A thirsty cowboy walks into a quiet bar one hot, humid late afternoon and orders a frosty mug of his favorite beer.
He takes the beer over to a table and sits down. The table has a big bowl of peanuts on it, obviously for customers to eat.
After a few sips of his beer and cracking open a few peanuts, the cowboy hears a small voice say, “Nice Dan Post python boots you’re wearing, partner.”
The cowboy looks around, but he is the only one in the bar except the bartender, who is occupied cleaning the other end of the bar.
The cowboy shrugs it off and goes back to his frosty beer. A few minutes later, another small voice says, “really nice patterned pearl button shirt your wearing.”
Again, the cowboy looks around, but can see nobody. Concerned that his mind is playing tricks on him, he is now on guard, listening for any reoccurrences.
After a few minutes, a third small voice says, “Nice tight, bun-hugging Wranglers you’re wearing and your felt Stetson hat is the perfect shape and color for you.”
This time the cowboy is sure it is not his imagination, so he goes up to the bartender, and tells him what has happened.
“Oh, yeah, that happens all the time,” says the bartender, pointing to the bowl on the guy’s table. “It’s the peanuts. They’re complimentary.”
***
A young girl visits a commercial truck garden one day and tells the farmer, “I want to buy a b-i-i-i-g watermelon.”
“That’ll cost you $7.50 for a really big watermelon,” says the farmer, pointing to a striped beauty.
“But, I’ve only got $1,” the girl replies, with a pouty lower lip.
The sympathetic farmer then points to a very small watermelon growing nearby and says “How about that one for $1?”
“Okay, I’ll take it,” says the girl with a bright smile as she hands over the crisp $1 bill. “But leave it on the vine. I’ll be back for it in a month.”
***
If it ain’t one pest destroying living things here at Damphewmore Acres, it’s another. This year some varmint or bird has killed a few chickens. I’ve had snake encounters in the hen house. The squash bugs are decimating my zucchini plants. The bind weed and crab grass are rampant everywhere. They seem to be impervious to the ongoing drought that’s shriveling and desiccating all other plants.
The newest pest is an old one — walnut web worms. I’m used to having a little walnut tree damage every year from web worms. But, this year they are a tsunami. They absolutely stripped a 10-foot young walnut tree of every leaf. They ate 90% of the leaves from a two other 20-foot trees. They ate at least a third of the leaves from two mature walnut trees.
I have no idea why the web worm population erupted this year. Ain’t nuthin’ I can do about it except hope that they haven’t killed the trees.
***
Well, I do feel real lucky about three things I’ve got bought for our new home being build. I snuck in under the Biden-effort to ban propane hot water heaters, propane fireplaces, and propane emergency electricity generators. I got all three bought before his plans could go into effect. The hot water heater and the fireplace are installed. The emergency generator is in storage for later installment.
In spite of what our esteemed President wants, in my old age, I plan to stay warm and have hot water if the electricity ever goes out when we get moved into our new home.
***
Sadly, another of my good childhood friends has gone up the final Lonely Trail. This time it wuz K. D. Budd at Moran, Kansas. Budd and I spent wonderful years as kids playing together as students at the South Fairview one-room school and as country neighbors.
When I learned of K. D.’s passing, my memories turned to the hours and days we spent on horseback. We blatantly trespassed with our horses on many farms between Bronson, Elsmore, Moran and Uniontown. And, not once did a landowner complain.
We swam our horses in ponds and the Marmaton River. We fished. We squirrel hunted. We hunted coyote pups for their $2 bounty at the time.
We had cob fights and snowball fights, bucket calf ropings and rodeo, and got pulled on a slab of lumber behind “Old Dick,” the cantankerous brown work horse. We snuck into watermelon patches. We caught snapping turtles. We played Tarzan in hay mows. We cut pond ice to make homemade ice cream in the winter. We spent nights with his grandparents and made fudge, popped popcorn, pulled taffy and reveled in his grandpa’s pioneering stories after he stoked his evening pipe.
We had dangerous horse races across rough ground and never gave safety a second thought. When we got a big older, we hunted quail, cottontails, jackrabbits, and participated in community coyote drives.
Back in those days, we had little in the way of material goods, but we overflowed with good times and good friendship. The memories I shared with K.D. back in those “good ol’ days” are priceless and will be never forgotten. RIP, my friend. Sorry I missed your memorial.
***
Words of wisdom for the week: “If government can put a serial number to positively identify every single bill of paper money, it should be able to do the same with ballots.”
Have a good ‘un.
