Friday Ramblings

I just read an article about newsletters and blogs indicating that if one is to write either, they must make them interesting or informative - DRAT!!!! I’ve missed on both. Off to a flying stop! A failure before I even get started. What the heck!?



I’ve been wracking my brain -(some think I’ve been wrecking my brain for years, but that is another story for another time) for something interesting to write about, or something informative. Unfortunately, I know very little, and those random facts I do know, would be of little interest to anyone else, at least those with non-wrecked brains. And interesting? Yeah, right. Beyond aggressive worm farming and extensive study of New Guinea Aboriginal face mutation, I really don’t have any interests. So, I guess I’ll have to write about those two subjects. I have to say, I did warn you.


I could write about fly tying, it seems to be very popular around here, or these parts, as the locals often say, but it escapes me how one can even catch them alive, much less tie them. The flies, not the locals. Is it like calf roping only on a smaller scale? I guess you could fashion a small snare out of dental floss and bait it with cheese or something then wait until an unsuspecting fly wanders by and WHAM you have him. After catching the fly, then what? My guess is you take the dental floss and quickly wrap it around the fly’s legs, loop it around into a half hitch and throw your hands into the air. Time - 14 seconds!!! Is the fly then let loose like the calf, to be hunted yet again? Or, does one just smash the bugger and put us all out of misery? So many questions. Such as , is there a difference between domestic flies versus wild ones. I suspect the domestic flies would be harder to catch, being more wiley and wise to our cunning ways. The wild ones don’t have a clue and would be much easier to catch and tie. I presume we’ll have to find someone who ties flies and ask them. But, back to my interests.


Worm Farming, to the uninitiate, may seem rather tame and very uninteresting. But, no, my friend, you would be wrong to assume that. The manly art of worm husbandry dates back to the years of early man, who found himself low on food because of famine, pestilence, or yet again, another stock market crash. It is uncertain who the first man was to actually eat a worm, certainly driven by starvation and despair, but one thing is certain, that worm was eaten and probably enjoyed. Enjoyed enough to arrive at a scheme to have an abundance of worms hanging around for any given meal. And thus, Worm Farming was born.


I hesitate to go into much more of the history of Worm Farming as I don’t want to bore the reader. Yet, I should mention, briefly, one modern hero of worm husbandry, Carlos Hectrios (pronounced Hees-lame -o). Carlos, a native of Cuba and a patriot, found himself in the midst of a revolution in the late 50's between Castro’s liberation forces and the armies of Baptista the Hungry Puppet. Not wanting to take sides or get shot, Carlos planned an escape from Cuba to the freedom of Southern Florida. Leaving in the middle of the night under the light of a full moon, traveling in a rebuilt 1950 Chevy, Carlos headed for the balmy beaches of Florida. As you would expect, he didn’t get far, as the Chevy didn’t float worth beans. After pulling what was left of his worm huts and saving his queen worm from the pounding surf, Carlos sat staring out into the black, wondering now what would be his fate. As luck would have it, eight men emerged from the surrounding jungle, caring a six man raft. They saw Carlos sitting on the beach and, thinking he was a federalis, they ran back into the cover of the dark jungle. Carlos yelled after them to come back out. After they had come to the realization that Carlos wasn’t a threat, they reemerge and after some haggling, agreed to take Carlos with them to Florida. All nine of them jumped into the six man raft, making room for the worm huts, which aren’t very large, and headed out into the surf.


As the days drug on, Carlos learned that the men weren’t leaving Cuba because of the rebellion or because of oppression. They were just heading to Miami for spring break. That, of course, explained the 25 cases of beer that were dragging behind the raft. After some dangerous near mutinies that involved Carlos having to lay across his worm huts for several sleepless nights to keep his ravenous ship mates from eating the worms, they eventually, arrived at their destination. All were extremely exhausted, dehydrated and sunburned, but alive and, with the exception of Carlos, were ready to party. Unfortunately, they had arrived at the end of May, missing spring break by several weeks. Discouraged, the nine launched the raft back in the ocean and headed back to Cuba. Carlos stayed and after some very strange nights in Miami, he was able to establish the first worm farm in the South of Florida.


Years later, Carlos’s son, Schmict, would write the definitive book on worm husbandry that would define worm farming for years. It was my discovery of that book that brought me to the exciting and challenging world of worming. Schmict Hectrios is my hero, the man who gave me my passion, my fire, my riason d’etra, as the French say. Sure, you chortle, and snicker, but don’t mock what you don’t understand. Worm Farming can be extremely exciting. As time is waning, I’ll not go into the intricacies of this amazing past time at this time. I’ll save it for another post.



Perhaps next post, I’ll write about my other passion, my extensive study of New Guinea Aboriginal face mutation.



Until the next time, adieu.