COME SEE THE PREMIER OPENING OF MY DOCUMENTARY VIDEO - ARCTIC ODYSSEY - SAILING THE NORTHWEST PASSAGE

       
          I've had a few people ask if I ever had a video made regarding the sailing voyage in 1995 through the Northwest Passage, when I crewed aboard Dove III, quite possibly the smallest sailboat to do so in a single season?  And the answer is yes; I made a documentary video about our voyage several years ago.  However, because I'm not one to promote myself or my creative abilities on a wide basis, tend to keep things to myself, only a handful of people have actually ever seen the video.  However, although I'm still somewhat of a shy guy and some of the people who may attend are my friends, I'm thinking, watching the video and having a little chat afterwards over a glass of wine and some goodies, just might be a fun time.  I'm keeping the attendance down to 10 people because the size of my art studio is quite small.  And for that reason, the tickets have to be sold beforehand and we have to know, which evening is the most suitable for you.  Tickets can be purchased where I live at Golden Unicorn Farm - 115 Forest City Road or at the Farmer's Market in Woodstock on Fridays.
          Besides making the video, I also wrote a book, Arctic Odyssey, which I fully illustrated with pen and ink drawings.  The video, book and artwork of the sailing voyage will be on sale after the presentation.
       
           Arctic Odyssey (book, autographed by Winston Bushnell - skipper and the author)  $20.00
           Arctic Odyssey (video)    $10.00
           Artwork        Prices Vary 

    Books and Videos are available any time but SHIPPING is EXTRA.

          Although the voyage took place almost 20 years ago, I would like to mention that it was one of the highlights of my life.  It was an exciting, dangerous and yet relaxing time - looking back, I'm still in awe of the harsh beauty of the arctic seascapes and landscapes and will always be grateful for the generous hospitality of the people living in the northern hemispheres who opened their homes to three, often times, hungry, thirsty and unwashed sailors - cheers, eh!      

SIGN PAINTER LENNY

8'x8' Sign

          My wife Sarah and I are involved with the Farmer's Market in Woodstock, NB. where she sells her baking, other culinary wares and eggs and I sell my artwork, books and cards.  Almost every Friday, we travel to the market place in old "Buddy" (3/4 ton diesel truck) - it's my big day out once a week, whether I need one or not.  Last Friday, I finished lettering a sign on the wall, which took about a day and a half to produce.  It seemed a little odd to drag out my old lettering brushes to paint the wall because it was something I hadn't done for quite a few years but I guess it's like riding a bicycle, once a person learns how to do it, they never forget.  Since there are quite a few farmers and crafts people that sell their wares at the market, I had quite a few requests regarding the contents of the basket and what was strewn about it.  Unable to please everyone, I just pretty much painted anything that I thought would be appropriate and hopefully there won't be any noses out of joint when they see the finished product.  I have to admit as much as I enjoyed lettering signs over the years, I always just looked at the profession as a bread and butter situation and hardly ever got excited about the results.  I've painted a lot of different things and one of the largest and most unusual advertisements I was commissioned to paint was a gigantic blimp in the shape of an orca - Ruthy the Rutherford Whale, which once it was up in the air, didn't seem to look that big.

          The other day, a friend of mine asked me to letter some plywood boards, which he had painted with white enamel.  He was hoping I would do something very creative with them but the content was so generic, which many directional signs are, I told him that I was just going to apply lick n' stick vinyl letters to the boards because the signs were just too boring.  Also, if I had done a real number on them and then hit him with a price, his nose would most likely have been more out of joint - after all - anyone who brings me rough plywood boards (that will be lucky to hold up in the weather for a year) they've painted themselves, tells me they are already trying to save money.  And unfortunately, since the boards were so rough, the vinyl letters wouldn't stick to them.  But since I can be an ornery, cussed old guy at times, I just cut some coraplast blanks, which were the same size as the boards and applied the lettering to them so he can either screw them to the boards or whatever else he likes.  Either way, I'm finished with them.

