his heel and left the wardroom, slamming the door behind him.

Several other timid souls bolted out behind him.  The rest sat in stunned silence.  One of the ship's department heads finally stood and addressed his fellow department heads.

"We probably shouldn't wait for the XO to summon us.  Let's go to his office."

They left, and the rest became..., well, restless.  Several more timid souls bolted to change back to the uniform of the day.

Suddenly, the wardroom door slammed open and a voice boomed, "Attention on deck!"    

The XO strode in wearing a brightly colored shirt and the loudest pair of plaid trousers this side of Baton Rouge.  "Gentlemen," he declared in a serious tone, "I apologize for my earlier appearance in an improper uniform.  As for those of you not in the proper uniform,"  he motioned to his own attire, "for this evening, and this evening alone, you are excused and may return when properly attired."   

The Colonel is thankful that the dwindling collection of cognitive cells in his grey matter can still cobble together that particular memory.  It's a good one.  Still displaces his perpetual frown with a smile to this day. 
    

First Natural-born Citizen of the Tallahatchie Free State

The Colonel now has first hand knowledge of the veracity of the saying, "One should not count their chickens before they hatch."

One of the Colonel's hens went, as they say, "broody" nearly four weeks ago.  With a little help from her sisters, Silvia, so named for a speckling of silver in her speculum feathers, quickly amassed a mound of eggs and assumed the setting position. 

Once a hen assumes the position, she is pretty much there for the duration.  And, supposedly, the duration of incubation for a Rhode Island Red egg is 21 days.

So, Silvia set.  Not sat.  Set.  

The Colonel feels positively farmerish usin' the farm lingo.

"Yup," he tells his friends and neighbors, "Ah gotta hen settin' on a whole mound'a aigs.  Gonna have me a huge hen herd, now."  

And, Silvia set.

And, she set some more.

That hen set right there on that mound of eggs, unmovable, day and night, rain and shine.

Pine stump unmovable.

War protester unmovable.

Twenty-one days passed.  Twenty-two.  Twenty-three.  Twenty-four.

The Colonel checked and re-checked the calendar. 

Twenty-five days passed.

Just about the time the Colonel had decided to take ol' Smedley the rooster in to the vet for a fertility check, one egg hatched.

You have got to be kiddin' the Colonel!  Silvia is setting on a mound of eggs the height of which rivals that of an early Egyptian step pyramid and only one egg hatches?  

Luckily, the Colonel's hen herd egg production costs have decreased steadily over the past several months and the cost per egg is now down to just shy of their weight in silver, so the investment only rivals the GDP of, say, Luxembourg.

Everything here on the farm (and the Colonel uses that term more loosely than a newborn's diaper deposit) gets a name.  Every piece of machinery, every bend in the creek, every hen in the herd has a proper name.  The new chick was hatched on Good Friday.

It's name is Friday.

This morning another egg hatched.  The Hope of 21st Century Civilization, dashes 1 and 2 (H21CC, -1 & -2) were in attendance, peering impatiently over the rim of the brooder box, as the newest member of the Eegeebeegee Egg Production Platoon struggled to free itself from its shell.  The Colonel turned to H21CC-1 and asked him, "What should we name this one."

"I dunno, Pop," he answered.  "What day is it?"

Children of the Wheat

In the northernmost field (designated North Field in a fevered fit of originality) of his vast holdings here at the shallow northern end of deep southern nowhere, the Colonel has a quite unintentional, yet satisfying nonetheless, stand of wheat.  The Colonel can neither confirm nor deny that the wheat growing in the North Field is as a result of the field's use for several dove shoots last Fall. 

Small heaps of shotgun shell hulls spaced regularly around the field tend to lend credence to confirmation.

The lack of substantial amounts of meat in the freezer tend to lend credence to denial.

While the neither confirmed nor denied dove shoots may or may not have been impressive, the stand of wheat now extant in the North Field is, the Colonel can proudly attest, very impressive.

