Afew weeks ago, a friend was riding with me as I made my afternoon rounds. I was up at the north place tending to a crippled bull when I asked my buddy to look behind the seat of my truck to see if I had an extra can of “purple spray” to apply to the infected foot of the bull. He walked back to the truck, which was hidden from my sight, and spent what I thought was way too much time. When I finally gave up on him and walked over to the truck, I saw him still pulling out stuff from behind the seat.
“No purple spray?” I asked.
“Not yet,” he answered, “but, I’m only half way into this pile of junk.” My non-farmer friend had hurt my feelings because, as far as I was concerned, there was not one item behind the seat of my farm truck that wasn’t vital to the success of my operation.
He said he understood the necessity of some of the items such as a lariat rope, a half-roll of toilet paper, and even the rifle inside a carrying case, but the rest of the stuff would have to be explained. My education of the agriculturally-illiterate adult began.
The bag containing the Crescent wrench, Vise-grips, and interchangeable standard/phillips screwdriver coupled with the knife in my pocket, were a complete tool set that would allow me to work on anything I own. The box of shoulder-length, plastic OB gloves are helpful year round, but an absolute necessity during the spring calving months. Yeah, maybe the layer of dust on them had broken the “sterile field” that some veterinarians demand, but they serve the purpose just the same. The three or four foul-smelling, and stiff-as-a-board nylon straps should have been a dead giveaway, but I even had to explain their purpose to the “city boy.”
“What are these for?” my friend asked as he pulled out a half-empty box of Swiffer Sweeper cloths.
“Those are the best things yet for dusting off the dash of my truck,” I answered. “You know how I like to keep a neat and clean vehicle.” He rolled his eyes as he looked at the two inches of dried cow manure and mud in the floorboard of the truck.
As we continued to sort and repack, I thought everyone in the world kept a little baling wire behind the seat to repair everything else the wrench, pliers and screwdriver couldn’t – but I guess not. The box of welding rods is there because I have welders at two different farms and got tired of having to go to the other farm every time I needed to weld something. As for the fire extinguisher – after burning up my baler last year, I have a fire extinguisher on or in every vehicle and implement I own. Of course, they would be of more use if I kept them charged properly.
The education continued through the million candle-power spotlight, can of chain-lube, axe, syringes, medication bottles, insulated work gloves, WD-40, nylon tow-strap, four-way lug wrench (I even had to explain this because he insisted that the one under the hood was all I needed, until I explained that the stock trailer, flat-bed and squeeze chute all had different sized lug nuts), and at least eight new ball caps that have never been worn. Hey, if I’m going to wear their caps, I’m going to swear by their products.
“Okay, okay,” my friend muttered. “I can see the need or importance of all but one of the things we’ve dug out from behind your seat.” With that comment, he held up a mini-sized bathroom plunger and stated, “But this can have absolutely no FARM use.”
I took the plunger from his hand and closed the door of the truck. “When you drive in amongst the cattle every day, there is always one that will find a way to back into or butt your truck.” I then used my knee to cave in the side of the door on my truck. I then stuck the plunger onto the door and pushed to get rid of the air before giving it a quick pull. The door panel popped right out into its original shape.
“Well, I’ll be a #$%^&”
We never did find the can of purple spray – which can only be a sign of one thing. It’s time to restock my truck.
Jerry Crownover is a farmer and former professor of Agriculture Education at Missouri State University. He is a native of Baxter County, Arkansas, and an author and professional speaker. To contact Jerry call 1-866-532-1960 or visit www.ozarksfn.com and click on 'Contact Us.'
