We have a lot of row crops around here, growing on rolling hills. It's really bucolic, if that's not a cow disease. Like that painter.....uhm.....shoot. Grant Wood! I got it! Tell me I got it!
We live in the Grant Woods. (Edward Hopper?) (Eugene Field?) You can see baby cows born, kerploppity, and hawks on the fence posts, and hear the screech they put in all the advertising soundtracks, and pick blackberries by the side of the road.
You can even pick a peck of peckers.
I don't mind fields of friendly, waving dendrills, and even bushel baskets of hand-picked ones, but I don't think I like that word pecker. It doesn't invite approach. Or un-gloved handling. Where did that come from? And what's it got to do with bucolia or Bucephallus?
It's too hawky. Too much raptor; not enough rapture.
Octopi can peck, and it hurts. They don't let go, either. I had one stuck on my arm once. You can really see the advantage of eight twining arms versus two folding ones. You don't want one in your pants. Squids ~ keep them out. Nasty, hard, solid stone beaks on them. Crunch, like a fortune cookie under a big-screen tv set. This is the real reason divers wear suits. Self-Contained Underwater Beak Apparatus.
"Peppers" is better. Red Hots.
"HornDogs."
Ball Park Franks. The infield. The outfield. The in and out field.
"If you plant it,
Peckerridge Farms will have to worry about changes in market appearance, brought about by tissue cloning. A full crop of peppers can be raised in a few minutes, so there's the impact of commoditization. You've got to get out there and harvest the whole crop in a few minutes, or lose it. Proper harvesting equipment needs addressed. To Coby.
Electrical storms. Ow.
Freezing weather. Ow.
Anxiety. Ow.
Taunts from competitors. Ow.
Cockroaches.
Ball weevils.
And the oft-dreaded, but as yet unrealized market saturation.
Have you ever written a post you thought wasn't going on the air no matter what?
I didn't set out to write the farm forecast at all. Really. I've not been thinking about this ~ well, til now ~ well, not even now; I was thinking about relating an experience the Grant Woodies Farm reminded me. Of. I was going to say it was in a dream, but it was actually in a state of meditation. Deep meditation. Not too deep, but deep enough.
Yet it's too complicated. I just started to think about it, and it's too complicated. To describe. That could either mean it's really complicated; or just too complicated by local standards.
This is one of "those" posts, but it's What The Hell Week.
I have a general request ~ no, a reminder ~ to my thread friends: Polish writing is not my forte. I did, however, once build a pole barn. If you guys come to town I'll show it to you.
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Next weeks topic: Pole Vaults.
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