Wow, what a change in the weather. The last days of fall registered at or below zero and now today the weather is balmy for winter with forecasts of rain, possible thunderstorms, and temps in the ‘60s for Christmas Day. I guess “welcome” to weather in the High Plains and Flint Hills.
Oh, and by the way, thought I’d mention that spring and summer are now on the way and the days are getting longer. Get ready to drag those T-shirts out of the closet!
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So far, the president-elect hasn’t named a Secretary of Agriculture for his cabinet. I have no suggestions for the position, but I hope the president-elect sees fit to name someone who has, or at least has had as some time, farmer dirt under his fingernails and farmer grime on his knuckles. Someone from global agribiz or a mega-farmer doesn’t fit the bill in my humble opinion.
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Ol’ Nevah and I really splurged for our main Christmas present this year. Guess we need to put a bow on those two new expensive garage door openers. I guess it’s a sign of the times and, I’ll admit, I’m glad we spent the $$$ rather than manually opening and closing the garage doors after the old openers shot craps on us during the holiday season.
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A young rancher’s mother-in-law arrives at her daughter’s home from doing some Christmas shopping to find her son-in-law out on the front porch, boiling angry and lugging a heavy suitcase.
“What happened?” she asks anxiously.
“What happened! I’ll tell you what happened. I was off competing in a heading and heeling contest and I sent an e-mail to my wife telling her I was coming home a day early.
“I get home … and guess what I found? Yes, my wife, your daughter, right in the middle of hosting a lingerie party. And, she was modeling some of the skimpy wares. I was embarrassed beyond words. This is unforgivable, the end of our marriage. I’m done. I’m leaving forever!”
“Calm down, calm down!” says his mother-in-law. “There is something very odd going on here. There must be a simple explanation. I’ll go speak to her immediately and find out what happened.”
Moments later, the mother-in-law comes back outside with a big smile. “I told you there was a simple explanation. She didn’t get your e-mail!”
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My good buddy, ol’ Willie Jay, from Mt. Vernon, Mo., sent me a Christmas gift package with some goodies like kettle corn in it, but it also had some good advice that I need to pass along,
He said, “Milo my granddad always told me there was three kinds of whiskey: the lovin’ kind, the crying kind, and the fighting kind.
He also said there are four kinds of neighbors and good buddies. They are: the acquaintance, he comes by he might wave, but he would not stop to help you change a flat tire or anything, but he would call on you if he needed help; then, there’s the neighbor who would help you any time, do about anything you need, regardless of the circumstances; then, there’s a friend; would help you any time, even go your bail to get you out of jail, and, finally, there’s a buddy who if you are in jail, he would be in there with you saying, ‘but, didn’t we have a lot of fun anyway?’”
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I usually don’t make New Year’s resolutions, but I can’t see anything wrong with a resolution to improve the knowledge of my faithful readers. So, here goes:
In the old west a .45 cartridge for a six-gun cost 12 cents, so did a glass of whiskey. If a cowhand was low on cash, he would often give the bartender a cartridge in exchange for a drink. This became known as a “shot” of whiskey.
During the world war, soldiers were given life insurance policies worth $5,000. This was about the price of an average farm, so if you died, you “bought the farm” for your survivors.
Most men in the early west carried a jack knife made by the Buck Knife
Company. When playing poker, it was common to place one of these Buck knives in
front of the dealer so that everyone knew who he was. When it was time for a new dealer, the deck of cards and the knife were given to the new dealer. If this person didn’t want to deal, he would “pass the buck” to the next player. If that player accepted, then “the buck stopped there.”
And, here’s one I can personally attest to: The Mississippi River was the main way of traveling from north to south. Riverboats carried passengers and freight, but they were expensive so most people used rafts. Everything had the right of way over rafts, which were considered cheap. The steering oar on the rafts was called a “riff” and this transposed into riff-raff, meaning “low class.”
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So, now all my friends will know why they’re identified as “riff-raff” if they in any way identify with me. I apologize for causing you to be belittled by association.
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Well, hope ya’ all had safe travels over the holiday and, if you drove, I hope you didn’t get stopped for speeding. But, if you did, I hope you didn’t tell the police officer, “There’s no reason to tailgate me when I’m doing 50 in a 35. And those flashing lights on top of your car look ridiculous.” Have a good ‘un.
