Up in these parts, w’re such slaves to mindless tradition that, year after year, we all rake our leaves in the fall. No imagination.

This year I did it in a big way. I took out the whole tree.

Yes, it’s gone. Today dawned rainy, with scattered thunderstorms, and I thought, “Blast it. The tree guy’ll never take my tree down in weather like this. Somebody could get gaussed by lightning.”

But he called me at work in the morning and told me he’d have it out by noon.

Mark you, this is the low bidder. Lower by about $300 than anybody else I talked to. But he got in there and hustled, and the tree was gone before the clouds cleared. (And yes, he is licensed and insured.)

It’s good to have the Sword of Damocles retracted from my place of residence, believe me. Still, I’ll miss the old tree. For a long time I thought it was an ash. This pleased me, because the ash tree is central to Norse mythology. In the Norse system, the universe itself was a great ash tree, and like mine it was a little sick, with things gnawing at it, requiring care and nutrition.

However, it turns out to have been some odd kind of elm (it never matched any of the pictures I found in tree identification web sites, which is what confused me).

That makes the loss easier to bear. The increased air conditioning costs, due to reduced shade, will hit me in the summer.

I read Brad Thor’s Blowback over the weekend. I don’t think it rates a long review. Enough to say that I like the politics (the president seems to be a fictionalized version of George W. Bush, and his political nemesis is a very nasty female Democratic senator with presidential aspirations, whose initials are H.R.C.). It was fast-moving, like a Roger Moore James Bond movie, and about as substantive. The characters had all the depth of Murine eye drops.

Not bad for recreational reading, when you’re waiting for a plane or something, but I’d prefer conservative fiction with a little more substance.

I’ll be gone for a week starting tomorrow. I’ll check in from Minot and Høstfest if I get a chance. Pictures when I get back, perhaps, so you can share the aesthetic delights of Norwegian-sweater-and-cowboy-hat couture.

Your prayers worked. I found a guy who’ll take the tree down pretty inexpensively, and he plans to do it on Monday.

Thank you.

Tree update: I know how you’ve all been checking this space hourly for my removal situation, so I bow to public pressure and announce that I’ve changed my mind. Or made a decision. Or something.

I’m going to give up on the plan to get the tree removed in a week and a half by a guy who’ll do it cheap, and I’m going to get a professional to do it now.

Because the more I look at the thing, and see how thin the split trunk is, and how many branches are balancing on that trunk, I know I won’t sleep decently until the whole thing is safely on the ground.

Also because if we were to get a big wind, and the thing went over on my roof, I think the insurance company would stiff me (with good reason), knowing I’d let a dangerous tree stand.

It’ll put me way in hock, but I think it’s the responsible choice.



Here’s a couple links for your weekend enjoyment.



“In the beginning was the Word,” in more than one sense. It seems some scholars now believe that the Hebrews invented vowels. Hat tip: Mirabilis.

And Dennis Ingolfsland at The Recliner Commentaries explains (in case you’ve been to college and lost your ability to reason) some major differences between Christian and Muslim Fundamentalism.

If you care to pray for me, pray that I get a cheap bid, and that I can finish the business in time to still get to Minot.

Mowed the lawn tonight. I’d hoped to wait until the branches were cleaned up from my fallen tree, but my branch removing guy still hasn’t shown up yet, and the weekend’s supposed to be rainy, and I’m going away on Tuesday (burglars, don’t take that as a hint. My renter will still be here, and he’s a former Navy Seal who’s always armed).

My current cause for night sweats is the thought of another unusually strong wind before the tree gets removed, so that it falls on my house. And the insurance company will refuse to pay because I knew the tree was dangerous and hadn’t had it removed yet.

Carol Platt Liebau is hosting Hugh Hewitt’s show tonight, and she’s been talking about the declaration of Dr. James Dobson and some other pro-life leaders that they’ll vote for a third party candidate if a spotless pro-lifer isn’t nominated by the Republicans.

I suppose there’ll be some disagreement about this among our readers. But I’ll share my opinion, which I hold strongly. As always, the ideas and opinions in this post do not necessarily reflect the ideas and opinions of Brandywine Books, its owners or management, or of real persons, living or dead.

I’ve admired and supported Dr. Dobson for many years. I’m grateful for his tireless work for good causes in this country.

But I got a renewal notice for Citizen Magazine today, and I decided to toss it. I don’t want Dr. Dobson to be able to claim me as a supporter at this point in history.

I remember hearing him say, on his radio program years back, that he’d decided that he would never again vote for any candidate who wasn’t solidly pro-life. I admired his passion, but I remember thinking I wasn’t sure that would always be the best policy.

I don’t think I’ll sleep better in an America where Hillary Clinton is president, and the Democrats control both houses of congress, and four brand spanking new loose constructionists sit on the Supreme Court, just because I can tell myself I voted for a righteous candidate.

Compromise isn’t just part of politics. Compromise is politics. If you can’t compromise, if you can’t accept a half a loaf today in the hope of getting more another day, then you shouldn’t become a political player.

This seems to me a doomsday tactic. It’s saying (and one of Carol’s callers said essentially this), “If I can’t have everything the way I want it, I’m happy to see the whole country devastated and the earth sown with salt, in the hope that something better will spring from the holocaust.”

That’s not conservative American principle. That’s what the hippies used to say in the 60s.

Lynn Vincent asks what would be up for grabs “if Hell had a menu.”