The Colonel's grandsons, the Hope of 21st Century Civilization dashes One and Two (H21CC-1 & 2), are even more impressed with the impressiveness of the unintentional wheat field than is the Colonel.  They especially like the fact that the Colonel allows them to romp in one small corner of said impressive unintentional stand of wheat that may or may not be the result of copious amounts of wheat spread on the North Field in what may or may not have been a bonafide agricultural practice.

Children are one of only two species on this big blue marble that romp.  (The act of romping is impossible for anyone over the age of twelve, of which the Colonel can attest with certainty born of a very recent attempt.)  The only other species capable of romping is the adolescent phase of the domestic canine.

That's puppy dog for the LSU and Alabama grads among the few of you struggling to maintain your sanity perusing the drivel in this post.

Puppy dawg for the Mississippi State grads.

A full-fledged romp worthy of the appelation is no ordinary scurrying about by feet of kids clad in Keds.  A romp is accomplished with wild abandon.  A romp combines tumbles, leaps, screeches, giggles, and, if an appropriate nearby shallow semi-liquid-filled depression is available, full frontal splashes.

That's puddle for the Georgia grads struggling to keep up.

When H21CC-1 & 2 told their Nana, the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda, that the Colonel let 'em romp in the wheat field (the little snitches), the Colonel's lady fixed the Colonel with her patented and lovingly oft-used "You idiot!" look and asked with great concern,

"What about snakes?!?"

The Colonel assured her that no snakes were harmed in the accomplishment of the impressive wheat stand romp.

The Colonel is not a complete idiot.     

Rebel Run-a-thon

Rhett Anthony, the Colonel, Jim "Psycho" Ward,
 and Dan "Danno" Carpenter loop The Grove
 in the inaugural Run-a-thon.

Google the term "run-a-thon" and the dozen or so of you who regularly waste rod and cone time perusing posts hereon will find several references to running events held to raise funds for charity.  The Colonel has no doubt in his military mind that he and his classmates in the Semper Fidelis Society at Ole Miss coined the term and hosted the first "Run-a-thon" thirty-five years ago this spring.

The Colonel wishes he had trade-marked the term.

Besieged by scores of sorority sisters batting lashes and begging pledges of dollars for March of Dimes for each mile walked in the annual Walk-a-thon, the Colonel (then a lowly NROTC Midshipman) had a rare moment of mental clarity (it is unbelievably difficult to think when besieged by a lash-batting, sugar-mouthed Ole Miss coed) and empathy (the Colonel is an INTJ -- Google that and understand his difficulty feeling for others' misfortune).   In that fleeting moment of rare mental clarity and empathy, the thought occurred to the Colonel that he and his brother (and sister) Middies could do the whole walk-a-few-miles-for-charity thing in a much more manly (and womanly) manner.  

We NROTC midshipman (the Marine officer aspirants, in particular) weren't walkers.  We were runners.  

Not joggers.  Runners.    

We future Marine leaders had stellar Marine leaders teaching us and they stressed leadership from the front.  Our Marines would be running, not jogging, and a Marine officer needed to be running out front.  We future Marine leaders also had a rite of passage to complete near the end of our college matriculation--Officer Candidate School--and said rite of passage was not passed walking, nor even jogging.  

So, we ran.  Three, four, five miles a day.  Every day. The goal was to run sub-six minute miles.  That was a high and rarely attained goal.  So we ran hard, pushing ourselves.  We ran laps around the joggers on campus.  The only ones running faster were the athletes on scholarship. 

But, we ran farther.  Much farther.  Forrest Gump farther.

Our leaders challenged us to do something for charity every year.  In years past the NROTC Battalion of Midshipmen had played marathon softball games for charity and pummeled fat frat rats in charity boxing smokers.  But this year we would do something that would capture the imagination, and capitalize on our strength.

