Advice for Those of Limited Means

I was playing poker with some cowboys out West, when one of them accused me of betting with counterfeit $100 bills. I asked him to prove it, and he pointed out that Bat Masterson was a Canadian and not eligible to be depicted on U.S. currency.

I respectfully disagreed, but nevertheless offered to play with lesser, more common notes. Everyone thought this was best, so we continued the game with $75.00 Buffalo Bills.

All went well, and I eventually walked away several hundred dollars richer, less my initial stake.

If you should ever find yourself short of funds, it is best to improvise. I considered betting with corn, but most cowboys don’t believe in the stalk market. In situations such as these, I have found that a lot of bull usually produces the most chips.

copyright ©2011 Laurie J. Anderson, all rights reserved.

Mountain Music & Medicine Show - September

I parked the wagon outside Nix's general store in Dahlonega, Georgia last night and was joined by the bands Yahoola, Little Country Giants, Mist on the Mountain, the Georgia Pick and Bow Kids, and that pair of reprobates the Buzzard Mountain Boys. Local lady Miz Lynn was so inspired by the latter (or by something they brought with them from the mountain) that she jumped up and danced on the stage! The mayor even joined in with them on a song or two! I must find out what they're adding to their corn.

One thing's for sure - a good time was had by all! Come out and see what it's all about the next time I'm up there on November 6, or visit the photo albums on their FaceBook page.

A Hunting Aid

I once had a fine hunting dog, but since the patent medicine business was keeping me very busy I sold him to a couple backwoodsmen I know -- Jim-Bob and Joe-Bob from Buzzard Mountain. They came to me about a week later and said they wanted their money back.

“What for?” I asked. “That’s the best hunting dog in three states. He’s treed everything from raccoons to alligators.”

“Well he’s no good at duck-hunting,” said Jim-Bob. “We want our money back so we can get a smaller dog. Maybe one of them Mexican chihuahuas.”

“A chihuahua?” I asked, “For duck-hunting?”

“Yep,” said Joe-Bob. “We can barely get your dog up in the air. We figure we can throw a chihuahua much higher.”

“You don’t want a dog for that,” I said. “Everyone knows cats are better at catching birds. I’m happy to refund your money, but I happen to have a half-dozen trained birding cats that will save you a trip to Mexico.”

“We don’t need a half-dozen; just one,” said Joe-Bob.

“You say that now,” I replied, “but the next time you startle a flock of mallards, you’re going to wish you had a few spare cats. I will even include a bottle of Wizard Water^© to strengthen your throwing arms.”

That said, they exchanged the dog for six young felines and a bottle of my elixir. The dog seemed none the worse for wear, except it refused to go near ponds.

When I recently returned to Buzzard Mountain, Joe-Bob informed me that the cats had not caught a single duck.

“We ain’t upset, though,” he added. “They’re too good at keeping crows off our corn. Jim-Bob thought he’d feed them some of that Wizard Water^©, and danged if it didn’t improve their leaping ability. You never seen so many cats leaping so high above a field of corn, just a-swattin’ crows out of the air left and right.”

“Well that’s wonderful, gentlemen,” I said. “I know you will put the corn they save to good use. I was prepared to help you if the cats didn’t work out for their original purpose, though. My mother-in-law has acquired one of those Mexican dogs you spoke of, and you are right – they are perfectly suited for duck-hunting. Hers is especially good at clamping on to something with its jaws and not letting go. For a small fee, I will to loan it to you.”

The boys declined my offer, but only because they were too busy with their farm. I will check with them next fall, though, when the geese fly south.

copyright ©2010 Laurie J. Anderson, all rights reserved.

The Hazards of Crop Transportation

I have just returned from a trip to the small settlement of Swallow Creek in north Georgia, where I observed an interesting method of shipping produce. The roads to this place are so steep and narrow that the farmers can’t export their crops by wagon. They therefore don’t grow vegetables in any commercial quantity, with one exception: corn. Farmers up there have learned to convert most of their corn to liquid. Since unhusked corn can go bad quickly, they take the added precaution of fermenting it for preservation purposes. They then make use of the natural forces of gravity by pouring it off a rocky granite outcrop from which it falls to a large vat in the valley far below their settlement. The owner of the vat pays the farmers for their crops by weight.

For this reason, people in the area measure the land in gallons, not acres.

