An IQ test, Part II

1. How many cylinders does the most common Cummins Diesel have?
2. In what make of pickup truck is this engine offered as the premium engine?
3. Is premium gas is specified for that engine? If no, why not?
4. If you went on a safari, would you be more likely to go to Zaire, Zimbabwe or Zambia?
5. How many heads can a crack-head crack if a crack-head could crack heads?
6. What are the actual thickness and width of a 2-by-4?
7. What is the name of the person who empties your wastebasket?
8. What is their nationality?
9. Do they have any kids?
10. What do "AC" and "DC" power refer to?
11. Can you put a typical AC motor into reverse by reversing the polarity?
12. Can you put some AC motors into reverse by switching a pair of wires?
13. The most commonly encountered AC motors run on XXXX Voltage. What is that Voltage?
14. The most commonly encountered DC motors run on YYYY Voltage. What is that Voltage?
15. Name the state where world famous blogger C.W. Swanson lives.

An IQ test for all those smart city-slickers

1. When does TD Coney Island serve breakfast?
2. Find Eaton County (to within 100 miles) on a US map
3. Which is older, the 30-30 chambering or the 30-06?
4. What is the diameter of a 30 caliber projectile in the US?
5. What is the diameter of a 30 caliber projectile in the UK?
6. What is the diameter of the projectile fired from the 8mm Mauser?
7. Beer nuts cost $1.47 at Quality Dairy; what about deer nuts?
8. When do gardeners plant tomatoes in your neighborhood?
9. What is "mixed gas"? What is it used in?
10. Is a smallmouth bass or a largemouth bass more likely to jump when hooked?
11. Does your vehicle get better fuel economy in warm weather or cold weather?
12. When gutting a deer, why is it prudent to hang them with their heads up rather than down?
13. What do men need to understand about women?
14. Is Isaiah in the New Testament or the Old Testament?
15. How many Apostles followed Jesus around?

Hopscotch (fiction)

The mood around the sand-table was dour.

Two, four-by-eight foot sheets of plywood had been put atop sawhorses to create the hasty table. One sheet ran the long way in the East-West direction while the other ran the long way North-South. The two tables formed a T that had rotated ninety degrees in the counterclockwise direction.

The cheap plywood had many knots and Gimp ordered that the tops of the sheets be painted a light color so the knots did not distract from the “real” information. The minion slapping together the table didn’t have enough of any one color so he combined some white, latex ceiling paint and a pale blue from a bedroom.

The scale was two-inches-to-the-mile. It spanned 72 miles East-West from Brighton (not much information) to west of Amish-land. The eastern 2/3 of the map comprised of a 24 mile wide  swath of land in the North-South direction. This was the 40 mile long corridor the invaders were assuredly going to use in their invasion of Capiche and, incidentally, Delta Township.

Relative troop strengths were depicted by stacks of pennies, one penny for every hundred fighters. Livingston County had ten stacks of five pennies in alignment with Benicio’s information of the high-end of what they could field. Delta Township, Benicio’s domain, had two stacks of five pennies. Capiche had a single penny.

Features that might complicate the opposing force’s advance were represented by strings (for streams) and handfuls of roofing nails for native resistance hotspots.

The reason for the group’s ill humor was that Livingston County pretty much had a clear, unopposed shot at Capiche. There were several probable cells of native resistance along the Red Cedar river which ran along the northern edge of the attack corridor. Invading forces would be idiots to press along the northern line.

But everything south of those cells-of-resistance was wide open. And the 500 pound anaconda in the room was I-96. It was almost inconceivable that the aggressors would not convoy forty miles west on I-96, right to the northern edge of Capiche.

“I don’t want to make this sound any worse than it is” Gimp said, gesturing at the table “but we have to assume that Chernovsky and Spackle were compromised and that the opposing forces have exact knowledge of our weapons and tactics.”

If possible, the group’s mood sunk even lower.

Even Miguel and Wilder, normally the most cheerful of men, were heavily weighed by emotion. Janelle had not been nearly as stoic as Sally Straeder and Dysen Spackle. Maybe it was hormonal due to her miscarried baby. Maybe it was because she saw Chernovsky as her one shot at the brass ring of happiness. By normal, pre-Ebola standards, Janelle was not a beautiful woman.

Janelle’s meltdown had been epic. It had been loud and kinetic and lubricated by gallons of tears.

Janelle was in the tool shop today. Everybody agreed that normal routines were best for pulling Janelle through her grief. Milo stayed close to her, just in case Janelle‘s grief returned and she decided to do something stupid and permanent.

The men and women continued to stare at the table.

“You know” Wilder said after clearing his throat “this is a lot like fighting at sea.”

