The Old Farmer

The Old Farmer

By Frederick J. Blahnik

 

The old farmer knelt down and dug a dandelion up by the roots with one of those forked, divoting devices you can oftentimes buy on sale at Mills Fleet Farm for $4.99 plus sales tax.

He then moved on to the next plant, and the one after that, and the one after that. This is the same old farmer who used to wage a pitched battle against quack grass, Canadian thistle, and wild mustard in the sprawling fields on his one thousand acre farm. This is the same old farmer who used to pay no heed whatsoever to the acre of land immediately surrounding his house; his eyes were trained solely upon the other nine hundred and ninety nine acres he depended upon to make an honest living off the land.

But things changed when the old farmer moved into town.

Yeah, you might say things changed an awfully lot for our grizzled farmer friend then…..

You see, now he had time on his hands—yes, lots and LOTS of time on his hands–to make sure everything was ship-shape and wholly up to snuff around his tiny manor situated on the far edge of a boringly ordinary, bucolic village. And thus that is how the old farmer spent the preponderance of his time now—constantly on the prowl around his bantam-sized lawn, on the lookout for any signs of mole activity, making sure his grass was adequately watered, and always—ALWAYS!!!—keeping a sharp eye out for any rogue dandelion plants that may have furtively snuck onto his property in the dead of night.

Those dandelions—Those fuckin’ dandelions, if you will!!–they were his declared and undisputed enemy now. Unlike in the past when he farmed a thousand acres and his list of horticultural foes was somewhat lengthy, the only one that captured his attention currently were those scurrilous, uber-aggressive dandelions; why, the fuckin’ things were forever conspiring to take over his front lawn!

But the old farmer would be goddamned if he just stood back and helplessly watched them do that.

NO FUCKIN’ WAY, JOSE!!!!!

Maybe—Probably!!!—he would just have to work a little bit harder and devote a little more time in order to thwart the weeds’ dastardly progress.

Hence the old farmer walked to his miniature yard shed, swung open its creaky door, and with a painful grunt stooped over and grabbed his five dollar divoting device.

He had more work to do this afternoon!

Yeah, a lot more work and a lot more hours before he could claim ultimate victory over this newest foe, these fuckin’ devious dandelions, the toughest and most persistent nemesis he had faced in his not-short lifetime.  Truthfully, the damned things were working overtime and then some just to spoil his long-awaited retirement.

The nerve, yes, the unabashed NERVE of those persistent, yellow-topped bastards!!!!!

Well……he just needed to invest more time—However much time was needed; ya hear me?!–in this newest crusade of his and ultimately outwork the dandelions, I guess.

And our crusty old farmer thereafter had an epiphany and realized with abject depression married to a sinking heart that he would never be able to find the peace of mind he was seeking in his lifelong battle against the land, a force of nature—No, what am I saying here—NATURE ITSELF!!!…..a sublimely proud entity which of course collaborates at all times with its throng of tenacious denizens to stymie anyone or anything who might be entertaining hubristic, grandiose notions of conquering same.