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Doing some non-farm signpainting by request. Don’t bother with the burn pile, @solwhale ! This bit of offcut siding is perfect!
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This shit is why there’s no way in hell I’d buy a Windows laptop even though the current Mac ones are hot garbage. Did it ask me if it could make itself unavailable for going on 45 minutes now? No, it did not ask. I’m not subjugating myself to an operating system that whimsical.
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A post shared by Bridget Kelly (@bomberqueen17) on Jul 22, 2017 at 7:59pm PDT

My favorite part of my favorite power ballad. Believe it or not this is one of the standby lullabies for Farmbaby. (at Rio Tomatlan)
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A post shared by Bridget Kelly (@bomberqueen17) on Jul 22, 2017 at 7:18pm PDT

The shot of the crowd didn’t come out but this place is jammed. This is a huge show. Who knew, Canandaigua?! (at Rio Tomatlan)
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theamazingchickenman:

twocatstailoring:

unabletofindname:

teacherbach:

sociallychallengednerd:

why do people say chicken as a term for coward? Have you ever meet a chicken? Cause those things will fuck you up man

@theamazingchickenman

“Get some.”
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A post shared by Bridget Kelly (@bomberqueen17) on Jul 21, 2017 at 3:57pm PDT

Turkey poults react to bright colors. Apparently this includes fingernail polish. (at Laughing Earth)
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Flower harvest. (at Laughing Earth)
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starrynight-over-thepast:

spoutziki-art:

laclefdescoeurs:

Nāve (Death), 1897, Janis Rozentāls

This is one of the most disturbing paintings that I have ever come across. And I have seen A LOT of paintings.  

“The name of the image I chose is ‘Nāve’ (‘Death’), 1897 produced by Latvian painter Janis Rozentāls. The painting was produced in a time when most of the people lived ordinary lives as peasants. The author was mostly painting people’s daily life but sometimes reflecting mythology and religion. This image is one of those paintings – something between daily life and mythology. […]

‘The functions of the image are those that have, throughout history, been the functions of all human production: they aim to establish a relation to the world’. If we look at the image we can see a representation of death from Latvian mythology as a woman standing in white. There is also an angry woman, sitting on the rock at the edge of the forest, holding her dead child. Around the main characters of the painting we can see woods, a small path and the beginning of a meadow. Judging by the nature and colours, it could be summer […]

For those familiar with Latvian mythology it is clear that the child is dead and ‘The Mother of Death’ (that is how death is usually referred) is taking him with her. Of course, death is ‘an abstract referent, because it is something that is formed in the mind and is thus not demonstrable’. 

Death is one of the goddesses in Latvian mythology and she is always wearing white. Also the dead child is wearing white. In Latvian mythology the white colour indicates death, rebirth, the world of the dead, and everything else related to death. Also, death is holding a sickle in her hands, because a sickle, the same as the scythe in the Western image of death, is symbolically used to cut life short. Death leans over the child and her facial expression (she sneers) shows that she is happy to take the child. Death also has bare feet, because she is in very close relationship with nature. She comes from nature. The path death stands on belongs to her and she comes out of the woods to take the child. Thus, the mother of the child was waiting for the goddess.

The woman, who is holding the child, has a very simple outfit and hairstyle, and Latvian traditional footwear. It shows that she is from the peasant class. Her facial expression shows that she does not want to give away her child. She is angry and is looking straight at death but leaning back from her.

If a Latvian would see this painting, he or she would know that it is about death. People from other cultures may not recognise the symbolism within this image and not realise what it is about. For many people in the West, the woman wearing white would represent something good. Yet the woman holding her baby is angry. Another thing to note is that it is summer, because the nature all around is green and the mother is lightly dressed. Nature is a key feature for the goddess death. Both lighting and colour are important to this image, which is drawn in the Art Nouveau technique, making the viewer drawn to the women in the front of the image.

All in all, the painting is harmonious and every colour has its own place. Therefore we can imagine ‘Mother of Nature’ becomes ‘Mother of Death’ and death then becomes part of the cycle of nature; or death is part of the cycle of life.”(Commentary by Diana Spoge)
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balticmythology:

Baltic mythology: Kaupolė and Rasa

Kaupolė - goddess of wild flowers, verdure efflorescence and the growing strength of vegetation. Her name is connected to the phrase su kaupu which means ‘abundantly’ and refers to the abundant growth of the verdure.

During Rasos (Lithuanian summer solstice) people pick herbs called Kaupolės žolynai (herbs of Kaupolė) of which flower crowns are made. These herbs bring health, luck and protect from maladies. In various myths Kaupolės žolynai are portrayed magical. According to one, there was a three-branched plant. Its branches bloomed like sun, moon and stars respectively.

Kaupolė’s daughter Rasa (dew) or Rasytė - goddess of dew, the deity of summer flowers. Her duty is to water the thirsty plants so she is her mother’s helper. Together they walk around the meadows and look after the greenery. Rasa is portrayed making flower crowns and giving them to young girls.

Kaupolė also has a husband Kaupolis who rides on a horse and kidnaps young girls. He looks after the verdure as well but his role is not as important as Kaupolė’s or their daughter’s.

Lithuanians believe that Rasos’ morning dew has healing powers and brings beauty. That is why people roll around dewy meadows and rye fields on Rasos’ morning. It is also believed that the heavier the dew on a rye field the better the harvest.