          And talking about being an ornery and cussed old guy (I was a younger guy then) I once took a sign order over the phone to hand letter some large paper banners for a sale.  When I delivered them to the store in a shopping mall, the man of East Indian descent (no reflection on his race because I did work for other East Indians and had some good friends as well) after looking at them, told me the signs weren't what he had ordered and offered, because I had put so much work into them, to pay me only half the agreed price.  Since I was mainly out my time for lettering the signs, hardly any money tied up in materials, I said, "Fine," as I tore them in half and started walking towards the door.  The look on his face was priceless, worth more than the signs as I walked out of the door, looking over my shoulder, leaving half of them lying on the floor and continued saying, "If you decide to pay the full price, I'll bring the other half back."  Thinking back to that time, still puts a gigantic smile on my face, which goes to prove, it's the small things in life that are more meaningful and have more value - money isn't always cracked up to be what it's supposed to be, and clearly, the dollar bill meant a lot to that storekeeper than it did to me - cheers, eh!       

I'M A CONCERNED PARENT - ARE YOU?

         Lately, the weather feels a lot like summer, so I'm hoping it has finally arrived and that it will not be too short.  I have a fairly lengthy, sweaty outside job; shingling my studio without having to deal with a swarm of pesky mosquitoes is awaiting.  I've still been renovating our bedroom upstairs and we're hoping to make use of it before too long.  Also, since Sarah's daughter Rachel moved to Lethbridge, Alta., and the upstairs bathroom is in desperate need of repair, I'm going to rip it apart and expand it into her sister's (Jessica) bedroom.  For someone who has done very little carpentry work over the years, I find it all to be rather challenging but a good sense of accomplishment once a job is finished.  I just tell people not to look too close at my work; I describe myself as an ad-lib carpenter, a Mr. Fix-it (fix my own mistakes).
          Just when I thought all the hoopla was over concerning graduation, the Fosterville Community Centre held a breakfast for next year's graduates.  I arrived somewhat late with a couple of friends of mine and as I sat munching away on my scrambled eggs, bacon and hash-browns, I noticed a man who looked rather familiar making the rounds so to speak and shaking hands with people as he went.  It was none other than the Premier of New Brunswick, David Alward.  When he sat down across from me and my friend George, I was wondering how long it would take before my friend would say something to him and I was amazed when he just said, "I should say something.  My friends and I wrote a letter to him in April and I would like to know if he received it and what his views are concerning sustainability."  But he didn't say a word, which is unusual for George, who has personally confronted more than one politician and put them on the spot.
          I have to admit, I felt a little disappointed when we stood up to leave and George hadn't made his presence known.  However, I wasn't to be disappointed for long because the Premier had decided to leave at the same time and as he was headed towards the door, George decided to speak up.  When he asked David Alward if he'd received the letter, he said no and that he would look into it and make sure he read it.  I don't quite remember how their discussion went after that but somehow the subject of fracking came up; a very sore point for both George and I.  Now my ears really perked up because I wanted to hear first hand, right out of the horse's mouth so to speak, the Premier's views on fracking.  The first thing David Alward said was, "You'll notice there's been no fracking while I've been Premier."  He mentioned this same line about three times in the conversation and to me, it meant either one of two things.  He was either against or for fracking.  I was hoping it meant that he was against fracking, on the side of what I believe is the majority of the people living in New Brunswick but when he said his son was working in the Alberta oil sands and wouldn't it be nice if he could be doing the same job here, I immediately knew where he stood.  I lost all respect for our Premier at that point and when he went on to say as if we were exoected to look up to him, "While I've been Priemier, only seismic testing has been going on in New Brunswick."  I couldn't believe a man who is supposedly a farmer, someone who should be in touch, in tune and in sympathy with the land would promote such a desecrating and devastating industry such as fracking to be one of his prime political objectives.
          The Premier, David Alward also stated that fracking has become safer since its beginnings and that scientists are coming up with better ideas all the time to make it an even safer industry.  So what gets me; knowing that fracking is a dangerous industry and that he is in favour of such an endeavour; he seems more like a yes-man Premier and one with very shallow convictions.   However, to my way of thinking, especially after the extreme flooding of Calgary, if that flood had occurred in the oil fields and the toxic liquids had washed into the main waterways, a great part of Alberta could become a deadly wasteland and the people living there would all be well on their way to becoming like the dinosaurs on display at Drumheller, Alta.
          It appears that Toronto had a flash flood (not as bad as Calgary's) and I'm concerned about the safety of my daughter and her family.  It's pretty obvious mankind has been steadily destroying the environment (doesn't take an intellect or a smart person to realize that) and to keep on promoting problematic, highly toxic and dangerous industries such as fracking and creating pipe lines, which will destroy a great portion of the remaining ecological balance of the land across this country, in order to create jobs and keep a fictitious thriving economy alive, doesn't make any logical sense to me.  Like many parents, even an elderly guy like me who has been told by many other people my own age, "I won't be alive long enough to see what happens" (a real cop-out) I'm deeply concerned that the inheritance I'm leaving my kids and their kids, regarding world ecological conditions, is looking extremely bleak.  I mean how many people have you the reader actually heard, "What does it matter, I won't be here when everything goes for a big shit.?"  And how do they know that - I mean someone will be here to face the music and who's to say that even though I'm almost 72 years of age, I won't be here when that invent occurs?  And on that cheery note - cheers, eh!
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BOUNDARIES, RICHES, INHERITANCES, INSURANCE POLICIES - VIEWS OF AN OLD MAN

