Farmer Wook On Remembrance
by Anglo-American Farmer Bodwyn Wook
The baby onions are just popping, everything else is astir in the kitchen garden. Seen a Baltimore Oriole flash not half an hour ago amid the old maples, about six PM it was by the Sun. The end of a second windy day, but nothing like yesterday….
You remember, don’t you, When We Were Very Young?
Now in my advancing late maturity it’s two bottles of ‘Schell’s’ Best and a browse over the sagas of Old Iceland, or perhaps something about algebra or astronomy in Arabic, whilst Baiba Skride fiddles in the background, and that’s about it for me after a day chasing those effing sheep back into their effing paddock on account of the effing fences are all just too much to keep up with, as they say…. (Actually, to-night marks the end of two days stretching box wire and now, I THINK, I’ve got The Little Bastards dead to rights.)
Twenty-eight years ago it was off to Old Mankato Town under its Indian Curse and a-rot in its agchem poisoned Hell valley, to chase Cocaine & The Girls (Awfully Catchable Was They Then!) but I — most of us, I think — lived through it and managed not to catch anything else from off of each other, if you get my drift. In those lovely days when Madonna was still lovely in a whoreish way and not yet ghastly, and Marianne Faithfull sang minatory warnings of the ending of our childish cheap adventures…..
Well, rejoice remembrance!
It is all I expect the beginning of the strangeness of old age….
[Bodwyn Wook all rights reserved 18 May 2009]