During Rasos rites are performed for Kaupolės žolynai, water and fire. Some erotic rites are dedicated to the marital life. One of the most important moments is burning of a female idol made of hay which portrays Kaupolė. Through fire her power is released and helps nature to flourish. 
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The sun came up and chased me out of the zinnia patch but I managed a pretty full bucket of pink ones first. (I get hives from sun exposure, which is not pretty, and if it’s not the sun then it’s heat rash from the heat, so I guess I’m crepuscular now.) (at Laughing Earth)
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A post shared by Bridget Kelly (@bomberqueen17) on Jul 20, 2017 at 8:54am PDT

Drove a peeping car back from meeting the hatchery guy. Discovered that baby chicks love flip-flops. Also, alert eyes may note that a couple of these are not chickens. The hatchery gave us some bonus turkey poults! (at Laughing Earth)
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Harvest buddy among the sunflowers. This is why we encourage the milkweed! (at Laughing Earth)
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Someone was left unattended with some markers for a bit today, and made some choices with those markers. Another of today’s choices was the Princess Captain America dress. I can’t really judge; both of those choices were perhaps choices I would also make.
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A post shared by Bridget Kelly (@bomberqueen17) on Jul 18, 2017 at 5:12am PDT

Here come the stars of the show! Chicken processing day. (at Laughing Earth)
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Well I just had to turn the music I was playing off because it’s thundering and raining so hard I literally couldn’t hear it, but– mostly, there aren’t any leaks through the canvas roof, and I seem to have a correct enough assemblage of shower curtain and vinyl tablecloth and 2x6 and so on at the door to keep that from pouring water in across the floor, so all is well in yurtville at the moment. The thunder and lightning are mildly terrifying but fortunately I’m not particularly afraid of that sort of thing. 

Let’s hope I sleep okay. It’s another slaughter day tomorrow. I cleaned the whole area today, and since the Assistant Livestock Manager wasn’t done washing eggs when I got out there, I lavished a lot more time on the kill room than I normally do. (The evisceration room is the one that’s all stainless steel and plastic walls, and I always scrub the bejesus out of it and bleach it super good, because I eat those chickens too. But I like the kill room to be spotless too, it’s just harder to do.) 

I got back to the house after much longer than I’d meant to spend, but had consoled myself by nabbing a pitcher full of ice out of the ice machine, and made margaritas. And then, since it was 90, and Farmbaby wanted to go in the sprinkler, I grabbed my swimsuit and went out and joined her, to her very great delight, and we had a fine time, and I didn’t have to take a shower after all. (I hate to shower right before slaughter day; slaughter night is like, my one guaranteed day I’ll actually wash on the farm. The rest of the time, the policy is only to wash if someone’s going to see us, OR we’re so offensive no one can stand to be in the room with us. I was approaching the latter category after all my scrubbing– I put on a rubber apron to keep bleach off my clothes, and then sweated through my clothes from the inside, of course– but a trip through the hose sorted that acceptably. A trip through the hose is fine for human odors, but not for chicken-internals odors. Soap must be employed, for those.)

So. Margaritas, and then a lovely dessert (local-harvested blueberries, in a pie! a neighbor is ill with Lyme disease so his crop is going unharvested, and he has called upon neighbors to help him out, and we’ve obliged; he gets a slice of pie in return, and wouldn’t take any more than that)– and then I sprinted out the door as the rain started, so I could get out here before it. Not just to avoid walking in the rain, but also in case I’d left anything unsecured. Which, somewhat, I had, but it was mostly fine. 

Anyhow. I thought this thunderstorm was going to pass on, but it’s lingering. I ought to look at the radar but I’m resisting. 

Sleeping in the yurt is like… one night I lie awake the whole night for no reason, the next night I lie awake a lot because there’s a leak or sound or mosquito or something, the third night I sleep twelve hours like I’ve been tranquilized, the next night I get a totally normal 7ish hours of sleep, the night after that I sleep like the dead again and almost miss my alarm, then I lie awake staring at the rafters the night after that for no reason… It’s annoying. Clearly, I can sleep out here just fine. Clearly, the space is comfortable and to my liking, and even the shitty air mattress is comfortable. (It’s developing some… quirks, but it holds air for the nonce, so I won’t complain, but my next one will be a futon mattress or something.) But I’m just a miserable middle-age-approaching cuss, and my sleep is apparently Delicate.

I can hear the stream now, over the rain. It’s lovely but not all that restful. At least I know, 1000% certainly, that this bank of the stream literally never floods. (It didn’t flood during Irene or Sandy, it didn’t flood last month when a random thunderstorm higher up the mountain dumped 2 inches in 2 hours and almost took out the culvert by the granary… we may lose the opposite bank, and the basement, and the picking garden, and the yurt might blow the fuck over, but this bank won’t flood.)
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cakeandrevolution:

queeranarchism:

60 year old historian Martin Bühler (who identified himself to the press, I do not identify activists without consent) appears to ‘photobomb’ a lot of media images of the G20 in Hamburg. In reality he is a long time observer documenting police brutality. In Hamburg he chose to cultivate the most non-activist ‘white bystander in a suit with a bike’ look he could manage and casually walked in front of police. As police slowed down or interrupted attacks and waited for the ‘bystander’ to get out of the way (being caught on camera trashing what look like bystanders is bad press after all), activists had time to regroup or retreat.

oh my god, what a fucking badass

I think my favorite thing is how he has his “nonchalant” pose fixed so it’s the same in every photo. One hand on bike, other hand in pocket, lean slightly, look unconcerned and mildly interested. I love this, and absolutely do not have the cool to do this myself.
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bomberqueen17:

bomberqueen17:

Farmbaby is heartbroken that there isn’t time to go to the real moon in the cardboard rocket ship she made, because it’s time for supper.

I… don’t know how I failed to forsee that the solution to this was going to involve me pretending to be an alien from the moon for the duration of supper… 

Update: have spent morning on Moon, send help
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I really like seeing my signs in context! (at Laughing Earth)
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A post shared by Bridget Kelly (@bomberqueen17) on Jul 15, 2017 at 4:24pm PDT

Turkeys in the trees!

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