Category → Family
Yep…the Super Bowl was worth ignoring
Plenty of entertaining memes circulated Sunday about not missing the Super Bowl. People asking each other on article comment sections and in texts, “Do you even know who the teams are who are playing?”
Like a lot of other Americans, I had no idea which teams were playing in the Super Bowl. I didn’t care, and I was not going to spend the time to watch it,
Plenty of Americans were not enthusiastic about watching a professional sport they had once enjoyed, but now feel alienated from. And why wouldn’t they feel this way? Since 2016, all kinds of anti-America, anti-police, anti-capitalism, anti-Western Civilization behavior had been acted out at football games. Multi-millionaire football players whined and complained about problems they had not faced, ascribing “racism” to the very people paying exorbitant amounts to come and see them play, and buy their jerseys etc.
I don’t believe a human being can create a more antagonistic arrangement than what we watched unfold in football games since 2016. The spoiled players vs. their fans!
So what in fact did we miss in Sunday’s game? We got to not see the blathering talent-less ‘Eminem’ “take a knee,” the virtue signal of all virtue signals. Eminem was years late to the kneeling thing, but decided to do it anyhow. And NFL senior management knew he was going to do it, and they did nothing to oppose him. Just kicking more sand in the eyes of former NFL fans. Hey, NFL, it’s your own business you are burning down, not ours. When you treat your audience with disrespect, you lose us, you don’t hurt us.
Also present was a “Snoop Dog,” a talentless noisemaker known for his graphic threats of violence against America’s last president, his violent “songs” that promote murder and rape. Sure, the NFL is going to magnetically draw law-abiding citizens to its games with people like these as its mascots…
I turned on the TV to watch the latest episode of Meat Eater, but caught the Super Bowl after-game on-field interviews just in time to hear a sweet-looking football player named Douglas say “Glory to God, Glory to God” in response to the reporter’s question about how he felt about winning. And that was the kind of behavior that would attract me to watch a NFL game any day of the week. But unfortunately Douglas’ nice statement is too little, too late. After seven years of not watching NFL games, I see no reason yet to return.
I would rather fold laundry than watch an NFL game.
An idiot called Eminem pretends to care by taking a knee and disrespecting law-abiding Americans everywhere
An idiot called Snoop Dog acts out murdering President Trump, and yet is most welcome at the NFL Super Bowl halftime performance. Unacceptable double standard. Nope Dog
Several versions of this meme bounced around the textsphere last night. A lot of Americans felt liberated by not watching the America-hating NFL game
Great American Outdoor Show is on
This is a fake rhino, not a real one. It’s meant to provide people a realistic trophy without actually killing a living animal
Pro-America, pro-fair elections hats are highly popular with this audience
Right now I’m sitting in a nice old fashioned wooden rocking chair in the Farm Show complex in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, at the Great American Outdoor Show. Been chatting with each successive guy who sits in the rocking chair to my left about every ten minutes. We all agree America is in huge trouble, and we worry about our kids’ future.
Surrounded by “Make My Day Come And Take Them” tee shirts, holsters, every type of firearm accoutrement, custom knives, lots of firearms manufacturers hawking their wares, many NRA staff, the top hunting guides and outfitters in America and Canada, outdoor clothing, RVs, ATVs, boats, boots, bows, trucks, campers, kayaks, anoraks, and exotic stuffed animals both real and fake, I am totally in my element.
If you enjoy the outdoors, and all-America types, this is the place to be. It runs through this coming Sunday, and I hope to see you here.
Hunting/ retrieving dog competition pool
This is the self-proclaimed “Selfie Stand” where visitors are invited to document their visit. So I did
Review of Cousin T’s pancake mix
Lots of people are voting with their money and purchases these days, buying things from people and companies that are not at war against us or against our freedoms.
For example, “My Pillow” is a national brand of sleep/ bedtime stuff like pillows, comforters etc that was once carried in places like Bed, Bath and Beyond, and Target. But because the owner of My Pillow said some patriotic things and challenged a blatantly stolen 2020 election, anti-freedom companies like Bed, Bath and Beyond and Target stopped carrying his high quality products. But online buyers picked up the slack, and instead of buying My Pillow at retail outlets like those mentioned above, they began buying it direct via the Internet.