          It's the 4th of July, American Independence Day, which is like our Canada Day, July 1st  - the only difference is we say, "Happy Canada Day" and they say, "Happy 4th" - because all the rest of the hype is pretty much the same, waving flags, politicians patting each other on the back, exploding fireworks and forever saying proud to be this and proud to be that, etc., etc.  Like every other country before them, there's been countless ship-loads of blood (mega-times larger than the ill-fated Titanic) spilled to draw the imaginary lines that designate the ownership and borders of the US, Mexico and Canada - even states and provinces.  Here, where I live, on 50 acres of semi wilderness land, I also have imaginary lines mapping out our property's borders but hopefully, there wasn't any bloodshed, maybe a little cursing and perhaps still cursing whenever someone crosses over to blast away at a forest creature or cut down a tree.
          There was a time, when I was a typical worshiper of the almighty dollar and just couldn't grab enough of the little sons-a-bitches to bolster up my bank account, actually accumulate more than any one person should really have; yeah, I was a greedy little bastard.  And even now, when I look around at all the stuff I have, especially since so many people in the world have so little, I still feel that way to a certain degree.  However, one thing I didn't do and I'm thankful that I didn't, because I believe a person wasn't meant to just idly sit on their ass in the lap of luxury when they reached their golden-moldy years, have one big-ass holiday because that's what a person gets when they stop working and wind up sitting in a big old, well-padded, cozy recliner in front of a screen (TV or computerized) and that was to put a comfortable retirement package in place.  At this age, 72, knocking real loud and hard at the door, I'm a busy little guy.  I don't have a whole load of ambition to chase the almighty buck any longer; as long as I can earn a few of them with my talents, I'm a pretty happy guy.  I learned the hard way that earning money (although I can't imagine what it would be like with absolutely none), to the point of becoming a millionaire, which was once one of my leading priorities (if not the leading one) in my younger years, should never have become such a life-consuming objective.
          I'm not retired; I'm just tired.  It's odd, I was just sitting outside with my wife Sarah enjoying a cup of coffee, having a wee chin-wagging session about what we've been doing out here since we left lotus-land on the west coast of BC a few years ago.  With what little income we had coming in every month: old age pension and pensions from time put in working at job-jobs over the years, we figured we had enough monthly income to actually squeeze by without having to work at a job-job.  But there must be something wrong with us or perhaps it's the whole human race; we never seem to know when enough is enough.  Like, when I really think about my own basic needs, I believe I've got all the bases covered; food and water in my belly for sustenance, a roof over my head, fuel for warmth against the elements and yes, even at this creaky old age; sex.  So what more do I really need; all the rest just seems to be extras and for what end?  I don't believe it's really called for that parents should keep on accumulating wealth so they can leave it to their kids when they die, especially since most kids did bugger all for the family needs when they were growing up; it's up to them, just like any other creature in the world; they have to learn to make their own way.  There's nothing wrong with helping out but to leave huge quantities of property, cash, stocks and bonds, huge life insurance policies, shit-loads of other assets behind when you die, so whoever receives it all, can just add all that stuff to the stuff they have already accumulated, seems a touch ludicrous to me.
          When I was a rather prominent business man, I once had a life insurance representative approach me about investing in a life insurance policy, which I easily could have afforded at the time.  Just seriously take a moment to think about that statement, which I did at the time, and here's what I told him.  I said, "I really can't see the profit in investing in my own death."  To which, he had no answer, just sort of shuffled some papers he was hoping I would sign, stuttered and mentioned stuff about making sure my wife and loved ones were well looked after when I was gone; tried to make me feel guilty, which I have to add, I sort of did.  At one time, I used to sell antiques (mostly furniture) from a storefront, while I painted signs in the back.  When a customer would come in and sometimes a friend was visiting, he would say, "Don't you think you should try to sell them something?"  I'd just say no, they know where I am if they're interested in buying anything.  I quite often sold antiques to people who didn't have enough cash at the time.  I just let them make payments (no interest charges or storage fees) until it was paid for.  I guess some people wanted to pay for it right away so they borrowed the money from a bank or some other institute because one day, this guy showed up and wanted me to make it easier for the customers to buy my stuff by setting up a loan program.  He seemed a little offended and mystified, when I said no, wasn't interested in the least, just said, "If they can't afford to buy what I'm selling, then they shouldn't be buying it.
          Geesh, I'm beginning to sound like all the other old farts like me, I just keep rambling on and on; don't seem to care if anyone is listening (or in this case reading).  It's time for me to shut up - cheers, eh!                  

