Forty-eight hours (illustrated)

In yesterday's much-ballyhooed (but patently inconsequential) Ames Straw Poll, Rep. Michele Bachmann won a squeaker over Rep. Ron Paul. Stealing a piece of their thunder, Gov. Rick Perry of Texas announced that he, too, wants to be President.

Never mind what you hear from giddy conservatives -- neither development heralds the defeat of Pres. Barack Obama. So far Bachmann and Paul have polled poorly in a hypothetical matchup with the incumbent, and Perry will show that he's incapable of shedding the perception that he's nothing more (or less) than George W. Bush II.

Worse, and despite thumping the "Liberty!" tub, all three of these GOP hopefuls pander shamelessly to (so-called) "social conservatives" -- white evangelical Christians, mostly, whose ideology couldn't be more antithetical to Liberty.

Barely a week before declaring his candidacy, Perry led 30,000 in a "Prayer-Palooza" at a stadium in Houston -- a sitting governor keynoting a camp meeting. Even Paul, arguably dean of the small-government movement, has been sucked into the anti-libertarian abyss on abortion and other issues.

Considering the weak Republican field, this is not good.


"I may not be the gearhead I used to be, but I'm still plenty redneck."

Those aren't my words -- they came from my smiling wife as we sat along a curb in nearby Reynoldsburg last night, joining thousands of others to watch the annual Mopar Nationals "Brice Road Cruise."

The air was thick with tire smoke. Some of the onlookers, many of them children, laid down patches of water on the pavement, hoping to lure a good burnout. Drivers were more than willing to oblige, a token police presence having little effect.

Either you get this sort of thing or you don't. We had a ball, and besides, dropping by the Brice Road Cruise was Mrs. KintlaLake's idea.

I married a redneck gearhead. Somebody pinch me.


Ohio's state flag appears on a new postage stamp, released on Friday. It's part of the "Flags of Our Nation" series and, since I'm a born-and-bred Buckeye, it's a source of pride.

Yet another harvest shot, this haul from midday today -- nine large cukes, five peppers, two Romas and five yellow pear tomatoes.

I'll end this roundup with the way our weekend began -- at the Huntington Park Hoedown, a benefit concert held Friday evening at the home ballpark of the Columbus Clippers.

We arrived at the will-call window just before the gates opened, fetched my media badge and my wife's field pass and made our way to the visitors' dugout to deposit my photo gear. Local solo artist Chris Logsdon took the stage first, followed by Jonalee White and her band. Both treated the crowd to typically great performances.

McGuffey Lane, by far our favorite local band (and the source of our comp passes, by the way), was next on the bill and didn't disappoint. My wife and I adjourned to the parking lot for a smoke after their set.

When we returned, the reunited Exile was onstage. Of all the acts, we figured, this was the lone take-or-leave proposition.

Boy, were we wrong.

I don't remember the last time I was as blown away by a performance. I mean, here was an '80s pop-turned-country band showing chops that had the show's other musicians gathering, awestruck, behind the stage. Exile's a capella rendition of "People Get Ready," the Curtis Mayfield classic, had the ballpark so quiet I swear I heard the outfield grass growing.

Seriously, people -- if you have a chance to catch Exile live, with all five of its founding members, do it. I promise you won't regret it.

Hoedown headliner Pure Prairie League, over five hours after their sound check, closed the show with a high-energy set, including three of my favorites: "Early Morning Riser," "Two-Lane Highway" and, of course, "Amie."

Photographically the night had me wishing for faster glass and steadier hands. But incomparable music performed in a great venue, on a clear summer evening that saw a full moon rise over the Columbus skyline behind the stage -- it doesn't get better than that.

Here's your sign

KintlaLake Blog often speaks to those who, like me, defend individual citizens' constitutional right to keep and bear arms. In this post, however, I want to address Americans who support gun control -- those who'd never consider owning a gun, who oppose individuals' possessing firearms, who believe that we citizens should rely solely on law-enforcement professionals for our defense.

