Homesteading - 05

Winter is coming and I swear I'll hogtie and castrate the fool who sings, thinks or hums that idiotic theme song. Cold months on the South Africa homestead are an enduring hardship of fixing things, kind of like the stupid mobile game they keep advertising on the itunes app. It's also snake season so strap on your Aussie bushies because these cobras and rinkhals are huge. Our fowler flocks have gone into production hibernation, we won't see an egg until July if we're really lucky. The garden looks like Chernobyl, well soon enough once the annual South African winter sport season kicks off with burning every patch of veld at minimum twice before our comrade Frost sinks its frozen fingers firmly in and the warmest any of us can feel is our slightly frozen bone marrow. But it's all bad news, we don't care about our runaway brush fires, lets watch Africa burn but It's been unseasonably soaked and you can't burn wet veld despite your best effort. Winter rain is not common for the highveld interior but the frigid April mornings mean our comrades Freeze and Frost are coming. We seldom see snow, it would ruin the cold winter beauty of Africa but the heavy rains have our dams opening their flood gates to ease the near full to capacity, there's something you need to see and experience. The contrast of Fire and Ice.

Then on a random Thursday night the power goes out, political shenanigans at play again and this angers the South African phonetic in my DNA, I'm gatvol of this kak, behoorlik moer uit gestrip vir die poephols so much I spent my evening fumbling around in the dark searching for my sjambok. Best described as a shortened cattle whip, this is a South African learning tool teaching the poor unfortunate soul on the receiving end valuable moral lessons of corrective civil obedience. It's the one thing all South Africans know and fear. Die sjambok is a painmaker, P.K. (Google it), klaar gepraat regmaaker. It's time I upload a few Voetsek videos on YouTube. I personally condone the necessary use of violence when It's required to motivate the idiot masses to stop and rethink their poor life choices. Someone decided to vandalsise and steal electric cabling in a neighbouring town that damaged several poorly maintained sub stations leading to me spending a wet winter night in darkness. Let the world watch an angry man whipping these fools with his sjambok while shouting Voetsek with each blow, one and done. From street thugs to state bureaucrats, sjambok motivation works.

Enough about that, it's a beautiful day out there of sunshine and blue sky so we better get some work done.

Brace for Impact - 03

When the air raid siren goes off you have no time to react. The tactical airstrike autism ordered is go and it's hitting you, the adult, starting with the high pitch, mind destroying continuous squeal for mom or dad or something inaudible. It sounds like every idiot YouTube influencer raving on about something pointless for video stats needed for incomprehensible revenue generated online. The radio chatter is chaotic; the constant nagging, screaming, repeated phrases, more F bombs, we're in the middle of a fire fight on the battlefield of homework. We're been attacked by the second grade school curriculum homework. Seeing the early warning signs of an imminent attack before mom can I try to diffuse but my Intel is bad and l’m about to take a direct hit, brace for impact. The carpet bombing barrage of negative emotional processing falls like Hellfire's over Baghdad. Your air support isn't available, your evac team cannot engage. Sit tight soldier you're on your own. Writing sentences has been listed as a near act of terrorism with reading being the betrayal of global security. Every kid hates homework, maybe not Hitler, he probably loved writing sentences using verbs and nouns and reading about what, where, who, when, why and how. Getting autistic children to complete daily homework should be declared an act of torture in fact getting children to do homework at all should be declared torture. So begins my petition to the UN requesting the immediate disband of homework. Literacy is essential but the idea of bringing work home as a child or an adult in my opinion is torture. Needless to say, the UN has ignored my protest.

It was a rough week.

Homesteading - 02

‘I couldn't believe it bro,’ started the grocery store conversation. I didn't mean to drop any eaves on. ‘like I drove all the way there and they're closed,’ continued his bro. It's Easter Friday and most local retailers in the local neighborhood are closed for religious observation, the notices were posted in stores weeks ago. I concluded a few things from this bromance; these two muppets didn't frequent the supermarkets, they were heading to Griff’s for a braai, this particular supermarket brand everyone was raiding for conveniences was a new experience for the two of them. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to publicly ridicule the bro crowd in their offline state; everyone knows the type, the embodiment of millennial posturing. ‘like that is the cutest bromance I have seen,’ began my monologue, ‘like can you believe the store was totally closed for Easter, omg like who knew. Get a room bro.’ They heard me, it was funny. I advocate to open public mockery, clowns perform for laughs. I noticed how busy this particular supermarket was and I was impressed. Despite the local reputation of this franchisee being unscrupulous I couldn't fault his business savvy. This store opens early, trades every public holiday and survives on a regular client base of the blue collar social rung. Our bros were not regular clients. ‘Check you later at Griff's.’

