April 25th, 2009

sledge hammer!

shopping for real estate

So I'm looking around for a place to live. I've been renting for a while, and I'm ready to put down some roots. I seem to be settling into a business groove, so that works out, too.

The catch is that I want some acreage. I'm going to be doing firearms instruction as a sideline, so ideally I'd get a plot of land that's big and out in the boonies enough that I can put up a berm or two and have my own range. Every gun nut's dream! Right now, I'd have to do the classroom stuff one place, then go to the range for the rest. This is a pretty good time to buy, so I'm looking around for something. I saw a twenty-acre place with a house that had a plot next door perfect for a gun shop, but the guy was asking for too much money, alas. Good deal, probably, but still too pricey for me right now. So I'm still looking, and today I found some nice possibilities. Though I would have to build on them, which would be a further expense, but I could do a relatively small cabin for the short term.

The best place I spied out? O.M.G. Over a hundred acres. *Two quarries.* Gorgeous views. Very close to the town I'll be counting on for a lot of my firearms instruction clientele. Absolutely insanely wonderful.

Um, anybody care to lend me two million dollars?

(The smaller plots are surprisingly reasonable; I can actually afford twenty acres of Florida land. So that's a real possibility.)

APED: "forget-me-not"

The bodies lie where first they fell,
beneath the soil of manmade hell,
where men with rifles stood above
and fired down at those below.
They lie entwined, as if in love,
and none but them shall ever know.

None but one last rifleman,
old and feeble now, and thin,
who years ago, when young, stood by
and watched the broken weary dig,
and with his fellows made them die.
He's shrunken now. Was never big.

He'll join them soon. The cancer grows.
He saw the doctor's eyes. He knows.
His greatest sin remains unpurged,
as he runs down his mortal clock.
Bring them peace. He has that urge.
It's hopeless: there's a stumbling block.

The shooting he remembers well,
the din of guns, the cries. They fell.
The interest of the passing crows,
the twitching by the slow to die.
He knows he killed them, long ago --
but he's forgotten where they lie.