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Tag Archives: seasons
I wasn’t asked to write this season’s Farmer’s Almanac but I did it anyway in case they scout the blog scene for new talent come winter.
There should be some warm weather coming soon so don’t plant anything that needs to be cold. I know that if I leave strawberries out too long they get really gross so maybe don’t plant strawberry trees until Halloween.
By the way, what’s it like to be so dependent on the weather? Does it blow your mind that normal people use the forecast to plan vacations and make sure their daughter’s soccer game won’t get canceled? I guess it evens out because you guys probably don’t stress as much about social media as we do. Just as we have romantic notions of the carefree farmer chewing corn on his barn’s roof and watching a gentle rain storm slowly pass by, you picture us in front of a computer screen full of news and information, and a chat window connected to wide-eyed Brit who wants to know more about our pancakes.
I’m not sure why you need to know this–the sky has been the fuckin same since the universe was invented. If you’re scared that a full moon is going to mess with your parsley then you’re no different than the caveman who thought the moon was his wife.
Where do farmers go for fashion inspiration? Church and whatever colour a pig’s blood is.
How does a teenage farm boy practice kissing? By licking stamps used on letters begging girls to come visit.
What’s the difference between a farmer and a homeless person? A homeless person begs for change while a farmer wants everything to same the same even though we have greenhouses and the Internet now.
Why did the farmer let the pie cool on his windowsill? Because he doesn’t have air conditioning.
How many farmers does it take to screw in a light bulb? One to screw it in, another to go on and on about how the sun is better.
A farmer, a priest and a rabbi walk into a bar. The priest tells the other two, “god bless this nice weather”, the rabbi raises his glass and says “mazel tov” and the farmer goes “that reminds me, I gotta go shovel some cow shit”.
Gardening is a miniature version of farming so if you’re a farmer and you don’t know how to garden then get the fuck off the field. Telling a farmer how to garden is like telling a firefighter how to light a cigarette.
The city is a different place these days. If you want to get a haircut in the city you’ll have to go see a guy with tattoos and a beard who mounts skateboards to the wall, and no one knows why.
There’s nothing like spring’s first beef dinner and while you’re busy sharpening your killing scythe, it would be a good time for a refresher on proper gutting.
Force the cow’s head underwater until it stops mooing.
Make a lengthwise incision from the cow’s neck to its tail
Drain the cow’s milk, filtering out any bits of horn.
Rip out all the stuff in the cow that isn’t beef.
Throw out everything that isn’t beef into the duck pond but save the bones and try selling them to a trinket maker.
Have dinner with your favourite friends.
The other day I saw this little kid jump into a pile of dead leaves only to emerge covered in dog shit and old cigarette butts, making her look like some sort of leprosy-ridden Chewbacca. Every season has its own unique thing to jump into that we associate with childhood innocence but at what cost? Here are some alternatives to the most popular things to jump into, organized by season:
Major Jumper – Swimming Pools
For centuries summer has been the hottest season of the year besides the heat generated by the non-stop action of PGA Tour season. The easiest way to beat the heat besides replacing your heart with a fridge motor is to swim in water that’s colder than the air. This form of bathing also affords adrenaline junkies the opportunity to test out air-based tricks like flips, dips and tornadoes but it’s all a bit played out. If you’re having trouble following what I’m talking about, simply remember this nursery rhyme: Summer is hot, pools are cool, the world is brown, pools are blue
Alternative – grass clippings
Pools don’t grow on trees but grass sure does, and with so much unwanted grass clippings littering city streets and parks, it makes sense to use them for something other raccoon bait.
Major Jumper – snow
Snow is a very safe, all-natural substance whose white colour reminds us of innocence and the boring part of our eye that doesn’t do anything. It’s also edible so if some gets in your mouth while you’re jumping into it you won’t have to force yourself to puke like you would when jumping into the bean pit during post-summer. I don’t think we should limit ourselves to just one kind of winter pile though.
Alternative – pile of salt
Every foodie dreams of diving into a pile of salt and in most seasons this is completely unreasonable. But come winter big piles of chunky salt are utilized to season our ice and snow in case aliens come and we need to trick them into it so they leave our meat and seeds alone. Salt is rougher than snow but if you come home covered in salt your cat will give you the licking you’ve always sought.
Major Jumper – Mud
Besides being a a dead ringer for poo, mud is a sign that winter is over as well as a source of nutrition for our nation’s nomads. You wouldn’t want some guy swimming around in your almonds, would you? Stay out of the mud!
Alternative – nests
You shouldn’t feel bad about gathering bird’s nests into a clean pile because birds love making them. Besides, for all the hair and old string we contribute to every nest, the least they can do is not peck us when we take one.
major jumper – dead leaves
Humans have a natural need to jump into piles of skeletons because that’s how our ancestors proved they weren’t pussies. Over centuries we’ve evolved to jump into the next best thing to dead humans: dead leaves. By frolicking in what’s essentially a tree’s dead children, jumping in leaves is a pretty big “fuck off” to bark boys considering we use their oxygen all year. Plus, what if someone’s phone number is written on one of those leaves?
alternative – alive leaves
In grade four I ran away from home for six hours and was briefly raised by a local hobo named Meals. He taught me to pile up alive leaves and jump into them, giving one the sensation of “swimming through a lake full of skin” as Meal put it. And fuck trees anyway, right? You never hear them whisper “save the humans” or anything and here we are feeding them CO2 all year long.