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Only a Farm Kid...

This post goes to the heart of who I am… I went to school at a young age in what used to be the farmlands of Smokey Mountain Piedmont in Virginia about an hour’s drive west from D.C.. When out in the sticks, everything seems different…even our common language has totally different meanings…so when you speak, careful to know "where" you are...


  

A Missouri farmer in his pickup, drove to a neighbor's, and knocked at the door.

A boy, about 9, opened the door.

"Is your Dad home?"

"No sir, he isn't; he went to town."

"Well, is your Mother here?"

"No sir, she went to town with Dad."

"How about your brother, Howard? Is he here?"

"No sir, He went with Mom and Dad."

The rancher stood there for a few minutes, shifting from one foot to the other, and mumbling to himself.

"Is there anything I can do for you? I know where all the tools are, if you want to borrow one, or I can give dad a message."

"Well," said the rancher uncomfortably, "I really wanted to talk to your Dad. It's about your brother Howard getting my daughter pregnant.”

The boy thought for a moment. "You would have to talk to Dad about that. I know he charges $500 for the bull and $50 for the hog, but I don't know how much he charges for Howard."
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