This morning, while tooding down the road toward town, I saw an airplane approaching the ground fast and steep. At first, I thought it was doing a touch and go, and then I saw that it was a bi-plane, pretty and yellow, spewing dust over a field—a crop duster. I hope whatever chemical he used was a good one, for sheep are often in that field, but they were elsewhere today.
The plane had an open cockpit, and it appeared that the pilot was having fun. He would flow over the electrical lines, do a steep bank, turn and aim close to the ground again, and release whatever chemical he was dusting. Hubby and I had an aerial show.
Here is an offering from my grandson on how to find water in Africa. First, you must discover baboons, for they are skilled in finding water. And they like salt. So, you put some salt in a box with a hole large enough for a baboon to reach in, but he can't get his hand out since he doesn't want to turn loose of the salt. You cage him, give him more salt, and when he gets thirsty, turn him loose and follow him to water.
That sounds like a snipe hunt. When I was a kid, adults would send their kids off with a salt shaker, telling them if they sprinkled some on a snipe's tail, they could catch him. That occupied the kids for a while, and no one came home with a snipe.
"Any comments written while stoned will be called a high note." ( Not original.)
I posted Chapter 21, I Remember The Song of The Mediterranean, on Sunday, but I am leaving it for today. Next week will be Chapter 22, We Aren't in Kansas Anymore.
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Thanks for being here,
Jo