Farm boy golf
Hallelujah! The drought is finally over at Damphewmore Acres and through most of the Flint Hills. It took more than 10 months to get the needed runoff to fill our four-acre pond, but when it happened, it happened quickly. We’ve had a bunch of small rains that saturated the soil surface, so it only took an hour of hard rain to fill the pond. And it filled in just three hours.
So, now I’m going into full-farmer mode and wishing that the rains would quit for awhile. We won’t be needing much moisture until after the fall harvest.
Sometimes it pays to exist on the thin fringe of celebrity status. As proof, last Saturday afternoon I wuz relaxing in my easy chair when the door bell rang. It wuz a gentleman whom I’d never seen before in my life.
He introduced himself as Bacon Loaves from Newton, Kan. He said he is a regular reader of this weekly column and an admirer of my longevity as a column writer. He also explained that he is the owner/operator and flock manager of the Little Red Hen Ranch. In addition to his chicken flock, Bacon’s bizness card explains that he also bakes and sells wholesome, nutritious, organic, home-grown and home-ground Kansas hard red winter wheat bread. In addition, he raises and sells local food products, and organic crops — plus is a noted grazing consultant.
After our introduction and a good visit, before he left Bacon pulled a fresh-baked loaf of his locally famous Little Red Hen whole wheat bread out of his vehicle and gave it to me. Yummy! The spoils of fame are often delicious.
Someday, I’m gonna surprise ol’ Bacon and make the trip to the Little Red Hen Ranch. If anyone is interested, his e-mail address is email@example.com.
Here’s an update on my race horse saga. The Texan in charge of Giant Clawsway’s early schooling to be a race horse, ol’ Trey Nimm, reports that the colt has finished his circle corral work satisfactorily and they began riding him on Sept. 3. So far, the colt has kept his mind in the racing game and is progressing nicely. He’s got a couple more months of training before he goes to pasture for a short maturity rest this fall and winter.
A week ago last Sunday, ol’ Nevah and I decided to find a new place to eat our Sunday lunch. So, we loaded up and headed southwest. First we went to Cassaday, then west to Burns without finding a place to eat. But we hit the jackpot at Peabody when we stumbled on to Coneburg’s Bar & Grill. It served up a fine meal in a small-town homey atmosphere.
Before leaving Peabody, we visited a couple of antique and collectible stores in the downtown. Both were worth the stop. At one we bought a touristy book on things and places of interest to see in Kansas.
We used our new book as we traveled north toward Marion. The book gave us directions to The Copper Shed located on a family farm southwest of Marion. If you like all things made out of copper — both old and new — it’s a fine biz to visit.
Of all the places I expect to get column material, a sugar maple farm in Vermont ranks right close to the bottom. However, now it’s moved to the top with this little story from a Vermonter who calls himself a “Burr of all Trades.” Well, Burr sent me this item:
“In the name of winding down in my dotage, I’ve been thinking about golf, not real golf, mind you, with greens and fairways and folks in sharp clothing, but ‘farm golf.’ It’s a new and revolutionary game invented by yours truly.”
“Here’s how it works. Every pickup truck has a ball hitch. Every trailer has a ball receptacle — so that meets the golf theme so far, right? And, every good ol’ arm boy is a veritable pro at backing and hitching. Farm boy golf’s objective is for the player, in the cab of a pickup, to back up to the trailer using only his mirrors. If he happens to land his ball hitch directly under the trailer receptacle on first try, it’s a hole-in-one. Repeated tries brings eagles, birdies, pars and bogies.
My good friend and fellow woodchuck Vermonter, Ed Hartman really liked my new game. He recently wrote that he is hooked on farm boy golf, but can’t afford it. He writes, “My nice truck, only 10 years old, is now full of tailgate dents from various trailer tongues. I can’t afford a new tailgate and I sure as @#$%^& will not trade trucks.” After a longer rant, he then asked me how I am at welding.
Well, folks, I’ve done my share of welding, but never ended up honing my skills any more than I’ve honed my chainsaw skills. So, I think it may be time to hang up the old Husky and put away the welding rods. But I gotta do something to keep me busy, like, say farm boy golf.
I can just picture myself at tournaments in farmer fields and county fairs all over the nation. Only I won’t be playing, I’ll be announcing in a golf announcers’ hushed tones in a barely whispered voice. “Woody is lining up his tee shot. Mirror perfect image. He’s in low range and creeping back. His address is impeccable — perfect alignment and approach. Ouch! That’s trouble — a nasty tailgate ding. Didn’t read the break right. That may cost him the tournament.”
I think “Burr” may be onto something. At the very least his story got me to the end of this column. Wisdom for the week? You’re never too old to learn something stupid. Have a good ‘un.❖