A Funny Story

[Bibbyman]

I started life in a log house but unlike Abraham Lincoln, half of it was blown away by a tornado some three years before I was born.  About 1956 dad had bought my uncle's adjoining farm and we moved into the 1900's style salt box farmhouse "up on the county road".  It was an improvement in location and while it was complete, the old uninstalled house that set on rock pillars was bitterly cold in the winter.  Also,  dad was a surviving victim of two tornadoes and didn't want to give up the ghost by pushing his luck in a third.  (In fact this house was moved some 25' by the same tornado that took away half of the house I was born in.)

So about 1960 he started out on a plan to build an add-on onto the salt box house with a basement under it. Once the ground was broke, the plans changed to building a new house with modest four rooms and a half basement.  Note no bath as we still didn't have running water - that didn't come until about 5 years later.

Dad, like most people,  excelled at some things and was adequate at many.  Carpentry was a skill he was adequate at.  He had his own way of doing things that was fine but just not the norm.  For example,  he made the ceilings in the house 7'-4" because that was as short he could frame a doorway and still use a standard door.  No need to have all that space up there where you couldn't use it.  Didn't insulate the walls but did put 6" in the attic. Going to heat with wood,  no need to go to that expense.

I can remember helping him work on the house in the evenings until way late by the light of a trouble light.  He'd have a couple of pencils stuck under his hat brim ahead of his ear and not be able to find them.  Fatigue was taking its toll as anyone who's taken on a project like this on top of an already hard workload.  

One evening he was cutting sill plates for the window openings.  (Didn't frame them in when he set walls up as he could do that later.)  

He measured one opening and cut a sill plate, tried it and it was too short.  #@#(@#).  >:( He measured another window opening that was going to be narrower and marked and cut his board again.  #@*#@!.  >:(  Short again!   "D___it, I cut it off twice and it's STILL too short!"  came the reply.  As soon as he said it he knew how strange (but true) it sounded.  It was a good relief from the exhaustion and stress.  

We bring up his quote from time to time when the occasion fits and he always smiles when he thinks back.  

[Bibbyman]

I had to laugh.  The tragedy was too great.  

You see one of the little pleasures in life that helps us through the cold dismal winter is the promise of spring.  Spring ain't marked by a day on a calendar but when we can set down and eat our first mess of fresh morel mushrooms.  The obsession is reminiscent of the yearning Jeeter Lester and family had for turnips in the book Tobacco Road.

Spring had been delayed in coming this year.  Two sets of two weeks of unseasonably cold dry weather delayed its coming.  Then a week of hot dry weather followed.  But finally, it rained and people started to find a few mushrooms.

I had been looking for two weeks around my own ol'-faithful spots with no results.  Then Sunday afternoon I took another walk around the farm in a different direction.  I rounded the end of a south-facing ridge and there below a clump of black oaks and under a fallen dead red cedar top was a mushroom.  Looking past,  I found another.  As I picked them,  I noticed a third and about 4 or 5 stumps where some had been picked.  A quick look around connected me to a visit I had with dad just the evening before when he told me of a place just like this where he had found some and left a couple.  No doubt it was his place I'd found.  Oh well,  they were picked and that was that.  

I continued to circle around the point and ended up with about a dozen mushrooms from pigeon to hen egg size.  Too many for my hand so I placed them in my ball cap and carried them with with my hand holding the adjustment strap in the back against the bill.  I worked my way up to my folk's house and visited with them.  I told dad of my trespass on his spot.  He really didn't mind I don't think as we normally get together to eat the bounty anyway.  

I didn't take the road back to our house but instead cut through the woods for the 1/4-mile walk home hoping to find more mushrooms.  There is a draw in the woods that's no big deal to cross but is rather rocky.  About 100 yards from the folk's house I stepped on a slick rock the wrong way and lost my footing.  To break my fall I reached out my left hand – the one carrying the hat with the mushrooms.  Smash!   I had to laugh.  The hours and energy I'd spent to find about a half a hat full of mushrooms and then almost home with my trophy and I smashed them. :

[Jeff]

Bib, I bet everyone of us can picture ourselves in that frozen position. Somewhere between the slip and the fall, with that "O crap" look on our face.