Carrying a concealed handgun is legal here in Ohio, provided that the armed citizen possesses a valid state-issued permit. Even with a concealed-carry permit, there are certain "prohibited places" -- police stations, courthouses and government buildings, churches and school zones, among others, as well as any building or property displaying a sign like the one shown here (right).

If there's no such sign at the entrance of a facility, and as long as firearms aren't explicitly prohibited in the location by law, concealed carry of a handgun -- again, with a valid permit -- is allowed.

There's another sign (right) that's unofficial, voluntary and, because state law presumes permission without statutory or expressed prohibition, rare. It lets the public know that concealed carry not only is allowed -- it's (implicitly) welcome.

Mrs. KintlaLake and I exercise lawful concealed carry of our handguns, both here and in other states where an Ohio permit is valid. We abide by statutory prohibitions, which includes looking for no-guns signs and conducting ourselves accordingly. Typical of citizens who hold a concealed-carry permit, we obey the law.

If you're like most gun-control advocates I've encountered, you hold that laws allowing citizens to possess and carry firearms constitute a threat to public safety. The argument follows, then, that a building displaying a no-guns sign must be safer than one displaying the guns-welcome sign or no sign at all.

Now suppose you're strolling along a sidewalk in downtown Columbus, Ohio, when you hear a loud bang. At first you think it's a car backfiring, but then you hear several more -- bang, bang-bang...bang -- and you notice terrified people running in all directions.

"Gun!" screams a woman who knocks you off-balance as she barges past you. "Guy with a gun! Shooting people!"

You hear more gunshots. Two people fall to the ground, one of them less than a hundred feet in front of you. Just beyond, you see a man with a rifle.

You, of course, are unarmed. The police are nowhere in sight.

As you turn to flee, you notice two storefronts. Each has a sign posted on the entry door -- one prohibiting all firearms, the other welcoming their lawful carry. What do you do?

Remember, you truly believe that a place that bans guns is safer than allowing trained citizens to carry guns on the premises. You believe that laws and signs are your best defense.

You walk through the first door. Do you feel safe?

More to the point: Do think that crazed guy with the rifle -- or any other armed criminal -- gives a damn about laws and no-guns signs?

And do you, in that moment, still believe that you're safer seeking refuge where all law-abiding citizens voluntarily disarmed before entering, rather than choosing that "dangerous" place next door, where there just may be a responsible private citizen prepared for armed defense?

Look, I'll respect your choice not to own or carry a firearm -- the Second Amendment codifies a right, not a requirement -- but please, please stop trying to impose your ill-conceived rules on those of us who choose to lawfully take responsibility for our own defense.


"The philosophy of gun control: Teenagers are roaring through town at 90MPH, where the speed limit is 25. Your solution is to lower the speed limit to 20." (Sam Cohen)

Breaking it down

I'm not fond of mass e-mails. I don't encourage folks to send them to me, and it's rare that I pass them along.

Today I'll make an exception.

Maybe you've seen this already -- lopping eight zeroes from U.S. federal financials to illustrate what annual household finances would look like in proportion. To wit, I present the mythical "Jones" family:

Income (net): $21,700
Expenditures: $38,200
Borrowing: $16,500
Debt (total): $142,710

Obviously, any household with a balance sheet like that is living irresponsibly beyond its means. The Joneses, recognizing this, decide to cut this year's spending:

Reduction in expenditures: $385

That's absurd, of course -- but it's precisely what our elected officials are doing.

I've read commentary suggesting that the Jones analogy demonstrates the need to increase household income dramatically (that is, the U.S. government must impose onerous taxes). That misses the point by a country mile.

What the Obama administration calls "a balanced approach" -- reducing spending while increasing revenue -- truly is, in my view, the only intellectually honest solution to the debt-and-deficit problem. Still, a simplistic household analogy makes it clear that it's our spending that needs change -- revolutionary change -- and I have absolutely zero confidence that'll happen.