We would run as far as we could run in 24 hours and collect pledges for each mile run.  We would concentrate our pledge efforts on the monied Sorority and Fraternity Rows.  We would take their daddies' money in huge wads--we were known for running long distances, but no one could fathom the distance we could run in 24 hours.  Most pledgers thought, at best, we would log ten miles each. 

We planned, secretly, to double that, at least.

At the center of the Ole Miss campus sits a wooded patch of hallowed ground known as The Grove, the home of the most famous and most genteel college game-day "tailgate" assemblance in all the land.  The irregular circumference of The Grove is exactly one half of one mile.  In those days, the Naval ROTC unit was headquartered in McCain Hall (named in honor of the Senator's grandfather) across Grove Loop from The Grove.  We set up bivouac, and runner check-in, out front of McCain Hall.

The rules for that first Run-a-thon, and every one thereafter, were simple.  A baton would be kept moving around The Grove in the hands of a dedicated runner for 24 hours, in 30 minute shifts.  All other runners could run at their own pace and at their own desired time of day or night, but were encouraged to run at least one of their laps around The Grove with the designated baton carrier.  

At the start of that first Run-a-thon, more than a score of runners escorted the baton around The Grove for several laps.  Late into the night the baton kept circling The Grove; sometimes the runner carrying it in lonely pavement-pounding vigil.

At the end of that first Run-a-thon many of the runners had covered more than twenty miles.  Jim "Psycho" Ward (later to command a Navy F/A-18 squadron and currently commanding airliners) logged thirty miles and set a bar over which future Run-a-thon runners would be challenged to take a running jump.   As memory serves, and it serves rather slovenly these days, the Colonel believes that Jim also set the record for the longest seated shower immediately following the inaugural Run-a-thon--and proved that one could actually consume meals under running water.   

That first Run-a-thon netted over a thousand dollars (a tidy sum of lots of sorority girls' daddies' money in 1976) for the March of Dimes.

The Colonel's #1 son, then himself a midshipman in the Ole Miss NROTC program, ran for over 30 miles in the 25th Annual Run-a-thon.   The Colonel doesn't know if the tradition continues, but he will be a presenter at the Ole Miss NROTC Awards Day next week and intends to find out.  If the tradition has lapsed, the Colonel will attempt to challenge its re-institution.    

Just hope they don't challenge the Colonel to run with 'em.              

Spring Planting Planning

Spring has sprung, maybe, here at the shallow northern end of deep southern nowhere.  The signs are everywhere, to include the roller-coaster ride of temperature changes.   The Colonel hasn't put away his jacket just yet, even though most days he finds himself working in short sleeves by mid-day.

And, there is plenty to keep the Colonel busy this time of year.  The next five months are critical to the well-being of all--flora, fauna, and folks alike--here aboard Eegeebeegee.  There are trees to plant; fields to mow, spray, and disc; and the garden plot to prepare for 'maters, 'taters, squash, peppers, peas, and okra.  

A quarter acre plot back in the bottom below the Big House has been limed and disced and will be planted in sweet corn and pole beans in another week or so.  The Colonel is going to try to go a bit native this year and plant non-hybrid sweet corn.  He's ordered Golden Bantam corn seed and hopes to save enough seed to remain self-sufficient in future years.  When the corn is up half a foot or so, the Colonel plans to plant Kentucky Blue pole beans next to each stalk.  The theory is that the corn and beans will enjoy a symbiotic relationship.  The corn will give the pole beans support and the beans will fix nitrogen for the corn.

The Colonel realizes that the Mississippi State and LSU products among the dozen (readership is increasing near-exponentially) of you who regularly waste rod and cone time perusing posts hereon may have difficulty understanding some of the words in the last two sentences of the preceding paragraph.  The Colonel will break it down Barney-style for you:

Symbiotic:  supporting and being supported by (Example:  The University of Alabama football team and the SEC officials at every Ole Miss--Alabama football game.)

Nitrogen:  chemical element common on the planet essential for growth (LSU grads should not confuse with the term "not your gin").

