I've been watching the purple martins. With dragonflies in the thousands, a pond for water, and their young growing, they have enough food to prepare for their migration in September. They'll leave in large numbers and hopefully return next year.
There are tons of purple martin photos on the internet. Some capture them as they fly, skim ponds for water, and feast for their sustenance during migration. I'm blessed with having them close enough to watch from my porch.
The Supreme Court decision on injunctions appears to be an effort to avoid controversy, doesn't really solve anything, states a non-binding opinion, and will only lead to wallowing in the quagmire of our legal system. If they feel they handled the problem, they're wrong, and without an adult in the room, the children will continue their rambunctious behavior, until they light the curtains on fire.
I'm thinking whoever leaked information on the strike in Iran is probably wondering how long before they go to jail. While they thought they were being slick, it probably was a trap, and they took the bait.
Over my career, I helped place thousands of square yards of poured in place concrete rip-rap on header banks, and other slopes. You've seen them; concrete on the slopes around the sides of overpass slopes. They keep the soil in place, which prevents the earth from washing away.
After the slope was graded, we'd place forms, which consisted of 2 x 4's turned flat, so some wet concrete could spill under the forms. The forms were set about 10 feet apart, and the same amount of space was between each set of forms. This allowed the sections to be finished by finishers on each side. Multiple sections would be poured during the day. If the concrete set enough, the forms were stripped, and the sections in between would be poured. We called it "checkerboarding". After all the concrete was poured, the rip-rap would extend from the abutment to the toe of the slope.
At the bottom of the slope, a toe-wall was hand dug to keep the rip-rap from sliding. At set locations up the slope, trenches were excavated by hand, loose gravel was placed, and PVC pipes were placed with screen on the backside to keep the rock from leaving. These "weeps" allowed ground water under the concrete to drain, and keep the slope from failing.
We always poured from the top to the bottom. The concrete was batched very dry, and little water was ever added. Gravity helped with placing the concrete, and the excess concrete screeded wouldn't pile in front of the screed, which would usually cause the screeded concrete to slide down the slope. Pouring from the bottom to the top could be done, but the work was much harder, and having a section of fresh screeded concrete slide down the slope was the usual result.
Finishing didn't require the most beautiful of concrete. Finishers (which I was during a pour) used wood hand floats and knee boards made from plywood with multiple nails driven through to keep the finisher from sliding down the slope. A rudimentary handle was made with pieces of 2x4 ripped down the middle. With the pours only 10 feet wide, finishers on each side could finish half without having to creep across the entire width on knee boards.
Finishing required most all motions to be uphill. The wood floats worked up enough grout to leave a mostly smooth surface. A finishing broom dragged across the wet concrete was the final finish. Trying to finish with a magnesium, or steel, hand float caused the concrete to slump, and slide downhill.
After the concrete was finished, we sprayed curing compound on it, and either called it a day, or moved on to another section.
The work was hard. With many of the sections, the slope was a one-to-one slope, and spending a day working on the slope would separate the men from the boys. Those that stayed learned something useful, but I never found anyone that relished the task. If you stayed long enough, and learned all there was to learn, you moved from working in front of the screed to finishing. It didn't take me long to know that's were I wanted to be, even though it was just as hard to finish. The more I learned, the more valuable my knowledge became, and eventually I was entrusted with making it happen by pushing a crew.
Could I still do it? No, but I could teach someone, if they were willing to work hard.
I awoke at 1:00 am. As I laid in bed, I listened, couldn't find any sound that was out of place, and realized I had a tiny bit of heartburn, so I got out of bed. I dressed, walked into the kitchen, took an antacid and walked out on the porch.
Outside, it was a typical Summer night in many ways. The temperature was in the upper seventies, the humidity was thick, a few night critters were busy with their cadence, and Scorpio was high toward the south. The difference was to the east.
A cumulus cloud towered toward the heavens. The top was spreading out with the the wispy cirrus, which were almost overhead. The lights of the nearby larger city lit the clouds; a dim, grayish tower reminding me of a black and white photo of the Pillars of Creation. I'd seen such things before. Nocturnal thunderstorms will signify the clash of the cooler air of the land between the warmer, moist air from the Gulf.
I thought I heard the low rumble of thunder; faint, almost imperceptible, and making me wonder if it was just the rumble of a large truck far away. I looked toward the cloud, didn't see any lightning, and was thinking my thought about a truck was correct.
My wife, who was now awake, came onto the porch with our dog. I told her I thought I heard a low rumble of thunder, but didn't see any lightning. She soon thought she saw a flash, while I was looking away. It took a long time, but I thought I heard thunder again. Then, I saw a flash in the top of the cloud, and counted to 40 seconds before the low rumble was heard. Soon another flash lit the top of the cloud. Thirty five seconds later a louder rumble arrived. My wife went back inside, and our dog only waited a little longer before he wanted me to let him in. He doesn't like thunder, and I imagine his more sensitive ears told him it was time to flee what he fears.
