Pizza in the Patch

This has been a hard year for the tobacco patch.  For some reason we live in an area that is ignored by storm clouds during dry spells.  We used to sit on the porch and watch the rain fall just north of us or just east of us or on occasion in our neighbor's field but not ours.  Now we sit glued to the smart phones watching the radar and seeing the clouds open up and detour around us.  On one occasion actually parting and pouring rain to the south and north of us but leaving us dry.  Hubby says he doesn't know why he didn't just move years ago, but instead we just keep trying.  Fortunately, it isn't like that every year!

However, we have had enough rain for the tobacco to grow and it's now ready to top.  Tobacco grows on a stalk that produces leaves up the stalk ending with a single cluster bloom in the very top.  It actually is beautiful but few farmers have much to say good about it.  When it blooms, it is time to "top" it.  That means each bloom is broken out by hand to encourage the plant to grow and mature.  That's hours of reaching over your head and snapping out the tops of the plants.  It tiring, aching work done in the hottest weather.  Not for the weak willed.

My son, grandson, his neighbor and anyone else he could corral have been topping for the last few days.  With most everyone having a "real" job during the day they rush home, change clothes and go immediately to the patch.  Supper is sometimes eaten at ten at night just before falling into bed.  On this night everyone got hungry and decided they really wanted a pizza.  Now in a rural area that isn't always as simple as calling for delivery.  The best choice was to call the neighboring town, who have a Papa John's that delivers.  They in turn will take it to the Rite-Aid in our town for you to meet them and pick it up.  Some time ago, I managed to convince them that they could save time and money by delivering to me since they drove right by my house to get to Rite-Aid.  I guess I am one of the few people in our county who have real delivery pizza. 

So the call goes like this:
"We want to order a pizza."
"Ok we'll deliver it to Rite-Aid"
"You deliver to the Campbell's don't you?"
"You want it delivered to the Campbell's?"
"Well, not exactly.  When you get to the Campbell's drive, don't go up the drive, but follow the old road to the right.  Cross over the old bridge and look for the cars and trucks.  We'll be in the tobacco patch just across the creek."

I must really over-tip these kids driving because after a quick check of the information in his computer he agrees to this arrangement.

"uhh...OK.  It'll be about 30 minutes"

Sure enough in about 30 minutes they look up to see a little red car bouncing into the field.  Rarely, has his delivery been greeting with such enthusiasm.  He grinned proudly, "I've delivered to a lot of places but this is the first time in a tobacco patch!"

You've just got to love rural communities.

The Bull War

Life on a farm is rarely simple and never dull.  On Thursday the neighbor moved a new herd of cows into the field next to us.  Included in with the herd was a big, black bull.  Actually, it was a bull we had raised and sold to him a couple of years ago, now all grown up and ornery.  Immediately, he started pacing up and down the boundary fence and announcing his presense with loud bellows.  This receive a quick response from our bull who was with his herd two fields over.  All afternoon this posturing and name calling went on.  It wasn't long before a poorly latched gate yielded to our bull and now they were closer.  A few more insults were exchanged with the result being that our bull found another weak place and moved one field closer.  Now they were face to face across the boundary fence. 

In no time they had progressed from insults to head butting.  Bulls being bulls it never occurred to either one of them that they had a whole herd of cows each and didn't have a thing to fight about.  They both had all they could take care of in their own pastures but both wanted what they other had.  Sound familiar?  Then they had to prove to the world which one was the biggest, strongest, baddest bull on the farm.  I guess it's just a guy thing.  I noticed that none of the cows felt the slightest urge to switch pastures, snipe across the fence or start a fight.  In fact, they mostly just went about their own business and left the two bulls to make fools of themselves on their own.