Our President, who's showing us that inspiration isn't the same thing as leadership, doesn't have the juice to do it. Congress isn't capable of it, and neither is a bipartisan "super committee," which is nothing more than a dysfunctional Congress en micro.

In any case, the entitlement-hungry masses wouldn't allow it.

I can't see the status quo lasting longer than a few years more -- and since the problems won't be fixed, American life as we know it could crumble. I can imagine order beginning to break down within a year and civil unrest becoming widespread within two.

Pessimistic? Damned right.

A handful of discoveries

It's a damp, overcast morning here at KintlaLake Ranch. Seems like a good time to catalog some unexpected finds.

In one of my Urban Resources posts I surveyed The Other Economy, that rich source of goods and services operating outside the conventional marketplace. My family and I have been "shopping the roadside" a lot lately, turning up bargain after useful bargain.

I've regretted parting with my Black & Decker Benchtop Workmate since leaving it behind when I moved back to Ohio ten years ago. Introduced in the late 1970s, the Benchtop model eventually was discontinued, so if I wanted to replace it I'd have to explore the secondhand market.

I discovered this one (above) earlier this summer at a garage sale halfway down a narrow alley in our village. Other than a few stains and a little rust, I found it in excellent condition, complete except for a pair of original-issue L-bolts that clamp it to a bench.

The price: just $3.00. Two carriage bolts, two flat washers and two wingnuts, purchased at the local hardware store, put it on my workbench for a grand total of four bucks.

Because a man can never have enough vises (or vices, for that matter), at another garage sale that same day I picked up this "hobby vise" (left) for two dollars. It clamps to the work-surface with a thumbscrew and will come in handy for a variety of small projects.

Speaking of The Other Economy, our village held its annual flea market last weekend. It's not a big event, just a coupla dozen canopied tables piled with household castoffs. My wife and I came home with a three-foot chocolate rabbit (brown plastic, actually) that'll grace our front porch next Easter, and a 1960s-vintage glass-and-chrome teapot. Together, the two items cost us two bucks.

I spent one more dollar, that on an old Boy Scout "contest medal." These awards were introduced in the late 1920s, as I understand it, but they'd been retired by the time I became a Scout myself.

Wanting to get a better fix on this medal's age, yesterday I examined it with a magnifying glass. Other than the word CAMPING cast into the front, the pendant bears no markings. Stamped on the clasp at the top of the ribbon, however, is PAT. NO. 2,795,064. A bit of web-sleuthing unearthed a copy of the original patent for the clasp -- applied for in 1953, granted in 1957.

So the clasp, at least, probably is as old as I am. A buck bought me a keeper and a pleasant exercise in discovery.

I love beer -- and I mean good beer. Sure, I'm willing to throw back my earthly portion of mass-produced barley pop, but I prefer beer that has actual flavor.

In a corner-store lager, for example, I enjoy an ice-cold Rolling Rock. If I had to choose a favorite, without a doubt it'd be Rogue Brewery Dead Guy Ale. And as you might expect, I'm especially partial to small-batch local brews, like those from Columbus Brewing Company.

Recently I learned of Rockmill Brewery, located in nearby Lancaster, and its Belgian-style ales. As the story goes, Rockmill's founder discovered that the well on his family's farm produced water with the same mineral content as that found in Wallonia, Belgium, and that served as the inspiration for four unusual ales.

Mrs. KintlaLake and I savored a bottle of Rockmill Dubbel over a plate of summer sausage, sharp cheese and apple slices (this isn't a beer one serves with nachos), and we came away truly amazed. It's strong (6% to 8% ABM), full-bodied and fruity, as well as pricey ($16 for a 22-ounce bottle) -- and worth every penny.

Great beer, brewed barely a stone's throw from home -- that's as good as it gets. There's a bottle of high-octane Rockmill Tripel in my fridge, and I can't wait to pop the cork.

Finally, of course, our vegetable garden offers up discoveries almost every day -- take this green-and-yellow beauty (below) that sprang from one of the "volunteer" vines I mentioned last week. At about 12 inches long, it's the largest gourd that's set (so far). Our unintentional crop continues to spread, so there will be more.

