Good ol' country wisdom
By PAT WICK
© Another Day in the Country
We've been in the country now almost a thousand days and I'm still confounded by the ways of Kansas weather! Try as I might to figure out the whims of a season, something always trips me up.
Last spring, I heard the adage, "You should plant your potatoes by St. Patrick's Day," and I did. Wouldn't you know it, we had a late frost and my little baby potato plants all got nipped rather severely and never quite recovered their vigor!
Not to be deterred, I tried it again this year — and so far so good, but some folks in town are already on their second planting of potatoes.
I went so far as to purchase a Farmer's Almanac and the first prediction I came across said we were going to have an extremely wet year — starting in January. So, I was mentally prepared for a wet and soggy spring — we haven't had one! I lost faith in the Almanac.
Always on the lookout for a hot tip or getting a leg up on the learning curve, I've been listening to old timers.
I've learned how to cure warts. "Steal a dishcloth, rub it on your wart, and bury the cloth," I was told. "By the time the dishcloth rots, the wart will be gone." I was rightly skeptical. "It works," I was told. "How long does it take a dishcloth to rot?" I wanted to know. "A while," came the sage reply. I figure if you want to be done with a wart in a hurry, you'd better steal an old and rather rotten dishcloth in the first place which will serve you well on both ends — with whomever you stole in from and God.
I've received lots of advice about when the frost is coming in the fall, which I'll have to remember. "When you hear the katydids sing, frost is six weeks away." Does anyone know what a katydid sounds like?
Or "When you see the first wild asters blooming — then frost is six weeks away." As for frost in the spring, they told me that when the hedge tree leaves are the size of the ear of a mouse you'll have the last frost. They also told me — these wise and witty country sages — that I can plant my corn when the hedge leaves are as big as a squirrel's ear. I see that I'm going to have to brush up on anatomy. Anyone measured a squirrel's ear lately?
Meanwhile I've also received tips about what you do when someone gives you the start of a plant. "Don't ever thank them," Mary Alice told me, "or your plant won't grow."
Probably the best information I've received was for fisherman — alas, I don't fish. "When the wind's in the west — the fishing is best," Doris said. "When the wind's in the east your catch is the least. When the wind's in the north — do not go forth. And when the wind's in the south it blows the bait to the fish's mouth."
Some said, "Don't plant in any month with an "r" in the name." Immediately, they were contradicted. "No, you can only eat rabbits in a month with an "r" in the name." I just opted out of the conversation — it was too confusing and furthermore I don't eat rabbits.
I've been hankering for a big plot of corn, so Tool Time Tim told me that I could use his corral for a corn patch and we've been tilling it up in anticipation of planting corn. Thinking I'd gotten the hang of this country thing, I told Tim, "Can't we plant that corn now? The leaves of David's redbud tree are now the size of a squirrel's ear." "Nah," he said. "THAT's when you are supposed to go hunting for mushrooms." You can't plant corn until the HEDGE leaves are that big."
Ah, well. That's another day in the country.
