A word of warning. The purpose of this column is not humor. The purpose of this column is to vent about the most exasperating airline flight of my long life. The only humor in my recent flying experience is that it wuz a comedy of errors.

I pretty much swore off airline travel two decades ago with the advent of the Travel Security Administration’s necessary, but frustrating, pat downs and near strip searches that passengers have to endure just to get on an airplane.

But, a strong desire to attend a grand-daughter’s wedding near Knoxville, Tenn., necessitated that Nevah and I fly, rather than drive for the trip. At 81, driving 2,000 miles seemed like too much to deal with comfortably. Plus, our nearby daughter wuz traveling with us to the wedding and she agreed to deal with the ticketing and keep Nevah and I on track.

Now, before launching into the following diatribe about air travel, let me admit up front that, in a way, it’s my own fault. That’s becuz when we were planning the trip, I insisted that the flight originate at the new MHK airport in Manhattan, Kan. At the time, it seemed like a logical decision because Manhattan’s airport is only 20 miles away, compared to a 300-mile round trip to the new KCI airport in Kansas City. The tickets were reasonably higher compared to the expense of a KC trip, plus long-term parking at KCI.

Manhattan’s airport is served by American Airlines affiliate American Eagle which has flights to Dallas-Ft. Worth airport (DFW) and, after a couple-hour layover, American Airlines (AA) flies non-stop to Knoxville. Little did we know that our hair-pulling flight experience would start before we even got started.

Here’s the story: Our planned flight wuz to leave MHK around 2:30 p.m., so we picked up our daughter around 1 p.m. But, before we could leave Riley, our daughter got an email informing us that our American Eagle plane wouldn’t be ready to board until about 4:30. So, we turned around, went home and waited an hour and a half before restarting to MHK.

After going through a minimally intrusive minor league TSA inspection, we loitered in the MHK terminal before boarding our flight to DFW. Although the one-hour flight was uneventful, alas, we arrived at B-terminal in DFW just in time to learn that our scheduled flight to Knoxville had left a few minutes earlier.

Ah, but the friendly and efficient folks at American Airlines assured us that we could conveniently reschedule to another Knoxville flight departing in just three hours in Terminal B. But, we were informed that our status now was as standby passengers hoping that three seats would be available on the rescheduled flight. However, after another long walk to the designated gate, we were informed that only two standby seats were currently available and that the new flight would depart from Terminal A, not Terminal B.

So, after a half-mile trek and a cattle-car ride on the oh-so-efficient Skylink automated elevated rail system, we ate three tasty evening meals, at a cost of $75, and headed for our new departure gate. There the AA ticketing folks gave us the news that the new flight had seven standby seats and that we were at the head of the standby list. Good news under the circumstances, but that state of affairs would not last long.

After waiting at the departure gate until it was near 11 p.m., we at last got standby clearance and started to board. You can’t guess what happened next? Our daughter and most of the passengers boarded the plane, but just as Nevah and I were to show our boarding passes to the boarding agent, he curtly informed us that “this plane ain’t flying nowhere. The flight’s been cancelled. We will deboard this plane.”

So, it took 15 minutes for all the passengers, including our daughter, to deboard the plane. Then the friendly AA folks informed us there would be no more flights to Knoxville that night and we would be given vouchers for “free” overnight accommodations at an undisclosed hotel or motel. You’d be correct if you think my blood-pressure was going up at this time. Ah, but there’s more — much more.

After standing in a “folding line” at least 100 yards long for a half hour for our hotel vouchers, the efficient AA folks announced that another plane had been miraculously discovered and would board at another Terminal A gate shortly after midnight. So, we joined the passenger stampede to the new gate, only to be greeted with the news from AA that the new plane would depart from Terminal C, not A.

This necessitated another long walk to the Skylink rail system where we discovered that the escalators had been shut down at 11 p.m. and most of the restrooms closed. So, we waited to take the elevator. In the cattle car Skylink this time, we got the full 20-minute tour of all six of DFW’s terminals — A through F.

But, we eventually arrived at Terminal C. After another wait, we cleared for boarding and trudged to our seats. Two-hours later we arrived at Knoxville where we had a long-walk and long wait for our baggage. But, thankfully, our bags arrived just as our Tennessee daughter arrived to transport us to her home. We finally laid down our heads at her home at 4:30 a.m.

Short version of the story: A flight that was to take 6 hours actually took around 14. Thanks for all the memories American Airlines.

Looking back, the most exasperating thing about the trip is that AA never once tried to tell us why the planes were delayed. If it wuz mechanical failure, the delay wuz understandable. But it could have been terrorists, a drunk or drugged pilot, bad weather. Who knows? We were left in the dark and that is irritating.

Gladly, I can report that our granddaughters wedding was a beautiful event and we now have a fine specimen of a new grandson-in-law. We spent a fine three days in Tennessee with family.

And, our reverse flight on AA and American Eagle was uneventful. But, we had enuf bad events on the flight out to last us a lifetime. I will think more than twice before I schedule another airline trip.