[Bibbyman]

Seems like I've been blessed with the opportunity of working with a lot of colorful people.  I've told stories about Tom, Bill, Kenny, and Bullseye and the things they've done.  But I got to thinking about another guy that was also an amateur Evil Kanvil.  His name is Leo.

Leo has an interesting collection of scars from various stunts he's pulled.  He has cut the limb off he was standing on on more than one occasion. (in his youth and as an adult) He has scars running from the corner of his mouth on each side from the time he played a Halloween prank in a small town and ran from the local deputy in the dark - smack dab into a cloths line!  He once found a stick of dynamite and set it off in the top of a tree on the backside of the farm - breaking windows for a half-mile radius from the spot.


But this story always makes me cringe to think about it:

He and his younger brother were playing with a go-cart they had built.  They were running it around the field and through a mud hole.  Occasionally the cart would get stuck.  Leo jumped off and left his brother at the wheel while he pushed.  He said he was standing behind the cart and pushing against the roll bar behind the seat.  He would rock it forward as his brother gave it gas and when it wouldn't go,  pull it back for another try.  On the last forward shove,  the wheels caught something solid and being wound up tight shot out of the mud hole.  The go-cart immediately died and his brother looked back to see what happened.  Scene reconstructed:  As the cart leaped forward,  Leo could not let go fast enough and was pulled down.  His face hit the top of the engine and the sparkplug ran up his nose and ripped it's way out and in the process killed the motor.

Can you compound the injury?  Falling face first on a hot engine.  Running a sparkplug up your nose. Having it short out the spark.  And then ripping it's way out your nose!

[Tom]

Ouch !! 

I've known some Leo's too.

I wonder if they have made it this far. :D

[Corley5]

That musta hurt really bad!!  I hope he can laugh about it now ;D :D

[Eggsander]

He can maybe laugh about it, but I bet he can't turn an ignition key without getting tears in his eyes.

[Tom]

Dad liked to bird hunt and had, he said, the smartest bird dog in Wabasso.

One day he was out hunting when the dog pointed over a palmetto patch.  Dad raised his gun and said "flush".  A quail flew from the palmetto and dad shot it.  

The dog was still on point though, so dad said "flush" again and another quail flew from the same palmetto.  Dad shot it too.  The dog was still on point so dad went through this procedure three more times and, finding the dog still on point, he eased over to the palmetto patch to see what was going on.  The dog had rounded up a whole covey of quail, run them down an armadillo hole and had his foot over it.   When Dad said "flush" he was letting them out, one at a time.  That dog sure liked to hunt.

[Bro. Noble]

Tom,
 
I wouldn't begin to believe that story if it weren't for an old pointer I used to have.  My buddy nd I were Quail hunting one fall when I lost track of the old girl.  Tried to tell my buddy she was on point somewhere and wouldn't leave.  He said she was lost or got tired and went home.  I didn't try to argue with him because he's such a doubtful hardhead.
     He didn't even believe it when I found her the next spring while I was turkey hunting.  She was still on point and in the meanwhile had a litter of 7 who were also on point.

[Jeff]

Please refer to Reply #123 on: April 5th, 2002, 1:25pm

[Bibbyman]

Well, if you guys are going to be that way about your birddog stories.  Here's an old joke I'll try to remember:

One guy was trying to sell his birddog to another.  Making claims the dog could point out a quail about anywhere.  Well, the bragging got to the point were the prospective buyer called for proof.  So the owner give the dog instructions to point out a bird.  The dog ran off into the street and pointed at a boy walking along.  The two ran following it up.  The prospective buyer was not impressed.  But the owner insisted there must be a reason for the dog's action.  He asked the boy if he had a quail in his pocket by any chance but he didn't.  Any kind of bird?  No.  Perplexed for a moment,  he thought of one other question:  "What's your name? Son."  "Bob White." Said the boy.
 :D

[Bro. Noble]

Jeff,

     I hope your not one of those heardheaded doubtful guys like my old hunting buddy "Peck".