Pole:  stick    

Perhaps the greatest excitement here at the capital of the Tallahatchee Free State this spring is the potential for the significant increase in the size of the Colonel's Hen Herd.  One of the hens has gone broody.  She's been setting on a clutch of a dozen eggs for over a week.  Despite the fact that at the ROI cost of $5 per egg leaving a dozen uncollected is a great sacrifice; and without counting the Colonel's hens' chicks before they hatch (Hey, that would make for a sage saying, wouldn't it?), the sacrifice might actually be worth it--if it means growing the herd.  

With the Colonel's luck, the hatch will be all roosters.   

Hat in the Ring

Noting a glaring lack of principled commitment and fiscal common sense required to lead this nation back to greatness, the Colonel is hereby announcing the establishment of an exploratory committee to determine the feasibility of a run for the Presidency of the United States.

Should be a rather short process.

In the meantime, the Colonel's platform is provided below:

1.  American Exceptionalism will be the overarching principle of our administration.  Every decision, every program, every expenditure of blood and treasure will be evaluated in the light of whether it will make our nation, not a political party, stronger.  Programs found to be dilatory to that end, from the individual citizen up, will be eliminated.

2.  A balanced budget amendment to the Constitution, requiring that, except in the case of an official declaration of a state of war by the Congress, the Federal government's budget not exceed 18% of GDP, will be our administration's foremost legislative priority.  No other programs or expenditures will be proposed by our administration until a balanced budget amendment is ratified.  All acts of congress passed prior to passage of a balanced budget amendment act will be vetoed.

3.  All departments of the Federal government will be operated as "profit centers."  Any department found not to have a positive return on investment of the taxpayers' treasure, as determined by an independent accounting firm, at the end of 18 months from our administration's inauguration, will be eliminated.  

4.  In order for the Department of Defense (name to be restored to the original "War Department") to accomplish the foregoing requirement, and to eliminate the issue of illegal immigration from within the hemisphere, the reinstatement of Manifest Destiny and the forceful annexation of the remainder of the Western Hemisphere will be pursued as the foremost foreign policy initiative of our administration.  Voluntary entrants into the union, prior to the initiation of hostilities, will not be required to pay tribute. 

5.  All moratoriums on drilling for petroleum and natural gas will be lifted immediately.

6.  All military forces permanently stationed outside of the Western Hemisphere will be returned to the territory of the United States within 36 months of the inauguration of our administration.   Our strategic nuclear forces will suffice for deterrence of enemies outside of the Western Hemisphere.  Countries desiring protection by the United States will pay tribute.

7.  Upon ratification of a balanced budget amendment, our administration will propose, and support passage and ratification of a Federal office-holder term limits and equitable compensation/benefits amendment to the Constitution. Until ratification of said amendment, all acts of Congress regarding congressional compensation will be vetoed.

8.  In order to spur competition for greatness among the States, the Federal Social Security Administration will be phased out over the  four years of our administration and the requirement for retirement savings and relief returned to the American citizens and the states to which they belong.  

9.  In order to spur competition for greatness among the States, our administration will, upon congressional passage of a balanced budget amendment, propose an amendment to repeal the 16th Amendment.  Pending such action, the Internal Revenue Service will be eliminated.  The States will assume responsibility for tax collection.  As price of continued membership in our great union, the States will remit to the Federal government funds equal to ten percent of the tax revenues raised by each State.

10.  In order to spur competition for greatness among the states, the Medicare and Medicaid programs will be phased out over the four years of our administration and the responsibility for such services returned to the States.

10.  Any State which desires to leave the union may do so on its own initiative, but will forfeit any and all protections provided by the union.  Readmission to the union will require tribute.

11.  Upon passage and accomplishment of all of the above, our administration will, by a final Executive Order, reduce the number of federal holidays to three:  Independence Day, Memorial Day, and...

April Fools Day.