I went and checked the radar. It showed a single thunderstorm moving in our direction. I heard a few more rumbles of thunder. It wasn't long before the radar showed the rain right on top of my locations, so I went back to the porch to watch.
There was nothing left of the storm, except a thick deck of cirrus clouds overhead. To the east, pale stars could be seen. To the northwest, Canis Major was clear, and almost setting. Light rain fell, which made the entire event surreal.
If I had rolled over and went back to sleep, I would have missed the event. Such things are rare to observe, and I treasure seeing them. So, I'll stay up a little longer, look once again, and probably go back to bed, or not. I might stay up, wait until 4:00 am, and make a trip to town for donuts.
The weather folks place warnings when the heat index becomes high enough to be dangerous. When the temperature, and humidity, calculate a heat index above 103 Fahrenheit, they post an advisory of a dangerous heat index. When it exceeds 124 degrees, it's considered deadly. Today, the heat index at 11:00 am is 114 degrees, yet we don't have an advisory. I don't know where the weather folks are stationed, but it isn't anywhere near where I live.
The worst heat index I was ever exposed to was working on a roof replacement in Galveston. I knew it was brutally hot, we only worked in shifts of around 15 minutes, but we were down to 4 sheets, and needed to finish the project. Rain was forecast, and the old sheets were already removed. I didn't know at the time, but after checking on the temperature related to the humidity, the index was well above 130 degrees. My brother didn't believe me when I told him. Of course, he wasn't there, and probably thought I was exaggerating.
That afternoon, while going to a meeting with a steel detailer, the cold air-conditioning in my truck started the heat cramps. They started in my legs and continued until they were in my back muscles. Unable to continue further, I bailed from the freeway, found a dollar store, bought a jar of dill pickles, and gulped down half the juice in the parking lot. Within minutes, the cramps subsided and I could continue. Even though I had been taking heat supplements, and drinking lots of water with Gatorade, it didn't make a huge difference. We were working in an environment not suitable for heavy exercise, and paid the price.
Years ago, while discussing what wind force a structure needed to endure, an old engineer told me a good rule of thumb for construction in the area was 50 psf. I then asked him about round columns. He answered the force is calculated by halving the area, if it was a square column. Otherwise, a column 4 feet in diameter will endure the same force as a square column 2 feet wide.
It doesn't sound like a lot of pressure, but I looked up a formula for determining wind force, built a small spreadsheet, and loaded some numbers in the formula. I was a little surprised, since a wind speed of a 140 mph is a hair over 50 psf. That's the wind speed of a category 4 hurricane.
After fiddling around with different numbers, it didn't take long to understand a 40 mph wind gust is much more of a force than most people envision. A 4 x 8 sheet of plywood exposed to a 20 mph wind has 32 pounds of force against the sheet. Of course, that doesn't calculate the complexities of the sheet shifting, or change in direction to the wind, but if it is suddenly hit with a 40 mph gust, the force against the sheet is now 165 pounds. That's definitely more than I can handle, and if I was in that situation, I'd have to let it go, and give up the project until the wind dies.
Locally, two major hurricanes pretty well removed the structures that can't handle hurricane force winds; especially at the local beach. Rebuilding required adhering to codes, and grandfathered structures disappeared. The result was higher insurance rates, the loss of family properties, and a better understanding of why they want people to evacuate from the storms. I've stayed through one, knew after it started I was in for the ride, and regretted staying. There was no fleeing in a wind force that can blow your car off the road. Even reaching the car is a gamble, and if you're hit with flying debris, they'll probably add you to the list of the dead.
A relative called to ask about their water well yesterday evening. They said they had low pressure today, and wondered why. I told them I would have a look, and went to examine the well.
When I arrived, they pointed to the ground around the well, and stated it looked like it was leaking below the discharge line to the tank. I noticed the well wasn't running, and there was no pressure. Since we just had a heavy shower, and an examination of the points on the pressure switch showed it should be running, I told them I would go for my multi-meter and check the voltage.
After I returned, I checked the voltage at the switch. There was none, so I went to the breaker box. There was no voltage on the load side of the breaker, so I flipped it off, turned it back on, and checked again. Still no voltage. I flipped the breaker a few more times, but it didn't have a sharp click when flipped. So, since it was so late, and finding a breaker would mean a long trip to a box store, I told them I would pull it in the morning and find a replacement.
I found the breaker this morning, replaced it, and checked the well for operation. It pressured up, so they have water again. As far as the low pressure they had, it was the tank emptying, and the air bladder allowed a little pressure before the pressure went to zero.
It's rare to have a breaker fail, but with the thunderstorm yesterday, we had a power blip, which probably killed the old breaker. It's a Square D, and not the Homeline series. They usually last a long time, but some don't; especially if they're used as a switch on a circuit that usually isn't turned off.
