Lex Anteinternet: Blog Mirror: Collapsed

Lex Anteinternet: Blog Mirror: Collapsed:

Blog Mirror: Collapsed

Well worth reading:

Collapsed

You can see my reply there as well, which I've set out again here:

"Last year it would have not been a problem but this year I'm not in great shape due to family issues"

Me too, except it's my own health, starting with a surgery in October 2022, and another in August. Haven't really recovered, although I should have.

Maybe you never really do.

Anyhow, was walking out of the high country at a pretty good clip as a rainstorm came rolling in. Lost my footing on a rock, fell, rolled over, and cut myself pretty bad. Just me and the dog. No cell reception, and I've given up carrying my gmrs radio as there's nobody to call if I'm hunting alone.

Rolled over, wasn't damaged and hiked out bleeding. It hasn't been a great year.

Glad you were okay.

I don't mean to be hijacking somebody else's blog, but since October 2022 I haven't been myself.  I wrote previously on my surgery followed by a second surgery.  Since the first surgery, my digestive track hasn't recovered, and it's clear that it's not going to.  I'm sick every morning.  Not some mornings, every morning, save, oddly enough, for a few days I spent at trial where I couldn't afford to be.*  Most days I'm better off not eating any breakfast anymore, as it's just going to make me sick.  I was already developing an intolerance to milk, but now it's through the roof.  I can't even eat cereal with a little milk.  The stuff I'm used to eating in the morning, which was always a pretty light meal, is a no-go completely now.

And the second surgery resulted in a medication that I'm pretty sure isn't adjusted right, right now.  Everyone has told me how thyroid medication is supposed to make you feel great and give you energy. Well, that isn't working for me.  Researching it, there are a tiny minority of people who actually never feel good following a thyroid surgery and for whom the medications don't work to address that.  Given that almost no medication ever works well for me, I wouldn't be at all surprised if that was me.  Hindsight is 20/20, but I really wish I'd foregone that surgery now and have borne the risk of cancer instead.  At age 60, and from a short-lived group, the risk probably was worth it.**

Worst of all, frankly, being sick all the time impacts your attitude in ways you can't really appreciate until it's obvious.  I've been there recently. Short-tempered and not having a good long term outlook.  At work the other day I blew up on two colleagues who have been running a really irritating religious debate for years, in the hallway, for what they conceive to be the entertainment of the unwilling listeners.  Our poor Mexican runner has to listen to this constantly, and I finally had enough and just exploded on them.  The point isn't that their juvenile behavior was okay, but that my reaction was so stout.***I shouldn't have done that, and that's just a minor example.

I usually look longingly forward to hunting season, but this year I've just not been too motivated after a certain point. Being tired has a lot to do with that.   And when you are like that, you are a pain to those around you, at least to some extent.  Some can see and appreciate that, others not so much.  It's hard to appreciate it yourself until something forces you to.  I looked forward to all summer to the season, and enjoyed deer hunting, but usually by now I've done a pile of duck hunting.  I've gone this year. . .twice. Every Saturday, the dog looks at me with confusion.  The funny thing is that all week long I still look forward to getting out, but when the weekend comes, I go down to work like old lawyers do, and when Sunday comes, well I haven't gone to Mass the night prior, so I get a late start doing whatever I'm going to do.

As noted above, not only am I tired, but I'm not in shape the way I usually am.  I've fallen so rarely out in the sticks that as a short person, I'm one of those people who were sort of goat like, climbing in terrain where hunters and fishermen wouldn't normally go and not worrying about it even though it was patently dangerous.  As a National Guardsmen, I recall once somebody remarking how me and another NCO were mysteriously able to negotiate difficult terrain at night, silently.  We were both avid hunters.  To take a fall, and a pretty bad one, on terrain that I'd been over a million times was a shock.

I was actually quite lucky at the time.  I was all alone, taking a path that I normally would not have, although as noted I've been on it many times before. There was a thunderstorm coming in.  I was carrying a loaded shotgun.  I fell, and, recalling the plf ***I learned so many years ago, rolled out of it, but not before I'd scrapped myself up pretty badly.  I wasn't sure at first if I'd broken anything.  I had my cell phone, as noted, but no reception, so I couldn't have called for help if I wanted to.  I usually carry a handheld GMRS radio, but I've quit recently as if I'm alone, who am I going to radio to?

Hors de combat, after it started to heal.

