My mother-in-law, Pat Hendrickson lived in Meeker about a year before passing at the age of 94. She didn’t get to meet most of you, so I would like to share some of her humor with you now. Her Christmas letters from Bartlett, Kansas, population 69, were hilarious stories of life on the farm. Ernie was her husband and all around great father-in-law.
Dear Friends and Relatives (and you know who you are),
When I went to the mailbox this morning I found the strangest thing in it, and I am here to tell you I have found some very strange things in mailboxes, but this time it was a Christmas card in there. Can you imagine? And it isn’t even Halloween yet. Oops! There has been a Halloween. And by gosh, I seem to remember a Thanksgiving in there someplace. So-o-o it is time for Christmas cards and me with a list as long as King Kong’s arm and owing everyone in the world a letter. What to do? The first thing, of course, is to panic. The second is just to throw away all thoughts of writing each and every one of you your very own letter and lump you all together in this my yearly excursion into the ridiculous. I am hoping most of you won’t mind and those of you who do, please write your congressmen, and ask them to pass a bill outlawing copy machines. Half those fellows will jump at the chance to have something constructive to do if only they can figure out how.
Now I believe it is time to tell you something about what we have been doing so you will think we have been doing something constructive ourselves. Well, to be truthful we don’t do much. We merely take one day at a time (that sounds like a good title for a TV show) and as surely as flood follows rain and drought follows heat, in our part of the Garden of Eden, we manage to have a bit of fun out of our non-profit organization we call a farm. We have developed little tricks for getting through the day. Mine is staying in bed as long as possible each morning. By the time I rise the worst part is usually over. Ern is a brick about getting his own breakfast. Not that a bowl of raisin bran would strain anyone but fixing a large pot of black coffee and getting it hooked to my arm can be tricky.
I am trying to think of something interesting to tell you and all that comes to mind is the day the tractor and Ern sank, for all practical purposes, out of sight in the swamp that lurks in one corner of a wheat field. It appeared on close inspection that Ern was trying to construct a new waterway to barge crops out with his tractor tires. By the time he got me and another tractor to pull him out, water was beginning to fill around the wheels and the canal was ready to sail. This is hard to believe when one considers we had barely a drop of rain from June to Nov. Then 2 inches fell—all on assumes on the swamp—and EUREKA! Ern took a mud bath and was thoughtful enough to include me in. After much mucking about Ern pulled Old Blue and me out of there (I always get to steer things that are being pulled) and we felt rather pleased with ourselves.
The children are grown, you see, and away from home but the cats are here. I can see why people in and out of their dotage act dotty about their pets. I don’t think we are that far gone—yet. Ern still likes me better than our Morris the Cat. But if that cat ever learns to cook breakfast…..
And so that brings us to you dear friends and relatives who are our dear friends too. May your Christmas be warm and funny and full of fanciful dreams for the coming year. And to you dieter (and do you ever know who you are) remember that yes there is a Santa Claus but there is no such thing as a low-cal Christmas cookie.
By ED PECK
