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Farm life is made of miracles
We are witnesses to some of nature's most incredible and unexplainable happenings.
Science can provide an explanation of how corn grows, what causes a horse to walk at birth or why a herd of cattle, not owning a color Doppler radar, can predict the weather.
There are days, however, when I am convinced, a higher power is at play.
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Witness the miracle of the hay.
We store up to 1,500 bales of hay. Some we feed; some we sell. After I hit the lottery, I will buy machinery to make moving and stacking the 40-pound squares easier.
Until then, I'll be up here, in the barn, muttering and questioning this whole move-to-a-farm lifestyle change.
That's not the miracle.
Here it is: When moving hay, either to feed horses, to store or to throw against the wall in anger, I dress in a long-sleeved shirt, jeans, gloves and boots. The shirt is always tucked in at the waist. At the end of the chore (whatever it is), the shirt is still tucked.
Yet, when I take my clothes off, there is hay in my underwear.
It's a miracle, I tell you.
David Blaine, David Copperfield, even Harry Houdini himself could not explain how this magic trick is performed. It's a higher power that allows solid objects like hay stalks, weeds and grass to somehow penetrate through my clothing.
It's not a problem, of course, if it's just the horses up in the barn. They've seen me without my pants (another story, another column). Unfortunately, we have helpful friends and neighbors who answer the call of duty when it's stacking time. Sometimes we're loading a customer's truck or wagon with bales they've bought. At those times, it's not a good idea to drop my trousers, pull down my underwear and get rid of a pound-and-a-half of loose alfalfa.
That's just not how you do business.
And so, I'm left doing the "hay-in-the-underwear" dance as the poor, unsuspecting strangers talk among themselves about my obvious palsy.
This phenomenon can't be explained scientifically.
It must be a miracle.
For some reason, a higher power has chosen my itchy nether regions to prove to the world the existence of a higher power.
Maybe this is how the little girls in Fatima first came to fame. Perhaps our farm will become one of those sacred places that people travel to see, like a Middle East wailing wall or some Virgin Mary apparition in a foggy storm window in Idaho.
Come see the miracle of the hay-in-the-underwear!
For an extra 10 dollars, we'll show you the hay-in-the-bra!
OK.
Maybe 20.
To hear Scott Paulsen's column, visit www.observer-reporter.com. He can be heard each weekday afternoon from 3-7 p.m. on 1250 ESPN Radio.