The owner of My Pillow says his sales have never been this high.
Similarly, Terrence Williams is a humorous black guy with a humorous personality and an honest wit. And so when he began openly questioning the white liberal Democrat narrative that has de facto enslaved American blacks and destroyed the American black family and their communities for the past seventy years, who else but white liberal Democrats sought to blacklist (“cancel”) Terrence and drive him from the public square. White liberal Democrat bastions YouTube and FaceBook began censoring his speech, although his was nowhere near as strongly worded as the strident and highly protected speech broadcast widely by white liberal Democrats on those same social media sites.
Instead, Terrence found other venues to share his humor, like Rumble. Terrence also has branched out into something he apparently enjoys a lot, food. He now has his own line of pancake mixes, among other things. And so I am here to review it and share my experiences cooking with and eating his “Cousin T’s” buttermilk pancake mix.
In a word, Cousin T’s buttermilk pancake mix is outstanding. It is literally the very best pancake/ biscuit mix I have ever owned, bought, cooked with, or eaten. And I have tried everything, including the ubiquitous Bisquick, Kodiak, and Hungry Jack.
In our family, I am known for my Sunday morning pancake fest. We eat berry pancakes only with real Grade B maple syrup that we either make from our own maple trees, or that we buy by the gallon from Pennsylvania and New York producers. I have tried to make my own pancakes from scratch, and they are usually OK, but they lack a certain pizzazz that the commercial pancake mixes have nailed down and that serve as their signature selling point. And so for decades I have used a variety of pancake mixes, until now.
Now, I am devoted to just Cousin T’s. And a quick read of the ingredients will tell you exactly why Cousin T’s pancake mix tastes so good: It has only premium types and grades of natural foods, like rye flour (found in none of the competitors’ mixes), which adds a hearty and poignant flavor. What is missing from the Cousin T’s ingredients are all the chemical preservatives, artificial flavors and colors etc that seem to be standard in all of the others. None of us will miss those “ingredients,” because they are bad for our bodies.
Cousin T’s is a carefully thought out blend of 100% natural ingredients, and the taste shows it.
Presently I can only purchase Cousin T’s products online, and the shipping adds real cost to it, about double. But I am OK with this, because I am getting a premium product from a company that supports my freedom of choice, freedom of thought, freedom of association, and freedom of speech. Hopefully Cousin T’s will be picked up by a national grocery chain like Giant or Wegman’s, so that the shipping cost is greatly diminished and the happiness of delicious Sunday morning pancakes can be more widely shared across America.
Try Cousin T’s, you will definitely like it like our family does.
Compare the wholesome ingredients of Cousin T’s to those of two major competitors
Baking peach cobblers using our own homemade peach preserves from our peach trees and Cousin T’s pancake mix
Finished peach cobblers using Cousin T’s pancake mix. The white on the left cobbler is sugar, which I coat the top with before baking
Two young men eating Cousin T’s blueberry pancakes for dinner
Rockville’s big tree
Every year over the past ten years around Christmas a family in the Rockville neighborhood north of Harrisburg has put up a beautiful light array on their yard tree.
It’s now so pretty that people come from all around to admire it. It’s one of those small local things that brings a community together. I like sharing it here.
Christmas, America’s Holiday
Whatever your religion, if you live in America, today is Christmas, our national holiday.
It’s at the very least a time of peace, goodwill, cheer, and merriment for everyone here. For religious Christians, it’s obviously more than all that.
Enjoy this time. Savor it. Every moment. Savor and be thankful for all the good relationships, the happy moments, the love each of us can share with others. Don’t take anything for granted, nothing: Not the people around us, the incredible opportunities that America uniquely gives us, not the unique freedom here. Cherish it all, celebrate it.
Merry Christmas, America, Merry Christmas, friends.
