This is a story I resurrected from my public speaking days of attempting to humor rural audiences across a wide swath of the U.S. Here it it:
It wuz back in the days when tenant farming wuz much more common and the farm families actually lived on their rented farms. In this instance, on March 1, the Smith family rented a farm on one side of a flooded river. On the other side of the river lived another tenant family, the Jones.
With the river flooded, there wuz no easy way from one side of the river to the other. But, it wuz easy enuf for folks to yell across the river and understand the conversation.
And, as it turned out, the Smith family included a belligerent, testosterone-laden teenage son named Billy. And, the Jones family included an always-on-the-prod brute of a teenage son named Clarence. And, it only took a few days before the two teens were taunting each other across the flood waters about whose family wuz farming the best.
The animosity between the teens grew with each passing day. Billy would yell across the flooded river that red International farming equipment wuz the absolute best. Clarence would yell back that John Deere green was the best and always had been.
Billy claimed loudly that Fords were the best farm conveyance. Clarence echoed that Chevy’s could leave Fords in their dust.
Billy would counter that his family’s Angus cattle easily outperformed all other breeds. Clarence would yell back that his family’s Herefords were the best.
Billy yelled that Hampshire hogs were the best breed. Clarence yelled back that no breed could top Durocs.
They even yelled back and forth about whose bird dogs were the best. Billy favored his Setters. Clarence favored Pointers.
As it happened, all the while this teenage acrimony grew nastier, the county wuz nearing completion of a long bridge across the flooded river. At long last, the bridge construction wuz completed and open for travel.
The very day the bridge wuz open for travel, Billy told his Dad that he wuz going to cross the bridge and settle the score with Clarence. His Dad advised against it, but knew his argument wuz to no avail.
So, off to the bridge went the red-necked Billy to shut Clarence’s boastful mouth once and all. However, once he arrived at the bridge, he stopped short. Then he sheepishly backtracked as fast as he could all the way home.
When he got home, Billy’s dad asked him how his fight went with Clarence. Billy replied, “Well, Dad, there wuzn’t no fight. When I got to the bridge, I looked up and there on our side of the bridge wuz a big yellow sign that read, ‘CAUTION: CLEARANCE 12 FEET’ and I realized there is no way I can whip a kid that big.”
***
This story wuz told as a true one. One winter, a north-central Kansas farmer decided to save some repair money on his big round hay baler by replacing all the baler’s worn out belts.
So, he bought all the expensive belts from his local dealer, warmed up his farm shop and went to work. He got inside the bale chamber and first cut off all the worn-out belts. Then he put all new belts inside the chamber with him and started installing them.
He got so engrossed with the installation that eventually he realized he’d imprisoned himself behind a web of new belts with no way out unless the rear of the baler wuz lifted.
So, he took out his trusty cell phone and called his wife to help extricate him from his baler prison. He told his wife how to exactly start the tractor and carefully lift the baler lid. His wife refused, explaining that she wuz too nervous to start the tractor because she wuz afraid she would panic and hurt her hubby.
So, with no other way to get out, the farmer took out his pocket knife and cut away enuf of the newly-installed belting to let himself out. It turned out to be an expensive way to save repair money.
***
This story wuz told at the Old Geezers’ Morning Gabfest. The conversation had somehow turned to sad stories of how the use of alcohol had negatively affected workplaces, both on the farm and in the factory.
Here’s the story told by the oldest member of our gossipy group. He’s north of 90. He said that he once worked with a crew and one of the member’s had a glass pint of whisky. When it wuz quitting time, the generous worker passed the pint around the crew for everyone to take a sip.
Well, everyone did that, but one member wuz chewing tobacco and as he took his gulp of firewater, he clearly back-flushed flakes of tobacco into the bottle.
The owner of the bottle never said a word. He simply went to his vehicle, extracted an empty glass pint and used the corner of his handkerchief as an impromptu strainer and within moments had strained the tobacco-tainted whiskey into the empty bottle.
Satisfied with the purity of his remaining whisky, he put the new pint into his hip pocket and went home.
***
Words of wisdom for the week: “There ain’t nuthin makes me happier than to see the last snowflake from a blizzard finally melt. That’s what happened to me this week.”
Have a good ‘un.
