Growing a Kid

HOW TO GROW A KID

I have developed a certain horticultural expertise that allows me to presume that I know many things in regards to the propagation, seeding and pollination of certain species and kinds of life.

At an early age I was subject to a very obtuse explanation of the connection of birds and bees in regard to the simple, and as yet, clinically undefined system that is needed to successfully grow a kid.

I purposely stay with the singular, and thus have the insight to leave it to the horticulturist themselves as to whether they wish to grow kids as a crop or a singular , spectacular specimen of that species.

One must understand the function of the kid, once it is fully grown It can be used as a specimen of brilliance in its kind, or it can be just shown in its early age, and then discarded as it deteriorates into the mass of, probably, useless compost of the vast majority of this species. The kid does not last very long in its utmost bloom. It does , however: transcend into a sort of juvenile plant that has an urgent pollinating expression of reproduction.

This, of course, is all very well, and is a painful time in the young kid's development. It is here that the propagator must make sure that the developing kid is not subject to the fairy tales of the birds and the bees. It stands to reason that if you wish to grow birds or bees you educate your experimental species in those sciences. If you wish to grow a kid you must stick with the intrinsic rules of kid seed gathering, planting, and fertile seed implementation conditions.

Having a fair experience as a seed planter, using the most modern of seed planting implements, I find that not enough consideration is given to this section of the kid growing process. Without really showing that I am taking an interest, I have seen some rather large and cumbersome planting devices that can only inhibit a smooth and easy seed placement in the most fertile spot required for good and rapid growth of a kid.

Some try to add attachments to the seed planting device, which may cause some merriment, but does little for the planting process. I would advise here that care be taken with these attachments, and also advise that they can cause damage to the delicate seed as it is planted. You may have seen how delicate some kids are as they age, imagine their delicate condition at the seed planting time. Oft times this damage is not seen until the kid matures, and at a certain age it becomes lack-lustre, no vigour and difficult to treat.

Once the seed is planted, it is advisable to gently turn the seed bed from time to time. The seed itself is secure but the outer covering, resembling a pod on a bean tree, becomes stressed; however, be very careful, and be warned, the protective pod around a kid plant can react with a sharp squirt of a poisonous substance, causing muteness and a certain discomfort to the seed planter. It is not fully k now what causes this reaction, and horticultural science has almost given up looking for an explanation.

Once the kid seed develops and emerges from the pod, it instinctively knows what expectations must be met to keep the kid happy for some time.

Happy Seed Planting, and remember, Practice makes Perfect....or lots of kids

Havin' a yarn

HAVIN' A YARN

G,Day, mate, 'owyagoin, I hope ya' doin' alright, all right?

Yeah! Mate, not too bad, a bit rough around the edges,

Not bad in patches, but still above the ground, most days.

Me too, me' missus and me are still together, still hitched.

And that is something of be considered in the Outback

When things are a changin' an' money's getting' tight.

Ya' not wrong, mate, tighter than a Yella' Belly fish's bum,

Jobs are hard to find now, harder ifn' ya' don't look, they reckon,

Used ta' be a good days work would bring a good day's pay.

Yeah! And when you could trust a man's word, his hand shake.

When you could lend a bloke, down and out,a quid, or maybe two

Knowin' that you would get it back in spades, and then some.

Ya' remember when me and you waz drovin' that mob of bleaters?

We ate a good and hearty meal, and slept dry most nights.

I do remember, mate, I remember it well, well, as well as I can, that is.

Yeah! You remember, sheep rear ends all day long, and dust.

Yeah! I remember the dust, Like powder, up ya' nose and stuff.

Yeah, I got bit real bad by lousy fox fleas, them bloody, blood eaters.

The good old days, when the boss broke his leg, Didn't he kick up a fuss?

Yelled and swore, and thrashed about until the rum ration was gone.

Hard to find a straight stick fer' a splint, but a bent leg beat pain, he said.

Tough old coot, hardly felt a thing, Bundy Rum on the mail truck, came.

A dozen bottles of the best, The boss was at his happiest, no sore leg.

But he was a lousy coot as well, and there was no Bundy Rum for us.

The good old days, when a beer cost ten-pence an' a headache a quid.

Yeah! Mate, the good old days, before the place was invaded by tourists

When most people didn't get 'em selves bogged, 'cause they were smart.

Not like now, mate, pommys and new chums bogged, some in bull dust.

Some in mud, some in the table drain, most in places not meant to be in.

Yeah! Mate, and they whine, they don't get 'emselves out, like we did.

The Outback is changing, mate, it is different somehow, flies still the same.

Drovers in caravans, washing machines, mattresses, even the wimmin.

Who would want to take his missus on a drovin' trip, not me, that's for sure.

But you ain't married, mate, an' that makes a difference on who you would take

Not too bad to finish the day with a cold beer and a bit of cake from the girl,

Good to feel somethin' in the swag not a snake. Her bite don't cause much pain.

“Spose, could ya' have somethin' there, an' the Television thing, is amusin'

Shearin' sheep is still good money. Good mates are still around the place.

Wimmin not plentiful, but that was always as is it is, good ones hard to find.

Horses are gone, motorbikes stinkin' up the air, kids don't wanna work at all,

Government hands them money, they get inta' strife, locked up, young criminals.

The Outback is changin', mate, an; ya' get sadder the more you do the perusin'