Spring is assuredly coming, but it’s coming in fits and starts. The birds think its spring. The killdeers, doves, robins, bluebirds, grackles and Harris’s sparrows have arrived, but the purple martins, orioles and hummingbirds are still absent.
I finally planted some of my early garden and my food-plots for the chicken flock, but the promised 80 percent chance of rain turned out to be zero chance, so I really just dusted them in. Of course, I have to temporarily fence the plots to keep the cluckers out until the new planting gets started. I’ve also got my tomato plants started in the garage.
The Flint Hills annual rite of burning is well underway. Every day and night I can see smoke and/or flames from our deck. The burning is beautiful on a clear, still night with the flames highlighted against the rising smoke.
Ol’ Nevah and I successfully burned part of the tallgrass portion of Damphewmore Acres, and I’m waiting on my neighbors to start their burn to complete our own.
Another sure sign of spring is the hens are starting to get broody. I set the first hen of the season down on a dozen eggs just last evening.
And, last but not least, baseball season has started and the boys of spring are getting at it. Hope springs eternal for KC Royals fans, so I’m back on the bandwagon for another season. My college team from Bea Wilder U is off to a real good start and I catch the team occasionally on the telly.
If absentmindedness is a sure sign of advancing age, then I’ve got a chronic case of both. The most recent example is I started to pull on my stocking cap (down over my billed cap) in the garage one cool morning and discovered I still has a hearing aid in one ear. So, I took out the hearing aid and put it on a table next to the door. I then started looking for my stocking cap. I looked high and low before I discovered it was on my head still waiting to be pulled down over my ears.
The second example is I have a borrowed plywood “poison box” that I’ve been using to put poison bars in to kill pack rats and mice around my barns. I’d used it in my chicken house for a week, and then I took it out and put it “somewhere.” When I wanted to use it again last week, I couldn’t remember where “somewhere” wuz. It took me the better part of two weeks to remember that “somewhere” wuz back behind some old windows in the stone garage. I’d put it there to poison a pack rat that had built a huge, unsightly nest. The poison wuz gone, so I hope the pack rat is too.
My absentmindedness is apparently catching because my friends have confessed to similar bouts of forgetfulness. One friend got up early to make himself a pot of coffee. He uses creamer and sugar in his coffee. However, this particular morning, he put the filter in the coffee pot and promptly put the sugar and creamer in the filter, instead of the coffee.
Another friend wuz going to a livestock sale in Kentucky and made a wrong exit off the highway and ended up on a divided four-lane highway with a concrete divider on it. He had to go 12 miles up the road to the next exit and back 12 miles to where he wanted to be.
The stories above are true, this one might not be. It happened when me and my ol’ buddy Elpee Peavine were playing cow pasture pool together. We were standing on the 18th tee on a posh golf course. We were the final twosome in the tournament we’d entered and we were tied for the lead. The 18th hole is a beautiful par four with a deep valley descending down to a dogleg right.
Both Elpee and I hit long, straight tee shots which disappear down into the valley. A short time later, the fore caddie appeared at the top of the hill and announced that both balls were within 6 inches of each other, but there was a problem. Both of the golf balls were Maxfli No. 4s.
Elpee and I looked at each other and realize we’d not informed each other as to what kind of ball we were playing, nor its number. We quickly descend into the valley and, sure enough, our two Maxfli No. 4 golf balls were right next to each at the bottom of the valley in the middle of the fairway.
Elpee looked at me and said, “We had better get a ruling from a tournament official to straighten this out. We don’t want to be disqualified for making a mistake and hitting the wrong ball. After all, we are tied for the lead.”
Soon after, a rules official appeared and examined the two No. 4 Maxfli golf balls. He then looked up at us and asked, “Which one of you is playing the yellow ball?” I confess, it wuz Elpee’s.
A rural grandmother was telling her little granddaughter what her own childhood was like. “We used to skate outside on a pond. I had a swing made from a tire. It hung from a tree in our front yard. We rode our pony. We picked wild strawberries in the woods. We caught lightning bugs in the yard at night. We made homemade ice cream. We made dolls out of corn silks and corn cobs.”
The granddaughter was wide-eyed, taking all this in. At last she said, “I sure wish I’d gotten to know you sooner, grandma!”
And speaking of grandmothers, here’s some funny words about them. KC Royals Hall of Famer George Brett once said, “If a tie is like kissing your sister, then losing is like kissing your grandmother with her teeth out.”
Have a good ’un. ❖