One of my grandfathers was a farmer; he was born in 1877 and before he farmed a small place in Indiana, he travelled with a threshing crew. Somewhere there is a picture, which I need to scan into the computer, is of him on top of that machine with the crew gathered around it. Strangely enough, he was wearing a fedora.

One of my husband’s grandfathers was a farmer in Cathage, Illinois; he was  born in 1893. I remember him well. Tall, lanky, with a limp and a Will Rodgers look to him, he would come into the kitchen at lunchtime, hang his hat by his wife’s and ask me with a wry grin, “Do you think they’ll fight?” That first lunch, he poured my iced tea and said, “Say when . . . say when . . . say when; finally, I undersood and yelled “When” and he chuckled.

LZP found this picture of them on their wedding day and I’ve posted it once before, but it is worth posting again – Lydia Akers and William A. Vance:

So what got me thinking about farming? Well, it was LZP himself who sent me these photos of some FUI incidents (Farming Under the Influence). He asked this question: What would Grandpa have thought?

Dear, lovable, furry, old Grover has moved to Ohio with Der Bingle. The decision was made when Summer tossed him up into the space formed by two bookcases meeting in a corner. Using a coat hanger, we were able to snag (no pun intended) and slide him up and eventually out. After the first failed attempt, we saw blue fur on the tip of the hanger. It was not a pleasant few minutes. He immediately sought sanctuary in the trunk of the Ohio car with Georgia plates, coming inside under guard only to be seen at the local Urgent Care on the porch where his arm was more firmly secured.

This picture came via phone mail Sunday afternoon and was titled “Grover at Rest”  –  I don’t know but that sounds a little funereal to me so we are calling it Grover Relaxing.

What Summer will do now is unknown . . . but probably worth being concerned about. We advise all Sesame Street buds to avoid the sidewalk out front for a while.