The two bulls spent a happy afternoon pushing and shoving each other through the fence until finally the fence gave it up and they were together.   The ensuing fight included a pond dunking, lots of dirt thrown, major bellowing, and lots of pushing and shoving. Sometime during the fun our young bull ( a teenager) decided it looked too good to pass up and he managed to join in the melee.  About that time the two older bulls, deciding that they weren't having too much success with each other, joined to gang up on the youngster.  It wasn't long before he changed his mind and went back to his own field.

By the time the men arrived they found the war over.  All the participants were tired, dirty and ready to call it a day.  They meekly allowed themselves to be sorted into their respective fields, face saved and battles won (or lost).  All that was left was securing the battlefield.  Inspection showed one gate to be un-bent, one fence to be repaired and restretched, and one section of boundary fence to be replaced.  Like most wars, not much was solved and the clean-up took longer than the battle. 

Summer's End

School started today for the grandsons.  That always means the end of summer even if the event does come earlier and earlier.  The oldest grandson had been moping around for days moaning about how we hadn't gotten to do anything.  (I guess the church trip to Tennessee and the family trip to the gulf didn't register)  However, he was right we hadn't really gotten to do much together except one trip to the zoo.  I mentioned this to hubby over lunch and he responded with "Well, do something!".   Thus encouraged I decided to use the couple of days left and plan a trip for all three boys.

This would be the first time I had attempted taking the two little boys with us and I wasn't really sure how I would manage.  However, you can't take one of the little ones without the other, so I took the plunge.  A quick Internet check located a room at a State Park that wasn't too far away.  (2 hours is about my limit with the little ones in a car.)  For years, the State Parks were our vacation sources when ours were little.  They are generally inexpensive, clean and well maintained.  They were designed years ago to give townspeople a chance to enjoy the natural beauty of Kentucky and they are still doing their job.  They have nature trails, swimming pools,playgrounds, beaches, golf, fishing, boating, horseback riding, cabins and lodges.  Perfect for our group of mixed ages of 3, 5, and nearly 14, plus grandma.

We arrived at the beautiful Barren River Lake State Resort about four hours early for our 3 pm check-in time.  I stopped by the lodge first to let them know we were there and let them know we would be at the beach.  First problem.  The very nice young lady told me that due to the extremely high waters in the spring their beach was closed for the season to rebuild it.  However, we could use the pool or any of the other lodge facilities.  I mentioned that although I knew we were early, I wondered if we could possibly check in early after lunch since I had two that would need naps.  She quickly checked and said I could go on and check in now since they had a room that was already cleaned and ready.  Try doing that anywhere else!!

Before long we were unloaded and spreading our quilt under a huge shade tree by the lake and having a picnic lunch.  The older grandson immediately grabbed his fishing pole and headed for the lake to feed the fish.  I decided to take the two younger boys to the pool for a little splash time.  I frankly was surprised at how much fun I had playing with the little ones in the pool.  When we were worn down we headed for the room for a nap.  About the same time the older grandson showed up with a downcast expression.  He had already broken his fishing pole.  Upon questioning he revealed that he hadn't done anything....it just fell apart!  O K, sure.  I remembered seeing a stand full of poles behind the desk in the lodge, so I sent him to check.  They cheerfully supplied him with a fishing pole for his use at no charge.  I decided trying to get two excited, squirming boys to sleep was an exercise in futility, so we all accompanied him back to the lake to fish. 

Thus we spent a happy 36 hours of freedom.  Finding goose feathers, following tracks in the mud, throwing rocks in the water, watching sticks float to shore, digging in the dirt, watching clouds and trying not to bother our fisherman too much.  We swam a little, visited the marina to see the boats (and buy more night crawlers), ate in the lodge dining room with indulgent fellow guests, who didn't mind our lack of public manners, and visited repeatedly with the park naturalists who answered thousands of questions and even let them feed the collection of turtles, frogs, lizards and toads.  In short we had a great time on our short trip.  I did discover quickly why when we had little ones we were all a lot skinnier.  Grandma didn't stop moving much or have much time for leisurely meals!

