Salt of the Earth

Who would have ever thought that I would become an accidental salt connoisseur? Salt is salt, I always thought. Until the day I was denied the "good salt". Not exactly denied, but flogged for tasting the good stuff, presumably reserved for the "good people"; company and other dignitaries of higher status than myself, I guess.

The "good salt" story has served as an inside joke that never looses its flavor. And it resulted in me deciding that salt is not just salt. Some is harvested by foreign virgins at the sea shore. Other salt has clay somehow involved in the process. There are big crystals and tiny. You can grind it up like pepper.

It is uncool and not remarkably healthy to heap salt on everything, so the "good salt" lasts for a very long time. That actually justifies the seemingly high price. It is a bargain, especially considering the long hours those foreign virgins put into picking only the choicest crystals. .

I use the usual cheap salt for things like catching birds. For those who don't know, people, like my grandpa, used to say if you put salt on a bird's tail, you could catch it. When I was somewhat younger than I am today, I ran around my backyard with a salt shaker trying to catch birds. I never did. That doesn't mean the statement is false, though. My problem was that I couldn't get the salt on the bird's tail. If I had, I bet I would have caught him.

So, in the mail today I received a surprise bag of very good salt. Exotic and red from the clay involved in its harvest--or so I think. Maybe it is blood from human sacrifice. When it comes to exotic places and salt, anything is possible.

This is probably an example of personal growth. I've moved from the ranks of the salty ignoramus to salt snob.

I'm not sure how this saltsnobbery fits in with the brave new collective world. It seems a bit of an individual indulgence, enjoyed without a second thought concerning service to the community, my country or love of the holy earth. Well, maybe love of the sea from whence it came. Certainly, I don't ask myself how I can share my "good salt" with those less fortunate/and/or discerning than myself. Greater good never crosses my mind. How to pay rent does from time to time.

Another secret of the "good salt"; if you were to pack shotgun shells with it, it would be to cheap table salt as buckshot is to birdshot. You never know. There may come a time when I have to share by embedding it in the body of my foes. I guess I'm anticipating hordes of mindless green shirts in some official civil service patrol who need to be kept at bay. In the old days people used to shoot at you with salt pellets in order to protect their property and not kill the kids who were making trouble.

The kids were almost never armed and the shooter never prosecuted. Similar to today, except it is the kids who are armed, using real bullets, and protecting the property is not the PC thing to do.

Well, I must go, early day tomorrow at the old salt mine.