Ellen Greenberg’s mysterious homicide
Ellen Greenberg was a sweet and happy teenager when I met her probably twenty years ago. She was first cousin to girls my own daughters were friends with, and while my path intersected with Ellen’s maybe a few times a year, usually at kid drop off or pickup, for ten years the one thing I remember about her is her joie de vive. The girl glowed with happiness and sheer joy at being alive.
“Hi Mister First! How are you? Your girls have grown up so much, and they are so nice!” is the happy, positive report I would get from Ellen just about each time we saw each other. Nothing mopey or morose or unhappy about Ellen then. And nothing about her classroom teaching style ten years later was, either. Ellen was a positive, happy person.
Ellen has been in the news the past ten years because she was brutally murdered with a kitchen knife in her own home, and after initially reporting her death as an obvious murder, the Philadelphia Police Department then ruled her death a “suicide.”
In her kitchen, where Ellen lay stabbed multiple-multiple times and lying in a pool of her own blood, all kinds of crime scene protocols were run roughshod over. For example, her computer was taken from the house by a relative of her fiance, like just handed to him by the police on the scene. Crime scene photos show her initially found slumped over, and then again sitting straight up, or with a knife protruding one place but then in another in other photos. That someone first on the murder scene tampered with Ellen’s body and the murder weapon is actually preserved by the photos the police took.
So how could the Philadelphia Police so strongly resist investigating both the crime scene handling, and the murder? Why did the Philadelphia DA’s office recently hide testimony by a physician that made it plain as day that Ellen was murdered with that knife?
Something is not just fishy here, something stinks to high Heaven of rotten corruption and cover-up. Somebody with a lot to lose is being protected by the Philadelphia Police and the Philadelphia District Attorney’s office. But why would the police and DA protect a murderer? It’s not like the sweet and happy Ellen I knew was a threat to anyone or anything, like, say, Jeffrey Epstein was. She was not politically active; she had no “dirt” on anyone. So why she was murdered like she had to be shut up and must remain shut up is a huge and very public mystery now.
Making the resolution of this blatant crime even more mind boggling is the indefensible way that PA AG Josh Shapiro has handled it. Shapiro is someone with a lot of skeletons in his closet. He is someone with a lot of wrongdoing to hide. He is allied closely with the Philadelphia Police and the city’s District Attorney. And although he has been presented with the latest evidence about how Ellen was stabbed after her heart had stopped beating (someone committing suicide cannot stab themselves after they are dead), as well as with the incredible picture below, he still will not open an investigation into the Philadelphia Police or the DA’s office or this murder.
Is Ellen Greenberg’s murder a case of “What happens in Philly stays in Philly“? A corrupt town with corrupt officials connected to other corrupt officials and unsolved murders because someone important has money and some allied politician somewhere can’t be questioned?
See this artist’s drawing of how Ellen was stabbed multiple times, the worst being from directly behind (the human arm does not bend this way), and ask yourself how on earth anyone could ever rule these wounds or her death a “suicide.”
Ellen Greenberg deserves justice, her family deserves justice, and frankly, no citizen can ever again trust any criminal investigation in Philadelphia if this blatant murder is not solved.
Philadelphia’s police say these severe bruises and stab wounds to Ellen’s body were self-inflicted. Does that make any sense to your eyes?
Anatomy of a deer season
It doesn’t matter if you archery hunt for deer religiously, from October 1 to mid-November; the archery season is always over way too fast.
It doesn’t matter if you archery hunt a bit for bear and deer, hunt the week of early muzzleloader for bear and doe, do some small game hunting, have the men up to camp for bear season for four days, and then hunt every day of deer rifle season. The ending is always the same: It ended way too fast. We wait all year for this time, and before you can blink an eye, it is over.
For many hunters, this time is about being afield, hunting. The occasional actual killing part is a welcome indication that the hunting part was done well. Proof that the time spent outside was not wasted.
Oh, we still have some late deer season remaining, which is the late archery and flintlock hunt. But by now, deer everywhere in Pennsylvania are on high alert. A twig falling out of a tree and rustling a leaf on the ground will send a nearby deer herd into panicked stampede into the next county. So getting deeply enough into the sensory zone of these intelligent animals to take one with a bow or a flintlock at this stage takes real skill, not just the usual luck.
