July/August 1977
By the Mother Earth News editors
Avoid fried foods which angry up the blood.
If your stomach disputes you, lie down and pacify it with cooling thoughts.
Keep the juice flowing by jangling around gently as you move.
Go very lightly on the vices such as carrying on in society. The social ramble ain't restful.
Don't look back. Somethin' might be gaining on you.
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"There are many in this old world of ours who hold that we all get the same amount of ice. The rich get it in the summertime, and the poor get it in the winter."
Bat Masterson
Well sir, summer has set in for fair here in Barren County this year. Ole Man Bartlett—who's 84 if he's a day and who once spent four years prospectin' for gold in Death Valley—says that he's been to three state fairs, two rattlesnake roundups, and a goat ropin' and he ain't never seen nothin' like it.
Ole Ott was huntin' for a little shade around to the side of the Plumtree Crossin' General Store with some of the other loafers last Wednesday when he made his point. "By damn, it's hot," he was a'sayin'. "And dry! Why, I haven't sweat nothin' but dust for the last six weeks, the grasshoppers down in my hayfield are all carryin' canteens to keep from dyin' of thirst, and when I went fishin' down in the pond last evening all I could catch was dried herring."
Well now, Newt Blanchard—who'd just popped the cap offen a bottle of Nehi orange—wasn't about to let Ott get away with all the good "hot and dry" stories that day . . . even if it was Wednesday. So he piped right up with: "I can believe that for an actual fact 'cause my mouth was so dry the other day that the only way I could whistle for my dog was by ringin' a bell. I needed him to help me round up the cows, you see. The pasture's been doin' so poorly for lack of rain that my cattle's got starved down to the point where they can climb through the holes in the chicken wire and hide in amongst the Rhode Island Reds . . . and that's annoyin'."
"Say now," it was One Of The Jarvis Boys puttin' in his two cents' worth, "the rest of you fellers can go on all you want about this summer. But I'll take it this way any day over that wet weather we usta have all the time when I was stationed down in the Louisiana bayou. Why mister, that delta country's jest too blamed damp for me. Why the only time the sun ever shines down there is when it rains. And believe it or not, all the hound dawgs I saw back in those swamps was infested with crawdads 'stid of fleas. I swear! The onliest chickens I ever run across back up those sloughs all had webbed feet and their eggs hatched out snappin' turkles."
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