SHIFT_down

As every thinking person expected, our government's credit rating got dinged by Standard & Poor's. Moody's and Fitch, each of which has expressed formal pessimism about U.S. debt, now contemplate downgrades of their own.

What happens next? No one knows, and anyone who claims to know is guessing. These are uncharted waters, nationally and globally. Any honest analysis admits as much.

S&P, in explaining its rationale for the downgrade, judged the U.S.'s debt-to-GDP ratio to be unsustainable. It was the current political climate, however -- read, ineptitude and ideological inertia  -- that caused the agency to pull the trigger.

It would've been reasonable to hope (if not predict), then, that the feuding factions -- Republicans and Democrats in Congress, as well as the Obama administration -- would start acting like Americans for a change. No such luck.

On the weekly talk shows yesterday, partisan finger-pointing ruled, with each side flaming the other. Republicans blamed Pres. Obama. (Natch.) Sen. John Kerry and others test-flew a new Democratic Party talking point, calling S&P's action the "Tea Party downgrade" -- which is idiotic, of course, but unfortunately it'll probably catch on.

Surrogates for the White House busied themselves pitching rocks at S&P, calling it "amateurish" (among other things). That prompted this reaction from Sen. John McCain on Meet the Press:

"On the S&P thing, don’t shoot the messenger. Is there anybody that believes that S&P is wrong in their assessment of the situation -- of the fiscal situation of this country?"

That's the truth, as succinct as it can be. And until

Nixon-Ford-Carter-Reagan-Bush-Clinton-Bush-Obama-
Congress-Bureaucracy Downgrade

fits easily on a bumper sticker, it'll have to do.

I spent ten years of my professional life in the corporate headquarters of two financial-services companies, the last four in the executive suite of a major player in the investment business, so I know something about the influence of agencies like S&P, Moody's, Fitch and Best.

I can say that in the private sector, a downgrade (or even a negative outlook) can suck the life out of a company. I also know that corporate instability -- the comings and goings of fund managers, for example -- can tip a ratings agency toward taking action. Finally, I can't recall a downgraded company that hasn't issued a press release saying that S&P (e.g.) is full of shit, abuses kittens, etc.

That's just the way it works.

After all that, the same question burns: So what's going to happen after this downgrade? The answer remains: We simply don't know. Common sense and convenient parallels, however, combine to offer us a few useful clues.

Interest rates are likely to rise for businesses and, consequently, for consumers. The recession is bound to deepen, and sharply. Depending on how bad things get, how long they stay that way and what cuts are announced in November, I envision civil unrest resembling what we've seen in the U.K. and Greece.

On the bright side, gas prices may come down -- maybe.

It's not the duty of citizens to save the nation's economy, but as much as possible, in my view, this is the time to renew our commitment to supporting domestic and local commerce. We should ignore the flailings of Wall Street and the wailings of its shills -- anyone who spews chestnuts like "historical performance" or exhorts us to "stay in the market" is a self-interested robot, not an expert and certainly not a friend.

And, of course, when Election Day rolls 'round, we must send incompetent incumbents packing.

Making wise choices now, deliberately, preparing for deteriorating economic and social conditions -- and I predict that they will deteriorate -- will give us the agility we'll need when the time comes to act in the interest of ourselves, our families and our communities.

Saturday-evening harvest

Around 6pm today I emerged from the humble KintlaLake vegetable garden with our first two Roma tomatoes, six yellow pear tomatoes, more than a dozen carrots, ten long green hot peppers and another monster cucumber, this one found hiding among the carrot greens.

'Fugetaboutit' of the week

"Ignorance is behind the criticism of Sohail Mohammed. The folks who criticize my appointment of Sohail Mohammed are ignorant."

"Sharia law has nothing to do with this at all. It's crazy. It's crazy. The guy's an American citizen who has been an admitted lawyer to practice in the state of New Jersey, swearing an oath to uphold the laws of New Jersey, the constitution of the state of New Jersey, and the Constitution of the United States of America."