     One night before the opening morning of deer season, I called him to ask if he would be ready to go quail hunting by 10 the next morning.  I explained that I had found a place just torn up with deer tracks and would no doubt have mine dressed and checked in by 9:30.  Peck said he fried up a pan of deer tracks one time and they tasted just like mud.

     I came in (without a deer) about noon the next day.  My wife said Peck had stopped by about 9:00 to see if I wanted to go quail hunting.  He was on his way home from checking his deer.   That one is factual.

[Haytrader]

You guys and your bird dog stories........
Oh well, I have one too. An elderly gentleman (now deceased) farmer/rancher/bird dog trainer told me a story one time that I have had the pleasure of repeating many times. Like I said, he raised and trained bird dogs, mostly Vizlas (sp). He had one pup that he was especially proud of. As the story goes, he said he noticed that this pup seemed special from the day he was born. Homer was the mans name by the way. Homer said this pup was the smartest dog he had ever seen. One of his training tricks was to toss his coin holder (one of those plastic things that opened when you squeezed it) and let the pups find and retreive it. One day he was walking this pup through some grass where he planned on tossing the coin holder, and before he could start the training, the pup went on point. Homer said he tried to call the pup off what he thought was a false point. The pup would not budge. Homer, starting to get a little disgusted, walked toward the pup. There in the grass was a peice of crumpled paper. Homer picked it up and when he straightened it out, discovered it was a cover from an Outoor Life magizine that had a picture of a quail on it. What a dog. :D :D :D

[DanG]

Boy! Its getting deep in here!    Let's tone things down with a story that is actually based on fact.
I have always lived here in Plantation Country, where the rich folks have huge tracts of land reserved for quail hunting. The preferred method is to hunt on horseback. The dog handler is mounted, and will take his horse in to flush the birds. An old black gentleman had been a handler for many years, and had a beautiful buckskin gelding that he always rode. One day, a particularly obnoxious and rude guest asked him, "Boy, can you shoot off of that horse?"  "Yassuh, you kin shoot off of this horse just fine," came the proud reply.  "Well, I'm riding him tomorrow."  So, the next day, the wizened old hunter chose another mount, and let the jerk use his horse.  Pretty soon, a covey was flushed, and KAHBOOOOM the guy never saw whether he hit one, or not, 'cause the buckskin pitched him and his $5000 popgun into the bushes.  "I THOUGHT YOU SAID I COULD SHOOT OFF OF THIS HORSE" the man boiled at the quiet old gent.  "Yassuh, you can shoot off him just fine, you just can't shoot ON him, none."

[L. Wakefield]

   Well, I was reading over the quail stories to my husband (and we were believeing EVERY WORD..)- and he reminded me of one I hadn't heard in a couple of years. It definitely belongs in this collection.

   Seems this guy had a great bird-dog, and he never stopped boasting on him. Went hunting with another fella and told him- 'This dog is so good, he can tell you how many quail there are in the thicket'.

   Well of course his buddy was a mite skeptical. They went along to the first thicket, and the dog scratched the ground 3 times with his paw. Sure enough, he flushed 3 quail from that thicket.

   They went on to another, and another, and each time the dog's count was right on the money.

   Suddenly they came to a big thicket and the dog just went berserk. He ran up and down and around in circles. Finally he ran over to a stick lying on the ground, picked it up, and started to shake it all around.

   The hunting buddy said in a disgusted tone- 'That dog ain't no good'. He has no idea how many quail are in there!'

