Will God smite Mar-a-Lago?
Or will God spare Mar-a-Lago?
If God is indeed dead, as has been hypothesised by deep thinkers since the time of Nietzsche and beyond, will Mother Nature or Hurricane Irma spare or smite?
Allow me to speculate for a moment; what use is the death of God if Mother Nature and Hurricane Irma are rushing in to fill the void?
These were the questions I was pondering when there was a sudden knock on the door.
A knock on the door is a novelty in these parts. There's a reason folks like us live off the beaten path. We don't appreciate random knocks on the door. That's why our welcome mat has "naff off" embroidered into it.
I see where the Wynne regime has charted its own course on the legal weed journey. They'll grow a whole new bureaucracy called the "Cannabis Control Board." I'll bet growing that bureaucracy is gonna be a whole lot more lucrative than growing weed.
But that's how things play out when you let politicians run the show. Somewhere along the line those folks forgot that they were public servants, ie, servants to the public.
Hahaha... that's a good one, eh!?
A few days ago I breakfasted with my old pal Kipling at the Teviotdale Truck Stop. He's knee-deep in grandchildren these days, so it's hard to get together, but Kipling has an old-timer's perspective on this whole legal weed question. He figures the entire legal weed thing is a scam to put pot profits (triple alliteration!!!) into the hands of Bay Street wankers and their attendant bureaucracy sycophants, while cutting out guys like himself who have been growing quality organic shit for forty years.
I suspect he's right.
So there's a knock on the door.
The hounds go ballistic.
The Farm Manager wants to run for the gun cabinet.
It's just a couple of local kids who hunted our property last year and repaid the favour with some mighty tasty goose summer sausage.
I gave them the thumbs up.
Conditional on another round of summer sausage of course.
The beauty of it all...