Sic transit gloria mundi.

I can recall my father getting like this when he was almost the exact same age I am now.  He died two years later.  He seemed pretty old at the time, so I wasn't hugely surprised.  I guess it's like the Hendrix song, "You may wake up in the morning, just to find that you are dead".

Of course, he was gravely ill for months prior to that.  In retrospect, however, it all started for him with a colonoscopy, the same way that this has started for me.  I recall him remarking as he was in the hospital on how all of his mother's ailments were now visiting him.  She died, if I recall correctly, at 65.

In my mind, I always imagined that at some point after I had reached retirement age, which I have not yet, I'd retire to a life of full time outdoorsman.  Not too many people do that.  There may be a reason for that. Some of us are luckier as we age than others.

Oh well, nature has a way of waking you up and reminding you that some things need to be done.  Getting sick? Quite doing what you are doing, refocus, and soldier on.  Get a grip, reform, reform, and keep on keeping on, but mindful of errors and omissions.

Footnotes

*I've long noticed for some reason a person's system will suppress symptoms of almost any illness when you absolutely have to keep on, keeping on. Usually things come back with a vengeance, or at least fatigue, when the crisis has passed.

**This is not intended to be advice for anyone else, I'd note.

***Re the argument, the entire facility had grown extremely tired of it and the shutting them up was welcomed, save by one of the arguers, who may be permanently mad at me.  Showing my presently poor mental outlook, I don't care.  I'm tired of hearing minority religions insulted when some of the employees belong to them, and I'm tired of having my own faith routinely insulted, which I've endured now for decades.  And while I'm a serious if imperfect orthodox Catholic, I'm also tired of one of these individuals, who isn't that good at arguing, turning to religious topics no matter what is being discussed, to include my assistant simply taking her shoes off in her office the other day, which would not normally lead to a Biblical discussion, but of course did.

I've also had it with somebody thinking that mocking the Spanish language is funny in front of somebody who's an immigrant.

***Parachute Landing Fall.  I learned this, oddly enough, while I was a CAP cadet.

Lex Anteinternet: Lex Anteinternet: What's wrong with the (modern, w...

Lex Anteinternet: Lex Anteinternet: What's wrong with the (modern, w...: 

Lex Anteinternet: What's wrong with the (modern, western) world, part 3. Our lost connection with animals.

ICELANDIC MILKMAID ON HER MORNING ROUND

This is a fine, sturdy pony standing so stockily for his photograph, and he can make light of his burden of buxom beauty with her heavy can of milk. She cares not for saddle or stirrups, for most of these island people are born to horseback, and her everyday costume amply serves the purpose of a riding-habit for this strapping Viking's daughter, with her long tresses shining in the breeze.  

(Original caption, of interest here I wouldn't call this young lady "buxom" or "strapping", but just healthy.  This might say something about how standards have changed over time.)

The other day, I posted this in a footnote on a completely different topic.

Lex Anteinternet: What's wrong with the (modern, western) world, par...:   

4.  One of the odder examples of this, very widespread, is the change in our relationship with animals.

Our species is one of those which has a symbiotic relationship with other ones.  We like to think that this is unique to us, but it isn't.  Many other examples of exist of birds, mammals and even fish that live in very close relationships with other species.  When this occurred with us, we do not know, but we do know that its ancient.  Dogs and modern wolves both evolved from a preexisting wolf species starting some 25,000 to 40,000 years ago, according to the best evidence we currently have. That likely means it was longer ago than that.

Cats, in contrast, self domesticated some 7,000 or so years ago, according to our best estimates.

Cat eating a shellfish, depiction from an Egyptian tomb.

We have a proclivity for both domesticating animals, and accepting self domestication of animals, the truth being that such events are likely part and parcel of each other. Dogs descend from some opportunistic wolves that started hanging around us as we killed things they liked to eat.  Cats from wildcats that came on as we're dirty.  Both evolved thereafter in ways we like, becoming companions as well as servants.  But not just them, horses, pigs, sheep, cattle. . .the list is long.

As we've moved from the natural to the unnatural, we've forgotten that all domestic animals, no matter how cute and cuddly they are, are animals and were originally our servants. And as real children have become less common in WASP culture, the natural instinct to have an infant to take care of, or even adore, has transferred itself upon these unwilling subjects, making them "fur babies".

