Thus far we've only really been able to clear out the areas around the corn crib and the koi pond, but my god the amount of variation that's been able to grow in just a single year after doing most of that clearing is astounding. The majority would probably rightfully be called weeds, but their natural and native weeds, and are having a whale of a time competing with each other for dominance and resources.

Every single one of these areas previously had a single plant, the Japanese Knotweed. Below are a few growing around the smaller koi pond.

The rest of these are arrayed around the corn crib.

I'm desperately hunting for a picture of what this all looked like before, but here's a generic image of Japanese Knotweed, imagine this all over.

It's just miserable. If you're ever considering planting any form of bamboo because you think it'll thematically fit a koi pond, or that it's just pretty, fucking don't. It grows through rhizomes that dig down up to six feet (2 meters), and then shoots out in all directions, creating new rhizomes along the way. Whatever precautions you believe you've taken to contain these plants to a single pot or area, believe me you've failed. Bamboo does not belong here, and the variety flora that was able to claw its way back in such a small area of my property is testament to how devastating bamboo is when introduced to a region it doesn't have any reasonable competition.

Just don't plant it.

My wife fell in love with SIX some time last year I think, I don't remember exactly when, but I do know in January I saw they were doing an off Broadway US tour that was going to be heading to Hershey, PA which is around my neighborhood (well a little over an hour away, but reasonable).

The show was incredible, everything I could have possibly imagined, and so much more. I knew vaguely what the stage directions would be, and heard behind me before the show that it was all a single act, but I was absolutely not prepared for that marathon of absolute blinding energy.

Every song punched you in the gut, the interstitial conversations provided much needed emotional reprieves and moments that demanded laughter after some of the really heavy moments. I knew what I was getting into thematically, but every single moment of this night was just fantastic. The cast was wondrous, and our Anne of Cleves was the understudy and also the dance director and my GOD did it show. Pardoning my indelicacy, her thighs had a flow and fluidity that quite often stole the show.

I could go on and one, but yet again it is quite late. We got home pretty late, had to get the animals penned up, and cooling the house down a bit opening the windows (somehow still able to put off putting in the window units in the house).

The theme today is exhaustion. Woke up at 4:00am, got ready, grabbed eggs of chicken and duck variety, got everybody water and fed properly, including the new barn cat, and the more I think about my day the less exhausted I feel I'm entitled to be.

I live a very charmed life, but I guess every once in a while it's okay to feel sorry for myself, and just too damn exhausted. Even typing is taking it out of me. Brevity it is I guess?

I cry reading books, shared pain, or exalted joy.

I particularly cry with music, feel the soul and community, and all the things that I'm missing.

But I didn't cry at the death that I knew, or the pain or the loss, or the height of my joy.

It's not that I felt nothing, I just couldn't bring forth the tears.

I like to cry, but worry it's not real.

I cry with the world, but not when I should feel.

Some days it's just a struggle to write a few words, and today I'm proud of myself for being able to write this much. Not even the Final Fantasy XVI could save this day for me sadly.

New days bring new moments and new opportunities.

I was shocked at how similar Bazzi's description matched what I knew of Cushing's, though completely unsurprised (I'm being told this isn't a word and couldn't possibly care less) at his feelings towards what he saw as a gradual deformation of his body. Evidently treatment options available now are far less effectatious (I'm being told this also isn't a word, and similarly don't care) to the body.

I'd spoken to my wife about this over breakfast, trying to wrap my head around what Bazzi was describing, and his reaction towards it. I work in software and clinical data support in the mammography industry, so my immediate (and probably incorrect) correlation was to breast cancer. Specifically to individuals who choose to have bilateral mastectomies upon finding out they have genetic markers that increase their lifetime risk factors of getting breast cancer.

My attitude, and this is not something I can be correct or incorrect on, it's just my gut feeling and opinion, was that I agreed with those individuals. I would choose a pot belly coupled with pencil thin limbs coinciding with more life. The alternative is so final, why wouldn't I?

I need to lighten the mood here though, and the farm definitely provided that today. The two new baby girl goats are really acclimating quickly to their new brothers, and working from home lets me peak in on the progress. Today they spent a good deal of time grazing in much closer proximity to Caleb and Seamus, and followed them up onto the little goat platform we built a little over a month ago.

This was before I started doing some quick mowing (didn't need to do much, we've had one rain in the last 6 weeks or so), and passing by their pen I noticed that Poppy was well...running at me. Definitely the wrong side of the fence. In my usual calm manner I cut the motor, ripped out my ear buds, and screamed for my wife who was completely on the other side of the property weeding the garden.

After a few minutes, honestly minutes I'm surprised how well this went, we were able to corner her in the feed stall. She put up as much fuss as possible as I carried her back in, trying to match my exact tone and volume. It looked like she'd just found a small section in the back of their pen inside that she could sneak over and make her great escape. Lucky for me I guess goats are hardcore herd animals, and Poppy had zero intention of running off into the woods.

Meanwhile towards the other side of the barn, I'd been catching a deer or two the last couple days hanging out under the mulberry tree. We'd actually tried to harvest some this year, but got a big patch of silk worms and decided not to try and jam what we'd picked. I did learn, though, that for birds at least mulberries are incredibly intoxicating. Prior to ripening (they go from green, to red, to black), their skin has a slightly toxic coating that does cause some neurological issues in humans, and some “drunkenness” in birds.

