Farmin' talk & tales

I figured since things are slow I would put some of my "Farmin' talk & tales" writings up for you all to ponder over.


Big City Fisherman & The Hayseeds of Pigeon County

Well, you can sure tell winter is over and spring is on it last leg: The tourists are returnin' to Pigeon County and sooner or later,most of 'em stop over at the Parmalee General Store for a bottle of Orange Crush and a glazed donut
Generally,of course,the fellers whittlin' out front of the place get along right well with these folks. But every once in a while,one of the pilgrims that's passin' through takes it upon hisself to what you might call "engage in a battle of wits" with the gentlemen lined up out there on the liars' bench. And that's always a mistake. I mean,those ole duffers may look quaint and colorful and as innocent as fresh-laid eggs jest a sittin' there in their bib overalls and JD hats....but when it comes to serious lyin', well they jest don't give no quarter, if y'comprehend what I'm gettin' at
As good an example of this phenomenon of nature as any, I reckon, was the jabber who stopped by last summer on his way from Washington to Minneapolis-by what he referred to as "the scenic northern route".
Now it ain't no reflection on either one of them fine towns I jest mention, but this particular bird-of-passage was somethin' to see. he was all fancied up with one of them there razor-cut hairdos and black leather rain coat and he was wearin' $250 boots that had been very carefully sewed together and all in all it was hard to tell whether he was an archor man for the evenin' news on some big city TV station or a used car dealer.
Whatever he did for a livin', though,it was obvious that he was experienced in misplacin' the truth from time to time, and it was also obvious that, as familiar as he was with this age-old pastime of the human race, he'd never really developed a talent for falsifyin' with any kind of an accomplished flair.
Oh, this feller could stretch the truth, misstate the facts, or outright LIE about as good as any city person, but he had never learned to do it with the downright good humor and affection of the average country prevaricator. In other words, he could tell the mean little white lies that'd cheat you out of money....but when it came to the really heroic,ground-pawin',rip-snortin',throw-back-yer-head-and-beller,false witnessin' that folks'd actually rob banks to get the money to pay for...well,this peckerwood wasn't even in the runnin'.
But, naturally enough,like most tin-horns, this one was so wrapped in his own glory that he didn't realize the true facts of the matter. And,jest as naturally,once he sauntered out of the General Store with a Clark bar in one hand and a club soda in the other,he proceeded to address himself to the sly old Barlow knife-weilding reprobates who were doin' such a fine job of holdin' up the front of the buildin' with their tipped-back straight chairs.
"Tell me now,hayseeds," said this lightweight pettifogger in what he seemed to think was a becoming downhome tone of voice, "do you ever catch any big fish around here?"
Well, neither Luke Higgins, Clarence Ubly, Skeeter Brockway nor Melvin Forester-the four wolves in sheeps' clothing who happened to have parked the hip pockets of their Levis on the shady side of the store that afternoon-turned a hair. But they all knowed that the honor of the Pigeon County Lyin' and Old Timers' Drinkin Society had just been laid on the line.
In short, this was one of those occasions where it don't pay to be polite and warm up with sociable little frog-in-the-pocket fibs. There was only one way to fight this match: Let your opponent think he has all the advantages,give him an opening for his best shot.....and then,while he's congratulating himself and blowin' the smoke outta his popgun,jest roll back with the heavy artillary and blast him clean into the next state.
It was a sight to see, the way those boys played their hand to perfection. Luke,Clarence and Skeet all knowed that Melvin was the real heavyweight hyberbolizer among 'em so they all jest sat there lookin' as blank as a Channel 13 test pattern at three o'clock in the morning to give him his openin'
And Melvin took it. Never even glancin' up,he just cleared his throat a little,run his tongue over his gums,and hawked an oyster out past the Washington Prince's $250 boots. A shot across the bow,so to speak. "Well,I don't know,stranger. Jest what do you call a big fish?"
"Why,you old hick! I mean something like that 16 pound bass I caught a couple of years ago down in Arkansas. Let me tell you now,that some fish. But I was up to him......I was up to him! I was fishing with a fly rod,see and I musta been flicking that yellow popper out a good 30 yards if I was casting it an inch. When all of a sudden this big old bass-he hadda be 2 - 2 1/2 feet long-came boiling up out of the water and inhaled that bait.
"Now I knew the light line I was using would never turn that fish,so when he went hauling up the river,why I just went splashing upstream with him as best I could. Figured I'd wear him out after a while and land him. But then,as I was churning up the river,[profanity removed]ed if I didn't run smack into an overhanging tree limb. Musta been six inches in diameter and I hit it so hard that I broke it right in two. That knocked me down-but not out!-for a few seconds,and when I got back up,I could see that that old bass was gone. But he was huge,he was just huge! If I'd landed him,he's have been a record for that river. He was a monster.That's what I mean by a big fish!"
Well, Old Melvin clearin' his throat again, let another oyster whizzed past the other side of those $250 boots. The stranger didn't know it,but he'd been bracketed.
"Oh,so it's minners you're talkin' about. I thought you wanted to palaver about fish. Hell, mister,you say you was castin' 30 yards with a fly rod. Why,I've seen a hen lay eggs further then that. And,besides, around here we usually go after Muskie - 50-60 pounders - and we use No. 9 wire for line,hooks bent up outta semi truck overload springs,and threes chickens wired together for bait.
"And we don't let 'em get away,mister. Leastwise, we'd never admit it to someone who was jest passin' through. And,shecks, that little mishap you had with the twig hangin' over the stream there warn't much. I've been hit in the lip harder than that and never stopped whistlin'."
Melvin spit for the third and final time. "The closest thing I can recollect to your experience was the time I was fishin' off the National City Railroad Bridge - the long one that goes over the bay down from here a bit - and jest as I hooked into one of 'em,why the 5:17 came and flat knocked me off the trestle - you remember when that happened,don't you Skeet? - and down into the water 150 feet below.
"Well mister, I was pretty stove up after that fall but that muskie was still full of fight so I proceeded to have it out with him right there in the water. Rassled him for [profanity removed] near two hours barehanded before I brought him in and, what with him tryin' to bite me with his 3 inch teeth and all,that wasn't easy.
"But I got him and I thought I had me some fish,too. Even after we gutted him and cut him up into pieces we could handle, he completely filled a No. 2 washtub. But hell's fire and brimstone,be[profanity removed]ed if Stan Edmore from up around Coats Grove didn't go out the very next day and catch a Muskie even bigger'n that one . Why, his was so big that........."
It was along about then that Melvin finally looked up just in time to see the Washington Pipsqueak ease into his car,hit the starter, and roar out the drive while the gettin' was good.
"Well, fellers." said Melvin as he looked around at Luke and Clarence and Skeet - all of whom were vitally interested in the final punch line of his fabrication but none of whom was about to tip his hand by askin' him to go on - "I reckon I'll jest save the rest of that particular tale for the annual Pigeon County Liars' Convention comin' this fall."