Back in the days when everything was nearly copacetic, we made hay and ground feed. Not all of the hay went into the barn nor did all the feed go into a granary. A lot of it went down my neck, where it became an incessant itch. I have an itch to travel, to go places and make a triumphant return to fanfare at my humble abode. Yet, I welcome being homebound. I accept the … [Read more...]
A swagger isn’t far from a limp
His ancient pickup had undergone more oil changes than any vehicle in Iowa. That’s what legends are made of. I knew him because his son and I had gone to different schools in adjacent states together. He was a leaning man due to a limp and wore bib overalls as his garb of contentment. “How’s your good self?” I asked. He took it from there. He was typically a man of few … [Read more...]
It drowned out the sounds of many clarinets
“You live in the middle of nowhere.” The visitor who said that was from a big city. That caused me to reply in the traditional way, “Not really, but I can see nowhere from here.” I live not far from St. Aidan Catholic Cemetery. It’s near Bath, Minn., which falls in the category of a ghost town. The population is zero, but has 100% response to the Census. I visit there … [Read more...]
Rummaging around the last place I’d look
I rummaged around. It’s life on the planet Batt. I wasn’t chewing on life’s gristle or on a quest. I wasn’t looking for the truth. I wasn’t looking for answers. I wasn’t looking for Judge Crater, Amelia Earhart, Jimmy Hoffa or Waldo. I began my search as men typically do by saying, “Who stole my thingamajig?” Thingamajig could be replaced with whatnot, oojamaflip, whatsit, … [Read more...]
He’s still using rabbit ears
Once upon a time, long before “The Andy Griffith Show” went into reruns, there was an eastern cottontail with a dream. He had a name, but it’s nigh impossible for a mere human to pronounce a rabbit’s name, so I’ll call him the rabbit. Yes, the rabbit was a dreamer. But that’s like saying Fred Astaire was a good dancer or Babe Ruth could hit a home run. As he nibbled on some … [Read more...]
We can’t help it, eating is in our DNA
By Al Batt I spit sunflower seeds for distance. It was a contest. I did OK. I’d have done better, but it had been a dry year. I could have been in a pie-eating contest that day, but the two events had been scheduled for the same time. Pity. That was the year Emma Torvaldson hit a pie judge in the face with her signature lemon meringue pie after she’d finished in second place … [Read more...]
The attack of the fine fescue
By Al Batt “I want to sit up front with the adults!” I said that aloud while pushing a lawn mower this week. It didn’t matter. Nobody could hear what I said over the sound of the grass cutter or a mawn lower as Reverend Spooner, the unintentional creator of spoonerisms, might have called it. The importance of a well-manicured lawn is as small as the little end of nothing … [Read more...]