In the Pursuit of Knowledge

Sooooooo, it turns out my wife was right again; she’s been warning me to slow down for months, but we needed to finish the kitchen and guest room before the winter set in, or all seven of us would again have to cram into the little cabin until Spring. Now, I’m enjoying two weeks of forced vacation because of a chainsaw accident that quite literally tried to “cut me off at the knee.”

It hasn’t been all bad though. I finally had the time to scout out an appropriate tree to sit under while contemplating the meaning of life. In times like these, I always feel a deep connection to Peter Maurin. Not because I feel like I’ve become a deep philosophical thinker, but more because I wonder if Maurin’s thoughts also focused as intently on the mundane as mine seem to. My contemplative states always start with such lofty goals; I obviously start by figuring out how to end world hunger, and then move on to making God more appealing in a secular society.

After a few minutes of such heavy thought, my mind always wanders, and this morning, I find myself recalling all the unconventional knowledge I’ve acquired since living in Appalachia. First and foremost, and in my current state, I have picked up an unusual amount of information pertaining to the human knee. For example, the primary layer between the knee cap and skin is called prepatellar bursa. Deeper layers include muscle and ligaments, and these layers are separated by layers of fascia, which wraps around and between each layer. Should I find myself in a similar situation in the future, I may just be ready to suture myself up in the field using nothing more than my pocket knife and some wild grape vines!

Naturally, my thoughts wander from the anatomy of the knee to the immensely deep rabbit hole on ticks. There is a tick for every season in Kentucky; we are so blessed ☹. The Lone Start tick is the one everyone is familiar with. It has a little white dot on its back and carries “alpha-gal” syndrome, which causes an allergic reaction to all red meat products. Once infected, your body develops an allergic reaction to a protein found in all red meat; it is so severe, most cannot even use hygiene products that contain animal proteins. After all we have butchered, this would truly be a tragedy. Next is the Deer Tick. This tick is also called the “black-legged” tick and is most known because it carries Lyme disease and is active all year. Finally, there is the Dog tick, which transmits Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. Tick knowledge is deep in Kentucky, and most of mine comes from a seminar conducted by the local college’s tick expert, a man who has studied ticks his entire adult life and had earned a PhD on the subject. 

Sometimes the environment forces knowledge on us; sometimes we create the environments that force knowledge on us. In choosing to raise goats, some unwelcomed knowledge has been forced upon me: Goats Stink! No, not the way a typical animal stinks. Goats don’t stink because they roll around in the mud or because they live outside in the elements; goats stink because they pee on themselves, a lot! Goats pee on themselves all day, and when the stink starts to wear off, they pee more. And, goats don’t pee and then roll around in it; they aim their pee at their own faces, particularly focusing on their beards. They pee on everything within reach. To feed them, you'd have to walk through a 20-foot circle radius that is saturated in goat piss only to fend off the goat while filling its food bowl. This whole interaction inevitably ends with some form of goat pee on me somewhere. Most times, I don’t even notice anymore until someone in line at Walmart asks, “do you own goats?” This is always when it hits me: I smell like goat pee and probably have all day. 

If this is what it is to a philosopher, I think I may be worthy adversary for the great Peter Maurin! More than likely, however, I am just becoming an Appalachian subsistence farmer.