The perfect end to the trip came when they each gave me a big hug and begged to do this again next year, but longer!  Maybe I'll be rested up by then.

Waffle House

In a conversation the other day my daughter-in-law admitted that she had never been in a Waffle House restaurant.  My son looked at her with astonishment.  I'm not sure if the look was amazement that anyone hadn't been in one or wonder that anyone had escaped being in one.  You see this is one of those insider, family stories.

From the time the kids were around 9 years old until they were out of high school our summer vacations tended to involve going to and from cattle shows.  Since we were usually pulling a trailer that meant that we were all crowded into the front seat of the truck.  Now that is family togetherness, especially after a long day of close communication with a bunch of cows.  We spent a lot of hours traveling and getting on each others nerves.

Hubby always drove and so he usually got to make the decision of when we stopped.  When we would finally prevail on him to stop for food, he would always demand to know where we wanted to eat.  Of course, that meant a long discussion because two kids cannot agree on anything immediately, it's against the rules.  At the next exit after hubby had endured maximum whining and arguing he would pull off.  The first thing he would inevitably see would be the big, yellow Waffle House sign and in we would go. Hubby loves them because you can get a good hot meal, fast, any time day or night. We have eaten at Waffle Houses all across the US and I can tell you they are all the same.

If you are like my daughter-in-law and haven't eaten in one (I guess there are some of you out there), they are tiny little grills that remind me a lot of old fashioned diners.  They feature a long bar with stools that overlooks the grill where all the cooking is done.  There are a few booths arranged around the walls but little else.  They serve a pretty full menu of items that can be prepared on a grill, but the specialty is, of course, waffles.   They also serve a full breakfast 24 hours a day.  Sitting at the bar and watching the waitresses and the grill cook perform is a fascinating education.  (Don't look to closely at the area, being open 24 hrs. a day doesn't leave a lot of time for frivolities, like cleaning.) 

The waitresses take your order and shout it to the grill master in a short-order shorthand that I haven't figured out yet.  The grill master will juggle up to fifteen orders for eggs (any style), toast (white, whole wheat or cinnamon raisin), hash browns ( with various toppings), waffles, plain or with pecans, bacon, sausage, and the occasional pork chop without missing a beat.  He moves continuously with no wasted motion.  It's a ballet of poetry in motion.  Of course, this ballet is accompanied with dishes being smacked down, orders being yelled, chatter with the customers,  and all the hustle and bustle of a busy kitchen about two feet in front of you.

The people who you eat with are as varied as the travelers on any highway.  We have munched with truckers, cops, families, young teens, retirees, workers, and street people.  Everyone rubs elbows at the counter with the same purpose in mind, a hot meal.  There is the usual chit-chat between the waitress and the customers but mostly everyone just minds their food.  Except one time when we almost got thrown out. 

We had been at a cattle show when our son was around fourteen.  He and some of the other kids had acquired  key chains that played various messages when a button was pushed.  Naturally the messages were mostly the things they would like to say but knew their parents would have a fit if they did.  The mildest being "shit" the worst usually containing the "f-word".  Hubby had finally tired of hearing it and confiscated it and put it in his pocket, where he promptly forgot about it.  We were on our way home and lined up on the bar stools at a Waffle House enjoying waffles and eggs, when hubby shifted on his stool.  Clearly the words "fuck you" floated out.  A large, burly guy sitting next to hubby turned and looked at him questioningly.   Hubby quickly grabbed his pocket in an attempt to remove the offending key chain and pushed the button again.  Again, it clearly repeated its message, this time proclaiming, "fuck off asshole".  The big guy started to swell up, "Hey buddy.  If you got something to say, just say it." He blustered.  Hubby started apologizing while I started laughing.  In confusion the big guy looked from one to the other, obviously unsure whether hubby was to be taught a lesson or given pity for such a crazy wife.  Finally, muttering under his breath, he heaved himself off the stool and left.  He probably still thinks we were nuts.