We started fighting Russian thistles, me and my close relative, the week we moved to this rock pile. We walked and dug the dastardly pest and filled the little wagon we had several times. We built a big bonfire and carefully burned all of them. The next day there were more. And now we know the rest of the story. They, the thistles, are an evil bane sent directly from Satan's garden to plague the righteous -- and the rest of us, too!
I have been walking and digging for a couple of days. The ground is pretty soft due to the nice rains we have had and I enjoy walking and seeing the land. I take Snip with me just in case of needing a ride home. He follows good and grazes as I dig. I don't try to haul the plants in and burn them anymore. That would be useless since I now know I can't kill them all. We have the weeds pretty much under control, so spraying isn't an answer this year. I have witnessed the thistles coming up in ground we have recently sprayed anyway.
Some of the fellers around are cutting hay and my weather man says don't do it. I am expecting storms and rain all week and there isn't any way to dry hay quick enough to get it baled before the afternoon showers hit. The offspring are rearing at the bit. I remind them of the year we cut anyway, never mind the forecast, and stacked hay south of the house. We smelled that nasty hay for months as it soured and rotted.
Have had lots of company this past week. We had two feed salesmen and one insurance salesman. The local cattle trader showed up about noon yesterday and it was raining pretty hard, so my close relative invited him in for dinner. He regaled us with stories and we enjoyed the tales as much as he enjoyed the chicken fried steak and biscuits. I didn't have anything to sell him and he didn't seem to care. Said he was on his way home to get his old bones out of the dampness for the day.
We are in the process of losing some of our old story tellers and the professions they have represented. The old traders were important in the past, especially to the ladies and gents who milked and had to go to town by horse and wagon. The trader picked up bull calves and left some flour and backside money for the folks. I am sorry to see the times changing so fast the need for them has bled dry.
It is my opinion, and everyone has one, all the moisture and the grass growing two inches a day sure puts a smile on our faces. The lawn mower dealers are raking in the dough and the drone of mowers sounds like a herd of bees coming in low! We are sure blessed in this area, and we remember some years we almost dried up, but this is a year to laugh and be mindful of the blessings.
Bill is the pen name used by the Gravette-area author of this weekly column. Opinions expressed are those of the author.
Editorial on 06/01/2016