The Hancock-Henderson Quill, Inc.
Greetings to ever one in western Illinois and all readers of The Quill. It seems the weather is warm'n up a bit and with the stronger winds, should help dry things out.
Too bad on the levy break'n up at Oquawka. Me and the misses traveled up there to see if'n there was any truth to the rumor of poor levy construction.
Shore enough, a sand pile of little significance on a vulnerable street by the Oquawka Diner was the only defense against the ravages of the water. Well the rest is history. What a mess and the Oquawka Diner loses business, houses are flooded and farmer's fields are under water clear to Gladstone. I'm sure I don't know the answer!
Bad news about Grandpa
On a lighter note, one of the boys informed me of some bad news about someone's Grandpa. It seems an elderly man had a massive stroke and the family loaded him up in the back end of their ole 1970 Ford F150 pickup truck. They drove frantically and at the breakneck maximum speed of 35 mph, delivering him to the emergency room no longer than 4 1/2 hours later. (They had a flat tire along the way and had no spare)
Wait'n in the emergency room, after have'n a fine meal in the hospital diner, the emergency room doctor finally appeared wear'n a long serious and forlorn face.
The doc informed the old gentleman's family that "Grandpa was brain-dead because of the delay in gett'n him to help, but his heart is still beat'n."
The ole fellers wife cried out, "By golly thats shock'n, we've never before had a liberal in this family"!
Well, so much for what some might say is the insanity of humor. Perhaps you would like a clearer definition of humor. Well, lets give it a try through the definition of Ben Stein.
Definition of Insanity
"Fathom the hypocrisy of a government that requires every citizen to prove they are insured....But not everyone must prove they are a citizen."
"And now, any of those who refuse, or are unable to prove they are citizens will receive free insurance paid for by those who are forced to buy insurance because they are citizens".
Now that's somethin to think on fer a spell!
Turn'n back the clock
Seems as though there's been an inordinate number of folks pass'n on in our county these past few weeks. All were special, I'm sure, will be greatly missed, and could use our prayers.
One feller comes to mind, Bob Gibb, who farmed fer a spell in the Roseville community and eventually bought a farm and moved up north to Biggsville township.
Bob was a poet of sorts, along with be'n a dedicated farmer for much of his 90 years here on earth. His mother passed along her gift and appreciation for poetry to Bob.
In his later life, he wrote the follow'n poem entitled, "Turning Back the Clock".
I'd like to share it with you's in this column.
Turning Back the Clock
by Bob Gibb
Stop the world, I want to get off, to live again as a child,
And recapture those happy memories, not long, but just for a while.
It seems the world is moving so fast, I can't keep up with the times.
I want to go back and live once again, a childhood that was sublime.
I want to go down to the timber, to smell and pick the wild flower,
Throw my fishing line in the creek, where we'd spend many an hour.
I want to pick up the shotgun, and on a bright, crisp Sunday morning,
Go down and hunt the squirrels again, and to hear them bark their warning.
Oh to go down and pick wild berries again.
We would come back with buckets full.
Although we had few material things, our lives were never dull.
I would like to go down in the Fall again,
And through the leaves I would drag my feet.
Just to hear them rattle and rustle, it would be fun and so very neat.
I would like to follow the paths again, that were made by our dairy cows.
Oh, to go out to the barn again, just to play in the old hay mow.
I would like to come home from school again, and when it was about to get dark,
Go and and set fire to the rows of cornstalks, and watch the flurry of sparks.
They would drift up towards the heavens, then slowly they would go out.
If you have never had the experience, you can't know what I'm talking about.
I'd even like to pick corn by hand again, but just on the day we'd get done,
'Cause of all the happy days we had, this was possibly the happiest one.
I would like to play in the fodder shocks that were stacked so close together,
And watch the sparrows as the night approached, flitting from one to the other.
I want to thank my Mother and Dad, for all these happy days.
We didn't have much of material wealth, but were rich in so many ways.
Some day God will tap on my shoulder, and say,
"It's time to go Bob."
I will know that I had the best of times, and move on to a bigger job.
I shore enjoy the poem. Hope you did also, especially the older folk.
Well, I'd better get along and put the final ink to this column fer this week. I'm a hope'n you'ns has a good week and can stay reasonably high and dry.
Hope'n to see you's in church this weekend. Where ever ya is, what ever ya be a do'n, Be A Good One!
Keep on Smile'n
Catch ya later