Due to rain, breakdowns, and other unforseen circumstances, no hay was mowed this week. This seems to have worked out well as they are calling for rain again tonight. It also allowed me to do something I get little chance to do, take my wife out on a weekend.
Ads on the radio described festivals going on in our area. The “summer fiesta”, “strawberry festival”, and the “steak festival”. “STEAK festival”! “Throw on some fancy duds”, I tell Honey Bunches, “We are goin to a festival”. Of course she agrees. Poor woman trusts me too much.
As we arrive, I know there will be vendors and food booths, but I assume there will be a steak theme. I am wondering where to buy the best steak poster, who has the best steak sandwich, and if I hit the round steak with 3 darts do I win a porterhouse? We walk around and see very little evidence of my favorite food group… Steak. We get a burger.
Honey Bunches looks through the vendors purses, jackets, and quilts. Not being particularly fond of John Deere fabric patterns, she finds nothing she has to have. I have meanwhile found a tractor pull. It’s not steak, but it is something! “C’mon sweetie”, I plead excitedly. She follows me cautiously, knowing once again I am headed for an activity much better suited for us farm boys.
I see several neighbors pulling for bragging rights. “Beat ya by 6 inches”, one prodded another. There were farmall H’s and M’s, a few Johnny Pops, and even a Minneapolis Moline thrown in for a yellow flash. Most of them being farm tractors, there were no flames or flying dirt, just old tractors tugging along at 2 miles per hour. Honey Bunches and I watch the slow parade for about 2 hours. She was getting restless so I decided to let her off the hook and head home. “Thanks for taking me out tonight”, she says graciously. I apologize for the slow evening and vow to make it up to her.
The next morning I scan the paper looking for something more exciting to entertain Honey Bunches. Just when I had given up all hope, I find It. “Get yer fancy duds on sweetie”, I say triumphantly. “What did you find?” she asks. “Only 18 miles away”, I say excitedly, “cow chip bingo!”