It's interesting in this context to watch the difference between people who really work with animals, and those who do not.  Just recently, for example, our four-year-old nephew stayed the night due to the snow, and was baffled why our hunting dog, who is a type of working dog but very much a companion, stayed the night indoors.  The ranch dogs do not. . . ever.  The ranch cats, friendly though they are, don't either.

I started this thread back in February, when the entire news on "transgenderism" really hit the fan, so to speak.  Since that time there's been the filing of the sorority lawsuit in Laramie, a host of transgender mass shooting, and an absolutely freakish campaign by Budweiser in which a guy trying to channel a girl of the 1960s is sponsoring Bud Light.  Anyhow, this thread was to tie into it somehow, but now a lot of time has gone by, and working seven days out of seven, etc., I've really forgotten what my brilliant point here was to be, more or less.

But I'll go on anyhow.

This photograph shows a young woman at work, doing something that counted, and doing it in a way that was very close to nature.

So does this one:

Mid Week At Work: Mail Carrier, 1915, Los Angeles

And also this one:

Rural Nurse, Virginia. 1919.

And this one:

LOC Caption:   Sarah Crutcher, 12-year-old girl herding cattle. Route 4, c/o S.O. Crutcher. She was out of school (#49 Comanche County) only 2 weeks this year and that was to herd 100 head of cattle for her father, a prosperous farmer. She said: "I didn't like it either." She is doing well in school. Is in Grade 8.] Location: [Lawton, Oklahoma]

I think one of the interesting things about this photographs is, contrary to the modern image of what women wore when doing livestock work in the early 20th and late 19th Centuries, she's dressed in completely typical female attire for the time. She's riding wearing a fairly long skirt and a woman's hat that is typical for the period.

The point here?

Well this.  

We've gotten to the point where we don't deal with animals as they really are, daily.  We also are at the point where a large percentage of the original WASP demographic of the nation (more on this shortly) has lost most of the values it originally had, and replaced them with very weak tea instead.  And we've so removed ourselves from a state of nature, that most people don't have a grasp on what nature really is.

It's hard not to know the reality of the world if you live in it.

This past week, the Wyoming Supreme Court heard oral arguments in a case in Casper in which the plaintiffs claim they suffered emotional distress as their two pet dogs were caught in snares which they claim were improperly placed on public lands by a trapper.  Apparently, in a companion criminal case, the trapper was exonerated.  The state land is very close to the city, which is a problem, but it's still state land, and still unincorporated.

Losing dogs is a tragedy, but emotional distress?  This has never been allowed in the common law, as the law always held that the law is, basically, for people.  If you can claim emotional distress due to the loss of a pet, why not anything?

Now, that sounds cruel, and I understand grieving over the loss of an animal.  I've done it myself.  That is, in fact, one of the things about owning pets.  Normally, you outlive them, and if you are normal, you'll miss them when they die.

It's a part of life.

But emotional distress has been reserved, in the common law, for the loss of humans, based, in the end, for what we feel with the loss of a loved human being.  Not an animal, no matter how loved.

And of course, up until recently, there was no such concept as a legally recognized animal for "emotional support".  Support they did provide, but the bond was in a naturalistic way, not one for which the law afforded protection.

Have we lost something here?

I think we have, and it's connected with real work and real animals.

We'll explore What's Wrong With The World more in this series of threads, but here's one.  Being connected with animals in a real sense, and not in the sanitary removed from nature sense, helped keep us real.  

We've lost that.

It's hard to be obsessively focused on yourself, including your reproductive self, if you're around animals as animals, particularly great big ones that can hurt you.

And I'll bet the thought "I'm a girl, but I want to be a boy" didn't much cross the minds of Icelandic pony riding milkmaids, Oklahoman girl cowpunchers, or Los Angeles mounted mail carriers.

Related Threads:

What's wrong with the (modern, western) world, part 1. A thought on community

What's wrong with the (modern, western) world, part 2. Care, lack of care, and an existential lack of focus.

Lex Anteinternet: Jury finds you can cross corners in Carbon County.

Lex Anteinternet: Jury finds you can cross corners in Carbon County.: 

Jury finds you can cross corners in Carbon County.

Elk Mountain as viewed from Shirley Basin.

Big news on the public access to lands front:

Jury finds four corner-crossing hunters not guilty of trespass

Now, what this isn't.

It isn't a court declaration that's binding precedent on the whole state.  It's one jury, in a circuit court case. That's it.

It does mean that these four guys are not going to be convicted.

And beyond that, it shows that juries, quite frankly, are unlikely to convict anyone for corner crossing.  Not only in Carbon County, but anywhere in the state.

And it doesn't end the issue, actually.  A civil suit remains, and it's far more likely to have a bigger impact, as it will likely be the one that ultimately goes to the Supreme Court and the Wyoming Supreme Court will then determine the issue.

It does send a signal, however, both to courts (of course) but to the legislature on how average Wyomingites view these issues, and that likely is summed up by a comment made in court by the defendants' lawyer:

He believed the whole mountain was his and that no one but [he] was allowed to be there … like a king.”

DEFENSE ATTORNEY RYAN SEMERAD ON RANCH OWNER FRED ESHELMAN

Eschelman is an entrepreneur who is noted for his charitable donations. . . and his donations to right wing politicians as well.  He's apparently humble and generous. Not so generous, however, that the South Carolinian saw fit to just turn a blind eye to this matter or to generally allowing some of the less well funded access to public land, not his land, on his Wyoming ranch.

The original encounter, moreover, was caught on audio and video, with Eschelman's employee stating to law enforcement;“Do they realize how much money my boss has? …and property?”

And indeed, his having a Wyoming ranch brings to mind Thomas Wolfe's comment on that in his book A Man In Full.

On the topic of decisions, this also points out the dangers of pursuing something best left untouched, something that was pointed out a couple of years ago in the Wyoming ve. Herrera case.  Sometimes, there are issues that you'd rather leave undecided.

Indeed here, the County Attorney, an elected official, made the decision to prosecute, no doubt based on prior interpretations of the law, which would have favored the same.  But in doing so, she's accidentally taken the side of a wealthy out of stater against the interest of common Wyomingites.  This probably never crossed her mind, but it likely has crossed the mind of a lot of locals by this point, and the effective statements of the defense now doubt have taken root.  Eschelman, in the words of the defense, is a would be king and oppressor.  I've now seen public comments that the County Attorney prosecuted as she was influenced by his wealth.  That's extremely unlikely, she was probably influenced by the law, and may very well not be in the class to whom this issue is dear to the heart, but she's no doubt aware that it is to many now.  How this also plays out is yet to be seen.

And indeed, this takes us back to the topic of allmannsretten, which we've addressed elsewhere.

As noted, this story is still playing out.  It'll be very interesting to see where it goes ultimately.

Lex Anteinternet: A blue grouse opener retrospective.

Lex Anteinternet: A blue grouse opener retrospective.:   

A blue grouse opener retrospective.

 

I'm missing the weekend opener for blue grouse.

I've probably missed it before, but when I did, I was almost certainly a college student.  I haven't missed it, I think, since that time.  So this will be the first time in 31 years.

I'm ashamed of that fact.

In the earliest photographs you can find of me, as a small boy, I'm wearing a cowboy hat.  Not that this is unusual for somebody my age.  We admired cowboys.  I don't know if little boys still do, but in my generation they did.  

But it was more than a passing thing with me, like being an astronaut (which I never had any desire to be) was with some others of my vintage.  When I was first old enough to drive, and had something reliable enough to make it out of town and back, the two not being the same thing, you'd find me out in the sticks as much as possible.  Fishing in the summer, or just wandering around, and hunting in the fall and winter.  By my college years, I was about as feral as could be.

Jeremiah Johnson would have, in those years, met me and have asked "geez man, don't you ever go indoors?"

And that was the center of me.  Not career aspirations or anything of the like.  It may be a major defect in my character, but I was never concerned with high dollar careers or anything of the like.  What I wanted to be was outdoors.  Preferably hunting, if not that fishing, but if not that, anything else, outdoors.

Now, it would be dishonest to say that my interests were completely singular.  Even as a very young person, I was extremely interested in history, something I inherited from my two parents. As I've noted here before, growing up in my household was like living in a graduate level history seminar, with the study of European history from the early Middle Ages through the Renaissance the specialty of my mother, and American history and post Enlightenment Europe the specialty of my father.  The historical education was both welcome and vast.  Other things that my parents knew very well, such as French on the part of my mother and mathematics on the part of my father, I took much less to, although oddly French, which didn't particularly take at the time, has snuck back in as I've aged.  I guess I learned more than I thought I did.