"This Sharia law business is crap. It's just crazy. And I'm tired of dealing with the crazies."

(New Jersey Gov. Chris Christie, responding to critics of his appointing Sohail Mohammed, a Muslim, to the state Supreme Court -- and by leaving no doubt what he thinks of Islamophobic nutjobs, probably sabotaging any shot he has at the GOP nomination for President)

Early wake-up call

Scout was thrilled when I rolled out of bed today at 4am. My wife, well, not so much -- ordinarily she doesn't get up 'til 5am.

By that time I was on the road, headed for our county airport to shoot a hot-air balloon launch. It'd been quite a while, maybe 15 years, since I'd photographed balloons, and I'd forgotten how much I enjoy it.

Bright colors and early-morning light make for a rewarding shoot, for sure, but it's the people I've missed. They're always so accommodating, so warm, so real -- and that makes it fun. I really need to do this more often.

What goes up...

The Dow pitched headlong off a cliff at the open this morning. It kept tumbling all day long, ending just off session lows -- down 512.76 (4.31%). It's being reported as the worst day for the index "since the financial crisis of 2008."

I find that characterization laughable -- and if you have a lick of sense, so do you. I'd argue that the "financial crisis" began long before 2008, and it's beyond dispute that it hasn't abated, much less ended.

That the Dow clawed its way back from 6,500 to 12,800 is all but irrelevant -- the stock market is just one component of an economy that shows no signs of a sustainable recovery.

For evidence, look no further than today's other economic news. The national unemployment rate is 9.2%, and last week 400,000 Americans filed for first-time jobless benefits. Nearly 15% of Americans -- 46 million of us -- used food stamps in May. Virtually every meaningful indicator -- consumer confidence, retail, manufacturing, housing -- continues to head in the wrong direction.

Today's stock-market plunge, say the talking heads, might signal another recession or, perhaps, a double-dip recession.

Pull-eeze. Another recession?

If there's a bright side to the recent harangue over debt and deficits, it's that it formally introduced the elephant in the room. It gave every American the chance to see that our government's profligate spending has pushed us to the brink of national bankruptcy.

In the same way, the last time the Dow went precipitously south it exposed the markets as nothing but casinos of capital, driven more by collusion than by commerce. Either we got that message or we didn't.

If we learned our lessons well, right now we're pushing back from the table -- if we hadn't already.

First-of-the-month roundup, Part II

As promised in Part I, I have some observations about the back-and-forth over raising the federal debt ceiling.

After much mud-wrestling, Washington hatched a deal. The House bought the scheme on Monday; it cleared the Senate and President Obama signed it yesterday. Spending gets cut by a reported $917 billion (over ten years), while the debt ceiling goes up by a like amount (immediately).

A "super-committee" will decide by Thanksgiving what else to cut, to the tune of $1.5 trillion (over ten years), and if Congress doesn't salute by Christmas, that'll trigger mandatory cuts across the board (minus sacred cows). Either way, the debt ceiling will get bumped up by (you guessed it) another $1.5 trillion (immediately).

It doesn't take an economist to see that a deal isn't the same thing as a solution. By averting default now, our elected officials embraced the certainty of our nation's complete economic collapse.

Think about it -- the U.S. government borrows 41 cents of every dollar that it spends, and it just got the ok to borrow even more.

Let's look at a few facts. The national debt is over $14.3 trillion and climbing every second. The interest alone is approaching half-a-trillion dollars a year.

Each American household's share of the debt exceeds $125,000. Every American child born today begins life with a debt of $46,000.

Last year, the ratio of the national debt to our gross domestic product was a disturbing 93%. Because the U.S. economy is contracting (projected to fall behind China within five years) and the debt is certain to grow, this year our government will owe more than our nation produces.

And Washington acts as if it can sustain this madness.