While sitting on the porch the other evening, my wife noticed a small garter snake under her chair. Surprisingly, she didn't panic, and only shooed it away. It slithered from the porch, only to appear a little later.
I knew why it was on the porch. The porch light attracts the little tree frogs, and the frogs attract the little snake. It will eventually find one, have its meal, and disappear for a few weeks. It will be back for another meal, and I consider it a welcome visitor. It's harmless, and hungry. It will never be big, and the larger snakes have a good source of meals on the neighbor's property. There are plenty of chickens for a meal, and if the snakes can make it pass the pigs, they might have a chick, or an egg, for supper.
We had 4 inches of rain yesterday. The result was saturated ground and ponding. After the sunset, and night fell, the cacophony of frogs filled the air. The noise was beyond the point of distraction and drowned out just about any other sound. I listened for awhile, and after having enough of the "chorus", I went back inside to have some peace. It's almost hard to believe there are that many frogs locally, but their calls in the night verify their number.
After dealing with removing a fuel tank, cleaning the tank, changing the filter, and putting everything back together, my efforts were a failure. My four-wheeler was still dying, and now became really hard to start. I had to do more. I had good spark, but I still needed to check the coil to determine if it was weak.
I checked the coil. The ohm reading indicated it was good. That left removing the carburetor and either rebuilding it, or replacing it. This led me to looking at the price of a new carburetor, or a rebuild kit.
The manufacturer price for the carburetor was $450. A look at Amazon found a rebuild kit for $33, or a replacement carburetor for $32 delivered to my doorstep. I crossed my fingers, after reading reviews, and ordered the carburetor. The next step was the arduous task of removing fenders, the fuel tank, the air filter housing and finally: the carburetor.
The carburetor was delayed in arrival, but finally arrived late Monday morning. Installing it was the reverse of removing it. I finally reached the point I could check the operation around 6:00 pm. It ran like a champ, so I started replacing all the parts required to complete the assembly. I finished right before dark, put up my tools, and breathed a sigh of relief.
So, I have to give the engineers credit for designing the machine. The details required to design it, insure the operation, have all the parts either manufactured, or bought, and mass producing the machine is an accomplishment. The task is way beyond my expertise, and I'm impressed.
I was reading an article about a CNN reporter that was hit with a rubber bullet fired by a police officer in Los Angeles. Considering the orchestrated media coverage, how many individuals are videoing the mayhem, and how any police officer wouldn't have the time to differentiate rioters from media, wandering into the melee is pure madness. Ignorance can hurt, and it seems many in the media are afflicted with this ignorance.
I've been watching old Gunsmoke episodes. The best are the thirty-minute episodes of the first six seasons, which were more succinct in revealing the plot, and the ultimate conclusion. Usually the conclusion was lawless behavior didn't benefit a healthy society, and regardless of opinions, laws against public safety sometime require drastic actions for prevention and vigilantism can be more dangerous than any crime. Most importantly, the show revealed the imperfections in law enforcement, and how the anarchic nature of people can appear when there are no rules for a good society. That, and how corruption can destroy a city, and outright attacks sometimes require drastic actions.
The L.A. riots currently happening are the epitome of a group of people out of control, desperately needing to be stopped, and unhindered by either a feckless, or complicit government. Sending in the National Guard guarantees two things: One is the safety of those arresting illegal invaders, and the other is the protection of the rights, property, and safety of citizens not involved. It never should have reached this point, but there is a seditious effort to destroy the city, those involved are desperate, or paid, and the drastic step of sending in the National Guard is the last measure to insure the peace of the city.
Many in California proclaim how important the state is due to the size of the economy. The same could be said if the cartels were given full control. It's not about the money. It's about the rights of all, and the guarantee crime is not used to achieve a selfish goal. When unbridled violence is used to control, the result is a society fearful of its safety, and actions that can only be described a terrorism.
I've read that the landing scene in "Saving Private Ryan" is the best portrayal of the actual event. Watching it causes a visceral reaction, and those that were at the landings on Normandy were forever branded with the ravages of a battle that changed the world. Many died before they ever reached the beaches, while some died trying to secure the beaches for the landing of more troops and supplies. Those that survived were destined to continue until Germany failed. Those that made it home would mostly never talk about their time during WW2, and quietly try to reassemble what were once the thoughts of young men. The bizarre thoughts of a one time paper hanger had marred their existence.
After 81 years, even the youngest that fought on D-Day are centenarians or gone. Pausing to remember them is important. What they fought against wasn't isolated, and the sentiments of those that hate are still present.
I received a notice that my Medicare supplement insurance premium is being raised. It's more of the same line of crap that is being peddled by everyone, including Trump. Regardless of opinions, the way to solve many of the nation's problems requires solutions harder than just letting the Baby Boomers die off, and being rid of their ridiculous ideas about religion, work, responsibility, and national pride. Stringing them on a few more years removes many, and even those still alive can be easily handled due to their age.
*spit*
