A Few Gems From Scalia’s Biting Dissent To The SCOTUS Obamacare Ruling

Justice Antonin Scalia is typically the biting, witty voice of reason when the Supreme Court of the United States goes off the rails. Scalia says what so many of us wish we were clever enough to think. Here are a few gems from his dissenting opinion to the court’s King v. Burwell ruling. (That ruling, by the way, upheld Obamacare by interpreting the likely intent of lawmakers to extend subsidies to all eligible people purchasing insurance through exchanges, whether those exchanges were set up by the state or the federal government — even though the law specifies only individuals purchasing insurance through an exchange set up by a state were eligible for federal subsidies.)

wikimedia photo

wikimedia photo

“Under all the usual rules of interpretation, in short, the Government should lose this case. But normal rules of interpretation seem always to yield to the overriding principle of the present Court: The Affordable Care Act must be saved.”

“(Understatement, thy name is an opinion on the Affordable Care Act!)”

“(Impossible possibility, thy name is an opinion on the Affordable Care Act!)”

“Let us not forget, however, why context matters: It is a tool for understanding the terms of the law, not an excuse for rewriting them.”

“Who would ever have dreamt that ‘Exchange established by the State’ means ‘Exchange established by the State or the Federal Government’?”

“It is bad enough for a court to cross out ‘by the State’ once. But seven times?”

“(Contrivance, thy name is an opinion on the Affordable Care Act!)”

“The word “such” does not help the Court one whit.”

“The Court’s next bit of interpretive jiggery-pokery…”

“The Affordable Care Act spans 900 pages; it would be amazing if its provisions all lined up perfectly with each other. This Court ‘does not revise legislation . . . just because the text as written creates an apparent anomaly.’”

“Pure applesauce.”

“‘even the most formidable argument concern- ing the statute’s purposes could not overcome the clarity [of] the statute’s text.’”

“Only by concentrating on the law’s terms can a judge hope to uncover the scheme of the statute, rather than some other scheme that the judge thinks desirable.”

“No law pursues just one purpose at all costs, and no statu- tory scheme encompasses just one element. Most relevant here, the Affordable Care Act displays a congressional preference for state participation in the establishment of Exchanges: Each State gets the first opportunity to set up its Exchange…”

“This Court, however, has no free-floating power ‘to rescue Congress from its drafting errors’…It is entirely plausible that tax credits were restricted to state Exchanges deliberately—for example, in order to encourage States to establish their own Ex- changes. We therefore have no authority to dismiss the terms of the law as a drafting fumble.”

“The Court’s decision reflects the philosophy that judges should endure whatever interpretive distortions it takes in order to correct a supposed flaw in the statutory machinery. That philosophy ignores the American people’s deci- sion to give Congress ‘[a]ll legislative Powers’ enumerated in the Constitution. Art. I, §1. They made Congress, not this Court, responsible for both making laws and mending them. This Court holds only the judicial power—the power to pronounce the law as Congress has enacted it. We lack the prerogative to repair laws that do not work out in practice, just as the people lack the ability to throw us out of office if they dislike the solutions we concoct. We must always remember, therefore, that ‘[o]ur task is to apply the text, not to improve upon it.’”

“More importantly, the Court forgets that ours is a government of laws and not of men. That means we are governed by the terms of our laws, not by the unenacted will of our lawmakers.”

“The Court’s revision of the law authorizes the Internal Revenue Service to spend tens of billions of dollars every year in tax credits on federal Exchanges. It affects the price of insurance for mil- lions of Americans. It diminishes the participation of the States in the implementation of the Act. It vastly expands the reach of the Act’s individual mandate, whose scope depends in part on the availability of credits. What a parody today’s decision makes of Hamilton’s assurances to the people of New York: ‘The legislature not only commands the purse but prescribes the rules by which the duties and rights of every citizen are to be regulated. The judiciary, on the contrary, has no influence over . . . the purse; no direction . . . of the wealth of society, and can take no active resolution whatever. It may truly be said to have neither FORCE nor WILL but merely judgment.’”

“We should start calling this law SCOTUScare.”