If anybody else had made that off-the-wall comment, there would have been scoffing. Gimp said “Explain yourself.”

“Battles at sea, at least in the old days, were almost by accident.” Wilder said. “The sea is huge, night is dark and fog is everywhere.”

“Opposing forces could pass within twenty miles of each other and not know.” Wilder said. “Most battles were close to ports or narrow straights where traffic had no choice but to go.”

“So we know they will leave Howell” Gimp said, pointing at the east end of the table “and we know they will probably insert here” pointing at I-96 which ran along Lansing’s southern underbelly.

“That really doesn’t help us much.” Gimp said, almost apologetically. “It is not like we can do much on the Howell end of things.

“Ideally,” Tomanica said “if we had the manpower, you would like to make them fight for every mile up I-96. Set up ambushes and improvised explosive devices. Make them stop and contest every ambush.”

“But we just don’t have the bodies. Once they flow around the ambushers...well, it becomes a suicide mission. And after a while they will just sweep for IED or leave I-96. Then we are stuck with our forces out-of-position to defend Capiche.” Tomanica finished.

The more mathematically proficient did the math in their heads. If each ambush diabled 10% of the opposing force, and if there was room for four, solid ambush sites, then 65% of the opposing force would still get through. 65% of 5000 is still more than 3000. Livingston County could still crush Capiche like a bug.

“Do we have any Navy guys in Capiche?” Wilder asked.

“Yeah, a few.” Tomanica admitted. “Old Tom, the guy you always see fishing by the Columbia Road bridge, for instance.”

“Would it take long to get him here?” Wilder asked.

Tomanica shrugged. It was almost lunch time and everybody could use a break anyway. “Sure, we can send for him and anybody else we can think of.”

An hour and a half later the men and women were back around the table. There were three additional men; Navy men.

“Are any of you guys familiar with MacArthur’s strategy in the South Pacific in World War II?” Wilder asked, hopefully.

“Oh, hell yeah!” Old Tom said.

Wilder furrowed his brows as if he couldn’t quite remember. “I seem to remember something about him bypassing Japanese bases, leaving viable, enemy fighting units in his rear. That can’t be possible, can it?”

Old Tom cackled. “Damned straight it was possible. MacArthur called it ‘let them die on the vine.’ They couldn’t do diddly-shit without logistics. MacArthur went around them and clobbered their logistics train.”

“I know this isn’t the Coral Sea” Wilder said pointing at the sand table. “But how would MacArthur have handled this?”

Old Tom looked at the table. Then he moved around so he was standing at the “west” end looking east (that is, east looked like it was north). “It looks almost exactly like the Coral Sea from here...” Old Tom contradicted Wilder.

"You chop their logistical support and they will be on their knees. It ain't like they can order shift from Amazon and have it delivered by UPS, is it?"

Link

A day in the woods

I lied. More like three hours, but that was enough for this old man. I (mostly) stacked the bigger pieces next to the two-track so there was less to trip over inside the cutting.

I ran into an equipment issue. This is what the chain on the saw is supposed to look like

This is what one of them did look like. The cutter hit something hard and tore one end of the link out of the rivet. Instead of that 3/8" having a link on both sides of the rivet, it only had one. I promised Mrs ERJ I would be extra safe when cutting alone. So I packed up shop.

Emerald Ash Borer damage. The notable thing is that the lesion healed up! The rectangular shape of the healing lesion suggests that maybe a Pileated Woodpecker was the toothbrush that scrubbed out the borers.

Another healing lesion. One of the guys who hunts this lease enjoys birds. He can identify many species by their calls.

The red berries are American Bittersweet.

American Bittersweet is less competitive than Oriental Bittersweet, primarily because it produces fewer berries. The American Bittersweet produces clusters of berries on the end of the shoot while the O.B. produces clusters at most buds.

I like American Bittersweet from a purely aesthetic viewpoint. The Oriental Bittersweet tends to be paler and more yellow. My brother the birder likes Bittersweet because it is a prime food for birds (especially Bluebirds) migrating north in the spring. They are "persistent", that is, they remain on the vine through the winter.

One of the trees in the cutting carries a healthy, female, American Bittersweet vine.

Another view looking up the trunk.

Rather than cutting the tree, I chose to girdle it so the Bittersweet can continue to flourish.

Anoter view of the girdling. The cross-sticks were to hold the Bittersweet vines away from the tree trunk so I could girdle beneath them.

I also saw a small Pagoda Dogwood that I left in the cutting. Most people would have cut it but I think it is a cool species. From a "Landscaping for Wildlife" standpoint it is a mediocre species but it is very stylish and one of the few shrubs that can be identified in the winter from fifty feet away. Sadly, it does not photograph well.

