One bad apple don’t spoil the whole bunch, girl

Posted on January 10, 2011


I was out and about on my rounds, following a ribbon road out of Central Lake, when I saw a comical bird conference going on in a bare tree. Pull over, put ‘er in park, hop out. Every time I managed to get them in focus, the birds exploded into the sky as if the tree had sneezed. Then they flew off to another tree across the road and settled there to snicker at me.

The worst part was that the air was perfumed with a Rural Aroma, and the longer I stood there, the more my eyes watered. I immediately assumed two things: that the birds were pestiferous starlings, and that the Rural Aroma was cow manure, albeit the worst cow manure I’d ever smelled. Just behind me, as I struggled to immortalize the starlings, someone was hauling something away from the cow barn. I spared a charitable thought for the guy. I could get back in the car and escape. The die for his day was cast in a different pattern.

Off to King’s, where there are still fresh apples to be had. It smelled heavenly in there. I bought a half bushel of Macs. I found an astonishing bargain in recycled plastic bins and bought two. If my clever plan for these things works out I’ll show it to you.  Meanwhile, you can come up with your own bright ideas.

Mike Berst appeared as I was checking out and said, Here is a free treat! I was deeply touched, assuming it was because of something wonderful I’d written, but no. Anyone can have this excellent treat! The package of four one-ounce cherry shots will make four 8-oz. glasses of Montmorency tart cherry juice. I don’t see how you can go wrong.

I told Mike about the odiferous photo shoot, and he laughed.  That was probably our turkey litter.  See, there I go, jumping to conclusions again. If you go back up to that tractor picture, you will see an orchard off in the distance.  And in that orchard turkey “litter” is spread thicker than a demagogue’s dissimulations. I hereby apologize to the cows.

So the lesson I am taking away from this day is, first, to ascertain what, precisely, is stinking up the joint, and second, to keep in mind Betsy King’s cheerful sign: