A Funny Fellow

Farmer John and I were driving home from a parts run recently when we saw the critter pictured below, digging busily alongside the road.  We had never before seen a live armadillo in our area of Kansas:   

My husband has a delighted interest in all wildlife, but when confronted with this unique-to-us sight he exhibited even more than his usual amount of enthusiasm.  He slammed on his brakes right smack in the middle of the country highway, cut a U-turn, and rolled up just a few feet from the hapless varmint, who exhibited no alarm at the approach of a human being.  If had known my husband as I do, he might have shown a little more concern.

But the armadillo ignored us and continued his foraging.

John whistled shrilly and the little guy jerked upright, then froze.

He held this position without moving, perhaps thinking himself camouflaged.  "Ohhhh, if I only had the cooler in the back," said John longingly.  Danny (our grandson) would be the only kid on the block with his own armadillo.

I spoke sternly, "I am certain it is against the law to capture an armadillo (I am certain of no such thing but at need I am a convincing liar).  In the same tone (and with the same lack of background knowledge) I continued, "And armadillos carry salmonella in their, um, plating."  I stumbled a little here and John recognized uncertainty.

"I'm going to pick him up!" he proclaimed.

"You are not!" I said.

At that moment we heard the approach of another vehicle and we both got back into the car.  As we pulled away John was still expressing regret, "He was such a cute little guy."

"A funny fellow," I said.

"Me, or the armadillo?" John asked.


"Both of you," I said.  "Definitely both of you."

Note:  Several comments on this post's link on my Facebook page have warned that infected Armadillos can carry leprosy.  Please recognize that Farmer John's goal was to tease his wife, and that he did not seriously intend to pick up or transport wildlife, leprous or otherwise.  No armadillos were interfered with in the creating of this blog post. 

...another Farmer Johnism...

I am riding in the pickup with Farmer John.  We have counted cattle at a pasture that is nearly ten miles away, and are driving back home.  The morning has been relatively cool, but afternoon temperatures are predicted to reach 102 degrees. 

As we approach, two turkey vultures swoop away from the unidentifiable remains of some small animal that did not make it across the highway successfully. 

Farmer John:  Oh look.  This morning they are having cold cuts but if they come back at noon they can have a hot lunch! 

Conversation

Linda:  I heard a horrifying fact about Gila Monsters today on a children's zoo show.  When they latch on to bite you they don't let go!

Farmer John:  Like snapping turtles.

Linda: (rolls her eyes toward her husband doubtfully)

Farmer John:  (nods sagely) Yup.  When they latch on they don't let go until it thunders.

Linda:  You make this stuff up.  I swear you think I'll believe anything.  (Pulls out her smart phone, finds hundreds of references--albeit most labeled folklore--to snapping turtles not letting go until it thunders).

Linda:  (Sheepishly) Ummm...guess that's just one I hadn't heard before.

Farmer John: (Smug) Well, I do know a few things you don't.  

Riding in the Pickup With Farmer John

This sprig of purple flowers lay by itself in a field of green, looking as if a passing bridesmaid had dropped her delicate bouquet in the grass. 

The pastures are full of these little yellow flowers this spring (see below).

The bouquet Farmer John tossed in my lap--he harvests his spring crop of asparagus from road ditches; disdaining the lack of challenge raising an asparagus patch in our garden would provide. 

I hadn't accompanied John to do chores all week long because he's been so busy planting.  Last night's storms brought us about a quarter inch of rain, and so he couldn't go to the field this morning.  "Want to go count cattle with me?" he asked.

It is Sunday, and on Sundays I am nearly always in my usual pew at church, but after just a moment's hesitation I pulled on jeans and boots and followed my husband out the door.  The rain had washed everything clean, the air was sweet with the scent of mown grass and spring flowers; and I hardly felt guilty at all (well, not until after I ate the donut John bought for me--but I did give our dog, Annie, part of it...). 

We saw a white cattle egret that was apparently playing tag with two calves.  The bird would fly a few feet ahead of the frisky critters and land.  As they kicked up their heels and gave chase, it would stretch out its wings and fly a few dozen more feet ahead, then land and wait for the calves to approach once more.  

There was a flock of white pelicans paddling sedately, almost swan-like, across the lake.  Two coyotes trotted across a pasture and stopped to look back at us over their shoulders before they resumed their journey.  A lanky adolescent whitetail deer leaped across the road in front of us. 

We saw a total of four box turtles at different places along the road which, John claims, means we will receive a "four turtle rain tonight." 

"Notice," he said, in the tones of a tour guide, "...that all those turtles are on high ground." 

I looked at him doubtfully. 

"Well would YOU like to be a box turtle in a flood?" he asked. "They can only swim so long before they sink like a rock." 

I never know whether my husband is teasing or not, but I do know one thing.  Though I'll return to church so as not to give up meeting together with fellow worshipers next week, I found respite in God's creation this morning. 

The Cow Whisperer

I keep repeating this claim: "There are no characterizations of real people in my book.  Some stories were inspired by true life situations, but I created characters to act out the parts."

I admit there is one exception to these statements; I did my level best to reveal my husband's personality in the character of Farmer John.  He has a host of aggravating, lovable, endearing, and infuriating characteristics, and I tried to include them all; after all, my own husband can't sue me (I don't think). 

I ride along in the old red pickup to help with chores each morning and have taken to carrying a pen and notebook along.  In this way I've gathered quite a few "Farmer Johnisms" for my next Karola book, if there is one (first y'all need to help the current Karola book sell well enough so I don't have to pay a publishing fee to have my next book published.  I've decided we aren't doing that again, I don't care how much the nice publisher likes my book, even if he does have a charming Irish brogue.  After all, the Proverbs 31 woman brings in cash via her hobbies rather then expending it...but that's another blog post. Meantime, click HERE to review the book--you don't have to have purchased the book at Amazon to review there).

Yesterday morning John was sorting cattle as he prepared to move them to pasture.  He prefers to do this job alone, spurning his father's help, telling our son not to bother to drive down to help, and instructing me sternly to stay in the truck.  He says the cattle are used to him and get spooked if anyone else shows up, and this may be true.  However, I'm convinced there is something more.  He doesn't want anyone distracting the critters from his mystical cattle-influencing talents.

As John strides into their midst the animals stop what they are doing and stare at him like prepubescent girls stare at posters of Justin Bieber.  John fixes his gaze upon the animal he desires to move.  She casts her eyes from side to side and bats her long eyelashes...and then, incredibly, turns in the direction he wants her to go. 

John's appeal to the critters may have more to do with the scent of corn chop than with any mystic talent, but I'm not sure.

I call him "The cow whisperer." 

Farmer John Gets Creative

It may come as a surprise to some that authors are not typically the ones who select the titles for their books.  Once an author signs on the dotted line of a publishing contract, creative control is, if not lost, certainly diminished.

I shouldn't have been surprised that my current editor does not want to call my new book The Children Are Tender.  I've prayed about this and feel led to stand firm, for now.  That the title is an apt one for my book and reflects God's heart for children is not the point; publishers need to assure that a book is given a catchy title that will sell.

Awhile ago my husband, Farmer John, came home in the middle of the day and went to bed, chilling and groaning.  This is unprecedented; and I fear a case of influenza.  He knows of my title woes, and while I was putting a second cover over his shaking frame he began muttering.  I leaned as close as I dared, given that he is probably contagious, and heard him mutter, "A Teacher's Diary."

"What, Honey, what did you say?"

"Title for your book.  Teacher's Diary."

I was touched.  "Thank you Sweetheart, but you'd better go to sleep now."

A few minutes later he called out, "The Children Are Innocent!" And awhile after that, "Lighting the Way!"

That was a couple of hours ago, and every ten minutes or so since then, like the Old Faithful he is, another prospective title erupts from his lips:

"In the School Yard."

"Turning the Light On."

"Schooldays at Karola."

"Management, Staff, and Children"

"Joys and Tears of Teaching"

I don't know how to tell him that the publishers have wished me a Merry Christmas and have said they won't be in contact again until after the first of the year.  Meantime I'd better get out a pad and pencil to record Farmer John's fever-induced thoughts. He just might come up with a title that will please both his wife and the publisher.