My words of wisdom for this week, don’t fly when you can drive, walk or crawl — or stay home. Have a good ‘un.

Farmers and ranchers are faced with a perpetual dilemma — how to decipher the agricultural markets in ways that hopefully will provide enuf profit from their enterprises to keep them in bizness year after year into future generations.

Alas, deciphering the ag markets is easier said than done and I’ve never known a farmer or rancher who thought he or she had a perfect insight into the markets.

And, to help farmers decipher the ag markets is an entire phalanx of self-declared marketing gurus who, eagerly, for a healthy sum of money, will provide a farmer with marketing advice of all types — personal visits, phone calls, newsletters, podcasts, social media connections, charts, graphs, historic data, brokerage services, etc.

And, yet, after availing themselves of all the offered marketing advice, farmers and ranchers too often still find themselves on the short-end of the assured profit margin.

All the above brings me to this ag marketing story, the nugget of which wuz provided by my height-challenged friend, ol’ Bob Doff. Here’s the story.

A beleaguered, cash-strapped farmer wuz mending a washed-out water gap in a pasture fence when he saw a piece of glass shining through the surface of the mud and muck. When he pulled it out, it wuz a bottle made out of glass so dark he couldn’t see through it to see its contents.

So, to his great surprise he found that the metal bottle top would unscrew easily. Now, imagine his greater surprise when he opened the bottle and before his eyes a magic, smiling genie appeared out of a smoky cloud.

The tiny genie surprised him further when it spoke these words. “Thanks you, kind Sir, for releasing me from my bottle prison. I’ve been washing downstream for months and finally ended up buried in the mud. I thought I was a goner. As thanks for releasing me, I have the power to grant you any one wish. What will your wish be?”

The astounded farmer replied without much thought, “My fondest wish would be to always make a nice profit from any technique I use in the agricultural commodity markets!”

The genie’s smile evaporated into a frown and wrinkled brow. He replied to the farmer, “Do you, Sir, realize how difficult it will be for me to grant you that particular wish? The ag markets are infinitely puzzling from the infinite number of constantly moving parts and factors such as global production, droughts, floods, storms, monopolistic corporations, insider trading, incompetent regulatory agencies, universal greed, ineffective farm bills, government environmental policies, global trade relationships, transportation problems, energy supply and cost, input inflationary prices, constantly changing consumer preferences, and population trends. Those are just starters. Do you see the problem for me? Would you even consider making a simpler wish that I could grant you?”

That put the poor farmer in the horns of a dilemma. Now, he felt sorry for the genie. So, he pursed his lips and said, “Well, I’d settle if you could tell me how to understand women.”

At those words, the genie almost burst into tears, and he replied: “You, Sir, are a tough one. After considering your second wish, I’ll grant you your first wish. From this day forward, I guarantee that any way you use the ag markets will assure you of a commodity price equal to the government’s monthly published 100% parity price. That way every acre of your farm will produce disposable income for you.”

I call that a wishful thinking story with a serious moral to it.

***

I’m finishing this column on Wednesday, May 15, and the previous few days have been eventful. First, all the local Yield family members, including the two great grandsons, met Saturday for an early Mother’s Day meal at the Cupalahunert Restaurant & Brewery. That wuz good eatin’ and a lot of fun.

Then Sunday afternoon Nevah and I drove to Yates Center, Kan., and overnighted with her twin sister and brother-in-law, who stuffed us with steak and trimmings. We spent the evening playing cards and laughing a lot.

Monday, after breakfast, we continued our trip down to Parsons to attend the memorial service for our son-in-law’s mother. She lived a long and productive 89 years.

While in the Parsons area, we met a number of treasured friends and even squeezed in time for a short visit with my old friend and compatriot Markus Parkus and his wife.

Our drive through the Flint Hills coming and going wuz simply beautiful and inspiring. The Flint Hills are now at their most appealing. Thanks to an abundance of rain this spring, the tallgrass prairie is verdant and from the road looks like a million acre golf course with plenty of rocky hazards. After the severe drought the past few years, it was refreshing to see all the ponds brimming full.

And, the wheat fields we saw are headed out and look very promising for a good harvest. Sadly, a few fields we saw had been inundated and ruined by recent flood waters.

***

Seldom a day goes by that I don’t receive by regular mail or email several solicitations to make a political donation. To me, it seems any donations made at this time are wasted. Name me a voter who doesn’t already know everything there is to know about Biden, Trump, and even Kennedy? I don’t think any amount of money, or any method of persuasion, will change the mind of any voter. That’s why I shred all the donation mail and, appropriately, make garden compost out of it.

***

I’ve finally got all my garden planted. Now, I’ve got to put my effort into maintaining what I’ve got planted. My gardening words of wisdom for the week are: “When weeding, the best way to make sure you are removing a weed and not a valuable plant is to pull on it. If it comes out of the ground easily, it is a valuable plant.” Have a good ‘un.