Good Evening,
It was a week of rapid growth. Ferns are now three feet tall and
leaves are filling the empty spaces in the trees. Bird species keep
changing. I heard a Mourning Dove the other morning. They are not
regulars here, must have been moving through. The gray jays are very
spread out now. They don't flock the house when I step out. The
hummingbirds have lots of insects to eat. They eat some of the biting
flies which is appreciated.
Propagation seems weaker now. I have been testing twenty and forty
meters for the last few days with little luck. Earlier in the week I
was doing better with the reverse beacon net. Today was worse. While
the sun is not very active, the volcano in Iceland is doing better.
Lava flow has increased as has the venting of gasses. They propel the
magma 100 feet into the air or higher. There is only one vent now
creating and breaking a spatter cone. Flow rate around 8 cubic meters
per second. It has been quite a show.
Please join us on (or near):
14050 kHz at 2200z Sunday (3 PM PDT Sunday)
7047 kHz at 0000z Monday (5 PM PDT Sunday)
73,
Kevin. KD5ONS
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There was three kings unto the east,
Three kings both great and high,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn should die.
They took a plough and plough'd him down,
Put clods upon his head,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn was dead.
But the cheerful Spring came kindly on,
And show'rs began to fall;
John Barleycorn got up again,
And sore surpris'd them all.
The sultry suns of Summer came,
And he grew thick and strong;
His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears,
That no one should him wrong.
The sober Autumn enter'd mild,
When he grew wan and pale;
His bending joints and drooping head
Show'd he bagan to fail.
His colour sicken'd more and more,
He faded into age;
And then his enemies began
To show their deadly rage.
They've taen a weapon, long and sharp,
And cut him by the knee;
Then tied him fast upon a cart,
Like a rogue for forgerie.
They laid him down upon his back,
And cudgell'd him full sore;
They hung him up before the storm,
And turn'd him o'er and o'er.
They filled up a darksome pit
With water to the brim;
They heaved in John Barleycorn,
There let him sink or swim.
They laid him out upon the floor,
To work him further woe;
And still, as signs of life appear'd,
They toss'd him to and fro.
They wasted, o'er a scorching flame,
The marrow of his bones;
But a miller us'd him worst of all,
For he crush'd him between two stones.
And they hae taen his very heart's blood,
And drank it round and round;
And still the more and more they drank,
Their joy did more abound.
John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
Of noble enterprise;
For if you do but taste his blood,
'Twill make your courage rise.
'Twill make a man forget his woe;
'Twill heighten all his joy;
'Twill make the widow's heart to sing,
Tho' the tear were in her eye.
Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
Each man a glass in hand;
And may his great posterity
Ne'er fail in old Scotland!
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