Tea Party-backed Republicans, in a fit of redemption, pressed for passage of a Cut, Cap and Balance Act -- the right idea, in my opinion -- but such a sensible approach was bound to die in the Senate. Now, for some reason, the GOP seems buoyed by cutting a deal that's all cuts and no revenue, boasting that they "changed the conversation."

That's unfiltered bullshit, of course -- there's nothing to celebrate. A moral victory, even if there was one, won't get the job done.

I fear for my country.

Visual, ritual

I've been sending a photo like that one to Mrs. KintlaLake almost every morning these days. By the time it shows up in her e-mailbox she's been at work for an hour or two, and she looks forward to my sharing what I've discovered in the garden that day.

Today's bounty: four cucumbers, bringing the harvest (so far) to nearly four dozen; and 24 carrots, some quite tiny but all sweet as sugar.

First-of-the-month roundup, Part I

Like many of my fellow citizens, I've spent a lot of time recently tracking the progress (or lack thereof) of debt-ceiling discussions -- more about that in Part II. First, I want to hit a few other topics.

Foreshadowing
The U.S. has more than its share of white, Christian, right-wing nutjobs who prefer that anyone who doesn't profess the same xenophobia be exterminated. So when I heard that a likewise-addled Norwegian murdered 78 innocents on July 22, I didn't wonder if such a massacre could happen here -- I pondered how soon it will happen here.

Hot as a pumpkin patch
I'm not handling the heat well this summer. The last time I felt this way was in mid-September, when a day of pickin' punkins kicked my aging, out-of-shape ass.

Truth is, I've become way too accustomed to air conditioning. And strangely enough, the fix for my heat-intolerance is to spend more time working outside. That's easier said than done, considering, but I'm working on it.

Our garden grows...and grows...and grows...
The aforementioned bounty of cucumbers is taking over our small garden plot, threatening to take over my life. Now three tomato plants are trying my patience -- and I was warned.

A while back, my neighbor told me of a spring morning many years ago, when she witnessed our home's previous owner, standing on a stepladder in his garden, setting ten-foot stakes. When asked why, he replied politely that this was especially fertile soil, insisting that the absurdly tall stakes were quite necessary to support his tomatoes.

Later that summer, according to my neighbor, the optimistic old gardener was proven right.

This season's tomatoes are following the same path skyward, today nearly eight feet tall, so heavy with fruit that they're pulling their cages from the ground. I've supplemented the leaning wire enclosures with six-foot bamboo stakes and string. I'm not sure that'll be enough.

I'm also having a love-hate relationship with some "volunteer" vines -- gourds or pumpkins, I think -- which sprouted from seeds that survived composting. I've pulled hundreds of seedlings from our raised beds since May, choosing to leave a few that came up outside the fence. Now, despite my pruning, they cover a hundred square feet of lawn.

Fertile soil, indeed. We haven't used a speck of chemical herbicide, pesticide or fertilizer, by the way -- nothing but hand-weeding and home-cooked compost.

Sneak peek
I'm dropping a placeholder here for the next installment of my Urban Resources series.

If there's one resource that most of us take for granted and mismanage horribly, it's water. I've become particularly aware of it this summer, partly through gardening and partly because every month I have to pay the village for what I use. I've been exploring ways to conserve, extend and even harvest water -- stay tuned.

After the circus leaves town
A couple of flatbed trucks rumbled up the street late yesterday afternoon, carrying rolls of canvas and aluminum poles -- the last remnants of our village's annual festival.

For four days we'd been treated to heavy traffic on the street and sidewalk in front of our house. The sounds of live music, some great and some absolutely awful, drifted over our yard from the big concert stage. There were carnival rides and games-of-chance, fair food and a beer garden, a classic-car show and, naturally, a parade.

No fireworks this year, though. Budget cuts, don'tcha know.

We made the three-minute walk to the festival grounds on Wednesday evening, again on Saturday afternoon for a funnel-cake fix, and finally on Saturday night for the traditional closing concert -- a performance by a gray-haired pop star that festival organizers can get cheap.