“And the cases will publish forever the discouraging truth that the Supreme Court of the United States favors some laws over others, and is prepared to do whatever it takes to uphold and assist its favorites.”

“I dissent.”

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Ode To The Groundhog In My Garden


Greetings, groundhog.

It’s good to meet you; I’m the grower of that garden.

It’s less green, from your gnawing, and that grieves me.

Your greed, groundhog, goes against my grain.

Put simply: your gut got you caught.

I found my gentle growths grabbed from the soil.

You grazing ingrate: you woodchucking, whistle-pigging, tail-less beaver! My greens are gone and I’m galled.

I’m through with groveling, groundhog, it’s time to go,

For me to grab my gun and get you to your grave.

Guilt? Me? I’m guilt-free: I gotta do what I gotta do.

Because the only good groundhog is… well… you can guess.

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Innovations Indoors And Out

Just Peckin' Around

No, I did not forget about this blog.

How could I? I love words. The search for the perfect moment, the rhythmic syllable punctuating a painstakingly crafted movement… the playful alliteration, carefully coy, like a laughing daffodil dancing in an early-spring snowstorm… the concrete imagery neither too sparse nor pretentiously purple.

I criticize all the writing I read or hear. Even my own. The task keeps me hopefully humble and ever searching for the perfect moment—for what C.S. Lewis would call “the thing itself.”

I write and edit for a living. It’s one of the best jobs I could imagine having. But sometimes the topics can be tiresome and I long for the farm… to dirty my hands in it, and then to take my hands to a keyboard to try to paint it, the way I paint.

This blog is a place for me to test my writing: to paint my favorite subjects. And it’s a useful way to watch our farm and family grow and change.

But I’m (mainly) done writing for this post. Here are some photos (with captions) of life lately:

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The Fig Tree

“May you never bear fruit again,” He said to the fig tree.
Most missed that comment, or heard it only as the frustrated outburst of a hungry man.
Amid the day’s excitement—the cracking of the whip and the clinking of a thousand coins on the stone temple floor—all forgot the exchange with the tree.
Along the road the next morning, the sight of a withered canopy jutting from the rocky earth awakened their memories.
“Lord, the tree you cursed… it’s dead!”
Word quickly spread, and a team of Jerusalem’s best scientists soon descended on the scene, roping off a perimeter and quarantining the area. An inspection point was erected, and no biological items were permitted to cross in either direction.
By Friday morning, preliminary results had returned from the lab in Caesarea.
“It was an invasive insect,” the team announced to a clearly-relieved crowd (composed entirely of reporters). “No miracle occurred here. We have determined the tree died of natural causes.”
The scientists, in coalition with local governing authorities, began drafting new standards for the care of fig trees and the import and export of figs. Botanists in Jerusalem immediately began work on a genetic variety of fig tree that might be resistant to such a pestilence.
All grew suddenly quiet as the sun set, signaling the commencement of Sabbath and the Passover.
But, only hours after sunrise on Sunday morning, a press conference was held on the steps of the Jerusalem temple (though still somewhat in disarray from Friday’s earthquake, which had baffled geologists, having no indication that such a seismic disruption had been imminent).
“It’s a miracle!” the scientists cried. “We’re saved!” A new breed of fig tree was already conceived, laced with toxins in its bark that would kill the newfound, invasive pest.
Meanwhile, there was a stir in Jerusalem…

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Too much

It’s been quite a long time since I wrote anything; this has been the busiest time of my life—since February. Our daughter spent five days in the hospital with MRSA, I’ve completed the biggest editorial project I have worked on to date, and I’ve somehow managed to juggle 4 different jobs (one of them full-time).

Sadly, however, we’ve come to a point that I must get rid of Ozark, my English Shepherd.

He has bitten two people this year. Neither bite caused long-term damage; and both were under pretty unique circumstances, when he was extremely frightened/excited and someone took hold of him. But both did cause hand/wrist puncture wounds that had to be immediately treated at the ER.

I simply do not have the will nor the time nor the ability to work with what appears to be a combination of psychological and behavioral issues he has.

I’m not sure how it came to this. I might have been too hard on him at times; on the other hand, he’s always been a somewhat skittish, excitable dog, since the day we got him as an 8-week-old pup.

