Barbara H. Peterson on February 11th, 2016


GIA pic for The Shot


Barbara H. Peterson

Farm Wars

Originally published at Global Independent Analytics

When I first moved to Oregon I had no idea what was to transpire almost two decades later. The ranching community where I decided to settle is quiet. Little goes on around here except for the occasional cow wandering across the road, or horse escaping to the next pasture to check out the neighbor’s stud.

You see, it is open range in these parts and people understand that the critters come first. They have the right of way, and anything else is just secondary. The rancher down the road grazes his cattle on the miles of forestry land in the mountains behind his ranch. The people who lived there before him did the same. Nothing much has changed.

The ranchers that graze their cattle on these lands provide water tanks for all the critters to use. I am an ex equine endurance rider, and love the long, slow, distance rides. When I ride my horse on the dirt roads that abound in the mountains out back, I ride through the cattle. The birds flock all around the area and without the ranchers’ constant supply of water, things would be pretty dry around here. This is high desert. Water is precious. Without the water that the ranchers provide I would not be able to ride as far or enjoy the natural surroundings as much as I do. It is peaceful. Quiet. And uneventful.

And then, a shot was fired. The shot heard ‘round the world.
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Barbara H. Peterson on February 9th, 2016

I want to thank everyone involved for helping me reach my goal. The ranch is paid up to date now, and the critters and I are out of the woods. We wouldn’t be where we are without your help and support. May the Good Lord bless and keep each and every one of you! Barb

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Barbara H. Peterson on February 7th, 2016


Letter from Ammon Bundy from behind bars, sent to Carol Bundy. Please listen as this is the reason the “virus,” which is the spreading of education about the Constitution, had to be stopped at all costs by “authorities.”


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Barbara H. Peterson on February 6th, 2016



Barbara H. Peterson

Farm Wars

This is a tale of two hustlers, out to make a buck as best they can. The names have been changed to protect the not so innocent.

I meandered out to the barn the other morning to take a long-needed trip to town for supplies, when I discovered that my truck would not start. I tried everything, including jumping up and down and demanding, in a not so subtle voice, start beast!!! Nothing seemed to work. So, as a last resort, I called the local yokels to come take a look. And look they did.

Jack took a long look then called his buddy Meoff. They circled the truck, hemmed and hawed, then hemmed again, and stated quite confidently, we can fix this! I was overjoyed. My truck will live!

So Jack told Meoff to fiddle with this and fiddle with that, spray this and spray that, throw this away and stick that on, and lo and behold, the truck started up. The two heroes for a day exclaimed in unison, “Praise God!,”collected the money and drove off down the driveway.

The next morning I went out to start the truck and take my trip to town, knowing that I would be successful. I jumped in, turned the key, and the beast refused to turn over. I shed a tear and went in the house to call the two local yokels again.

They rushed on over and circled the truck again. After another long round of hemming and hawing and hemming again, they declared that this needed a bit more thought, but they could fix it in a jiffy. So Jack ordered Meoff to jump on in the engine compartment and turn this and twist that, then to hop on out and crawl under the beast at which point I heard some loud banging noises and a few grunts and groans. Then Meoff emerged victoriously shouting “It’s done! Start the beast!” And it started. Again, the two heroes for the day exclaimed in unison, “Praise God!,” collected the money and drove off down the driveway.

The next morning I was certain the truck would start, so I confidently hopped in, turned the key, and nothing. Not even a whimper. And then it hit me. I just didn’t understand the language. Evidently “We can fix this!” means “We want you to believe we can fix this so that we can collect the money and go grab a beer at the local pub.” And “Praise God” means “Thank God we found another patsy who actually believes that we know what we are doing so that we can collect the money and go grab a beer at the local pub.”

So, after all of this, just what have I learned? That it’s important to understand the language spoken by the natives of the area in which you live, or you just might get a taste of what it feels like to be serviced by Jack ‘n Meoff.

©2016 Barbara H. Peterson

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