Laugh Tracks in the Dust 5-25-09 | TheFencePost.com
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Laugh Tracks in the Dust 5-25-09

A few weeks ago I mentioned that my Iowa sheep-shearing friend, ol’ Nick deHyde, occasionally writes a column for his local paper. It’s called “Short Grass & Shallow Water ” a Note from Worth Township.”

Well, recently he sent me a copy of a column in which he recalls a story from long ago in his early married life and his early sheep-shearing life. It proves that most rural folks are good and a few really “get it.”

Here’s Nick’s story, retold with his permission:



It was 1983. My wife was pregnant with our first child, and we were about as broke as anyone wants to be. I’d seen a shearing machine advertised in the local shopper and shearing sheep seemed a good way to get a little cash into our meager bank account.

I called the number on the ad early in the morning and told the guy I’d be up to see the machine in the afternoon. When we got to his place, there was another car parked in the driveway and the fellow was obviously very seriously examining the shearing machine. My heart sank.



I had spent the day dreaming about all the money I was going to make with that machine, but all I could do was watch as the other buyer went over every piece of the machine and then I heard him say, “I’ll take it!” My high hopes were dashed.

The owner was standing on the steps of his porch, and I can see it in my mind’s eye like it was yesterday, as he asked the ready buyer, “Are you the fellow from Luther who called this morning?”

The potential buyer, who represented a sure source of $50 to the seller, replied, “Nope, I’m from Ames.”

Seeing an unbelievable window of opportunity open in front of me, I piped up, “I’m the guy from Luther who called.”

The owner respectfully told the ready buyer, “I talked to that fellow out there early this morning and told him he had first shot at buying my shearing machine.”

I couldn’t get my checkbook out of my pocket fast enough. I really didn’t even look the machine over. If the other buyer wanted it, that was good enough for me.

I’ve never forgotten how the integrity of that seller helped start a career that kept my young family comfortable and in groceries that spring and 27 more so far.

That old machine that I bought that day has long ago been hung in a place of respect in my shed and replaced by a newer model. But, several times a year, I notice that old machine hanging on the wall and think how much different things could have been for me and my family if not for that rural man of character who helped me out of a tight spot.

***

A few weeks ago I mentioned that my Iowa sheep-shearing friend, ol’ Nick deHyde, occasionally writes a column for his local paper. It’s called “Short Grass & Shallow Water ” a Note from Worth Township.”

Well, recently he sent me a copy of a column in which he recalls a story from long ago in his early married life and his early sheep-shearing life. It proves that most rural folks are good and a few really “get it.”

Here’s Nick’s story, retold with his permission:

It was 1983. My wife was pregnant with our first child, and we were about as broke as anyone wants to be. I’d seen a shearing machine advertised in the local shopper and shearing sheep seemed a good way to get a little cash into our meager bank account.

I called the number on the ad early in the morning and told the guy I’d be up to see the machine in the afternoon. When we got to his place, there was another car parked in the driveway and the fellow was obviously very seriously examining the shearing machine. My heart sank.

I had spent the day dreaming about all the money I was going to make with that machine, but all I could do was watch as the other buyer went over every piece of the machine and then I heard him say, “I’ll take it!” My high hopes were dashed.

The owner was standing on the steps of his porch, and I can see it in my mind’s eye like it was yesterday, as he asked the ready buyer, “Are you the fellow from Luther who called this morning?”

The potential buyer, who represented a sure source of $50 to the seller, replied, “Nope, I’m from Ames.”

Seeing an unbelievable window of opportunity open in front of me, I piped up, “I’m the guy from Luther who called.”

The owner respectfully told the ready buyer, “I talked to that fellow out there early this morning and told him he had first shot at buying my shearing machine.”

I couldn’t get my checkbook out of my pocket fast enough. I really didn’t even look the machine over. If the other buyer wanted it, that was good enough for me.

I’ve never forgotten how the integrity of that seller helped start a career that kept my young family comfortable and in groceries that spring and 27 more so far.

That old machine that I bought that day has long ago been hung in a place of respect in my shed and replaced by a newer model. But, several times a year, I notice that old machine hanging on the wall and think how much different things could have been for me and my family if not for that rural man of character who helped me out of a tight spot.

***

A few weeks ago I mentioned that my Iowa sheep-shearing friend, ol’ Nick deHyde, occasionally writes a column for his local paper. It’s called “Short Grass & Shallow Water ” a Note from Worth Township.”

Well, recently he sent me a copy of a column in which he recalls a story from long ago in his early married life and his early sheep-shearing life. It proves that most rural folks are good and a few really “get it.”

Here’s Nick’s story, retold with his permission:

It was 1983. My wife was pregnant with our first child, and we were about as broke as anyone wants to be. I’d seen a shearing machine advertised in the local shopper and shearing sheep seemed a good way to get a little cash into our meager bank account.

I called the number on the ad early in the morning and told the guy I’d be up to see the machine in the afternoon. When we got to his place, there was another car parked in the driveway and the fellow was obviously very seriously examining the shearing machine. My heart sank.

I had spent the day dreaming about all the money I was going to make with that machine, but all I could do was watch as the other buyer went over every piece of the machine and then I heard him say, “I’ll take it!” My high hopes were dashed.