It may be a weenie little festival, but this is home. We like it fine.

At 4:51pm EDT yesterday...

...I checked the weather conditions, as registered at a reporting station adjacent to a state DOT garage several miles away.

Dig that crazy "heat index" and hydrate, hydrate, hydrate...

Canning continuity, Part II

(As I type this, the outdoor temperature here in our village is 95°F. Coupled with 64% relative humidity and a dew point of 81°F, the "feels like" temp -- that new-fangled "heat index" popular with TV meteorologists -- is a brain-broiling 117°F, and we haven't yet seen the hottest part of the day. Time to focus on something cooler.)

In last Saturday's post, I waxed righteous about re-using a vintage Ball canning jar. I've put up three more quarts of pickles since then, each in a jar left behind by our home's previous owner. I've also done a bit of sleuthing about their pedigrees.


That clear Kerr Self-Sealing Wide Mouth jar (above) arguably is the least interesting of the four. It offers no clues as to its age but, judging by the other jars we found, it probably was made in the 1960s in Sand Springs, Oklahoma.


The quaint-looking Mom's Mason jar was made in nearby Columbus by Home Products. a division of Ohio Container, in the mid-1970s.


This blue Atlas Strong Shoulder Mason was made in Wheeling, West Virginia by Hazel-Atlas, which ceased production in 1964. I suspect that this jar may date to the 1940s or 1950s -- but that wouldn't make it the oldest jar rescued from our basement shelf.


Nope, that distinction (so far) belongs to the blue Ball Perfect Mason mentioned on Saturday. Its markings testify that it was made between 1923 and 1933.

These vintage canning jars aren't just worth keeping -- they're damned well worth using.

So you don't have room to garden?

One of the five raised beds in our vegetable garden hosts a tomato plant, two sweet basil plants, two hot pepper plants, four cucumber vines and a spearmint plant -- all in just 25 square feet.

To say that it's a prolific patch would be an understatement. The tomato has passed the six-foot mark and is loaded with fruit. The basils are nearly three feet tall and lush. Everything is healthy and producing, especially the cucumbers. Witness this example, picked early this morning after I'd finished the day's watering.

The vital statistics: length 9.5 inches, girth 8 inches. I don't know what this backyard monster weighs, but I found it under a particularly dense section of canopy. Ready late last week, probably, it managed to elude me for several days, and thus it grew.

Again, it came from a 25-square-foot bed.

There are so many solutions to the problem of limited space -- intensive gardening and container gardening, to name two -- that there's really no good reason (including stoopid city ordinances) not to practice sustenance-gardening skills. With a little planning, good soil preparation and regular watering, it can be done almost anywhere.

Sharps: His & hers EDC folders

Mrs. KintlaLake and I, together nearly six years now, are fortunate to share many interests. Our individual approaches to life are by no means identical, but we complement each other well.

When choosing a folding knife for everyday carry, each of us favors a mid-size Benchmade -- me a 556 Mini Griptilian, she a 585 Mini Barrage. Both are solid, relatively affordable and American-made. In terms of quality, utility and durability, neither gives ground to knives costing two or three times more.

My wife prefers the Mini Barrage's spring-assist -- convenient, sure, but in her male-dominated workplace, every time she snaps the 585 to open a box or cut a wire, she gains a smidgen of cred.

I'm content with my less-flashy (yet easily flickable) Mini Griptilian.

The missus and I also differ on how (and how often) we maintain our knives. I strop mine on a pant leg after each use and on a leather belt at the end of each day. She, ignoring my example, tends to work hers until it's hopelessly dull.

This morning I found her Mini Barrage on her dresser, the blade gummed-up with packing-tape residue, unable to even draw-cut paper. I could've taken advantage of Benchmade's LifeSharp℠ warranty service, but instead I spent an hour with sandpaper, stropping compound and bare leather, coaxing the edge back to respectability.

When I presented the result to my wife, she got a stern (but kind-hearted) lecture -- and I got a hug.