Yield: Another successful fishing foray | TheFencePost.com

Yield: Another successful fishing foray

Ah, we've had a week of yo-yo weather in the Flint Hills. I went from wearing bermuda shorts on one day to overalls and long-handled underwear the next.

The temperature dropped from the mid-80s to the low-30s in less than 24 hours. Throw in a lot of wind and clouds and three-fourths of an inch of rain over three days and you've got typical Flint Hills weather in a nutshell.

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However, during the warm, cloudy and off-and-on rainy weather before the cold hit, the Three Semi-Enfeebled Amigos, which included myself, my buddy Albie Kirky from New Mexico, and another life-long friend Claude Hopper from Pratt, Kan., enjoyed a four-day old-geezers' fishing extravaganza.

I wuz batching at the time whilst ol' Nevah and her sis, daughter, and three nieces took a ladies-only vacation to Phoenix. So, we Amigos had Damphewmore Acres to ourselves.

We not only caught a lot of fish, which included two hot-licks into hungry schools of crappie, but we topped the week off with an Old Geezers' Fish Fry that included buddies Lon G. Horner. Mocephus and Levitt N. Lockett. We ate more fish and trimmings than any sane six persons should and shared an evening of thoughtful imbibing of our favorite beverages and storytelling.

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And, the evening got topped off humorously when ol' Levitt locked the keys in his vehicle and had to call his ever-suffering wife to drive 30 miles to rescue him. We'll all add that episode to our treasure trove of stories for the future.

When the Amigos went home, they had ample fish fillets for the winter and we all hoped that good health and good fortune will let us get together next year for yet another fishing foray. You never know at our age.

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One unusual thing happened while we were fishing in my pond at Damphewmore Acres. Last May, Quirky Kirky (Albie's son from Texas) wuz catfishing and left his rod and reel unattended for a few minutes. When he returned, his fishing rig wuz gone, pulled into the pond by a sizable catfish.

Well, last week ol' Claude wuz fishing in the same spot when he snagged something on the bottom and, lo and behold, he dragged Quirky's fishing rig intact from the pond. The rod wuz fine, except for the mud, and I think the reel can be rehabbed. What are the odds of that happening?

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Of all the labor-saving contrivances man has invented that can turn into a nuisance, I'd rank the computer is first and the electric garage-door opener second. I spend hundreds of dollars buying and repairing garage door openers and yet they are a constant thorn in my peaceful existence.

Last week, one door opener failed to cycle correctly. The repair man fixed it. This week, a different door opener fails to lift the door full height unless I hold the activation button down for the full duration. I swear the only thing worse than living with garage door openers is living without them!

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I've never had a chigger bite in October before. However, this October one mutant chigger managed to give me a good bite on the ribs. It's probably the genetic forerunner of chiggers that can live to torment me through the winter.

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Speaking of mutants, it's no wonder that weeds are still thriving in spite of all the herbicides that can and do kill them. Over the years, I've noticed in my gardens and food plots that it's impossible to get rid of weeds. You can till and till and hoe and hoe and mow and mow and still the weeds manage to reseed. Mow a pigweed 4 inches from the ground and it will still put on a small seed crop. Crabgrass is impossible to control. Prostrate spurge, woolly cupgrass, lamb's quarter and wild lettuce always manage to reseed. I guess weeds are nature's way of making sure we gardeners always have something to do and complain about.

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This funny happened decades ago. A cattle feeder and a cattle order buyer made an appointment with a cow/calf operator to personally come look at his calf crop.

When they arrived at the remote farmhouse, the order buyer volunteered to go knock on the front door. He did and no one answered the door. But, when he turned around to go back to the vehicle, he wuz confronted angrily by a big ol' domestic Tom turkey on the prod.

The order buyer tried to skirt around old Tom, but the feisty bird cut him off every time the order buyer moved. So, the order buyer took off his cowboy hat and tried to scare old Tom out of the way, but that just infuriated the bird more.

Meanwhile, the cattle feeder wuz enjoying the sight immensely of a rough and tumble cattleman being humbled by a foul-tempered fowl. The feeder laughingly called out advice to the cornered feeder.

Finally, the only thing left for the order buyer to do wuz make a run for the vehicle, which he did, with the short-tempered turkey in hot pursuit.

I'll bet those two old boys never get together without that story popping into their conversation.

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Here's something to ponder. Who loves you most — your wife of many years or your dog? Try this. Lock 'em both in the trunk for a few minutes, then open it and find out which one is glad to see you. Have a good 'un.❖