You Did NOT Say That!

Like most women who've had a couple of kids, I gained a few pounds. This was before the days of fat shaming and people using their right of free speech to speak their mind no matter how offensive their words.

My husband and I are farmers and naturally live in a rural area. The central gathering place in small towns (think population 200 or less) is the co-op. Farmers' cooperative: A place where you can buy fertilizer, ag chemicals, bulk fuel, and seed. At the Farm Store, you can find tires, batteries, nuts and bolts, and sprayer fittings, as well as candy bars and cans of pop.

In addition to the merchandise, an area at our Farm Store has been set aside for guys to hang out and drink the free coffee. Sometimes they play dominoes at the tables.

A small town is where everyone knows everyone else and their dog. Neighbors are people who will do your chores if an emergency calls you away from the farm. People notice if you miss church and call to see if everything is okay. They notice if you trade pickup trucks or tractors. Forget about trying to keep any of your business private. Your neighbors know what your wheat and corn yielded or if your cattle are out practically before you find out yourself. They cry with you when hail destroys your crops or tornadoes blow your house away. They are also aware of unusual activity around your place and call to see if strangers had any legit reason to snoop around in your shed. You really can't resent the fact they know your entire life because you know theirs as well.

One day I accompanied my husband to the Farm Store. He disappeared into one of the offices to talk about the price of fertilizer with a salesman. The place was strangely deserted with none of the loafers sitting around the domino tables. No employees were hanging about looking for something to do either. I said hi to my friend behind the counter. I was literally standing in the middle of the store by myself. Due to this odd circumstance, only the clerk witnessed what happened next.

A neighbor (I'll call him Johnnie) came out of one of the other offices and started toward the retail sales counter. When he noticed me, he stopped and made a point to say, "Well, I see you haven't lost any weight, Lisa." I nearly burst out crying. I hadn't gained any lately either.

The clerk, whose mouth had dropped open upon hearing him, ducked behind the counter like it was a sandbagged foxhole. She peeked over the edge so she wouldn't miss the carnage. I refrained from committing any violence, but only because he was also a valued business associate.

About that time my husband finished jawing with the other salesman and walked up to me. Trying to pretend it was a joke I said, "Guess what? Johnnie here noticed I haven't lost any weight."

He looked back and forth between us with a wounded expression. I could tell he felt sorry for me but didn't know what to say in front of the other guy. Johnnie left, and the clerk slowly stood up. She looked as near to tears as I felt.

"I can't believe he said that!" she gasped. I couldn't get my mouth to work, so I shrugged and feigned indifference.

Occasionally, we mentioned the incident and wondered why he made such a rude personal remark. Nearly two years later he and my husband were talking crop business on the phone. I went into the office and sarcastically muttered that he should ask "Johnnie" if he had told any other women they were fat. My remark reminded my husband of the occasion, and he said into the phone, "You know, my wife still has hurt feelings over you telling her she hadn't lost any weight."

There was a long silence while I pantomimed that hubby shouldn't have taken my remark so literally and Johnnie consulted his memory banks. Finally, he said, "That was a compliment."

My husband couldn't even think of a response.

In the most backhanded flattery I've ever received, he continued. "Really, it was. No one likes a skinny cow."

Drawing inspired by the Skinny Cow cartoons of Werner Wejp-Olsen.

Fly Away

Before the use of designer herbicides that target specific weeds or Round-up® Ready soybeans, a genetically modified crop which is resistant to glyphosate, farmers relied on pre-plant herbicides and  tillage to prevent and control unwanted weeds. In 1984 we had an outbreak of cockleburs in a soybean field we rented which was directly across the road from my in-laws' house.

A weed is any unwanted plant. It might have an economic benefit in some other setting, but in a field of corn, beans, wheat, flax, canola, or milo, for example, they are destructive. (See my 7-16-18 post about pigweeds.) Besides growing in the wrong place at the wrong time, the weed will drop seeds at the end of the growing season creating a worse problem in subsequent years. In our soybean field the cockleburs were stealing valuable nutrients and moisture.

What are cockleburs and what do they look like?  Click this link to see what mature seed pods look like. I believe George de Mestral, the inventor of Velcro®, had similar burrs in mind when he decided to create his hook and loop fastener. The burs are famous for fastening onto animal fur and will catch a ride on most fuzzy fabric as well. I didn't know it at the time, but all parts of the plant are poisonous to mammals. Although they are picky about where they grow, the plants are self-pollinating and like most weeds take advantage of favorable conditions.

The conditions were very favorable in our irrigated soybean field, and a large area where seeds had lain dormant in the ground had sprouted. The weeds could not be cultivated out. Too much damage would be inflicted on the leafy soybean plants. Since cockleburs have shallow roots making them easy to pull and I was young and enthusiastic, I decided to rogue the field myself.

The trouble lay with my two-year-old son. He was at that age when he didn't want to let Mommy out of his sight. He didn't want to stay in the house with Grandma either. He sure didn't want to take a nap. He wanted to help.

I had numerous conversations trying to make a toddler understand why he couldn't help and why it was important for him to stay with Grandma while I worked. I gave up on the project the day I looked up to see my mother-in-law chasing him down the road.

"How am I going to get the cockleburs out of this field?" I asked him.

He had the perfect solution.

"Don't worry, Mommy. The cocklebirds will grow up and fly away."

