The Hancock-Henderson Quill, Inc.

The Wisdom Of Barnyard Bruke: "Seasonal Change, Pheasant Fer Dinner, Good Ole Dog, Funeral Poems"

Greetings ta ever one in western Illinois and all readers of The Quill.

Seasonal Change

The trees around these parts are show'n their full glory with their beautiful colors. Leaves are a fall'n and we know fer sure by now we have changed into a new season. It seems a joy ta change seasons and in a way I feel kinda sorry fer them folk that miss out by live'n south. I reckon that's the way they like it or they wouldn't be live'n there long.

It is a good thing we don't all like the same things or our lives would be plenty crowded.

Pheasant Fer Dinner

Last week I commented on pheasant season in South Dakota. My friends brought back a supply of fresh pheasants from up there and Mrs. Bruke is mighty pleased. She usually cooks up a batch of pheasant fer all the meals at our many family gatherings. While there are other dishes of meat served, her pheasant is usually the first ta show an empty plate. She's got a special way of bread'n, cutt'n and cook'n the bird that is second ta none. Of course I might be a little bit prejudice on the matter.

Good Ole Dog

Our good farm dog has suddenly gone blind in both eyes. He is over 12 years old and has served faithfully dure'n all those years. One of a dog year life is like seven of a humans. That would make my loyal dog about eighty-four years old. At that age, something has gone wrong in her brain ta cause loss of sight.

The melancholy truth about animals fer pets is they have shorter life spans than us humans do. That means ya probably will go through several "best friends" in your lifetime.

Fer those unfortunate ta not outlive their pets, especially if'n its a dog, there are some true but sad stories of the dog "mourning" in the cemetery at the grave site of their master.

One feller asked me if'n I knew the difference betwixt the loyalty of a spouse versus that of a dog. Without give'n him a long dissertation on my opinion of the matter I chose ta ask fer his description of the difference.

His reply was if'n ya are travel'n somewhere with your dog and locked him up in the trunk of your car or the cargo bed of your pickup truck, when ya sets him free he will wag his tail, show a great deal of affection and give a lick for a kiss.

Try that method of transportation with your spouse and see what happens! Now ya know the difference.

Funeral Poems

I was ta a funeral of a friend who was a lifetime farmer. The following poem by Nancy Kraayenhof certainly applied:

Close The Gate

For this one farmer the worries are over, lie down and rest your head,

Your time has been and struggles enough, put the tractor in the shed.

Years were not easy, many downright hard, but your faith in God transcended,

Put away your tools and sleep in peace. The fences have all been mended.

You raised a fine family, worked the land well and always followed the Son,

Hang up your shovel inside of the barn; your work here on earth is done.

A faith few possess led your journey through life, often a jagged and stony way,

The sun is setting, the cattle are all bedded, and here now is the end of your day.

Your love of God's soil has passed on to your kin: the stories flow like fine wine,

Wash off your work boots in the puddle left by blessed rain one final time.

You always believed that the good Lord would provide and He always had somehow,

Take off your gloves and put them down, no more sweat and worry for you now.

Your labor is done, your home now is heaven: no more must you wait,

Your legacy lives on, your love of the land, and we will close the gate.

At another elderly friends funeral, the follow'n poem, entitled "Final Harvest" by Barbara W. Weber was given:

He was bound to the land from the day of his birth

His roots anchored deep in the fertile earth

Nurtured, sustained, by the soil he grew

And his life, like his furrows, ran straight and true.

In faith, each spring, he planted the seeds

In hope, to reap for his family's needs

With patience, he waited for harvest to come

To gather the fruits of his labor home.

Ever turning seasons, the years sped past

Till the final harvest came at last

Then claimed anew by beloved sod

He was gathered home to be with God

These poems carry a lot of meaning as I reflect back on my old blind farm dog and how faithfully he served his farmer master.

Harvest is almost complete around these parts but it is well ta continue watch'n out fer slow move'n machinery on our rural roads. We don't want any of these poems read at a funeral caused by an accident unnecessarily.

Have a good week, enjoy the full moon, watch out for young trick or treaters and visit a friend in the nurse'n home or hospital. Don't forget to "fall" your clocks back at the appropriate time this coming Sunday.

Hope'n ta see ya in church this week.

Wherever ya is, whatever ya be a do'n "BE A GOOD ONE!"

Keep on Smile'n

Catch Ya Later