Osler's Razor: Haiku Winner! And a request...

Osler's Razor: Haiku Winner! And a request...

Vegestion*

Haiku Friday theme this week:  Bad food.  Check out www.oslersrazor.blogspot.com.

My submission:

Okra inquiry:
Do you serve it with a fork?
Or with a Kleenex?

* "Veggie" + "congestion"
or possibly "Vegetable question"

Down on the Farm with JFK

    Every so often I go to Treasure Island Casino near Red Wing, Minnesota with a friend or two to play poker.  It’s an inexpensive way to have some fun.  The fun consists of talking, joking, speculating…BS'ing mostly.  Poker players are generally interesting people.

    Sometimes James Francis Klecker, alias JFK shows up.  That’s when it gets really interesting.  Jim is a 67-year-old semi-retired farmer from south of Owatonna.  He’s a combination Walter Brennan-Andy Devine type character who out-talks the rest of the table combined.  He’s rich.  And it doesn’t take long before everyone at the table knows it.

    JFK likes to talk about his land…3,900 acres…23 farms…5,000 pigs…more than 40 tractors, some even older than him…even a butcher shop in Geneva, Minnesota. 

    During our last session I expressed doubts.  “You know JFK, you could be fictionalizing us about being a rich farmer.  For one thing, there’s 640 acres in a square mile.  So you’re boasting a total of six square miles of land that you claim to own!  That’s humongous.”

    “Darn right it’s humongous,” said Jim excitedly.  “And I’m not lyin’!  Come on out and I’ll give you a tour.”

    “I’m game,” I immediately responded.  “Just tell me how to get there.”

====

      After a couple phone calls, we decided to meet Jim for breakfast in Owatonna at the Hy-Vee.  The Hy-Vee is a combination grocery store and self-service café where JFK and his gaggle of friends meet at 8AM most mornings after attending Mass.

    Two friends, Frank Shima and Gene “LeRoy” Matter came with me.  Frank and I both grew up in New Prague, a small Czech town about 40 miles from Owatonna.  Frank also lived on a farm until he was 12 years of age.  LeRoy has owned 160 acres of woods and farmland in Wisconsin for 35 years and was interested in seeing what 3,900 acres looked like.

    Between Jim and his friends and the three of us we had fifteen people around that huge breakfast table.  Retired grade school teacher Eunice broke the ice when introduced to LeRoy Matter, “Would you rather have $2 or a matter-baby?”  LeRoy looked perplexed for a moment and then asked cautiously, “What’s a matter-baby?” 

    Replied Eunice, “Nothin’!  What’s the matter with you?”

    We found out this area is also heavily Czech and some of the people at the table could speak it.  Frank, who learned Czech from his parents, confounded the Owatonnans by asking, “Yuckta jedda pes?”  ("How is your dog eating?")  We were in that Hy-Vee store for two hours, reminiscing about our youth and telling humorous stories and jokes. 

    Then Frank and LeRoy and I followed Jim 10 miles south to his farm.  Time to see if his story checked out.

====

    A couple of friendly Labrador Retrievers greeted us as we entered the yard.  We checked out the huge sheds which held the farm vehicles.  Between this farm and others we stopped at I counted about three dozen new and old tractors.  So at least that part of Jim’s story was true.

    I was particularly impressed with a contrivance which appeared to be a corn-pickin', hay-balin', fertilizer-spreadin' combine-tractor.  The tires towered above our heads.  Frank climbed a ladder to get to the driver’s seat.

    “This monstrosity must have cost a million dollars!” I exclaimed.

    “Somethin’ like that,” downplayed Jim.

    “How many miles to the gallon does it get?”

    “Miles to the gallon!” said a surprised JFK.  “That’s not how we measure.  It uses 28 gallons per hour!”

    “That’s about a hundred dollars an hour for gas,” I exclaimed.  “You MUST be rich!”

====

    We then went farm-hopping.  Next to Jim’s farm was his son’s place.  “That little round building is where they keep the pygmy goats I bought for the grandkids,” Jim said.  I had never heard of a pygmy goat, but I wasn’t going to ask, fearing another matter-baby type trick from JFK. 