Although I will hunt the flintlock deer season, because I have some DMAP tags left, looking back even now with a sense of longing has me thinking about the anatomy of a good deer season. Some take-aways:
- Eat good food. Whether it is home-made jerky and dried fruit we make ourselves for our own time afield, or it is the extra thick gourmet steaks we bring to hunting camp, eat the best quality food you can afford. Hunting alone or with friends and family is a celebration, so eat like you are celebrating. And because Man does not live on bread alone, make sure your drinks are of a commensurate high quality.
- Practice, practice, practice with your gun. Archery hunters practice non-stop, but for some reasons many gun hunters leave it to one box of ammo and the days right before the season to “practice” shooting. Well do I recall sharing a range with a guy from Lancaster County at the bench next to me. Friendly enough, he enthusiastically, if spastically, launched his one box of “extra” shells down range as rapid fire as a bolt action can fire. I had offered him the use of my spotting scope and Caldwell shooting sled, and he declined. He did end up relying on my spotting and calling his hurried shots, however, because he didn’t quite have his scope figured out. The old random “spray n’ pray” is the approach he packed up and drove off to hunting camp with. Do any of us think he hit what he shot at?
- Bring your best jokes, naughty or practical. Hunting camp is fun, and each of us must contribute to that festive atmosphere. Many years ago, I bent down to inspect a strange looking object hiding under the cabin’s kitchen counter. And just as quickly I jumped back and screamed like a little girl when the damned thing took off running. That it was merely a muskrat pelt attached to a fishing line being pulled by Bob and followed by uproarious laughter at my expense just made my revenge all the sweeter. As for naughty jokes and rhymes, the list is endless. Look them up and bring half a dozen. Maybe I am lowbrow, or maybe I have low expectations, but it sure seems that everyone present laughs at these men-only jokes.
- Get out into position early, like at least an hour before first light, and when you move play the wind (nose into the wind), go quietly and slowly, and carry your gun port-arms and not across your back. If you can get out into position at 4:30am, even better. Just bring a blanket and some Zippo hand warmers.
- Food sources matter for deer and bear, too. We humans are not the only ones who both enjoy and need food. In a year of abundant acorns, a stand of sweet tasting white oaks will draw more deer and bear, and you can sit down wind of that stand of trees. In a year of scarce acorns, like this year, any tree that had a decent crop will still draw animals pawing in the leaves for whatever may be left in early December. By this mid-November, almost all of the already scarce acorns were eaten up, and both bear and deer seemed to be moving widely across the landscape in search of any food. It makes for tough hunting, and so we have to team up with buddies and other camps to work together to scoop up what animals are out there. Be flexible and think outside the box of a permanent stand.
- Speak animal language. Last year I grunted in an Adirondacks wilderness buck after busting him out of his bed. He was a territorial and aggressive SOB. But the conditions were all wrong for playing around, and although his body was visible, I could not shoot through the beech brush to get him. This year I returned for Round Two with the same animal, which had probably never seen a human being, and after two days of tentative efforts, Day Three resulted in the furious huge buck storming right in to my position with leaves, twigs, snot and mouth foam flying. I shot him in the neck at five yards, five miles from my truck. Lot of work, totally worth it for that DIY hunt of a lifetime. My position was carefully chosen for what he could see or smell under a certain wind direction. I waited until it was all just right, and let fly. His response was immediate.
- Take pictures, send them in emails. While journaling is not dead, most people today do not write in a personal or camp journal. Instead, we take photos and email them around. The recipients always appreciate them. Especially when ten or twenty years has suddenly passed, our knees don’t seem capable of all those steep climbs and hard sidehilling drives any longer, and a lot of our best times at hunting camp are sitting around with dear friends and reminiscing together. So don’t forget to take pictures and share them.
Northern PA’s acorn crop largely failed in 2021, possibly due to a late frost that killed the acorn flowers. Acorns remaining on the ground looked OK from the outside, but were all rotten like this on the inside. Wildlife is hungry and moving widely to locate food.