And that may be the reason that in my early teens I saw myself in a military service career.  Oddly, it wasn't so much the service, as the thought, really, of participating in history, and the knowledge, although it was fairly inaccurate, that servicemen worked outdoors.

By my late teens that desire was seriously waning, probably because by that time I had a better idea what military service actually entailed.  And part of what it entailed was a communal life, which I, as a real introvert, wouldn't like.

And by that time the desire to be outdoors had gone from a strong to extreme.  It's never left me.

Which is why I'm so bothered today.

Forty years ago when I was taking those first steps out into "career" I'd openly stated that I never wanted a job where I had to wear a tie (which were much more in daily use back then than now) and I'd never let anything, not job, not family, not anything, interfere with my going outdoors.

Well, 17-year-old self, you'd be pretty disappointed in me now.

I can say that safely as 58-year-old self definitely is.

Which probably seems silly.

I've worked really hard, and by external measurements I guess, really successfully, for the past 31 years. And for the nine years, or maybe eight years, prior to that I worked hard to get there, kind of.

That path was frankly a pretty meandering one.  My initial goal was to be a game warden, which I've written about before.  Then I switched to geology, not because I deeply loved it, but because I was okay at it, and it promised an outdoor life, albeit one that wasn't focused on the wild the way wildlife biology is.  In retrospect, I should have done what I first started out to do.  

Geology didn't work out due to a collapse in the oilfield and coal economy (sound familiar) and by that time law school had already been suggested to me, although I did reconsider game warden.  Where I was at, career wise, at the time would have required me to go on for a Masters degree in geology and I knew that I really didn't want to do it.  So I went to law school instead.

Now, that may not seem like the logical choice, but it actually was, at least somewhat.  Law school had first been suggested to me by Casper College Professor Jon Brady, who taught history at Casper College but who held a JD.  I don't know if he ever had practiced in the civilian world, but he had at least briefly practiced in the U.S. Navy as a JAG officer.  

I didn't know but one lawyer, one of my father's friends, and I didn't know him all that well.  I did know, however, a lot of doctors and dentists, and they were all outdoorsmen.  In some odd way, I equated that with how things must be for lawyers.

And maybe for some it is.

I became a "trial lawyer".  That something that actually didn't occur to me until very recently.  The reason for that is that I've done almost exclusively, in litigation, the defense side of civil litigation, and somehow the plaintiffs' bar has appropriated the term "trial lawyer".  I've done some plaintiff's work as well, but not anywhere near as much as defense work. That makes me, in English terms, a "barrister".  However, I do a lot of other things, so not exclusively so.  I could claim to be somewhat of a "solicitor" or "notary" in the language of other court systems, but barrister it would mostly be.

I note that as I don't know what the life of "transactional" lawyers is like, or that of criminal defense lawyers, or prosecutors, etc., is like.  I only know what the life of trail lawyers is like.

And it's pretty hard and requires a lot of sacrifices.

Maybe a lot more than other legal lines of work.  Trail lawyers give up their own time for a preset trial schedule, work long hours, and take the cause, whatever it is, above anything else.  We like to compare ourselves with such fictional characters as Palidan, but in reality we're more like World War Two Japanese infantry.  We're going there, going to suffer, going to fight in a clever fashion, and if need be, we're going to die in our trenches or in a massed Banzai charge.

It's an all absorbing career.

Indeed, for that reason, in part, I declined to go with one of my partners out for a beer in which he had invited a lawyer in a definitely different line of work that I'm wholly unfamiliar with but which I suspect isn't all absorbing.  The invite was in order to see if the fellow might wish to join us merry band of barristers, maybe.  But what am I going to say to that fellow?  My partner was clear what he was going to say.  He might make more money with us, rather than doing what he's doing.  And he was likely hoping that I'd regale the fellow with war stories, as that fellow isn't a trial lawyer either.  And every trial lawyer has a lot of war stories, myself included.  The problem is, of course, that war stories come from war, and watching Saving Private Ryan might be real entertainment, but actually landing in Normandy in June 1944 likely wasn't.

And indeed he might make more money as a trial lawyer than doing what he's doing, and he might live every freakin' second of it.  I have no idea, as I don't know him.

And he might, in a trial season, such as I am now in, work seven days a week, ten hours a day, with all that entails and implies.

Or, in other words, he might miss the opener of blue grouse season.

I know what 17-year-old Yeoman would think of that, and what he'd think of somebody who would do that.

I can't say he's wrong.

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 Gift Horses