Thursday, January 11, 2007

The Coal City Connection Part 3: Reverberations......

(Sweet Illinois turnips. Great by themselves or with soup!)

Lost in thought, I made my way steadily to Coal City as the growing pressure in my lower abdomen passed annoying and approached unbearable. While navigating the unpaved back roads between Highway 80 and my destination, I was forced into stopping at a small Turnip stand just a few miles out to take a leak. Barely able to stand up straight I spotted a cleared path into the brush and headed for it without even shutting down my hog.

Tipping my hat to the elderly gent who was hocking some plump Nebraska Red Devils, and making a note to pick a few up on the way back, I left the roadside and entered the woods. As I relieved myself I couldn't help but think how familiar this area was. I must have been thinking out loud because a loud voice boomed from over shoulder.

"Yup, ya been here before youngin.", the turnip peddler from up the trail said. "Now don't ya worry son, I'm not trying to sneak a peak at your business down there. Just finish up what yur doin' and we'll talk a spell."

I completed my task and returned to the turnip stand with the man, who now seemed downright ancient. My first impression of the farmer was that he was perhaps only a decade or so older than me but at this point I would have believed it if he said he played hopscotch with W. Edward Denning.

"I'm 106 years old if that's why yur scratchin yur head. Now park yurself on that stool and tell me why ya come this way again?"

"Again?", I croaked.

"Yep. That's what I said. You may not remember it but you came this way once before and sat on that very stool. I read the turnips for ya and you made your choice. Was it the right one fur ya? Come to hear what else the turnips have to say to ya?"

"I don't know wh...", I began to exclaim as a large and bulbous taproot, the kind found on turnips grown for livestock feed, slammed into the side of my head. Things went dark.

Spooner Jenkins


Shinga said...

What, Spooner, you can't leave us like this.

Are you blogging from a Blackberry while being held in captivity?

What did your turnips say last time?

What are Nebraska Red Devils?

So many questions, such long times between posts but probably more regular than most serial dramas on US television.

Regards - SHinga

Clark Bartram said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Spooner Jenkins said...

What's a Blackberry?

A Nebraska Red Devil is what I call a turnip being that turnips were originally grown in Nebraska despite what those high and mighty nutritional anthropologists like to think. They are for the devil.

The reason I post so infrequently is entirely due to my gout which has been acting up as of late. It's hard to find a good chiropractor out on the road. I sure could use some of Agnes's homemade pomade to ease my painful tophi right about now. The secret ingredient is viscous lidocaine. Lord knows what that is or how she whips it up so fast but it works is all I know.

I think it also has corn in it but what doesn't these days. You know I heard on NPR recently, whatever that is, just a bunch a people sitting around flappin their gums I guess, well anyway I heard that corn can be found in every molecule on earth. Corn is the building block for all of us and guess where corn comes from. That's right. Nebraska. The circle of life amazes me sometimes.

The Laundress said...

Those would be crop circles, Spooner.

They are all OVER the midwest.

Just be happy you weren't whopped upside the head with a rutabaga. Or a sugar beet.

What next?