    Down the road JFK pointed out the buildings housing his pigs.  “That’s not good enough,” I said.  “When we get back to the poker table the other players will want proof.  I need to actually see the pigs.”  So we went inside.  I began counting the pigs individually but wasn’t getting anywhere.  I took a couple pictures instead.

====

    JFK has quite a memory for the history of the area.  Almost every farm we passed had a story…tragic stories most of them.

    “Here’s the ditch where my neighbor’s lawnmower tipped over on him.  I came along not five minutes after it happened but it was too late.”

    “This place here the man came around the barn too fast with the tractor and ran over his youngest son.”

    “See all these American flags?  The man was a Viet Nam hero.  A truck ran over him here as he drove his snowmobile across the road.”

    “Killed him?” Frank asked.

    “Oh, completely,” said JFK.

    On and on Jim reminisced.  “…lady was found alive in the basement after a tornado destroyed her house, …this guy’s wife and kids left him, …guy missed the curve on his motorcycle here, flew into this tree and was killed,…underneath his car fixing it when it collapsed on him, …young man shot and killed himself with a 22.

    “See that silo?” asked JFK.  “The farmer was in there as it was filling with seed corn.  He was old and couldn’t move fast enough as the corn rapidly filled the silo.  They found his arm sticking up out of the corn and holding his hat in the air.”

    “Smothered!” I exclaimed.

    “Somethin’ like that,” said Jim.  “And see this closed down supper club?  I can tell you for a fact that the guy who owned this lost $30,000 before he got rid of it.”

    “How do you know for sure he lost 30 Grand?” tested LeRoy.

    “Because that guy was me,” said Jim.

    “See the shack down by that crick?  That guy used to sell minnows and dope.  He got caught though.  He didn’t have a license to sell minnows.”

====

    I insisted we drive to the supposed butcher shop Jim claimed he owned in Geneva.  As he drove slowly past the store JFK asked, “You don’t want to go inside do you?”  Jim sounded nervous.  I suspected we had him.

    “We’re stopping,” I commanded.  “I’m going inside.”

    Upon entering the shop, “Do you know JFK?” I asked an employee.

    “I better know him.  He’s one of the owners.”

    We toured the store and saw just how beef jerky is made.

====

    In Ellendale, we stopped in front of the café for lunch.  “Anyone want to bet that JFK doesn’t know at least one person in here?” I asked.  I got no takers.  Nobody did know Jim…except the waitress, the cook and all the customers.

====

    So it looked like JFK’s story panned out after all.  But LeRoy was still not convinced.  “We passed some of the same places from different directions three-four times.  You was drivin’ us around in circles, mister.”

====

    Finally JFK took us to his home.  We met his wife Barb who was now home from work.  She does the bookkeeping for the family holdings.  She verified what JFK had been telling us all along.  She even showed us a book with all the pictographed properties.

    “Ya know, JFK, your farm is somethin’ like the ‘Twelve Days of Christmas’ song,” I said as we departed.

    “What do you mean?” he asked.

    “Well,” I said, breaking out into song to the tune of ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas,’ “6 square miles, 5,000 pigs…4,000 acres, 3 goats, 2 Labradors.  And a wife who pays all of your bills.”

    “Yeah,” laughed JFK.  “Somethin’ like that.”

       James Francis Klecker and his wife, Barb        

 

Bullseye

My friend Mark Osler has his own blog  oslersrazor.blogspot.com  on which he features Haiku Friday -- an opportunity for commenters to submit haikus on a weekly theme.  This week the theme is "favorite store."  My submission:

Target Superstore
Low prices plus relief that
It isn't Wal-Mart.

A Writers' Blog

I have been meeting with a Writers' Group for over five years.  We have been through many changes of members, locations and meeting formats, but one thing has remained constant -- we would love a more consistent place to share some of our pieces with a larger audience.  That idea is the basis of this blog. 

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