My “Freedom Buck,” killed on Sunday November 28th at 7:45am, on private property in PA. The ban on Sunday hunting is an attack on freedom, and so I named this Sunday morning buck after my declaration of freedom.
About this “Friendsgiving” nonsense
Why is it so difficult for a bunch of people living the good life in America to say thanks, show appreciation, and have gratitude for what America has provided to them?
Among extremists, America is built on “stolen land,” and observing Thanksgiving Day is honoring a wicked country built on lies. Sorry to use that word “extremist,” but it must be used here, because it is flung repeatedly at anyone who disagrees with the nihilist, racist, genocidal, secular anarchist movement now inhabiting the Democrat Party body and its stinking mouthpiece, the Mainstream Establishment Legacy Media (CNNlol, CBS, ABC, NPR, MSNBC, PBS, PennLive etc et al).
People who posted “Friendsgiving” pictures to their America-censoring social media outlets may be wallowing like pigs in stinking mire and absolutely loving it, but why don’t or can’t they stop and look back over their shoulder? These most ultra of shallow virtue signalers are wearing clothing made by capitalists, living in nice homes built by capitalists, driving cars designed and built by capitalists and that run on fuel (electricity or petroleum) extracted and refined and provided by capitalists, using smart phones and laptops designed and built by capitalists, etc.
This is to say, If America is really so damned evil, and if you all are so really sorry about how we all got here, and you all are feeling so deeply such shame for your benefits and lifestyle, then why don’t you show how you really feel and throw it all away. Put your money where your mouth is, shallowcrats.
Don’t sit here and post these gleeful family pictures while simultaneously lecturing and hectoring the rest of us on how bad we all are. Christ, people, you shallow virtue signalers are the worst hypocrites on Planet Earth, not just in America. You enjoy all the benefits of capitalist America, all its luxuries (oh how Liberals love them some luxuries and swag!), its freedoms to criticize everyone else who is not in your tribe of hypocrites, but then also eschew it all. You get to have it both ways, when in reality we all must make choices in life. To be honorable people, anyhow.
Thanksgiving Day was established early on in American history because people who fought and worked hard to create a free nation showed their true gratitude for it all. For all the opportunities. If there is one defining American characteristic, it is freedom of opportunity, for everyone.
Yes, the American Indians lost their fight to hold on to America, against a seemingly endless tide of human migration. And it is sad, to me at least. I do feel badly for American Indians, what they lost, and most important, how they lost it to people supposedly representing Judeo-Christian ethics, and yet who had no scruples about lying to and deceiving the Indians at every turn.
But let us ask, How much land does a single person need? American Indians probably enjoyed a ratio of 10,000 square miles to each person. Contrast that to the cramped conditions in Europe, where serfs, peasants, and landless native Celts were confined to slums or as de facto slaves on their tiny “freeholds.”
Why was it OK for Asians to migrate to America, set up shop as a hundred different warring, torturing, human-sacrificing Indian tribes, but it was not OK for poverty-stricken landless Celtic tribes (Irish, Scots) to migrate to America and set up shop, as well? Were the Indians really so greedy and selfish that they could not share their incredible land wealth with other needy humans?
Why is it OK for endless illegal migration into America right now (maskless, no vaccine), but we have people celebrating “Friendsgiving” and lamenting the Indians’ stolen Americas?
And about the African slaves…yes, we know that was wrong, because America fought a bloody civil war over the issue, and America made many large sacrifices since then to rectify an issue that affected a tiny percentage of the American population.
Why are people who are living in million dollar homes and driving nice cars prostituting their skin color on this false narrative altar that America never gave them anything? Jesus Christ, people, look at the underpants you are wearing right now! I will bet that just your underpants alone cost more than all the clothes combined in one African village in the Congo or Nigeria. Show some damned appreciation. Show some gratitude for what you have. Don’t engage in this shallow virtue signaling, because all it does is draw attention to what a weak non-thinker you choose to be.