Homesteading is interesting because your independence comes from preparation. We are slowly moving away from daily trips to retailers as we're generating our own grocery supply. Today was an exception, everyone was caught short for the four day weekend upon which our entrepreneur would Carpe Diem.

Brace for Impact - 02

Once upon a wandering walk we meandered up roads drab and dreary. Crossing unkept pavement and pristine green lawn this journey felt like from dusk through to dawn. At dad's suggestion, we all need to get fit so a stroll to the park would do a good bit. Dog on his leash was quite eager to go, I would drag his canine butt home. Swings and slides and a carousel the park are frequented rather well, the paint worn away from regular play a clear tell. Not bothering with the noise of suburban places, autistic children enjoy the sounds of wide open spaces, that's why we go to the parks and other such places. Two passing near miss collision upon notice, their smartphones in hand distracting their focus. Oh what fun to reach home at dusk, parents exhausted from the marathon march. Then again who really needs a reason to visit the park.

When upon a windy day we tried to fly our kites away. Turns out you see, flying a kite requires several advanced degrees. From understanding the engineered assembly, thermodynamics and meteorological applicability and the inconsiderate lack of printed instructions in Chinese of which little Ling-Ling doesn't consider when packaging and processing these cheaply made products being shipped worldwide by monster corporations making billions in change while poor Ling-Ling sweats it out in some labour forced workshop for less than 3 cents a day. Modern single string store bought kites have more commercial value than recreational. But it was fun, mostly. Our special needs kid awkwardly tried to make friend with the other children playing the park, sometimes extrovert enthusiasm leaves him in the dark. He did what he could but kite flying requires articulate skills and when the gusts low to disrupt the airflow our buddy loses his enthusiastic glow. This is where dad steps aside, noticing buddy sitting alone with his sighs. Sitting on the bench alongside, pausing for a small sigh. I ask ‘are you okay bud?’

Taking a knee so we can see eye to eye, something autistic children don't have a fondness for, I read the entire soliloquy in one glance; dad I'm fine but we've had our fun, the sun is now hot and outside time is done. I'd like a drink of water if you don't mind and dad, thanks for the effort I appreciate in kind. 

‘Cool,’ I said, ‘time to go, I'm also thirty from trying to fly kites don't you know.’ I called the troops, rallied them all, relayed instructions, home time for all. This is what a good day looks like for our special needs family, mom receives a hug from her special little boy, dad takes a knee.

R and R is key you see, routine and repeat is what I mean. ‘Enough Dr Seuss, this isn't a story,’ my wife resetting our conversation, my thoughts sometimes meander. I interrupted his moment of play, part of the routine he repeats every day. 15h30 he plays alone, his decompress time when he gets home. I thought to question all the fuss but quickly remembered he rides home on the school bus which is more than an hour each day. You're usually working at that time of day, what you do for my paycheck is all work and no play. Being at home sick with your ills resest the Autistic watch Netflix and chill. The goes as follows steps one through three, arrive home to pee, eat sandwiches, play. I interrupted step three by accident, it takes twenty minutes to reset, go back one space. Another round of sandwich.