FINNEGAN THE CAT, STEAK AND HAMBURGER - THE TWO HEIFERS

 Finnegan - Our Cheshire Kitty

          Life on the farm aint half bad says Finnegan the cat.  I got me the run of the place, all the measly mice, squirmy squirrels, buxom birds and any other rascally rodent I can creep up on and sink my sharp little fangs and claws into - rip the little buggers to shreds and pick my teeth with their bones.  And, since I do a lot of napping, I have a lot of cozy little nooks I can curl up into and dream about all the tasty little morsels that hang around this place they call Golden Unicorn Farm and why they call it that is beyond the tip of my long sensitive whiskers; I've got eyes as sharp as an eagle's and I aint yet seen a single unicorn around this place.  But then again, I'm a feisty, furry, frisky feline, a real predator and they've most likely heard about my persistent pussy prowess; I'm a tiger in disguise and they're most likely scared of me.  I must be the toughest critter around here on four legs, even the dog cowers and yelps like a baby whenever the heavens start thundering, fireworks go blasting off into the sky and someone dressed in camouflage goes tripping by like Mr. McGoo after a wascally wabbit and fires his rifle.  Yeah, I'm tough, I'm tough, rough and tough like a tom cat should be.  The critters around here don't call me tom - I'm Mr. Tom to them.  The people who live here think that I'm being affectionate with them when I saunter on over, purring my own personal song (should actually put it to music and become a rock star) and rub my body sensually along their legs; they aint figured it out yet; that's the best way to get rid of my winter's hair; sticks like glue to their pants.  Well enough said about me, think it's time for me to find one of my choice beds - ah yeah, under the metal roof on Lenny's studio is one of my favourites - talk to you again some time.

Limousin Feeder Heifers

          My friend Justin Higgs and I bought us a couple of heifers last Monday at the auction.  They're noted for their muscular bodies - not sure about their disposition or brain power but that doesn't matter.  I don't particularly want to be their friend or enroll them later in Cattle University.  Now some people like to be real friendly like with their cows and give them cutesy names like Flossie, Elsie or Cowlick Harry but the names that seems to fit these two the best are Steak and Hamburger.  I imagine a lot of people think I have no feelings and that I'm cruel to have these sort of thoughts; I only really care about how good they will smell roasting on a bar-b-q and then slapped down on my dinner plate, alongside a baked potatoe and some succulent greens - maybe wash it all back with an ice cold beer.  A person can't get all emotional and too attached but I, and I expect Justin will be the same, will treat them with respect and look after all their needs while we have them for a short time before they head on off to the slaughter house and come back home gift wrapped in brown paper.  I know, I know, I think it's somewhat sad and savage as well, but I have a couple of teeth sharp as a wild animal's k-nines, jaws of steel and a taste for blood (face it, mankind is the meanest predator this Earth has ever seen - bar nonbe - not even the dinosaurs) and I'm not proud to be that way, but like it or not, I am.  The way I see it, I've eaten one hell of a lot of beef during my almost 72 years and whether I have the power to do the critters in myself or the slaughter house has the honors; it's just something that will happen - not quite like going to the local supermarket and checking out all the packaged beef through a clear cellophane wrapper, politely saying please and thank you to the butcher; the end result is the same.

