Shooter, sixguns, and such

Last Sunday we were to Joe & Becca’s farm with some indigenous locals and a few foreigners from Iowa and Australia where intended to get our bellies full and then fire off a lot of ammo, takin’ care not to disturb the neighbors or alarm the Amish mares, Kayla and Carla, who were new to the farm – we were bein’ partickler about safety, anyway. The mares back in their stable never flinched and we didn’t hear nuthin from nobody else. It was cold and drizzly all afternoon, but it didn’t discourage anyone as Joe led us across muddy ditches to the other side of his fields.

At first we had intended it to be a small hunter/gatherer party, but as word leaked out more and more would-be gunners came out of the closet until we finally said, no more. One friend who’d never shot a gun before said the previous evening he’d been with friends who cried out that the only difference between the southern Bible Belt conservatives they knew and their current Mpls church group was their Minnesota accent – mainly, they all owned GUNS! This discouraged him from revealing where he was going the next day. However, we fancy this could be a new model for “outreach” (Fired-up Evangelism. Or… no, don’t get started.) for our church as there were a goodly number of folk with us who don’t generally consider themselves people of faith. The were warmly received and really into it.

We arrived with enough firepower to arm a militia. And I thought I’d try to post a several videos. Even though I’m totally handicapped and the lens of my camera had moisture on it making every scene, you know not what…fog? Gunsmoke? And my breathing and laughing. Ugh. On a more peaceful note – the last video, if you’ve ever wondered if adolescent chicks cluck or do they still peep (not tweet)? Joe and Becca’s chickens were fun to watch.

Sabbath shoot-out is a-comin'

24 hours til the big shoot-out.
The SOB stew is simmering.
Cowboy beans are in slow-cooker.
A has spears ready for roasting brats over the fire.
D is bringin' Annie Get Your Gun Buns and Jessie James Juice. (I don't know.)
In other kitchens, elsewhere animals are being slaughtered, saucey mixes are brewing, and vegetables are being hacked.
DH has guns and targets ready.
P has ammo and rifles packed up.
The sheriffs have been notified.
Joe says, to the other side of the farm for all that bangin' and shoutin'. His two Amish-raised Percheron mares must be considered, and the chickens must not delay growing up to lay their eggs.

But first we'll go to church.
And we might pray that it won't rain.