My Farm Supply Store!

I know this will sound funny, but I have an attachment to my farm supply store. I'm always looking for a reason to go in and search through the dark aisles and shelves for something. Often I don't even know what I'm looking for but I'm reasonably sure I will find it whatever it is.

The most attractive thing about the place is the owner who I will simply call George. George is an old school country boy who some may call redneck or worse. I just call him George and appreciate him for his differences from most of society.

When I find enough of whatever I was looking for, I pile the stuff on the counter in front of George. Sometimes he simply looks at the pile and says "how does ten dollars sound to you?" If it's a big pile, he may say "how does twenty dollars sound to you?" If it's a really big pile, he may rummage around in a drawer and finally come up with an old battery powered calculator. He starts punching numbers into the calculator without touching my pile and finally says "how does ##### sound to you?" I sometimes feel guilty and say "George, I think you forgot to add the sales tax to the total." He will usually say "no, I got the tax in there".

George's business consists of a small office up front with a larger room behind full of stuff either on shelves or piled behind the little office space. It sometimes seems he doesn't pay his electric bills for the shelved area because it is usually so dark back there, you must discern what your holding by feel or carry it up front into the light to read a label. Behind the small office building, George has a couple of really large warehouses which I've never entered. I can't imagine how the warehouses are organized, but he never seems to not have anything a customer asks for. If a customer orders twenty bales of hay or ten bags of alfalfa pellets or anything else in bulk, George will pull an old cell phone from his pocket and talk on it for a moment. He then looks at the customer and says "My mex-can will load that for you". In a few minutes, his Mexican employee will emerge from one of the warehouses driving a huge forklift with a pallet of the customers merchandise on it.

I am personally about as far from being "politically correct" as a human can be, but I do have one vein of sensitivity running deeply through me. It tends to bristle when I see one person exhibiting extreme insensitivity to another person. I just add that to my list of things I may never understand because I know George and his employee are in fact very good friends as well as employer / employee.

I suppose the main thing I like about my farm store is the fact that George has many garden plants about as early as you can get them in the spring. He then has mid summer plants and fall plants. He also usually has a good mixture of Heirloom and hybrid pepper, eggplant, and tomatoes. To see his garden plant area is almost like opening one of those seed catalogs I've been getting in the mail. I wander the aisles of his garden area looking for plants that intrigue me. In the middle of this past summer, I selected twelve tomato plants including some Cherokee Purple, for my fall garden. I placed them on the counter and George said "how does twelve dollars sound to you?"

Ted

[salix]

Wonderful post, Ted, you really have a way with words. A very enjoyable read as I look out at the snow and leafless trees. Think I have met a few 'Georges' in the past...

[matereater]

Sounds like my kinda place, just wish there were one like that around here!

Originally Posted by matereater

Sounds like my kinda place, just wish there were one like that around here!

I've seen a few places like George's driving south out of the lower peninsula towards Indiana. That's Amish country and I love it.

Ted

[Douglas14]

Thanks for sharing the story. I agree, you do have a way with words....are you a writer by trade?

Thanks Salix!

I've always enjoyed old people with old stories and unusual people with unusual stories. As I get older, many things I didn't appreciate as a young man seem more important as an older man. Exhibit one to prove my point is my farm store.

Ted

[Deborah]

We need more Georges ! That's a nice story.

[Deborah]

Wait-not the racial slur part. But if they're good friends that's their perogative.

Originally Posted by Douglas14

Thanks for sharing the story. I agree, you do have a way with words....are you a writer by trade?

Nope, not a writer. Just a retired engineer, but thanks.

Ted

[Sun City Linda]

I too greatly enjoyed your story Ted. Maybe you should try your hand at more writing, just until Spring, of course!

[jerryinfla]

What a wonderful read, Ted! You definitely have a gift with words. I too wish we had more Georges and places like his in the world we live in today.

[clkeiper]

Ted, I love this story. I wish I lived closer to actually "see" for myself and experience the ambiance of the store. I love to wander through this type of store just to see what is there, not necessarily needing anything in particular, but finding the treasure I have been needing.

Originally Posted by clkeiper

Ted, I love this story. I wish I lived closer to actually "see" for myself and experience the ambiance of the store. I love to wander through this type of store just to see what is there, not necessarily needing anything in particular, but finding the treasure I have been needing.

You probably couldn't find George's place until someone in the know asks if you've ever been to George;s farm store. When you say "no, I haven't", they start giving directions to George's place. Even with the directions, you will probably wander around for awhile looking for it. It's kinda hard to give directions to George's farm supply store.

George's store is located in a medium sized city within three blocks of the courthouse square. It takes up most of a city block, but it doesn't look like a farm supply store. It looks more like a collection of large tin warehouses with an office in front. It's surrounded by old brick warehouses which have been renovated into lawyers offices with most of the downstairs facade covered with large, darkly tinted windows. The upstairs have been converted into modern, expensive apartments for those citizens who no longer want to fight the traffic into town in the morning and out of town in the evening.