The owner was standing on the steps of his porch, and I can see it in my mind’s eye like it was yesterday, as he asked the ready buyer, “Are you the fellow from Luther who called this morning?”

The potential buyer, who represented a sure source of $50 to the seller, replied, “Nope, I’m from Ames.”

Seeing an unbelievable window of opportunity open in front of me, I piped up, “I’m the guy from Luther who called.”

The owner respectfully told the ready buyer, “I talked to that fellow out there early this morning and told him he had first shot at buying my shearing machine.”

I couldn’t get my checkbook out of my pocket fast enough. I really didn’t even look the machine over. If the other buyer wanted it, that was good enough for me.

I’ve never forgotten how the integrity of that seller helped start a career that kept my young family comfortable and in groceries that spring and 27 more so far.

That old machine that I bought that day has long ago been hung in a place of respect in my shed and replaced by a newer model. But, several times a year, I notice that old machine hanging on the wall and think how much different things could have been for me and my family if not for that rural man of character who helped me out of a tight spot.

***

A few weeks ago I mentioned that my Iowa sheep-shearing friend, ol’ Nick deHyde, occasionally writes a column for his local paper. It’s called “Short Grass & Shallow Water ” a Note from Worth Township.”

Well, recently he sent me a copy of a column in which he recalls a story from long ago in his early married life and his early sheep-shearing life. It proves that most rural folks are good and a few really “get it.”

Here’s Nick’s story, retold with his permission:

It was 1983. My wife was pregnant with our first child, and we were about as broke as anyone wants to be. I’d seen a shearing machine advertised in the local shopper and shearing sheep seemed a good way to get a little cash into our meager bank account.

I called the number on the ad early in the morning and told the guy I’d be up to see the machine in the afternoon. When we got to his place, there was another car parked in the driveway and the fellow was obviously very seriously examining the shearing machine. My heart sank.

I had spent the day dreaming about all the money I was going to make with that machine, but all I could do was watch as the other buyer went over every piece of the machine and then I heard him say, “I’ll take it!” My high hopes were dashed.

The owner was standing on the steps of his porch, and I can see it in my mind’s eye like it was yesterday, as he asked the ready buyer, “Are you the fellow from Luther who called this morning?”

The potential buyer, who represented a sure source of $50 to the seller, replied, “Nope, I’m from Ames.”

Seeing an unbelievable window of opportunity open in front of me, I piped up, “I’m the guy from Luther who called.”

The owner respectfully told the ready buyer, “I talked to that fellow out there early this morning and told him he had first shot at buying my shearing machine.”

I couldn’t get my checkbook out of my pocket fast enough. I really didn’t even look the machine over. If the other buyer wanted it, that was good enough for me.

I’ve never forgotten how the integrity of that seller helped start a career that kept my young family comfortable and in groceries that spring and 27 more so far.

That old machine that I bought that day has long ago been hung in a place of respect in my shed and replaced by a newer model. But, several times a year, I notice that old machine hanging on the wall and think how much different things could have been for me and my family if not for that rural man of character who helped me out of a tight spot.

***

A few weeks ago I mentioned that my Iowa sheep-shearing friend, ol’ Nick deHyde, occasionally writes a column for his local paper. It’s called “Short Grass & Shallow Water ” a Note from Worth Township.”

Well, recently he sent me a copy of a column in which he recalls a story from long ago in his early married life and his early sheep-shearing life. It proves that most rural folks are good and a few really “get it.”

Here’s Nick’s story, retold with his permission:

It was 1983. My wife was pregnant with our first child, and we were about as broke as anyone wants to be. I’d seen a shearing machine advertised in the local shopper and shearing sheep seemed a good way to get a little cash into our meager bank account.

I called the number on the ad early in the morning and told the guy I’d be up to see the machine in the afternoon. When we got to his place, there was another car parked in the driveway and the fellow was obviously very seriously examining the shearing machine. My heart sank.

I had spent the day dreaming about all the money I was going to make with that machine, but all I could do was watch as the other buyer went over every piece of the machine and then I heard him say, “I’ll take it!” My high hopes were dashed.

The owner was standing on the steps of his porch, and I can see it in my mind’s eye like it was yesterday, as he asked the ready buyer, “Are you the fellow from Luther who called this morning?”

The potential buyer, who represented a sure source of $50 to the seller, replied, “Nope, I’m from Ames.”

Seeing an unbelievable window of opportunity open in front of me, I piped up, “I’m the guy from Luther who called.”

The owner respectfully told the ready buyer, “I talked to that fellow out there early this morning and told him he had first shot at buying my shearing machine.”

I couldn’t get my checkbook out of my pocket fast enough. I really didn’t even look the machine over. If the other buyer wanted it, that was good enough for me.

I’ve never forgotten how the integrity of that seller helped start a career that kept my young family comfortable and in groceries that spring and 27 more so far.

That old machine that I bought that day has long ago been hung in a place of respect in my shed and replaced by a newer model. But, several times a year, I notice that old machine hanging on the wall and think how much different things could have been for me and my family if not for that rural man of character who helped me out of a tight spot.

***


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