Brace for impact - 01

Raising a child with autism is the equivalent to front line combat. Well no shit there whomever shared the obvious pearl of wisdom with the internet, I applaud your insight and genius. I've also come to learn children with autism probably invented sarcasm. Having never been to war, not a real one thankfully, I'm no expert in modern day combat methodology or where exactly anyone stands on which square of the chess board when it comes to the human rights charter or rules of engagement. My interest is military history, my family lineage served in WWI and WWII, lest we forget and my only preparedness for engagement with opposition of autism was raising my now young adult ADHD daughter, dear God was that hell on earth for someone as pigheaded and foolish enough as me to repeat every damn mistake imaginable and The Art of War by Sun Tzu, worth a read when you have a moment. Just like serving in the Marine Corp you need to be ready for absolutely anything all the time because you will hit a roadside IED when trying to figure out flavour of Prime drink is the preferred choice while the shopping equivalent of the opening scene of Final Destination 2 unfolds behind you at the supermarket check-out. You will take multiple headshots from random snipers at dinner time, homework time, anytime simply because an indecisive impulse decided to mess with your universe. You will be pushed to the utmost limits of inhuman psychological torture because spaghetti and macaroni are two different food things and cannot be eaten for dinner on days ending in Y. Autistic blowouts aren't pretty, then neither is war, should you the brave mature adult survive the Blitzkrieg before breakfast your parental general issue kit will include an infinite supply of patience you can use in very limited quantities for short amounts of time, this is your first line defense. You will master stealth, go for hours of random walks, endure endless conversation and unrelenting questions about absolutely everything. You will break down, you will succumb to frustration, you will cry because you will fail but you will learn.

I haven't learned much in nine years, yes folks I'm an idiot with mouth writing checks my ass can't cash. The internet fails to share a lot, Google is not your alley, it will betray your fragile confidence. I have broken down, I have cried, I have failed and I sought help, drugs are helpful to have in your arsenal. Taking a moment to reflect that I am mastering my breathing techniques while l my emotional dulla is trying to enhance my calm and I'm reading Sun Tzu again, having calmed my inner turmoil to observe autistic children like ogres have layers.

Beneath the layers of obscenities, indignation, crotch shots and Yoko Ono screaming sessions I find a sharp wit nine year old boy with a heart of gold, a passion for motorcycles and laying the smackdown on dad's unsuspecting candy-ass. Not to mention his passion for cooking and mild admiration of Gordan fucking Ramsey. That's my boy who explained to his granny the necessity for frequent repetition of curse words and then explained to his other granny the practical exercise to closing the barn after the horse has bolted prevents the other horses from bolting too. It's worth mentioning both instances were the result of repeated flatulence. You, the mature adult will find all fart jokes funny while keeping your serious composure after your kid went dropping a rip-shit-tear-arse in front of the butcher's counter of your local supermarket with near nuclear ferocity is no laughing matter for the poor unfortunate souls desperately gasping for life nourishing air as they reconsider vegetarian living.

I have admitted defeat, surrendered to the Armada, laid down my arms at the feet of Caesar and I too was sent to prison by a military court for a crime I did commit whereas my wife deserves the Victoria Cross. Commanding a special needs family requires strategic precision, unshakeable fortitude, unwavering determination, true grit and Shaolin inner peace to resist the urge to drop a Jericho missile on my dumb ass because I'm not helping the situation by trying to help the situation by not listening to her instructions because I'm playing verbal Russian roulette with an angry wrestling midget. Cock shot!

There you have it, the right stuff, your limited edition G.I. Joe Decoder Ring, none of the Google broad spectrum, feel good, cure all self help scrolling. My sympathy to the parents sharing foxholes keeping their heads down during heavy shelling the internet cannot prepare you for those road trip skirmishes. Remain calm soldier, practice your breathing and resist the urge to deport your offspring to North Korea. Then again when all else fails.

If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them....maybe you can hire The A-Team.

Homesteading - 01

Homesteading: the farming lite lifestyle where you work excessively hard at growing broke while disapproving the secular work you are shackled unto because life is expensive and the bills don't pay themselves. You would think after twenty something years in Information Technology, the only career comparable to active military service, you think I'd be tougher than the heel of Chuck Norris’ boot. Closer to borderline WTF, the latest complaint afflicting the digital age. Winding down a mediocre IT career to start up homesteading in South Africa during a general global downturn while raising special needs children on a single secular income. Isn't it ironic?

