The Hancock-Henderson Quill, Inc.
Greetings to everyone in western Illinois.
For those of youn's that got a day or two of planting in before the rain Thursday afternoon, alls I can say is, "You Lucky Buggers!"
For those of youn's that haven't dried out enough to get into the field yet this spring, all's I can say is, "Hold tight, I'm a work'n on those blinders!"
About the time we was about to start some field work last week a feller showed up selling aerial photography of the farm. He had better of showed up last winter when I had more time. Nice enough pictures, shore enough, but poor timing on sales. Keep a sharp eye out for that feller when the sun is a shine'n.
It is getting close to, "rhubarb time". One pound of rhubarb yields about 3 1/2 cups chopped. For a 9-inch pie, you should have at least 6 cups chopped rhubarb.
Pull your rhubarb so that the stalks slip out of the base, or cut with a sharp knife. Spring rhubarb is juicier and more tender than plants that have endured hot weather.
For those of youn's that are a look'n for the government to get us out of the problems we are a face'n, I would remind you that one of the greatest lies in the world is, "I'm from the government and I'm here to help you".
If there is any question to that fact, look how they "helped" the native American Indians.
From the trail of tears, to the Battle of Wounded Knee, the Indian got the short end of the stick and helped out of any good land or anything else ever owned.
Sitting Bull-Custer's proud conqueror-gave eloquent voice to the Indian's grievance. A grievance that embitters the red man to this day.
Sitting Bull stated,
"What treaty that the whites have kept has the red man broken? Not one.
"What treaty that the whites ever made with us red men have they kept? Not one".
"When I was a boy the Sioux owned the world. The sun rose and set in their lands. They sent 10,000 horsemen to battle. Where are the warriors today? Who slew them? Where are our lands? Who owns them?
"What white man can say I ever stole his lands or a penny of his money? Yet, they say I am a thief.
What white woman, however lonely, was ever, when a captive, insulted by me? Yet they say I am a bad Indian.
What white man has ever seen me drunk? Who has ever come to me hungry and gone unfed?
"Who has ever seen me beat my wives or abuse my children? What law have I broken?
"Is it wrong for me to love my own? Is it wicked in me because my skin is red; because I am Sioux; because I was born where my fathers lived; because I would die for my people and my country?"
When Santee Dakota reservation Indians suffered crop failure and were starving, local traders, like Andrew J. Myrick by name, remarked with lofty indifference.
"Let them eat grass". The government held the self-serving notion that, "The only good Indian is a dead Indian."
Typical was General Patrick E. Connor's command to his troops out on an Indian-hunting expedition (some sport huh). "You will not", ordered the general, "receive overtures of peace and submission from the Indians but will kill every male Indian over 12 years of age".
As soldiers would stampede thru villages marauding and killing, the squaws would race out of their teepees and lift up their skirts to show they were women. It made no difference to soldiers who sliced and diced them on the spot and shot whom ever they could not reach with their swords.
Finally, on December 29, 1890, the end of major Indian resistance to the white man came to a conclusion.
The battle was the bloody climax to a dispute over a Sioux ritual called the Ghost Dance, which promised the return of lost lands and glory.
Four hundred and seventy soldiers (470) surrounded one hundred forty six (146) men, women, and children killing all with a fusillade of bullets. Famed Chief Sittin Bull was among those slaughtered.
Those soldiers were from the government and they were there to help!
Keep on Smil'n
Catch ya later,