I've always wondered if the odor of fresh cut alfalfa from the bales stacked on Georges property doesn't give at least a clue to the apartment dwellers. It would be similar to walking into someone's house who has just baked a batch of yeast rolls. You recognize the enticing odor, but you can't quite remember why it seems so familiar.

If you ever find yourself in north Texas, let me know. I will gladly take you to Georges Farm Supply Store. I'm not very good at giving directions.

Ted

[clkeiper]

Ted, If I ever get to texas again, I will try to make sure I have a day to stop and visit. Thanks for the offer. carolyn

Originally Posted by Sun City Linda

I too greatly enjoyed your story Ted. Maybe you should try your hand at more writing, just until Spring, of course!

Okay Linda,

This one is for you. It may be a little long, but I hope you enjoy it.

I hope it cuts and pastes okay. Sometimes the Word formatting doesn't show up well in this editor, especially with separating paragraphs. I also didn't spend much time checking for grammatical errors.

FISHING IN THE MOONLIGHT
I don’t know why, but I’ve always enjoyed fishing by the light of the moon. When I was a young boy, I would travel with a group of friends to a lake about one hour from my home. We would arrive shortly before sundown and set up camp. When the moon came out, we would wade into the lake about chest deep and string out what we called trot lines. Trot lines were long lines with many hooks spaced about two feet apart with each end of the line anchored by a stake driven into the mud. Each trot line would then have a white plastic bottle attached which would float on the surface so it could be located in the moonlight.

After baiting the hooks, we would retreat to the campfire with two different guys wading out and checking the lines every two or three hours through the night. When the sun came up in the morning, we would unroll our sleeping bags into the shade of some large trees and sleep until mid afternoon when we would prepare to start the ritual over again.

As a grown man, my wife and I lived near the Louisiana Gulf Coast. I fished regularly with a friend who enjoyed moonlight fishing as much as me. We would arrive on the beach just before sundown. Since he drove a pickup truck, it made it easy to simply remove my pre-rigged surf casting rod and reel from the truck and start wading into the surf. We usually fished about waist deep because the surf would normally hit you in the chest and if you were farther out, the waves would knock you over.

As the sun dropped below the horizon in the west, the sea breezes usually began to calm down and the surface of the water became glassy smooth. I could usually see tiny fish and other sea creatures breaking the surface of the water around me. Sometimes I could see the V shaped wake of larger creatures swimming around us just below the surface. Everything around us shimmered and danced like diamonds in the moonlight. We rarely talked when we were fishing. It just seemed more pleasurable to listen to the sounds of the water around us.

I believe my favorite times to fish in the moonlight were with my older brother who has been gone for many years. We typically would fish in the sandy bottom of the Brazos river near Graham, Texas. We would usually drive our car down an embankment of a highway bridge over the river. By parking under the bridge, law enforcement officers didn’t feel obligated to stop every few hours and ask what we were doing.

We liked to fish all night and sleep all day. We usually would build a small campfire under the bridge to cook some breakfast before we unrolled our sleeping bags on some tall concrete pier foundations under the bridge. Sleeping on the supports made a lot of sense unless you wanted some rattlesnakes joining you in the sleeping bag.

We usually started fishing shortly after sundown. The full moon typically wouldn’t be overhead until a couple of hours after sundown, but starting a little early gave us some time to locate a few pools of water in the mostly dry river bed. The river bed was kind of tan in color in the daytime, but in the bright moonlight, it looked like a river of light. When my eyes adjusted to the moonlight, I could see almost as clearly as in the daytime. The biggest difference was against the river banks, every large object that looked common and normal in the daylight, looked dark and ominous in the moonlight. It was like looking at a photographic negative and trying to figure out what some things were from memory.

I liked walking the river bed barefooted while my brother always wore boots. I think he was concerned about stepping on a snake, but I could see them as well in the moonlight as I could in the daytime. I would usually wade into the pools of water when fishing and I didn’t enjoy walking in water logged boots the remainder of the night. I also enjoyed feeling the heat of the day trapped in the sand on my bare feet when the night time air had become cooler and crisp.

As we were leaving from our last trip to the Brazos river, we stopped by a little, old general store to say goodbye to the old lady who owned it. I always thought she must have played around the general store as a young girl when the little town was still a little town. When we were there, the town had about ten buildings still standing and the general store was the only building that still had any life in it. Everything else seemed to have rusted away

We always stopped at the store to buy a can of coffee grounds, some fresh bacon from the little meat counter, and a few other odds and ends, when we arrived. This time, we stopped to say goodbye as well. She always remembered us and was glad to see us on each trip. The last visit ended as I was wandering around the racks in the back of the store staring in amazement at some of the very old merchandise covered with years of accumulated dust. From the front of the store, I heard her say “ now honey, you be careful back there. them old rattlesnakes like to get up on those shelves and rest”

That was our last trip to the Brazos river to fish together. The next year, I was in the Army.

Ted