The absolutely awesome thing about this world is that there is so many things to write about. Sometimes there big things...sometimes they're small. Sometimes they're positively Steven Wrightish... In case you're wondering who the hell Steven Wright is, he's a dead-pan deliverer of blinding funny observations and twisted fantasy. In other words, he's a comic with a twist.
Today, it occured to me, rolling down greasy blacktops on lonely country miles that although we aren't supposed to mind others business, we certainly can smell it. Let me explain. I live in Central Illinois. Literately painting a picture, it's cornfield, beanfield, cornfield, fallow field, farmhouse, beanfield, beanfield, cornfield, roadkill skunk, beanfield. It would instantly be recognizable to someone living here back in the 1800s. Agriculture is king and communities are basically cattle pens for the elderly and the young who haven't moved off into their own lives yet. I think you get the idea.
Now, the meat of the subject...orifactory data gathering. We inhale and exhale in order to function. Somewhere back in time, the brain decided to install an update. Suddenly we are aware of the smell of our cave mates, the acidic smell of approaching grass fires, the sweet scent of flowering trees and Uggs Johnson down the hill roasting a buffalo hindquarter over an open fire. I'm all for that...flash forward, of course. I revel in the scent of bbq on a warm summer day, the warm, sensual scent of perfume on a womans neck. The mind-clearing fumes of pure peppermint and the wet dog smell of blankets left in storage from last wet season. I love it.
Now, sometimes smell can become a bane to existance. Here's why. You know I live in a rural area. Livestock in this area is predominately swine and foul. Nothing I wasn't exposed to when I was a child growing up. As a matter of fact, I have fond memories of the smell of farm animals when I was small. Somehow, it was a clean, organic blend of straw, hay, feed and grasses and it felt right.
Now, we are no longer small farm communities. We have to farm thousands of acres to feed ourselves. We raise 400 pigs instead of 4. Our turkey farms boast flightless birds that can barely keep upright because of the excess weight they are bred to carry. We birth them, brood them, ween them, feed them, breed them, kill them and sell them without them ever seeing the light of day. Their existance is blind to the world around them..they are born to die. Alas, that is the way of big agri-business today.
And, Alas, that is the subject of this rambling rant...the smell of hundreds of livestock, living almost on top of each other, doing nothing but eating and shitting is mentally toxic to me. It is an abomination to my soul. To be blasted through my open window by gutwrenchingly sour smell of ammonia or ponds of pig feces is the end to a warm sun on my face afternoon. All I want to do is go home and take a warm shower to wash off any bit of smell that has clung to me. Damn it to hell!
Suddenly, it occured to me. These animals have only two recourse in this existance of theirs. If they're no happy, they can either stop eating and die or display their discontent with amazing feats of shittery. Yes, shittery..if it's not a word, it should be. I think each and every one of those pigs and turkeys are looking at their keepers and thinking.."here, let me show you what I think of your hospitality!" Come to think of it...there's a couple of times that response might have come in handy for myself. Luckily, I have other recourse in my life and I don't have to leave a stinking pile of poop on the county clerks desk everytime they raise my taxes. Grinning.....Thinking......There ya go...smell how pissed off I am.
Ok...I don't know where that came from...I'm not usually prone to poop prose but anyways..I feel better for now.
Peace and Love and Free Range Forever....
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