Saturday: company crawfish boil. Around pots of screaming crustaceans we gathered. I brought son and heir, we ate crawfish, something that was once reserved for poor Cajuns who drew sustenance from things they could pull out of the wetlands. Now crawfish are Big Business, and you can get the things all over the place. Even Texans and Yankees eat them. We had some good ones.
Sunday: Son is going through the head cold/sinus thing that took me out a couple of weeks ago, so we missed our range day. Late afternoon, the phone rang. My station northwest of Houston was tripped off-line. I tried over the phone remedies to no avail.
Monday: 0630, out the door, headed for northwest of Houston. I expected to plug into a magic box and download data to tell me why we lost the station. What I found is a dead magic box, a mere $8K and ten days delivery. We put the process in motion to get the replacement. In the meantime, those 1950’s vintage piston engines will fill in the loss of my slick, high-tech electric unit.
Tuesday: Barring unforseen circumstances, I will travel down into crawfish country to do one of my famous electrical safety talks.
