A traditional adoption avenue is not feasible, as he does not have a particularly stellar history. He is, however, a very fun dog, who just needs the opportunity to be very active with a very strong leader. He’s the most athletic dog I’ve ever seen, and he’s very protective of his home and family. In spite of the two recent incidents, he’s not a dog that suddenly turns on people or attacks; but he is pretty bossy, and I think somewhat prone to reacting with a bite if he gets scared or extremely excited (for example, one a couple of occasions, he was fixating on our ducks and chasing them; I grabbed his collar and he turned and put his teeth on my wrist… no puncture, but a clear attempt to run the show).

It will take a special place for him, and I hope we can find one soon. I don’t want to put him down, as I think he has a lot of great qualities. But I can not trust him around my young children, and I do not have the time or ability to train him properly.

I welcome any suggestions about where he might be placed.

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Spring’s look

It was a very harsh winter, complete with excruciating electric bills.

But all that has ended. The days are warm and bright—we leave the doors and windows open (though screened, to discourage spring’s sudden insects). Hurried trips across icy earth to a frozen car have slowed: I step onto the porch, pause, and breathe deep the sweet smell of spring.

And everywhere we look, well…

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Curing our own bacon!

Good news: We raised our own pigs, on open pasture, and butchered them. I did the butchering with the help of some good guys. Read about that here.

Potentially bad news: We packed the meat in freezer paper, and put it in our chest freezer in the basement. About 175 pounds. That was over a year ago. And there’s still a lot left.

So-far, good news: The meat, as we progressively unwrap it to cure our bacon, is showing little to no signs of freezer burn or other damage! Hooray!

So I’ve been curing our bacon.

I used a basic cure you can find online… molasses, salt, pink salt (yeah, we debated the nitrite thing for a while, but finally decided the “concerns” about it are not really very concerning, and the bacon could likely be ruined without it), Sucanat (brown sugar), pepper. Ya know…

Soaked it (for 7-10 days in a ziplock.)

Smoked it on our bar-b-que grill (not as easy to control heat/smoke as I’d like, but it’s working out)… using hardwood charcoal and MESQUITE!!! (YUM!)

Once it hit about 150 degrees internal temp…

Refrigerated it, then sliced it nice and thin.


Isn't it beautiful?!

Isn’t it beautiful?!

The flavor is unparalleled; and the knowledge of where it came from is complete, and satisfying. Bacon. Yum.

Cooking in the cast-iron.

Cooking in the cast-iron.

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It’s not mastitis, it’s butter!

I’ll break my month-long silence with a post about milk.

We have it in incredible abundance these days; and we’ve not even been giving Gerty any grain! She gets a little bit of lespedeza hay at milking time, and then she eats hay all day. We’re still getting more than a gallon a day (with two milkings per day); and at least a quart of that is cream.

Look at that cream line!

Look at that cream line!

She’s also very obviously enjoying the little clovers and early spring grasses springing up. I do fear, however, that we may soon have onion-flavored milk, once the wild onions pop up around the pasture. Oh well…

I became pretty paranoid about two months ago: I was afraid sweet Gerty might have mastitis. My telltale signs were:

-Tiny clumps in the straining towel when we strain the milk.

-Kicky-ness… she obviously had some tender teats!

I fretted — I read countless blogs and forums, I began revamping my pre-milking routine, and I began worrying that my cow could be ruined.

Well, I was wrong. I soon discovered each of those two symptoms had a very clear explanation. One was due to my ignorance; the other was due to my negligence.

-Tiny clumps:  They weren’t signs of infection: they were BUTTER!!! Gerty gives a very nice quantity of cream (even more when we were giving her some grain during that time). And I realized (through reading it on a forum, and doing a bit of reasoning in my own mind) that the milking process is essentially an agitation of the milk — as it squirts at a high speed out of the teat into the pail. And when the milk is very high in cream, that means the cream is receiving proportionately more agitation than milk that is low in cream. The agitation of cream makes butter. So a scary sign turned into a cause for rejoicing!

Ice cold milk, fresh from the cow!

Ice cold milk, fresh from the cow!

