Milo Yield: Laugh Tracks in the Dust 8-20-12 |

Milo Yield: Laugh Tracks in the Dust 8-20-12

As I write this column, the 2012 London Olympic Games are winding down and, as they do, slowly my life is gradually returning to normal. I don’t know if I’m the exception and not the rule, but I just can’t get enuf of watching fellow human beings from all over the planet huff, chuff, churn, grunt, strain, soar, splash, strive and sweat endeavoring to achieve their very best for the countries and themselves. To me, every Olympic competition is worthy of appreciation.

As a consequence, with live TV and recordings of events, I’ve found myself plunking into bed after midnight more often than not during the Games. It will be good to get my life back.


However, as I endure the continuing drought, my thoughts turned to what kinds of events could be staged as the 2012 Drought Olympics. For sure, the events could include crack-in-the-ground broad jumping and pole vaulting, low-pond-water mud wrestling, the garden-watering marathon, the cross-country grasshopper steeplechase, the near-dry-river-riffle boat portage race, fluffy hay bale stacking, 400-meter water-hose connecting.

It’s so hot and dry the dust blinded me when I tilled my wheat stubble and it screwed up my GPS so bad I ended up at the local bar and grill.

Also, water bucket weight lifting, loaded-water tank road racing, mud-dauber nest BB gun shooting, the farm-pond triathlon of running, biking and swimming, hot-car-seat high jumping, and dried-vegetation floral arranging.

Of course, every successful Olympic Games requires generous volunteers, so my Drought Olympics would require generous volunteers to pay water and electricity bills.


Our Chase County Fair is completed and, while I wuz there, I learned that our esteemed county extension agent, ol’ Avery Ware, has had over the years a goodly number of out-of-the-ordinary fair entries made in his name by his practical-joking friends.

My favorite wuz the beautiful jar of canned grasshoppers entered in his name in the canned meats competition. Another wuz a flower pot of splendid bindweed in glorious bloom in the floriculture competition.

Two others were a magnificent bundle of shattercane entered in the crops division and a blue-ribbon winning tallest-stalk-of-corn-with ears (the “ears” were plastic human ears tied to the corn stalk).

It just goes to show that Avery needs no enemies when he has friends like that.


I knew it wuz inevitable that I’d eventually start getting “it’s so dry that …” comments sent to me. Here are some of the most recent:

■ It’s so hot and dry in Missouri that the downy woodpeckers are drinking from the hummingbird feeder.

■ It’s so dry that the snapping turtles went into hibernation on June 15th.

■ It’s so dry that my wife fixed a blackberry cobbler by just mixing the ingredients and setting the pan in the sunlight.

■ It’s so hot and dry a Missouri cattleman had to call the vet because his cows were acting strange. The vet said his cows were suffering from RISCLFSTES — that’s “rotating in small circles looking for something to eat syndrome.”

■ It’s so hot and dry the mud dauber wasps cleaned out my pond as it wuz going dry.

■ It’s so hot and dry the grasshoppers are getting so big around they are attacking my chickens, not the other way around.

■ It’s so hot and dry the heat killed a grasshopper so big I had to pay $100 to the dead-animal wagon to come haul it away.

■ It’s so hot and dry the crawdads in my pond are waving white surrender flags.

■ It’s so hot and dry my cattle couldn’t eat the protein lick tanks in my pasture because they were boiling.

■ It’s so hot and dry I got my tractor stuck on the highway when the asphalt melted under it.

■ It’s so hot and dry I got second-degree burns from sitting down on my tractor seat.

■ It’s so hot and dry the songbirds using the water bath in my yard got scalded and all their feathers fell out, then I had to replace the water with sunscreen.

■ It’s so hot and dry my water well went dry and I’m now taking dust baths.

■ It’s so hot and dry the dust blinded me when I tilled my wheat stubble and it screwed up my GPS so bad I ended up at the local bar and grill.


Enuf bellyaching for this week. To gain a better mental outlook on life for us all, I’ll close for this week with these words of wisdom from former Secretary of State Henry Kissinger about utopia: “For other nations, utopia is a blessed past never to be recovered; for Americans it is just beyond the horizon.”

Let’s all hope those words are true.

Have a good ’un. ❖

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