          I grew up in Vancouver-town; a great huge city busting at the seams and I made an unusual great deal of money living the city way; slabs of beef, cooked to perfection by chefs with high culinary skills, were set before me in lavish manners many times, but fortunately, part of those years touched me in a country style of living and I discovered, now that I'm residing in the country, sort of semi-wilderness country, I'm more in touch with reality, quite possibly more in tune with my actual soul.  The paper chase has got nothing on trying to chase a couple of Limousin  heifers into the barn.  Here in the country, one has to face the weather conditions, feel the heart-beat of the land and its critters, be in sympathy with one's surroundings and appreciate whatever abundance it affords without destroying everything - it's a give/take situation but should never be a love/hate situation.  I don't just put in time, work my nine to five and pick up a paycheque, I have to physically maintain a constant appreciation of Mother Nature - her nutrients are my own.  That's not to say the annoying ding of a cash register isn't part of my repertoire, it's just that here, it's more of a hands-on experience.  Like Finnegan the cat; killing is part of the process of staying alive and like it or not, I have to respect that, and I find, I am no different - cheers, eh! 

MOOSEHEAD BEER, SOLITUDE AND RANDOM THOUGHTS

          It's a rainy afternoon; close to dinner time.  However, at the moment, although I'm not hungry, I feel like writing and since I have a powerful thirst for a great tasting beer; that's what I'm doing; writing a blog and sipping a Moosehead, Pale Ale, New Brunswick's finest.  Now, how lucky am I to have these simple luxuries and in such a peaceful and serene place as Golden Unicorn Farm, which is situated on 50 acres at the base of Green Mountain; one might say I'm having a Green Mountain high; just relaxing to some comfortable classical music wafting through the studio and enjoying my solitude.  It's kind of odd, when I think back through my life, how solitary I've been, even with two wives, six kids and I've lost count of the girlfriends that I loved as well.
          The wind is blowing steadily, often with violent gusts and as I watch the harmonious swaying of the trees growing all the way up the side of Green Mountain, the lights sometimes flickering and threatening to go out, like they did last night, while I was sleeping all alone; oblivious to the rain smacking the widow pane just above my head, I am in awe of Nature's freedom and the simple wonders of this planet Earth, which I call home and love and cherish so much.  If I could have a wish; peace is not high on my list; there's nothing wrong with a good healthy war to kill off a great many men and keep the population under control.  I also suspect, if women had rights equivalent to the men, the population wouldn't be at such an extreme number and the world wouldn't be in as much trouble either.
          Ah ha, just what I was worried about, the pesky wind blew out a transformer or knocked a power line down because the power went out for a couple of hours.  My lackadaisical mellow thoughts and philosophical pandering somehow have lost their way and as I sit, sipping another Moosehead, I fear the pattern that was shaping up in my mind is now misplaced.  It doesn't take much any more to sidetrack me; unless I have an immediate goal that needs fulfilling, I'm apt to meander off like a gentle stream and flow to another source of inspiration.
          My wife Sarah is somewhere between here and Halifax with her daughter Jessica, who is now recovering from surgery.  Her last Internet message was that she would be taking it slow and easy because of the rain and to prevent Jessica from feeling anymore pain than necessary.  At this point of the day, I'm hoping she is not more than a couple of hours away and reaches home before it gets dark.  On the narrow, curvy road from the highway to home can be a difficult drive especially if it is during a torrential downpour and a moose decides to cross the road just as the car is coming around a sharp corner.  They are huge and very difficult to see; it's unbelievable how quickly they disappear into the forest after crossing the road, even on the brightest sunlit days.
          The past winter was very harsh, some of the people I know who tend bee hives, lost their bees.  One never thinks too much about bees, especially their usefulness.  Being stung by a bee is our highest priority but  what I recently learned; the bees are in desperate times; their numbers have dropped dramatically.  Scientists say that if the bees disappear, within four years after their disappearance, mankind will join them in their extinction.  Extreme winter conditions have always been hard on the bee population but since the crazed use of toxic repellents and the general world weather conditions taking a major turn for the worse; there is no doubt that we humans are in trouble as well.  When our so called world leaders start pleading for ecology rather than economy; we will be in real trouble, but unfortunately, it will be too late to recover.  Like David Suzuki says, the world is like a car heading for a brick wall and we're all arguing about where we want to sit.
          My second Moosehead Pale Ale is down to the last swallow, and although there is room enough inside me for another and I have considered doing so, I think, like writing this blog, I'll just down the last swallow and call it a day - cheers, eh!