   'Sure he does!' was the reply. 'That dog is just telling you there's more quail in there than you can shake a stick at!'

    :D :D :D   lw

[Bibbyman]

My friend Herbie is good for a good story about every day.  Here is one he told on his neighbor:

His neighbor had been brush-hogging on the backside of his farm when he ran over a stob and flattened a back tire.  He walked home - leaving the tractor where it was.  A few days passed and he looked out his back window at the machine shed.  Something was odd.  The bay where his tractor was normally parked was empty.  He looked around and couldn't find it nor the brush-hog that he remembered was mounted on it.  Concern turned to action and he called the sheriff's office.  The sheriff came out and investigated.  He thought it odd that the thief didn't take the riding lawn mower or the chain saw or the portable generator or a dozen other things.  They call the neighbors,  friends, and brother-in-laws asking if they had borrowed the tractor and not told him.  None had and none had seen anything suspicious lately.  Their search ended with no results as did the ad they placed in the local paper offering a reward for information on the tractor's whereabouts.

It was the mystery in the area for three months that summer and fall.  Then in deer season, the neighbor went hunting on the backside of his farm and sure enough behind a little clump of brush stood his tractor and mower just where he had left it with the flat tire.  

He refuses to talk about it.

[Tom]

Just thinkin' about stuff again.

Born  Southern Baptist in a family of Southern Baptist who were reared Primitive Baptist, I've seen the Christian religion up real close.

My Grandmom beat anything I ever saw for missionary work.  We would be visited regularly by Mormons and Jehovah's witnesses and our own Southern Baptist folks, knocking on doors, asking "have you been saved?", or otherwise concerned for our after-life.  There were a myriad of other groups of missionaries that have probably also been to your door.

Grandmomma would open the door and say, "Yes I have, come right on in, have a seat.  Would you like a glass of tea?"  Then she would get out her bible and pamphlets and begin preachin' and asking and answering questions until these poor souls were clawing the paint off of the walls trying to get out of the house.

You see, Grandmom and Granddad knew the bible inside out and lived their lives with it in their hands.  Most of these folks who do the missionary work assume that they are confronting uneducated heathens.....but not at our house.

The front porch, where they were trapped, was furnished with that woven cane stuff, I can't remember the name of it.  It was painted white and there were large windows all around the porch so that they could see out.  They couldn't get out though.

Charlie and I had to use the back door when we had visitors.  We were in and out a lot as we played but knew that we didn't want to get in the middle of that.  

[DanG]

I guess there is more than one way to skin a cat. I usually just answer the door in my skivies with a beer in my hand. :D

[Bro. Noble]

Tom,

I know what you are talking about being raised in a Southern Baptist family.  That was ( and is ) my parents choice except for a while when we attended a Conservative Baptist Church.

I don't suppose you and Charlie were like me and couldn't wait to get away from home and sample some of those sinful ways that were forbidden to us.

I in fact couldn't wait on one instance.  When I reached the ripe old age of 15,  I got to thinking that it was really foolish for someone as mature as I was to go sneaking around to have a smoke.  Although I knew that it would cause a terrible fight, hard feelings, and possibly violence; I decided Mom and Dad would just have get over it.

I came into the house,  Dad was in his bedroom, I lit up a cigarette, Dad smelled the smoke and came to investigate.

In a completely normal voice and with no apparent alarm he said " don't smoke in the house"

I took my smoke and went to the back yard thinking how easy this turned out----why had I waited so long for Dad to recognize that I was an adult-----it was a small comprimize to go to the backyard to have my cigarette.

Dad followed me out and said in an uninterested tone " Don't smoke in the backyard"

I didn't have a chance from the start.  But my younger brother faired a little better (but not completely without voilence) a few years later when he refused to get his hair cut.

