Making Money the Old Fashioned Way —- Kicking and Screaming!
There comes a time in every man’s life, even a South Ender’s, when a living has to be earned, not made. Filthy lucre, root of all evil, the spoils of Mammon, etc etc. But you can only barter your unsalable art for so long, you can only eat the scrawny leftover beans in the garden until not even the snails and the slugs have much to pick over, you can only scavenge the mussels and the free range clams so long before they’re on the local endangered species list … but the time will come when a homesteader worth his salt has to throw down the hoe and accept defeat at self sufficiency.
That time, I’m not happy to report, has come knocking. The fat sassy days of an indolent summer are gone and now the rains are here driven by the storms that drive them. The time has come to pursue the greenback of dollar, not moss. So … for a few days old Skeeter has to put his tail firmly between his legs and mosey up to moose country where, rumor has it, there may be a job waiting if everything works out right. Last time, things didn’t work out right, but … ever the infernal optimist, I’m going back. Wish me luck, take a few days to go cold turkey on this blog site, expect some chilly arctic stories when I get back. Maybe we all need a break ….
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