Ol’ Nevah and I have been in a 55-year old “winter rut” and this year we’re making an effort to climb out of that rut. The “rut” has been spending all winter in the cold. We figger we’re too old and decrepit to keep freezing our “tokuses” off all winter, so this year we’re temporarily moving to a warmer clime during the dead of winter — January and February.
We’re gonna be “snowbirds.” We’re talking Arizona — Gilbert, Ariz., to be specific. We almost waited too late to get a warm place booked because there are thousands of others who got the jump on us. But persistence on the internet paid off. We finally located a “casita” to rent in Gilbert. It’s not an ideal location for us, as we’d have preferred a spot in a smaller town east of Phoenix, but the owners are former Wisconsinites who moved to the desert eight years ago.
For sure, living in an urban setting will be a far cry from the peace and quiet of the Flint Hills. But, Nevah and I figger we can stand any change of pace for 60 days as long as we don’t have to bundle up like polar bears just to survive.
I haven’t yet decided whether or not to continue writing my columns while in snowbird mode. There is a possibility that I’m gonna take a two-month hiatus from column writing so I will have no deadline responsibility and be 100% carefree. I’ll keep you posted on the column situation.
Our snowbird decision prompted another “major” decision on my part. What to do with my little chicken flock? It turned out to be an easy decision. I farmed them out to a neighbor who blended them into his flock until we get back home in March. I’ll pay him to take care of them and he’s gonna keep us in “eating eggs” until we leave for the desert.
So, as of right now. I don’t have a single daily outdoors chore that I have to do. The bird dog is gone and so are the chickens. Easy Street is here.
A thoughtful reader, learning that the race horse I have a racing interest in lost his first race, sent me this funny story:
A jogger is running down a country road outside the outskirts of Denver and is startled when a horse yells at him, “Hey, come over here, buddy.”
The jogger is stunned, but still runs over to the fence where the horse is standing and asks, “Were you talking to me?”
The horse replies, ‘Sure was, man. I’ve got a problem. I won the Kentucky Derby a few years ago, got a minor injury, and this farmer bought me and now all I do is stand around in this pasture every day and I’m bored sick of it. Why don’t you run up to the house and offer that old man in the rocking chair on the porch $5,000 to buy me. I’ll make you some money because I can still run and I can carry on a conversation.”
The jogger thought to himself, “Wow, a talking horse.” Dollar signs started dancing around in his head. So, he runs to the house and the old farmer is rocking away leisurely on the porch.
The jogger tells the farmer, “Hey, man, I’ll give you $5,000 for that decrepit horse down in that pasture by the road.”
The farmer replies, “Son, you can’t believe anything that horse says. He’s never even been to Kentucky.”
A thoughtful reader, ol’ Troll N. Ketchem, knows I like to fish. So, he sent me some wry sayings about fish, fishing, and fishermen.
- A bad day of fishing is still better than a good day at work.
- An angler is a man who spends rainy days sitting around on the muddy banks of rivers doing nothing because his wife won’t let him do it at home.
- All fishermen are liars.It’s an occupational disease.
- The fisherman’s golden rule: the one that got away is always bigger than the one you gotta weigh.
- There’s a fine line between fishing and just standing on the shore like an idiot.
- Smoked carp tastes just as good as smoked crappie fillets when you ain’t got no smoked salmon.
- Fishermen are born honest, but, predictably, they get over it.
Here’s a funny story for the few shepherds still among my readers:
A new second grade teacher from the big city is teaching in a rural school. She came up with what she thought was a good agricultural math problem for her class. “Suppose,” she asks her class, “there are a dozen sheep in a pasture and six of them jump over a fence. How many are left in the pasture?’
“None,” answered little Ron, a shepherd’s son.
“ None, Ron? You don’t know your arithmetic.”
“No, teacher, you don’t know your sheep. When one goes, they all go,” the student seriously explained.
Words of wisdom for the week: “Respect your elders. They graduated from all their schools without the aid of the internet or a smart phone.”