We evidentally are on the edge of three different Jehova Witness areas.  They came from three different neighboring towns and would hunt me down in the woods or in the hayfield.  Finally a neighbor lady took up with them.  I told her if she would keep the other groups off my neck and would just leave her literature on my porch rather than wasting both of our times talking; I in return would read her literature.

     We both kept our end of the bargin and I found that they have some very good information especially on family values and they back it up with scripture.  They have some ideas I don't go along with but I think we agree on the important things.

     I guess it's just what your raised with and are experienced at.   Still don't think shoving it down another's throat is the way.

     Now I happen to have an orange saw for example.  I don't have any experience with the other bandmills much less swing blades and mobile diminsion saws.  I probably never will because I've been told orange is the best and I believe it.  
I guess I was just lucky to start out in THE RIGHT denomination.

My toung is getting tired from sticking it in my cheek so I'll quit.

Noble

[Bibbyman]

Now I happen to have an orange saw for example.  I don't have any experience with the other bandmills much less swing blades and mobile diminsion saws.  I probably never will because I've been told orange is the best and I believe it.  
I guess I was just lucky to start out in THE RIGHT denomination.

Amen!

[Gordon]

On the subject of haircuts, this happened to my brother when I was just a young sprout. You see my brother was pretty good at getting on dads bad side. So over the years I would make mental notes not to do that and that and that and that either. You get the idea.

My brother had been at college and came to the farm for the weekend. Well his hair was long and this didn't sit well with dad. So dad said get it cut or I'll cut it. He said it in the tone of voice that ment business. Well my brother replied NO. Not a smart move.

Dad hauled my brother out to the barn and fired up the hair clippers. He was cuttin and cuttin. I was watching from the door. So finally my dad says I'm done now you look respectable again go look in the mirror. My brothers reply UGH now I look like a townie and he stormed out of the barn.

Mental note to me, don't call dads bluff on hair cuts. Some lines in the sand are better off not to cross.

Gordon

[Bibbyman]

Back some 50 years ago "going to get groceries" meant getting salt, flour, ground pepper, baking soda, vanilla, Ball jar lids, clothes pins, etc.  Everything else was grown on the farm.  Chickens were always Mom's big thing.  One spring when the hens started laying,  she let many of them set their nests that were scattered around the farm buildings.  She was so pleased that many of them hatched off about the same time and she had about a hundred new baby chicks.

That is until one morning when my older sister Dorothy Lee and cousin Lois, both about 3 at the time, were out playing house in the back yard.  Mom hadn't heard from them in a while so she went to check. "What are you girls doing out there?"  "We'z cannin' chickens."  Came the replay.  She checked and sure enough,  they had five quart jars stuffed full of fluffy little chicks of all colors lined up on a fence rail - lids screwed on tight.  Mom was sick.  Only seven chicks had esceped capture.  :'(


Now, does that look like the faces of two mass chick murders?  :-/

[Jeff]

That reminds me of this. Its pretty much internet legend but in case you have never heard of it. (If very dark satire is not your thing. Forget you saw this link.)

http://www.bonsaikitten.com/

and for a disclaimer throwed in
http://www.snopes2.com/inboxer/outrage/bonsai.htm

[RobK]

Why did the chicken cross the road? Why, to show the `possum that it could be done!

[Tom]

Gordon, your story is so identical to my experience with one of my sons that you must have been looking through the window.  He was running around with a bunch that was 'No Good' in my opinion and I couldn't stop it.   Long hair was one of the symbols they used for showing their disdain for authority..........I gave him a flat top with white sidewalls. ;D

The other two boys, seeing it, got one too.  I think it was so he wouldn't feel so out of place.

Well, He felt out of place anyway.  He wore a hat and wouldn't leave his momma's house for weeks.  He also quit coming to my house. This was during the conflagration of the big "D".  It worked and he didn't fit in with the bad crowd so they dropped him. It was a shame that I had to lose him too, but I slept better knowing that he wasn't on the streets involved in drive-by shootings and robberies.