I discovered all this accidentally when attempting to refill my water supply from what I thought was a pure mountain waterfall. It was dusk, and in order to see better I carried a lantern. Well, I stumbled and dropped the lantern. Imagine my surprise when the waterfall caught fire. Not only that, but the flame appeared to travel both up to the source of the stream above, and also down the mountainside. I looked over the ledge I was on as far as I dared and watched the flame as it ran downward until it reached the valley, where it ignited a large pond. The pond stayed lit for some time.

When I reached Swallow Creek the next morning, the farmers were in a sad state. It seems their entire season’s yield had been consumed by fire the night before. Upon learning the details, I decided that further enlightenment from me would not help matters. I mentioned, however, that the ancient Romans faced a similar problem and solved it by transporting their water via aquaducts. The farmers got rather excited about this. The last I heard they were planning to construct something which they were calling an aquae-vitae-duct.

By way of making amends, I also left a bottle of Wizard Water^© to help speed production of their next crop. With luck, they might fit another season in the next week or so. I just hope they get the produce bottled before storm season sets in. The lightning strikes around here don’t need any augmentation.

* * *

Frugality

My father’s father was a farmer and a frugal man. One year it got so hot that his corn started popping off the stalks right out in the field. They popped with such force that the kernels blasted holes into the sugar cane crop in the next field. His sugar cane then started to leak sap at a steady pace. He was in a quandary. Crows were feasting on the corn, but in the time it would take him to gather up the corn, his cane field would become a mass of syrup. Which crop should he save? He couldn't afford to lose either one.

He solved his problem by sweeping all the popped corn into the cane field and then rolling the corn in the syrup. It gradually formed a sphere the size of a barn. Folks came from miles around to gawk at the giant popcorn ball, and he began to charge a fee for samples. He finally sold the thing to a circus sideshow for twice what the separate crops would normally bring.

From this he taught us two valuable lessons:

• Never overlook the possibilities for any product, and
• Never walk through a corn field on a very hot day without some kind of head protection.

(Some of my family call my grandfather “granddad”, but to me he’ll always be “grandpop.”)

* * *

Proper Accounting Skills

The efficient management of any mercantile business depends upon good bookkeeping. It is, however, a tedious, mechanical act which anyone with the proper training can do. Since my wife usually remains at home while I am on the road, I determined to train my assistant Bleb, who accompanies me on business trips, in the basics of math and record-keeping. This would enable me to make the most of my valuable time in other lucrative pursuits.

At first I tried to teach Bleb using stones as counters, but he would not respond. After switching to corn, however, a light seemed to dawn and he quickly learned his tables. He seemed to like addition and multiplication the best, with somewhat less enthusiasm for subtraction and absolutely no tolerance for simple long division. This suited me fine as I’m not so fond of even splits myself.

Bleb’s final hurdle was learning to tell coins apart. He had no problem determining the difference between copper pennies and five dollar gold pieces -- both are small coins but of different colors. Denominations between those gave him pause, however (two-cent and three-cent pennies sometimes confused him, as did dimes and silver half-dimes). He developed a two-part method to overcome any problem: first he would eye the coin, and if he knew the denomination he would push it off the table into a sack and record the amount with a hoof mark in the dirt. If he was uncertain, he would lick the questionable coin and thereby ascertain its true value. He was quite accurate, though my wife complained of having to wash our income before she could pay for groceries.

Things were working out well until the day I decided to put all our profits in a new hiding place. Bandits had been holding up coaches and lone riders alike on a long stretch of road we had to traverse to get home, and I was afraid that the usual spot was too obvious. I was right in that respect. When several masked men stopped me outside of Dahlonega, the first thing they did was search the wagon bed for a hidden compartment – which they found right away. It was empty, however.

I protested that I had lost all my money in a game of chance the night before, but the bandits refused to believe I had nothing (one of them insisted he had lost all his money to me at that same game). They tore the wagon apart, then ripped up my coat and pants, looking for hidden linings. They found nothing. Finally, after much cursing and smashing of Wizard Water^© bottles, they left in disgust. I heaved a sigh of relief, and removed Bleb’s feedsack, which he had been quietly munching on through all the ruckus. At the bottom of the sack I had buried about a pound of five-dollar gold coins. Unfortunately, it was empty, too. Bleb had eaten all his feed, and being rather hungry that day, the gold as well.

From this I discovered that it is possible to develop a taste for accounting, but there’s still no accounting for taste.

Luckily, I was able to get Bleb home to the barn before that costly meal worked its way through his system. My wife will never forgive me, though, for the cleaning job she had to do on our income that week.

copyright ©2009 Laurie J. Anderson, all rights reserved.