The Riley Factor July 21, 2010
(All the Rock Creek Farm news that's fit to print, along with unfit to print rumors, prognostications & bloviations.)
(All the Rock Creek Farm news that's fit to print, along with unfit to print rumors, prognostications & bloviations.)
FORT PLAIN NY, July 21 --
EXTRA, EXTRA >>>>> Stevie's & Scott's big wedding bash went off as planned on, Saturday, July 17. Israel and Annie Kanagy watched Rock Creek Farm while were in Eastern Massachusetts -- big thanks to them. Stevie did a remarkable job in planning the wedding (one man's unbiased opinion). And what a great bridal party, everyone was so helpful with all the details, not to mention the impromptu singing and dancing during and after the ceremony. We had a great time, and Stevie and Scott landed on Maui on Sunday evening for their honeymoon in Hawaii.
Planting and Plowing -- The wheat is closing-in on time for the harvest. Golden waves throughout, still not quite dry enough for combining. Should be good to go soon, weather permitting. Ephraim Blank is giving the combine a once over to be sure it is ready for the 2010 season. And, after a couple of weeks under the care and feeding of Lloyd Vanalstine, the recently acquired hay baler us up and running.
Riley -- Apparently, Riley has just discovered that he has a tail. Question: What kind of dog waits 10 months and then begins chasing his tail, making this fruitless task a daily preoccupation? Answer: The Riley.
The Herd of Five -- Susan had to round up the Herd of Five the other evening by chasing them on an ATV from up on the highlands. She was laughing so hard that she caused a mini stampede while Lloyd and I looked on. The two Dexters entered the barn at about 20 miles per hour. Good thing those 500-pound steer have brakes. The three Holsteins wandered in when they were good and ready.
Fowl Weather -- The Keets have gone on strike a couple of evenings, refusing to get back into their 'luxurious' quarters in the barn. The inmates think that they are running the asylum ... now, where did I put my 12-gauge?
| Casey at the Bat By Ernest Lawrence Thayer | |
 The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day;The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play, And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same, A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game. A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast; They thought, "If only Casey could but get a whack at that — We'd put up even money now, with Casey at the bat." But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake, And the former was a hoodoo, while the latter was a cake; So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat; For there seemed but little chance of Casey getting to the bat. But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all, And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball; And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred, There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third. Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell; It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell; It pounded on the mountain and recoiled upon the flat, For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat. There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place; There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile lit Casey's face. And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat, No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat. Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt. Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt. Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip, Defiance flashed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip. And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air, And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there. Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped — "That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one!" the umpire said. From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar, Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore; "Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted some one on the stand; And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand. With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone; He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on; He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the dun sphere flew; But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said "Strike two!" "Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "Fraud!" But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed. They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain, And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again. The sneer has fled from Casey's lip, the teeth are clenched in hate; He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate. And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go, And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow. Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright, The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light, And somewhere men are laughing, and little children shout; But there is no joy in Mudville — mighty Casey has struck out. | |
Quote of the Week -- "We are all architects of our own destiny." -- Gigi Gaston
