Yield: A lot has changed
A lot has happened in our lives since I last wrote a column. I wrote two in advance so I could enjoy some “column-free” time.
The first thing that happened to ol’ Nevah and me is that our grandson Chance Yield got married. He and his lovely bride got hitched in an outdoor setting under a magnificent sycamore tree. Everything went off without a hitch considering the ceremony featured six attendants for the bride and the same for the groom.
The most interesting thing that happened to Nevah and me at the post-wedding dance wuz the disc-jockey selected a slow song and asked everyone who wuz married to get out on the dance floor as a couple. Then he played a few seconds and then told everyone who had been married for three years or less to leave the floor.
Right then I leaned in and whispered in Nevah’s ear, “We’re gonna be the last couple standing when this song’s done.” Sure enuf. Our 54 years bested every other married couple by nine years. Don’t know what that proves except that winning such a contest is better than losing.
After the wedding, I had fishing guests for four days — my good New Mexico buddy, ol’ Albie Kirky and his Texas son, ol’ Quirky Kirky.
They arrived on a Monday and we fished an hour or two that afternoon to no avail. The next three days we went from “super” to “fair to middling” to “virtually skunked.”
On Tuesday we scored 70 pounds (with the landowner’s assistance) of mostly bass and crappie and a few bluegills. On Tuesday we got limited to probably 20 pounds of bass and crappie. Then on Wednesday, only Albie and I fished and in four hours, he caught one little bass and one little crappie, which we released back to the pond.
However, all in all, we had a great time, sent home a goodly number of fine fish fillets and spent four fun-filled days of gabbing, reminiscing, and hoping — at our ages — we still have a few more years of equal fun ahead of us.
Then on Saturday, ol’ Nevah and I attended a football game at my alma mater, Bea Wilder U. For once in our lives we got treated as royalty as invitees to share the afternoon with the “big dogs” in one of the stadium suites.
We hobnobbed and shared eats and drinks with all the fine folks in the suite. Sadly, my favorite team went down to defeat, but, we had a memorable time regardless of the game.
Early this week, I caught up with the grass and weed mowing and got four wildlife food plots planted the day before it rained nearly an inch and a half.
As I write this, I’m a bachelor. Nevah left me for four days of quilting fun at Hamilton, Mo., so, I took the opportunity to invite friends Mocephus and Lon G. Horner to come have a noon meal of ham and beans and cornbred and an afternoon of card playing. We played seven point cutthroat pitch for more than four hours and did little more than swap a bunch of quarters, dimes and nickels back and forth.
I get quite a bit of snail mail from readers, and most writers have some material for me to consider for my column. But this week brought a thoughtful, “thank you” letter from J.N. at Cedar Rapids, Iowa.
The letter wuz sent to multiple column writers in aggie newspapers with the last names of Black, Pitts, Hanks, Peterson and myself. Her letter read:
“I read all your columns to Dad during my weekly visits and they usually make both of us chuckle. Dad lives in an assisted living facility about an hour from my home. He reads your columns through a gift subscription from my niece. She and her family manage a grass-fed cattle enterprise down the road from Rosebud, Mont. That’s how we in the heartland come to read about life out west. I just wanted to let all of you know Dad and I both enjoy hearing about your escapades, as well as your outlooks on human nature and all the things that go with those situations. Continued success to you all. Keep up the good writing.”
Thanks for the letter. That makes me puff-up proud. It’s good to be appreciated.
Bart the cattle buyer awoke in a hospital bed in a body cast from head to toe. His associate, Jack, stood gravely at the foot of the bed. “What happened?” moaned Bart.
“You don’t remember?” asked Jack. “After we received those cattle and got the trucks on the road, we ended up at a party at the hotel. We had a few beers — well, more than a few. Anyway, by 2:00 a.m. you were standing on a third-floor balcony rail proclaiming you were going to fly around the building. And you gave it a try.”
“But you’re my best friend! Why didn’t you stop me?” whined Bart.
“Well, you see,” said Jack, “At the time, I thought you could do it.”
My words of wisdom for the week: “Growing old has one advantage. You never have to do it again.” Amen. Have a good ‘un. ❖
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