Some true, some not so true. But none of them are wrong (shakes finger).

And so, the fragments:

1.

“Are you carrying a gun?” asked the lady on a sleigh ride.

“Oh yeah, I’m packing heat,” I called out.

But there was no laughter.

She was serious. I was not. And her fellow sleigh-travelers were all on her side.

They were truly fearful of the “bears and moose” that might attack us during our ride; a ride that meanders through the “woods” that are no more than 1,000 feet from the two-lane state highway known as Vermont Route 108.

“I think we’ll be fine,” I assured them. “But, just in case, I’ve got a gun.”

And somehow they all felt better.

2.

I think I forgot to tell you that I’ve decided it’s a whole lot better for me to not take mainstream politics seriously.

3.

America: You suck. $33 billion requested by Obama for more war in Afghanistan in the same week his Administration gloated over sending $100 million to Haiti for relief efforts.

Oh no, here comes that question again: Why do they hate us?

4.

“Who lives here?” asked the gentleman in my living room.

“I’m not sure,” I replied, worried about how the ensuing conversation might go.

And so on we went, as if we were both strangers in the same house.

5.

There have been eight deaths in Vermont this year as a result of snowmobile accidents. Sadly, snowmobiling is encouraged in Vermont, where state-sanctioned snowmobile clubs manage thousands of miles of trails to places where quiet-loving people and the creatures of the wild would rather they not be.

The ugly cousin of snowmobiling is ATV riding. And while they have opposite seasons, they share the similar core desire to go anywhere they want with their machines as long as it’s not around and around in their own backyards (read: anywhere else). You know, kind of like growing pot.

But the irony of irony going on in Vermont right now is the ATV-riders current attempts to gain access to public land for their trails. It would tame the wild riders, they argue, by giving them legal places to ride – “like the snowmobile example.”

But if I were them, I’d be dropping their insistence on using “the snowmobile example” in a year when eight people have died doing illegal things on snowmobiles in our state. Yes, illegal things, as in: speeding, leaving trails, reckless driving, and sledding while intoxicated.

Now imagine these things happening year round in Vermont: The snowmobilers in the Winter months and the ATVers in the summer months. All because they’ve convinced politicians like the spaghetti-spined Doug Racine and the me-too Susan Bartlett that ATV-riders are the same thing as hikers. And they would be if we subtract the 1000cc engines, jagged tires, hydrocarbon fumes, noise and ecological destruction. But, other than that, same thing. Sure.

Stop the industrialization of Vermont’s woods. Walk in – and let it be.

6.

Bravo to Shay for mentioning The Minutemen on Facebook. It’s been “Double Nickels on the Dime” all day long here. Not a bad thing, just an obsessive thing. Thanks.

And a taste of The Minutemen:

And one more. But this one’s for the Democrats:

7.

George Hurley: Best. Rock. Drummer. Ever.

8.

Entergy, the Louisiana-based owners of the Vermont Yankee nuclear power plant, would like to apologize for “providing misinformation” to the State of Vermont with regards to the existence of radioactive liquids buried and flowing underground.

I wish I had made that one up.

9.

Me: You know the rules.
Bel (my daughter): There are no rules.
Me: Cool. Punk rock still rules.
Bel: Huh?

And so it was, another day in the chronicles of homeschooling. But we did get to play a lot of loud music.

5 + 5 = As loud as the amp will go.

Class dismissed.

10.

Teacher’s mantra: Achievement tests are so overrated.

11.

Parent’s dilemma: Oh shit, that’s my sarcasm she’s perfected.

12.

Child’s reaction: Cool.

…and they will come. In droves.

Last Saturday was the day. Worcester’s famed sledding hill was the place (a.k.a.: our pasture). And so it was – a sledding party.

Below are some photos that the Newbury artist, Chris Esten, took while taking a break from making sure Boots didn’t kill himself on the hill. Tough job, but someone had to do it. I guess.

It was a fine time. And we’ll be doing it again soon.

That’s Big Jim, me, my mom, my dog, and my daughter (being dragged by choice).

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m still alive. Just recovering – from the 108 sleigh rides I provided to the rich and not-so-famous during the holidaze.

“Hello, I’m Moike and I’ll be your driver…”

Well, rich is probably a stretch for some of them. But, when you’re “the driver,” everyone seems rich – especially when you’re reduced to sniffing for tips at the end of every ride like my dog sniffs for treats. Yeah, I know, pathetic.

Snarkiness aside, it wasn’t really that bad. My horse comrades (fellow drivers and horses, alike) were fantastic, especially the boss-lady who kept greasing my palm with tips of her own, obviously feeling the high of charging Stowe tourists $37.50 per person for a twenty minute ride through the Stowe “woods.”

While clearly a “tourist trap,” it is, indeed, a labor of horse love for those of us who brave the long, cold hours to groom, hook, drive and clean up after the “gentle giants.” Yep, seven horses a day, Percherons and Belgians (Mazy, Justin, Big Mac, Little Mac, Jack, Donnie and Clayton), hooked and re-hooked to four sleighs at a time.

And before your mind wanders to the “work” for the horses, let me assure you: They’re more bored than overworked by a factor of at least 10. The course is flat, the sleighs slide effortlessly on the ice/snow like we’d push a stroller on a sidewalk, and they get to munch on high-quality hay and drink fresh water through each and every mount/dismount and photo opportunity that is the routine of every ride. Oh yeah, and – unlike the drivers – they get scheduled breaks.

I have to say, however, that the best aspect of this year’s Great Stowe Adventure was that our twelve-year-old daughter, Bel, got to come to work with me for two half-days. She co-piloted with me on the non-romantic/family rides (you know, the rides where fewer eyes and ears are requested because a marriage proposal is in the mix) and worked her tail off hooking/unhooking the sleighs and providing the horse nourishment.

Bel and I only managed a few arguments during her sleigh time, the first involving her rather dismissive declaration that “this isn’t work, dad!” Okay, darling, you put the 50-pound harness on the horse who’s back is six-feet-four-inches above the ground. Better yet, then tell him to behave while the brats of the wealthy think it’s fun to rush up to his back legs…

The other – more serious – argument came when the riders thought it was cute to tip Bel at the end of the rides. “They gave it to me,” was her impenetrable defense. Checkmate. (Special note to future parents of 12-year-olds: When you raise them to be willful within a climate of wise-assery, don’t whine when they surpass you.)

But now it’s back to reality: Homeschooling, horse logging, and a herd of horses of our own that need some tending to. I gave Bel the Winter challenge of getting our soon-to-be-three-year-old Belgian, Blaze, trained and ready to work by Spring. This morning, we completed milestone number 787(ish) by getting the harness and bridle on him. And she did 90% of it.

What can I say, I don’t have much to complain about.

Happy New Year, indeed.