I have received information that a return to Baltimore to visit little Emma and her grandma [who are no longer getting the $25 a month I have been mailing them in cards, as the Harm County postal workers seem to have figured out this cash transfer method] may be hazardous to my health.

So, I head northeast to the ass-end of New England, the back way, to a destination that is mountainous and is supposedly largely shut down due to the Cordoba Minus. However, this high country region, named after a derisive name for Algonquin folks who ate the inner bark and nuts of trees in times of dearth, as they did not farm like the Long-house-folk, which was bequeathed to them by the Man-Eaters, or Mohawks, their savage foes of the Long-houses, has been promised to me by a reader who I have not yet met as a safe place to write for a couple weeks.

Off I go, offline for two weeks and I leave you the many articles posted below this one as a Parthian shot of a kind with every intention of returning online before the end of May.

Thank you so much for your continued support of these crackpot ways in these trandemic days.