This evening, right around sunset I saw about 5 more deer under the mulberry tree, chomping away at the ripened fruit that had fallen, and I couldn't help but imagine that they were happily drunk, talking about the little bleating hoofed friend who had briefly tasted the freedom they daily enjoyed.

Now there was a site that held sway over my free time. Well not entirely. I was introduced to Reddit by a friend 12-13 years ago, but I was initially a lurker at best. He'd suggested several sub-reddits for me to explore, but I was busy spending my time in forums...because I'm old and I liked having regular conversations with a smaller group of people.

Fast-forward to 2019, the year I discovered Apollo. I don't actually remember how I encountered it, it was pretty mature at that point. I pretty quickly set myself up with a paid membership, customized my comment thread colors, swapped icons weekly, and found that this was the mode of interaction I preferred and was active with.

What happens next doesn't need repeated here, or anywhere really. The exciting part for me was finding the Fediverse out of all of this. Again, the catalyst has already escaped my memory (I blame long diagnosed, not quite as long untreated ADHD), but the results are exciting.

The technical side of things, using an open source protocol (ActivityPub) to build out from, the many exciting project “replacement” projects that were much more mature than I was expecting to find (I normally keep on the pulse of these sorts of developments). On top of that, the community here was ready and waiting to welcome all of us stragglers.

Pixelfed just released an amazingly smooth Instagram import feature. Mastodon has a bevvy of tutorials, and helpful “on-boarding” docs available. kbin, through struggling a lot today, has a very dedicated community that's excitedly helping out newbies like myself to acclimate to this whole new 'verse. Even WriteFreely has the best short video introduction to how ActivityPub, properly configured, can be used to integrate across platforms/instance/pods, whatever you want to call them.

Alright, finally the all important goats portion of the post. My wife and I bottle raised two young boer-mix goat boys last year, and they were more than a handful for my first ever goats. This year though we were more than ready to expand our little family. We picked up Poppy and Pomona here, and are looking to get two more before the end of the year (fingers crossed on two dapples, boy and a girl likely).

I choose sleep instead, I do that often. I had read quite a bit yesterday, but it was while downing about half a bottle of gin over a period of six hours. I found myself enjoying saying all the names in Fever. Place names, street names, proper nouns galore. All accented and waiting for me to pronounce in my least convincing Italian accent possible. It's fine though, only some dogs (three of my own, one on loan from my mother-in-law for the day while she was out taking my wife shopping in Lancaster) were subjected to the performance.

There are details about my history that explain why I would attempt these pronunciations out loud, but it's already too late today to detail. I would like to go into it in the future, though. Tonight though I sleep like the dead, tomorrow we pick up two new goats. Naming them will probably eat up the remaining energy I have before my weekend is up.

I love the land I live on. From the stacked ponds, one stocked, one overflowing with koi, to the areas of planned orchids, gardens, and chicken roving grounds. From the meandering path back to Norwegian woodpiles, and a concrete bound fire pit large enough to burn several tree's worth of wood and fodder. I love the hills we just planted wildflower patches upon, and the acres of wood my step-father has been clearing paths through for us to explore and discover. I especially love the acre or so of fenced in pasture, a stream partially on the surface running straight down the middle providing sustenance and play for our goats (currently a small pod of two bottle babies, soon to hopefully be doubled).

What I don't love is those who occupy the land around. The appearance of acceptance and docility is presented to me only because of the privilege of my birth. Tall, white, I present as one who should be accepted into their “clan.” I am not, and my choice in flags flown lets them know this fact.

I am bisexual, though married to a woman, so in many ways I fight my identity and most often consider myself an ally, and not a part of the community as I probably should. Ignoring this hangup of my own creation, I found myself constantly wondering how...good or reliable of an ally I truly was to the community writ large. Was I just supporting when convenient or safe for myself?

The guilt I felt realizing that I'd only publicly broadcast my support and love for the LGBTQIA+ community during times where I knew the majority were already on our side grew. I fly this flag, and others before it, because I know how uncomfortable in makes my neighbors. I also know the danger it puts me, and my wife, in every day it flies. Reading for pride month entails this same sense of defiance. I bring my books with me to small cafes in Fairfield, a small town whose identity is centered around Pippin Fest, a celebration of the yearly apple harvest.

It's a small contribution, I know, and it pales in comparison to the very real dangers people I love and care deeply about face every day, but I'm trying. If you happen to live near Gettysburg, PA know that there's a place that loves and accepts you, no matter what. Plus, the goats are really cute, and love everyone as well.

(Short aside: if you do happen to have an old favorite local bookshop, but find yourself slightly outside the range of comfortable commute to said spot, the fine folks at Curious Iguana directed me to Bookshop. They allow you to support either local bookstores in general, or a specific one if available. I wouldn't normally trust something so blindly, but if the shop itself is directing me that way for items they don't have in stock, I'm going to listen.)

Their selection is small, but focused and their staff suggestions are always on point. By far their best suggestions, though, are their Pride and LGBTQ+ suggestions. I've discovered more amazing literature through their suggestions than in all my mindless scrolling through the front page of Goodread's suggestions.

So with that in mind, after crying my way through Fine by Rhea Ewing, I'm now started in on Fever by Jonathan Bazzi in a month long effort of reading Pride books.

Hopefully I'll stick with this daily format and I'll write out my thoughts on Fever as I read it. I had so many about Fine that I'm now struggling to recapture enough to express to others without just suggesting they read the dang thing.

Maybe all this will help my brain work things out a bit more, so that I retain things longer than it takes for me to close a book, browser tab, or door.