YOU NEVER THINK, “Mother Theresa wasn’t all that,” when you are in the bathtub. You don’t say, “Grrrr,” in anyone’s general direction. And you don’t pray that your neighbor’s emerald lawn turns the color of old apple butter.
That’s because everything is pretty good when you are in the tub. Good and happy. Well, farm kids have something like that, too. It’s called a puddle.
Or a “puggle” or “guhgull” or “da-da,” depending on whom you ask. But anyway, puddles and shadows all in one day! It’s like Christmas on Memorial Day.
Today we splash in honor of the Greatest Generation, Baby Boomers, Generation Xers, and—yes—even the Millenials (they are trying hard, in their own way).
Here we offer proof that the newest crop of humans is grasping the nettle of life, the mud of truth, the squish of integrity.
They are being trained in mission critical skills. An outing to Stumphenge focused on advanced weed identification and dandelion dispersion.
Great job, little one. Except you bent the stem, crushed the puff, and blew on the wrong part. So, epic fail, but every kid gets a trophy these days.
Apparently trophies aren’t enough—youngsters want total freedom in the bargain. Listen, Sprout, freedom doesn’t grow on trees.
Maybe a change of scenery will soften the blow of reality. Down at the Not Okay Corral, Papa tries to fix three busted trucks at once.
Obviously there are too many spinny things in this engine. Any toddler worth his weight in motor oil could figure that out.
Better let us kids help. Is there anything more life-affirming than the blissful concentration of working in the shadow of dad?
Only the Buddha-like contentment of a 244-piece socket set. “I’ve got the one piece they need and I’m going to HIDE IT!”
Or the euphoria of a meal that’s longer than your leg. Like those six-foot party subs that swept suburbia back in the 70s.
Or the thrill of the hunt, when your prey doesn’t move a muscle. Because it is a TIRE. Natasha, get a clue, you are on the internet now!
Well, Farm Fans, we promised you a few words about strawberries. Four words, to be exact. Here goes…
They. Are. Almost. “Reddy.”
OK, gotta go, just found a very important pebble! See you at The ‘Creek.