We residents of Irish Grove have been suffering a long week of frigid, sub-zero temperatures.
It’s cold. D*mn cold. And that’s coming from a person who likes winter. But when you wake up in the morning and it’s negative 18 degrees out there, and the wind chill is negative 25-30 degrees….well, my friends, that’s just too cold for most anyone.
And the poor, poor animals. I have no idea how it can be that they don’t suffer from frostbite. They have to suffer through the cold, the wind, a rock-hard barnyard to stumble through on their way to a half-frozen watertank…day after day after painfully cold day.
But then again, their food does come with a nice coat of white frosting!
Oops. I can plainly see that you two don’t find my jokes funny. At all. Especially when I get to go inside and savor a nice bowl of warm oatmeal for breakfast. Fine, I’ll knock it off.
So like I was saying, we’re freezing here in Irish Grove. And way back in the fall, when the weather was pleasant, and January was a long way off, I sold some soybeans for a January delivery. It was a brilliant idea at the time…there was no chance that the roads would be posted, the truckers would be readily available, and we’d get a nice infusion of cash for the new year.
4 months later, and that decision isn’t looking quite so brilliant. Especially since our bean bin is extra retarded (err, maybe I should say developmentally disabled?) and you have to shovel out the last 500 bushels or so. Oh, and also because it is bloody cold out there!!
So last night, in the bitter cold, while the rest of the world was snuggled in tight, with their fleece blankets and cups of tea and favorite television programs flickering on the screen, my Panamanian husband Marcel, with his thin, tropical blood, was outside, freezin’ his little hiney off for 4 straight hours, filling up a semi-trailer with the last of our soybeans. And do you think that my wonderful, mango-eatin’, coconut-slicin’, salsa-dancin’, latino lover-boy ever complained?…even once?
Do ya? Do ya?
No!! Not once!! The man’s an enigma, people! I mean, I can NOT figure him out! Let’s do a quick comparison:
Here’s Marcel slicin’ a coconut open, on his farm in Panama.
Here’s Marcel eatin’ snow, on our farm in Irish Grove.
Now do you see what I mean?
Once again, my husband’s won my admiration. Marcel, my dear, you truly are a good sport.