-Kicky-ness: Poor Gerty’s teats were terribly chapped. It was my own fault: we had recently weaned her calf, and I didn’t think about the fact that the calf’s saliva helps protect the teats from the cold, dry winter winds. Gradually, they began to dry out, and the process was exacerbated by my pre-milking ritual in which I washed her udder with warm, soapy water. You know, like how licking your lips on a cold, windy day makes them even more chapped. The only cure is some sort of lip balm (and to quit licking them!). Same for Gerty’s teats. I didn’t realize it was happening, but those teats had become very dry and very cracked and chapped.  :(   So I’ve changed my milking ritual. I now simply brush off her udder and belly, and squirt 3 or 4 squirts of the fore-milk onto the ground or into a strip cup (or into the open mouth of my nearby pup!). Then I milk. Then — sometimes — I use an iodine-based post-dip. I pour it into a tiny plastic cup, then dip each teat in the cup. I wait 30 seconds, wipe it off, and then apply Bag Balm. She healed up completely, within a week!

So things have continued along just swimmingly, and we have a pregnant, mastitis-free cow!

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Putting a two-year-old down for a nap (or, World War III every afternoon)

“Bubby, time to go down for a nap.”

“No, I wanna play.”

“You can play after your nap. Now, set your sucker down, you can finish it after your nap.”

[He sets the sticky sucker on the chest at the foot of the bed, and climbs in.]

“Okay, you stay here with mama and go to sleep.”

The phone rings. Everyone converges in the kitchen to answer it. Kate takes it, and I head back to my office. Saylor follows me.

“Dad, tomorrow, Nana’s coming to see me… and Pops is coming later.”

“I know bud. Hey, you wanna jump on the bed?” [BIG mistake]

“Yeah! But you move your stuff off it first.”


He commences jumping. Moments later—it’s as if she can see through walls—Kate texts me, “Saylor is supposed to be in bed.”


“Okay, bud, let’s go to bed.”

“I don’t want to take a nap.”

“I know, but can I explain to you why you need to take a nap?”


I explain it to him. He doesn’t care.

“Now, do you want Mommy to get in bed with you, or do you want to get in bed by yourself?”

“By Momself.”

“By yourself?”

“No, Mommy.”

“You want Mommy to get in bed with you?”

“No, I want Mommy to get in bed.”

“Without Daddy?”

“Mommy get in bed, but not Daddy, and not Bubby.”

“No, buddy, you have to get in bed. Do you want Mommy to come with you?”


I tuck him in bed.

“Now, if you need anything, call for Mommy, and she can help you. But don’t get up, or you’ll get a spanking.”

Minutes later…


I respond.

“What do you need, bud?”

“I need… potatoes.”

“No, you’re not getting potatoes. You can eat when you wake up from your nap. And you can have your sucker when you wake up too.”

“I want some juice.”

“Nope, no juice. Go to sleep.”

“I need some water.”

“Ok, I’ll bring you some water.”

I bring a cup of water, and lift his head to help him drink it.


“Sorry buddy, I’m trying to help you lift your head so you don’t spill it.”

He spills it. On his shirt, and on the bed.

“Ohhhh! It spilled! It’s on my shirt!”

“Ok, ok, here, let’s take your shirt off. I’ll dry you off.”

“It’s on the bed.”

“I know it is, it’s okay. I’ll hang your shirt to dry while you sleep. It’s okay.”

I move the pillows to cover the wet part of the sheet.

“Buddy, do you want another shirt?”

“No… I want another shirt.”

I get the shirt and help him put it on.

“I wanna sleep in my bed.”


“I wanna sleep in my bed.”

“No you don’t. Okay, fine, but if I put you in there, you’re not getting out.”

He ponders.

“I wanna sleep here.”

I tuck his stuffed animals around him, and 20 minutes later I check on him. He’s snoring softly.

Easy peasy.


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Pure Milk

Taken with my iPhone, so not the best quality, but still…

Ice cold milk, fresh from the cow!

Ice cold milk, fresh from the cow!

Not the best lighting for it, but you can see the cream line. This half-gallon jar of milk is 1/3 cream!

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