The Perils of Turkey Farming - The Last Laugh

Before he found his way into moonshine, a prominent resident of Plumtree Crossing took an ill-considered stab at turkey farming.


| November/December 1980



turkey farming - the last laugh - mustard and red

Turkey farming is apt to be a source of laughs for everyone if the farmer isn't really a farmer.


ILLUSTRATION: MOTHER EARTH NEWS STAFF

"Promises are kinda like babies: They's fun to make, but they kin be hell to deliver."  


Well sir, I don't know if I ever told you thet there's a editor-type varmint what peers over my shoulder ever' time I sit down to write up one of these yarns ... fer the reason mainly of makin' sure I git the durn thing done! But this restless critter — a member of the badger family, I'd say — jist informed me of its intemperate opinion thet recent tales in this column have overindulged in one partic'lar belly-ticklin' subject. So this month I intend to take a stab at lubricatin' yer funny bones without passin' around a mention — nor even a sub-tile hint — regardin' thet henceforth not-under-discussion topic.  

I guess I'll jist have to resort to some dry humor, instead!  

Now it so happens thet — on the warm November day I'm fixin' to tell you about — Purvis Jacobs was outa town visitin' his rich widdered grandma. The rest of the Plumtree Crossin' Truth an' Veracity League was sittin' around the Gen'ral Store's front porch — feelin' pretty dispirited you might say — an' wonderin' when the heck thet travelin' grandson were goin' to return. (You wouldn't think one individual would be so sorely missed by the assembly ... but Purvis does have a tonic effect on a group.)  

Ennyway, with the honorable intention. of killin' time, Ott Bartlett piped up, "You know, fellers, it's true thet our absent friend Mister Jacobs is a level-headed businessman — with a lot of liquid assets, as it were — today, but 'twern't always so. Fact is, once he even got involved with a entyprise worse'n trying to sweet-talk ticks off'n n varicose-veined bloodhound!"  

Well, as ev'ry one of those porch squatters knows, Ott's such a born liar thet he has to git somebody else to call his hogs. Still, they's almost nothin' the ol' boys enjoy more'n a round of exaggerated fabricatin', so Lafe Higgins obligin'ly inquired, "Shucks, Mister Bartlett, what project could thet have been" ... an' here's the story Ott told in reply.  





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