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| Me, in my cute little overalls, as a baby. |
Animals hate me. I could kill a cactus. I’m tellin’ y’all what…there’s a reason I never wore that pretty blue corduroy jacket.
Chicken farming: fail. Us owning chickens was proof that God has a sense of humor. Now, I didn’t even realize we had chickens until about three months after we had gotten them. I think mom’s craft room was being worked on at the time, so our freezers were sitting on our outside porch. I had to run out and find something to cook for Rheba, when I heard this noise behind me. I turned around, and near about had the bejeezus scared out of me. There they all gathered, looking like they were fixin’ to gang up on me and peck at my bare feet. Needless to say, I hauled tater inside, and Rheba probably got spaghetti-o’s that day.
Fast-forward a few years. Those damn chickens had gained a knack for following me around the house. If I was in my bedroom, trying to sleep, they were clucking outside my window. If I moved to the living room, the roosters were crowing right outside of those windows. I hated those damn animals.
Picture it: The Notebook had just come out on DVD. I had waited MONTHS for that day. I was about an hour into the movie, when, low-and-behold the damn rooster had decided to go around to the living room window and start his normal crowing (at three in the afternoon, mind you). Well, I’d had it. I’d beyond had it. I found the closest thing to me and ran outside. Poor Daddy and Dale got an eyeful as I chased the chickens around the yard with a spatula. To this day, those things hate me. I think they’ve passed the story along to their baby chickies.
Plant identification: fail. Aunt Tammy was taking me home for some reason one day. And she happened to notice something growing out in Uncle Greg’s field.
She asked, “Aleta, what are they planting out there?”
“I think it’s watermelons,” I said, only half paying attention. Nevermind the fact it was fall…and those said “watermelons” had knee-high trees coming out of the ground. They were pine trees, y'all. Pine trees.
Oy vey.
Basic Ranchery: fail. I had just gone and had some pictures taken for this blog...go figure. As we're driving back from my Aunt's house, I pull onto "Cow Patty Lane" (the name I have given our road). I see Rheba's horses going to town on some hay that is in the middle of the field. Now, I'm no horse girl, but I am alarmed instantly. It doesn't look like the hay that Rheba normally gives her horses, and I know that Moose colics pretty bad (one $3800 bill, and a three day stint at an equine hospital, later).
I look at Jennifer M. and say "I don't think the horses are supposed to be eating that!"
She looks at me confused and asks what I mean.
I say, "The horses are eating cow hay, and Moose colicked bad on that one time."
She looks at me, still confused.
Then I start second-guessing myself...in the worst way.
"Wait...cows do eat hay, right? Like...they eat that and grass, right?"
...if y'all could've seen her face. Lord help, I felt dumb.
Okay. Now, before I tell you my next "ranchery" story, please understand one thing: While I am no real farm girl, I did know how to show a goat. I know, I know. Tuck that away in my various skill set. In all fairness, when I was 9, Dad took me to the Suwannee River Fair, and I saw a baby goat. It was so stinkin' cute, I wanted one instantly. Well, in typical Cornbread fashion, he had bought me one a week later. But...it wasn't a cute baby goat. It was a full-grown goat named Muffin...who was sister to the Devil. After a few years, I had figured out how to show my goat, and began to win some pretty big awards....I won several first in shows, and several Grand and Reserve Champion trophies.
Really, goat showin' was more to appease my daddy. It was something that he loved. And we kind of worked it out. (And because it's been 10+ years, I will admit this). He did all the prep-work with them. I just showed them.
One of the times when I won some award, a local reporter sat down to interview me. I had my trusty side-kick Jarrod with me. She asked me several questions. Then....
"So what do you feed your goats?"
I looked at her, incredulously. I looked at Jarrod, and immediately started giggling. "Ummm...Goat food." That cracked me up. Thinking back on it a few years later, I can only shake my head.
Vegetable identification: fail. Looking back, I honestly don’t know how Ryan Weaver ever kept a straight face when he was around me. I would like to think I’ve been fairly successful at all of the jobs that I had, but being a cashier…might not have been my strong suit. God bless that man for his patience.
My first day on the job I mistook a cucumber for a zucchini. In my defense, that was the biggest damn cucumber I’d ever seen.
Then, a few months later, I had the pleasure of helping a little old woman who apparently had a hankerin’ for “crook-neck squash.” Well, I don’t know beans about squash. All I know is that I don’t really care for it. Well, I had to ask the lady what type of squash it was. She replied “crook-neck.” Well, I looked at my list, trying to figure out what number I would ring it up as. “Crook-neck” wasn’t on my list. So, I called Ryan to the front. I asked him. He replied “Aleta, it’s crook-neck.” Well, being both embarrassed, and slightly agitated at whoever had created the almighty and powerful “list of produce” and had not put “crook-neck squash” on it, I was on the brink of a spaz attack.
I said “crook-neck isn’t on my list, Ryan!” through clenched teeth.
This only made Ryan laugh. Come to find out… “crook-neck squash” is also known as “yellow squash”…I just hadn’t gotten the memo.
Now, as a segue into my next story...all I can say is...I don't handle dumb questions well. This was a conversation that transpired at Hitchcocks one day.
Me: "Hitchcocks Foodway, this is Aleta, how can I help you?"
Customer: "Do you have any peanuts?"
Me: "Like...Planters or like boiled peanuts...or like green peanuts?"
Customer: "Like...the kind you boil."
Me: "Oh, green peanuts. Yes, ma'am, we have some."
Customer: "I want the brown kind."
I snicker. I can't even help it.
Customer: "Thanks a lot, you moron." *click*
Lawd.
Yes, y’all, you won’t find me on a tractor any time soon. Farm girl, I am not. But Lord, do I love the country life.
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| Watsonville |
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