Is it hard being an all-around farm expert?
The hard part is perfecting a belly laugh. Laugh too hard at another farmer’s mistake, and you’ll be attacked with a large ratchet. Yet show any hesitancy in your laugh, and people will doubt you’re an expert. Thus, pointing out another farmer’s problem and belly laughing afterwards, which is the major job responsibility of an all-around farm expert, is like tight-rope walking with no net–meaning it’s a very perilous activity that should only be attempted by trained professionals or those who pack up and leave town after a week.
What’s the best ladder for farm use?
Every farmer needs a good flimsy ladder, one that bows and bends and bounces. A sturdy ladder is a big mistake. Nothing hurts worse than being wallopped by a stout ladder seconds after you’ve plummeted back to earth. Nowadays it doesn’t pay to add insult to injury. In the old days, some orthopedic surgeons offered two-for-one deals (for each shattered ankle, you got a cracked rib for free). But now, with the state of modern healthcare as it is, you can’t count on free handling for secondary fractures, so it’s best to be whalloped by a flimsy ladder.
What do you know about nude beekeeping?
Little. I only know one nude beekeeper, Ned. Ned was just a regular guy who wore clothes in public, especially in the bee yard. He never once thought about disrobing outdoors until he accidentally left his shirt tail out and bees (from a dropped frame) regrouped on his shoes and started marching (unbeknownst to Ned) up his pant legs. The bees formed two flanks along the belly and the back and coordinated a simultaneous assault. Underneath Ned’s shirt tail and over his belt, the bees charged onto bareskin, where many sacrificed their lives on the rolling terrain of Ned’s mid-section. Afterwards, Ned began running and shedding clothes simultaneously, leaving a trail of garments behind, including his whitey-tightys. This disrobing routine was captured and posted to YouTube by a random passerby and thereafter Ned became known locally as Nude Ned.
How does evil spread in the world?
Sandspurs in your shoe laces. If you’ve never experienced sandspurs, picture yourself strolling through a blooming meadow. Smell the flowers and feel the gentle breeze. Watch bees glide from flower to flower. Then, while listening to meadowlarks sing, take one more step and hear yourself utter, at the top of your lungs, your favorite exclamatory phrase. Hear it echo throughout the countryside. Then start hopping one-footed while calling for a medic.
(For more infrequently asked farming questions, check out this post. )
Too funny!
I’ve stepped on stinging nettle when I was barefoot. Stepped on sand spurs, too. But puncture vine (goats heat, tack weed) is just plain evil.
I went to Ukraine once, and their species of stinging nettle was so diabolic I suspect it was genetically engineered in a soviet lab.
I had to look up puncture vine. It looks terrible. Thank goodness we don’t have that in North Carolina.
There is something similar in California that used to give my bicycle flat tires. 🙂
I like the image of stinging nettle engineered in a soviet lab. I wonder if it first started out in Chernobyl.
Loved reading your blog, Stephen! I’m glad to see you doing well, brother!
Hi Ryan, it’s been a while. Hope all is well your way too!
Sand spurs? Don’t think we have them in Scotland. But we have thistles! Revered because an invading Viking creeping up barefoot on the locals (not far from her actually) trod on, screamed blue murder, and the Scots won that battle……..
Sandspurs are the seeds of a grass species here. The seeds are a cluster of points. It just looks like regular ole grass until you step on it. You never see it coming.
And I thought vikings were supposed to be tough. By the way, I like that you say “blue murder.” I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone say that here in the South. It is always “bloody murder.” But I think I might start saying blue instead–is blue another word blood or does it mean the color blue?
Love reading your light-hearted posts 💕
Thanks!
My father used to make his own ladders, which is probably why I’m still terrified of heights. Whenever he needed a ladder he’d whack down a couple of 3 inch thick saplings down in the woods the length he needed, nail whatever scraps of old board he had laying around to them for rungs, and that was a ladder. It’s a miracle I survived my childhood, really.
Farmer ingenuity, lol.
Such a cute post! ❤ And I get some kind of spurs in our dried grassy brush when I explore around. Yikes, those tiny little sucker are crazy hard to pull off my shoes and socks! 😎