I suppose somewhere in my childhood life plan this was my John Conner transition. Going off grid to establish sustainable living with the rest of the humans patiently waiting for Judgement Day, the rise of the machines so I can put all those years of knowledge and experience to stopping the terminators. Here's hoping blog posts survive for us to continue to spread the message. A better quality of people for a better quality of life. Society is doomed. Any redeemable qualities of the human race are quickly diminishing with the shrinking old school analogue freedom being pushed out by the increased intrusion of millennials' technology dependencies on the coming AI. The worst of all third world living reside in Africa, the absolute worst congregate at the southern tip of the continent. I know this because I live in South Africa. Most of the global population doesn't know this, that is unfortunate but of the few who do know, really know, Elon Musk knows. Social media compares him to Hitler when they should compare him to Thanos. A single snap and half of Earth's population land on Mars. My opinion of disdain for the repugnant behavior of people is considered dramatic, exaggerated, unfair and broad swept. Mere observation of the world around me and while some people fight for whatever good might remain in the world the opposed masses continue to exercise despicable human behavior. Their deplorable acts gladly celebrated online. Shame on everyone. South Africa thrives on cock and booze because the country has more liquor stores than schools. Government is a failed state because they are an organization of lie, cheat and steal deliberately keeping the people distracted from their evil with the confusion between civil freedom and utter lawlessness by enabling and facilitating the cock and booze irresponsible mentality. Uneducated people intoxicated, impoverished and pregnant continue to feed the machine of oppression. I ventured into the dangerous unknown of an egg impoverished society on month end Saturday to service the technology dependences of the millennials. It was terrible, I instantly became the focus for animosity which develops in unnecessary conflicts. In my experience as a professional the work gets done because the people don't matter, not understand. I've officially learned how to say “fuck you” in all eleven official languages of South Africa. Still could be worse, not really this is Africa, the worst of the worst. I've learned a few other Africanisms. Always in a rush, never in a hurry is the only African proverb. From there life holds no value with a per second prepaid philosophy of lie, cheat and steal. Arguably the entire African third world is misrepresented to the global community and misunderstood because of it. I'm moving on; the government is evil, nobody really gives a shit and maybe I'll wake up one morning to find the shit show over and the DA finally in charge. Money is the colour of racism, remember that next time a friendly face of the Frontline work force helps you because pushing them to perform is a despicable corporate syndicate hell-bent on maximum profit at the sacrifice of good folk trying to make the world a little less crappy instead of coercing consumers to spend more and get less. Complaining is exhausting and my rising cortisol levels are scaring the grim reaper. Enough of the rat race, the digital age be damned, we're going off grid homesteading. That was thirteen years ago. So how has homesteading been treating you?

I've shared trials and tribulations of starting with pigs, dealing with bat shit crazy neighbors, moving onto vegetable production, dealing with runaway fires; again the bat shit crazy neighbors, buying a goat, starting our duck and chicken production, investing a lot of money only to suffer losses from a devastating power failure; other bat shit crazy neighbors and the government endorsed load shedding. I've put most of that behind me. Our ducks and chickens are healthy,  happy, loveable and delicious when we decide to butcher for our freezer. Our vegetable garden needs some attention before winter and our fruit trees have more surprises than our VAT increase. That's pretty much where we are; raising animals, picking plant things. Passionate, exhausted, slightly demotivated but extremely optimistic and taking it each day as it comes. We're homesteading, we're Nuckfuts.

Homesteading - 00 - Slaughterhouse (a reboot trilogy)

In a time when really bad franchise reboots were systematically destroying cinema faster than Disney could ruin their own franchises with reboots nobody wants comes a film reboot trilogy nobody wants. Rated R

SLAUGHTERHOUSE.

The butcher descends upon a chicken farm to take the heads clean and entrails bloody. No bird is left standing, unable to stop the blood fest, all poultry must die. It will be a blood fest, man has to eat.

SLAUGHTERHOUSE 2 : BLOOD FEST

Our machete wielding butcher returns to the chicken farm to claim the heads of the surviving flock, it was a sizeable flock. Slaughter resumes to leave unsuspecting onlookers traumatized and peckish.

SLAUGHTERHOUSE 3 : DEAD RECKONING 

The butcher sensing an onset of fatigue must finish this slaughter. Bodies burned, bodies buried. Freezers filled in the final installment of the bloodiest chicken slaughter of the month. Some survive while the tired butcher slumbers.