My nearest neighbor, Marvin, stopped by a few mornings ago to have me do some online computer stuff for him. While we were visiting about the goings-on in the small community in which we live, he surprised me by taking a serious tone and asking if I had been feeling alright, as of late.
“No better or worse than normal,” I replied, “Why do you ask?”
“Well,” he began, “I’ve noticed the last few of your columns just haven’t been as funny and entertaining as they used to be, and I wondered if everything was okay with you.” He even went further to add that some of my other friends throughout the community had expressed the same concern, as well. While I was touched at his concern for my well-being, I also felt a tinge of angst over the less-than-complimentary critique of my writing skills.
I began to explain that it had been difficult to write truly humorous stories about the farm since the blizzard last winter led into the floods of last spring and eventually developed into the drought of last summer. “Maybe you’ve got some ideas on how to get me out of this funk?” I asked.
After a few seconds of pondering thoughtfully, Marvin said, “Knowing how you’ve often written about the advice your sons provided when they were young, maybe you could benefit, in this situation, from the words of my grandson.” He then proceeded to relate the following story.
Marvin’s grandson, Ryan, is 5 years old and at the top of his kindergarten class in a nearby school. It seems that he had recently spent a day with Aunt Kimberly when she asked the young boy if he’d like for her to make him a mini-pizza from ‘whoppin’ biscuits.
“What are whoppin biscuits?” the inquisitive youngster asked.
“You know,” his aunt replied, “canned biscuits that you have to ‘whop’ on the edge of the countertop to open.”
Intrigued, the boy answered, “Sure.”
Miss Kimberly proceeded to roll out a couple of the biscuits in the shape of a small pizza, ladled on the proper amount of tomato sauce, and then smothered it with cheese and pepperoni before placing them in the oven.
Once the pizza was done, Ryan dug into the pizza with the normal zeal of any 5-year-old. After only a few bites, the boy looked up at his aunt with those puppy-dog eyes and politely asked, “Aunt Kimberly, do you have this recipe written down?”
“No,” Kimberly responded, “It’s all in my head.”
Then, out of the blue, Ryan stated, “Well, if I were you, I’d write it down on a piece of paper somewhere… and then I’d throw it away!”
Jerry Crownover farms in Lawrence County. He is a former professor of Agriculture Education at Missouri State University, and is an author and professional speaker. To contact Jerry, go to ozarksfn.com and click on ‘Contact Us.’