SURGERY, GRADUATION AND LIFE GOES ON

          The sun has finally burnt away the clouds; if only it had done the same with those pesky mosquitoes.  I do believe we've had more than our share of rain and I know the New Brunswick farmers are suffering from the continual deluges - I can't imagine what it was like for Noah when it rained for 40 days and 40 nights - it must have been one heavy unimaginable downpour because it's rained off and on for a long time now and we're still above water.
          Sarah and Jessica are in Halifax and will be there for several days.  Injuries resulting from a severe automobile accident when Jess was almost three years of age has taken them to Children's Hospital where she will undergo an operation this morning, to help mend a collar bone that never healed properly.  Apparently, the surgeon is going to remove a small portion of bone from her left hip and attach it to her right collar bone, which should then hold it in place properly.  Jessica is very fortunate to be alive today and in as good as shape as she is, especially since her left arm was almost completely severed at the shoulder and both her legs were broken in the accident.  The way she runs and leaps around, except for some major scars, one would never know that she had almost been killed along with her dad on that fateful day on Jingle Pot Road in Nanaimo, BC.
          Although that accident changed the lives of Sarah's family, it also changed mine.  I had actually been the best man at her wedding and caught her garter, which I believe means that I would be the next to marry - who would have thought years later, after her husband was killed, that I would be his replacement.  Not sure if way back when in the days of yore, if that was the best man's duty or not, but if it was, I guess I filled the bill.
          Summer is almost upon us and the "Lakers" are now in full swing, returning to their "camps" or cottages that are quaintly tucked around the lakes.  Since Sarah opened her wee coffee shop a few weekends ago (only open on weekends), some of their friendly, smiling faces are beginning to brighten our doorway once again.  I filled in for her yesterday and although it was a cloudy, somewhat dismal day, I actually served a few of them, plus some friends like Bill Leeman and his son Brendan - we had a  hard on the stomach from laughing so hard, good time.  Not sure if Sarah and Jessica will return by the next weekend but if not, guess I'll have to don her apron once again and open up the coffee shop.
          Besides Jessica's operation, Rachel, her other daughter, is graduating this year, which to me as far as pomp and ceremony goes, is beginning to rival the Queen's Coronation; one almost needs a royal larder full of gold and priceless jewels to participate in this event.  I sometimes wonder if the celebration for graduation is the educational system's way of covering up the lack of education the kids are now receiving.  Sadly, from what I can decipher, Rachel's grade 12 is about equivalent to my Grade 10 or lower.  The future of our civilization, which is rather calamitous, could possibly be bordering on extinction, I'm just completely bewildered why the government has cut educational development, especially when unfortunately, because of my generation and the next generation's lack of concern for the Earth, this new generation and the one following will be left with hardly any natural resources to carry on - water and food being a premium - we can't drink or eat bloody oil.  Rachel has been packing her bags for the past few weeks, since she is leaving home, I believe, the day after graduation.  She is moving to her grandma's place in Lethbridge, Alta. and her boyfriend Adrian is going to work in the oilfields.  I'm sad to say, I don't have much respect for him to work at such a place, where a huge amount of Alberta has been turned into a toxic wasteland in order to earn a few paltry bucks.  But then our poorly managed government and our poor excuse of education have left them and many other young people just as ignorant as the day they began school, so what is to be expected, especially when because of the media and internet these days, they are led to believe that what a person wears and what they drive are somehow the most important things to acquire.
          But I ramble and babble on, and why bother says I, only a wee few nod their heads in agreement and most can't see, won't see or have never taken the time to see the perils that every living being upon this planet is now facing in a not very distant future.  Many believe that science will come up with a solution like the US Cavalry suddenly appearing out of no where when all looks lost.  From what I've read, the scientists are telling us to beware and that there isn't any big miracle cure for our survival if we don't make drastic and I mean severely drastic changes to our lifestyles and our way of thinking.  Well, before I get too carried away with my rant and write more than anyone will ever care to read on this blog, it's time for me to do some chores around my little world of paradise.  I don't look at the 50 acres I bought as ownership - to me, I am the caretaker of what abides here and as long as I live, everything is safe, and I mean everything, right from a blade of grass to a pesky mosquitoe - only natural disasters and of course self-preservation rule here - cheers, eh!