Pigweed Memories

Piggie and his friends and family lived in a big field.  It was their whole world.  None of them could see all the way across.  It was huge. Since they weren't explorers, they would never know precisely how vast their world was. Piggie had been living in this field for several generations. He had seen a lot of changes since he was only a seed. 

There were thousands of his brothers and sister, aunts and uncles, and cousins who stayed in the same field. He had a lot of big, strong brothers but he was the largest, strongest, smartest pigweed in the field. 

He was very fond of his family. They looked to him for advice. He had other friends too. He especially liked Velvet. Piggie wished he and Velvet could get married so he could touch her soft, heart-shaped leaves all the time, but his family had vetoed the idea. That didn't stop him from hoping some of his pollen drifted her way. 

Actually, the original Piggie had passed away several summers ago. He had been the lone survivor of a chemical warfare attack. What doesn't kill you makes you strong. Right? Like a sentinel, he had grown tall and proud in the midst of soybeans. Before he died of a killing frost, he stored up all his memories in his pollen and seeds to teach his children. 

Every year Piggie learned something from his parents who had lived the season before. It was imperative he do so. When the cold came, he would drop his seeds on the ground and hope the knowledge saved in them increased from his experiences. 

Not all of the species living in his field were friends of his. He and Sticker weren't what you would call friendly. Sticker, in his quiet way, did a great service for Piggie. Rabbit hated Sticker with a passion. They were mortal enemies. Sticker stayed close to Piggie and spread a carpet next to him. Rabbit couldn't nibble on Piggie's tender parts without getting sharp barbs in his feet and fur. Since Piggie appreciated the help, he let his shadow rest on Sticker for part of the day so he wouldn't get too hot. It was an equitable arrangement.

The other plants with whom Piggie shared the field were snobs. He didn't like them at all. They must have been in the military because they acted like straight rows were the most important thing in the world. And they were so needy. They needed a lot of food and water. Piggie could survive on a fraction of what they required.  They were stupid and lazy as well. They only produced a handful of seeds, and none of them remembered a thing their parents had taught them when they sprouted the next spring.

Piggie and his family of seeds had grown into a lovely green carpet. As they grew, they got reacquainted. Many were newcomers who had drifted in from other worlds. Not all of them had the same knowledge as Piggie and his family. They promised to teach the newcomers all they could.

One day they noticed a strange noise. It rapidly grew nearer and louder.

"What is it, Piggie? Where is that noise coming from?"

Piggie and most of his family knew at once what the noise meant. It happened every summer, sometimes two or three times. Every year they learned a better strategy for coping. Deep in Piggie's psyche lurked a memory of a huge iron monster with sharp rolling blades sweeping through the field and killing practically everyone who hadn't cozied up to one of the soldier plants in their straight rows. There was little to learn or pass on when that happened. His great-great-great-great-great-grandfather had barely survived. Piggie, however, knew a method to conquer the threat from the sky.

"Spread the word.  Hold your breath and close your eyes until I tell you it is safe. This is important. Do what I say. Hurry, there's not much time. Pass the word."

Suddenly, a noisy metal bird swooped down. It coughed nasty smelling mist that drifted down and covered Piggie's head. He squeezed his eyes shut and told himself not to breathe. Around him, he could hear other plants crying and coughing. He also heard the snobbish soybean plants laughing at them.
 

Most of the plants didn't have the stamina he had developed. Before the day was over, many pleaded with him for aid. Wisely, he did not answer. He would not speak until it was safe. The pampered soybean plants were jeering at them now. 

The noxious odor faded but Piggie's skin burned and he had trouble thinking. It took a great effort for him to whisper instructions to the other plants. "Play 'possum. Pretend you are dead. Just let your head droop over. Let your arms hang down. Go to sleep."

After a few days, Piggie began to feel much better, so he straightened up and looked around. A sad sight greeted him. Everyone in the field was sunburned. Well, everyone except the soybeans. A few of them appeared sickly, but for the most part, they were unfazed by the the poisonous fumes. His family was another story. Their beautiful green leaves and skin had turned yellow. The ones who hadn't obeyed his instructions were already turning brown. In a few days, they would be brittle. Their seeds were lost. His friend Velvet and Sticker were also dead. Piggie could see a few thorns on Stickers dead vines. Even in death, Sticker would keep Rabbit away from him. 

"How bad is it?" Piggie asked. Across the field, reports trickled back to him. Too many had ignored his warning. They were gone, along with a new generation of seeds. There was good news also. More had survived than last year. 

Soon Piggie and the survivors had outgrown the soybeans. The next time the big yellow bird dropped poison on them, they didn't even hold their breath for more than a few hours. The mist burned, but they didn't get sick and turn yellow. 

When the autumn winds came, Piggie and his family said goodbye to their seeds and watched them scatter. The children born from those seeds would carry the memory of this growing season and know how to act next summer. Their numbers were increasing exponentially. Piggie hoped the pigweed species in neighboring corn and soybean fields had learned something as well. Soon, the breezes would spread the smart seeds further away where they could teach new youngsters.

As the cold arrived, Piggie and his family told one another goodbye. "See you next spring," they said, although they knew it would be their children who would sprout to learn more lessons. Those children would remember their parents.

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Although the above is meant to be humorous, herbicide-resistant weeds aren't. I hope you weren't rooting for Piggie. Some weeds have become so tolerant to herbicide, the application only makes them mad for a few days. Then they grow back with a vengeance.

Here is a link to a comprehensive site, if you want to know more about it.

http://weedscience.org/