Debrief (fiction)

Wilder and Miguel’s first stop after returning to Capiche was to find Sally Straeder.

She noted their peddler’s packs and her face tightened. “What happened?” Sally asked.

Both men started talking. Wilder stopped and let Miguel continue.

“I was spending the night at one of the customers Steve recommended.” Miguel said.

“A little after midnight, I heard many men coming into the house. I slipped out the bedroom window.” Miguel continued.

“I peeked around the house when I left. They had a bus with guards and there were men on the bus. Prisoners.” Miguel said. “On the way back we talked to some people we had traded with. They thought we knew Livingston County was collecting every able-bodied man for the military.”

Sally looked at Wilder. “Do you have anything to add?”

“We hoped Steve would be here. We left as soon as we figured out the risk but we took almost a week to survey defensive lines on the way back.” Wilder said.

“Did either of you see him killed or see his dead body?” Sally asked.

Both men vigorously shook their heads “No.”

“Did either of you see ‘Dog’?” Sally asked.

“No” both men said in unison.

“Neither have I” Sally said.

“Thank-you for taking the time to inform me.” Sally said, dismissing the men with a nod.

At two in the afternoon, Sally changed out of her house-dress and put on a sun-dress. She went into the garden and started slicing the last of the bumper crop of paste tomatoes into the food drier. They got a good price on the market. Every so often, she would stop and stretch the kinks out of her back.

That night, she put a lamp in the window that faced the drive.

*

Swinging by Quinn’s home, the two men found Dysen at the sawmill. The mill was cutting 3/4” boards for shelving. Pantries were suddenly on everybody’s mind with winter a mere three months away and gardens groaning beneath heavy crops.

The rude gears were clattery and the mill was not a good place to have a conversation.

“What’s up?” Dysen asked once they were outside.

Wilder fielded the question. “We have nothing solid to share except that we grossly underestimated how militarized Livingston County has become. Miguel was within seconds of being Shanghaied when he escaped. That was the night we lost track of Quinn, Staeder and Chernovsky.”

Dysen drew in her breath. “Maybe he slipped through?”

“Maybe.” Wilder said. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that Quinn had taken the most dangerous path. They had assumed, in their ignorance, that the physical challenges of traveling were the gravest hazard. Quinn was crippled and it had seemed prudent to have him skate around the southern and eastern rim of Howell before sling-shotting north. Miguel had been four miles further south and the paddy wagon still found him before the night was half over.

Dysen looked them over, scanning their faces. They imagined that she was weighing them, perhaps thinking they had been cowards to turn back while there was still a chance to complete the sweep around Howell and return by the northern route.

It is a hard thing to be judged by a woman you believe is the widow of the man who you served under. It is hard when that man saved your life. It is even harder when you are not sure in your own soul that you chose the right path. Maybe what you perceived as prudence in the moment was cowardice in wrapping paper with a pretty bow on top.

Dysen searched their faces. Apparently satisfied with what she found, she said “Let me know if you hear anything.”

She returned to the mill. She and the crew would cut boards until the mill-pond was drained. Dysen had no reason to leave early.

*

Nobody was at Chernovsky’s house. The door was locked.

“Now what?” Miguel asked.

“Who is next in the chain-of-command?” Wilder asked.

“I dunno. Either Gimp Sullivan or Tomanica.” Miguel said. “Probably easier to find Tomanica ‘cause Gimp could be anywhere.”

Tomanica was in his reloading shed. He was surprised to see them.

When they started to tell him about their travels, he stopped them. They went into his kitchen. He took a pad of paper from the top of the refrigerator and three sharp pencils.

“Take your time, boys” Larry said. “You are gonna get a lot of chances to tell your stories, but I need to make notes because you aren’t ever going to tell it twice the same and there is no telling what details might be important.”

Larry poked his head down the stairs leading to the basement. “Mavis! I need to have you get on the radio. There are some people who need to come over. Tell’em I have a surprise.”

Next

Problem solver

No fiction today

But how about pictures of cabbage?

Deadon Savoy cabbage. You can see the rabbit tracks. They have been helping me peel the wrapper leaves off some of the cabbage.

We are still picking and eating out of our garden.

We had some nights near zero but we had good snow cover.

If you look closely at the 1 O'clock position you can see where the rabbits have been feeding.

Deadon is a cabbage cultivar noted for resistance to freezing. It is a hybrid. Similar open pollinated varieties include January King, Tundra and Violaceo di Verona.

Kale volunteer seeds in my garden. Kale is another tougher-than-a-cheap-steak garden plant suitable for distracted gardeners.