Author Archives: Jerry Johnson

About Jerry Johnson

Curmudgeon. Bird hunter and dog trainer; indifferent wing shot. Retired journalist and college public relations director. Novelist and short story writer. Freeholder: 50-acre farm with 130-year-old log house. Husband, father, grandfather. Retired teacher, coach, mentor. Vicious editor. Blogger.

Hunter-gatherer

Photos from Natural History Museum – http://www.nhm.ac.uk/discover/ Ancient hunter-gatherers mastered a very wide variety of skills in order to survive, which is why it would be immensely difficult to design a robotic hunter-gatherer. Such a robot would have to know … Continue reading

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Life in the time of pandemic

  Don’t want to say “I told you so!” but life in the time of pandemic was predicted in my novel The Executioner’s Face. The ravages of a highly infectious disease, the horrific mortality rates, the implosion of the world’s … Continue reading

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Biomass

The number astounded me. “Ninety-six percent of the world’s mammals, by weight, are now humans and their livestock; just four percent are wild.” (From the book The Uninhabitable Earth by David Wallace-Wells, citing the statistic from “The Biomass Distribution on … Continue reading

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North Dakota bound

North Dakota bound Blame it on the Senator, this idea about the Little Missouri National Grasslands. Although the annual High Plains Prairie Bird Hunt is many months away, at its January get-together the Over the Hill Gang launched a spirited … Continue reading

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Minor gods of annoyance

A thorn imbedded in a wool sock has rubbed a raw spot on the bunion on my right foot. The fiery scrape and stab of a thistle’s needle-tip spine is another of the small miseries I blame upon the Enochli̱tikos, … Continue reading

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She run off with a Norski

She run off with a Norski Come home from fishin’ and my woman was gone. She took my fjord horse and every goat on the farm, But the worst thing is she run off with a Norski. A six-four Viking … Continue reading

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January morning walk

Clear blue sky, but the thermometer read 5 degrees and a raw 10 mile-per-hour wind was blowing. We went for a January morning walk anyway. The bite of an Arctic wind on face and hands is our admission fee to … Continue reading

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