None of this makes a damn bit of sense. But then, making logical, reasonable sense never is important to people on the Left. They live a daily orgy of silly virtue signaling and mea culpas while simultaneously reaping the very best that American capitalism has to offer them, us, the entire world.
Just show some gratitude, some thanks for what you have. If you feel badly about the condition of the American Indian reservations, go help them. They need help and will appreciate your help.
And if you feel badly about the obvious plight of so many descendants of African slaves living in America today, then stop supporting bad policies that lock them into this horrible condition. Stop voting for people and one single political party that makes modern-day slavery to its movement and sacrifice by communal catastrophe an absolute requirement.
Will anyone who should hear these words listen to them? Like the people posting about “Friendsgiving” and how bad America is. Probably not. The fast-happy endorphins released in brains by silly virtue signaling “I am so damned right” are an addictive drug. People are hallucinating and fantasizing while high on endorphins, and while it isn’t real, they don’t care. It just feels so damned good, and they don’t have a care or a thanks in the world.
Freedom Sunday
Aaaaahhhh, the swell feeling of freedom.
A few days ago, I sat up in a tree stand in Perry County with a loaded crossbow, waiting for a legal buck to walk by. A legal buck in this area of Pennsylvania has at least three points on one side of his antler rack.
The most distinguishing feature of this afternoon deer hunt was that it was occurring on a Sunday. Sunday hunting (beyond coyotes and foxes) is a new addition to Pennsylvania, and as of 2020 we have three Sundays to hunt deer or bear. People like me prevailed in obtaining these mere three Sundays to hunt only after a protracted 25-year battle with the Pennsylvania Farm Bureau, whose nonagenarian board members constantly shook their canes at freedom lovers.
We lovers of freedom are also by nature opponents of government overreach, and yet while the PA Farm Bureau is against all kinds of government overreach, they were all fall-on-their-sword supportive of a government ban on Sunday hunting. Even on private property, where land owners could make their own personal choice about how to spend their weekend. The PA Farm Bureau would not, and still will not, budge one inch in their opposition to any sort of Sunday hunting. And incredibly, Pennsylvania’s laundry list of career elected officials went along with the PA Farm Bureau’s twenty nonagenarians, and against the wishes of just about everyone else.
So while we await the day when the Liberty Bell shall yet ring again and proclaim liberty throughout the land, granting Sunday hunting from October 1st through February 15th, we must enjoy what crumbs we may glean from the grips of the power and control obsessed.
This present gridlock situation made my three hours of Sunday afternoon archery hunting bittersweet. On the one hand, I was in fact experiencing one Freedom Sunday. Better than nothing, right? On the other hand, sometimes a taste of honey is worse than none at all, and while I sat there my mind kept involuntarily counting the number of Sundays we were being unfairly excluded from enjoying.
If you are curious, the number of Sundays we hunters are being deprived in Pennsylvania is nineteen (19). That may seem like very few days to the person who gets to do whatever they want to do seven days a week, 365 days a year, and without false moralists looking over their shoulder in hypocritical judgment of whatever their choice of entertainment may be on any particular day. But to us hunters, whose season runs from early October to mid February, and again the month of May’s turkey season, those nineteen days are a huge deal. We can’t make up for them in the summer months. We can’t get them back once they have passed.
This means that we Pennsylvania hunters are missing a significant percentage of freedom in our lives as otherwise free citizens. This freedom is being unfairly deprived to us, stripped out of our hands, out of the lives of our children. It is a bizarre situation, when we look at the states around us that have unlimited Sunday hunting.
For example, a week ago I began an annual wilderness hunt out of state on a Sunday morning. The trail head parking lot I started out from was packed with the pickup trucks and SUVs of fellow hunters, many of whom I learned later are tradesmen and contractors, whose work loads are heavy all week long, and whose weekends are their real opportunity to pursue their hobbies and pastimes. Our presence as free hunters, free citizens, in the Sunday woods bothered no one, impacted no one. Pennsylvania needs a lot more of this same Freedom Sunday.
Freedom Sunday: Me deer hunting on private land last Sunday. Hurting no one, bothering no one. Why not more of this Sunday freedom?