Blessed Honesty

As I said earlier, the little farm stand we run is based on the honor system, and for the most part, it has worked quite well. There is a secure metal box attached to one end of the trailer, with a slot at one end to accept money; people usually leave the appropriate amount for our produce, and we don't have to stay at the stand, leaving us free to do other things. There have been instances where a bunch of pumpkins have been stolen all at once, then others where people haven't quite paid what they should for what they've taken. It is difficult to understand, but such is the risk of honor.

Now, on the other side of the cornfield, there are those that offer something more than mere money for our wares, something... priceless.

The first time it happened, I thought; "well, someone is just well-wishing". Although the crucified Jesus is certainly my least favorite image of him, I figured we were blessed by someone.


When it happened again, I thought "how blessed we are, people really care about our mortal souls, and they like what we are doing here, and this is their seal of approval".

This one even had a prayer on the back!

Okay, so the third and fourth times it happened, I wondered if it was the same people leaving religious tokens, and were they leaving them in leu of money or in addition to it? Did they have a collection of this stuff, and didn't quite know what to do with it, and saw a convenient delivery slot? Maybe their message wasn't that they liked what we were doing, but felt we needed saving, as we are really bad bad people?

Then, like a sign from above, a note reassured us that all was okay.

Honesty really is a great thing, and though we try not to be like Charlie Brown being fooled by Lucy with the football over and over again, it's so important to be able to trust people. Along with love, it really is what makes the world go 'round.

So, keep spreading the love and trust around to everyone you meet, and whatever religion or ideal you believe in, may it guide you to a happy and fulfilling life.

-Dave

The Most Colorful Time of The Year

Okay, so there's something like 78 more shopping days until Christmas, so I thought, why fight it? I may as well embrace that season, even as I try to hold onto and enjoy this season, the season of color!

I'll have to ask you to sing along with this picture montage, to the tune of The Most Wonderful Time of The Year. C'mon, you know it will be fun!


It's the most colorful time of the year.

When the leaves change their hues;

And pumpkins are due;At least we have some this year;

It's the most colorful time of the year.

There'll be witches with bling features;

And wild Frankenstein creatures;

And ghosts that you don't have to fear;

There'll be kids climbing branches;

And posing on branches;

While the "girls" proudly show all their flair;

It's the most colorful time;

The most colorful time;

It's the most colorful time of the year!!!

See? In this age of multi-tasking, you can enjoy two seasons at the same time, and have fun doing it! Thanks for indulging my madness.

My thanks also to Mother Nature, my step-daughters April and Amy, my grandkids Tre and Jada, and especially my wonderful wife Jeanne for all the masterpieces you see here.

Until next time, may your rows be straight, your vines long and your harvest full.

-The Farmer-not-so-extraordinaire.

Remembering the Old Cobb

In 2007, Russell Bussiere, a longtime friend of our family, went missing while hunting in the same woods he had for as long as anyone can remember. A massive search and rescue operation was launched, including the National Guard, N.H. Fish and Game Department, and many volunteers. It was a tough search through snow and cold, and after a couple of weeks, the search was downgraded to a "recovery", instead of "rescue".

Smaller search parties journeyed out periodically, including cadaver-sniffing dogs, but to no avail. The winter of '07 & '08 brought a lot of snow to the area, further hampering efforts. Once the snow melted, small groups once again searched, hoping for closure, and after a couple of weeks, one friend of the family perservered and found Russell's body. Due to circumstances, nobody was able to determine how he died, but at least closure had been attained.

Russell loved the woods where he died, and knew them quite well. He also worked with granite for a major portion of his working life, and passed on his granite curb-setting business to his family, who still carry it on.

One of the most prevalent things I remember when I think of Russell is that he called his close friends "Cobb" a lot, and I always wondered what it meant. It's not a widespread word, and seems to be contained within the boundaries of the Suncook/Allenstown area of New Hampshire for some reason. I have done a little searching on it, and the closest I can come up with is an old Australian word "Cobber", meaning friend. I don't know if Russell ever went to Australia, but he was in the military as a young man, so it could have filtered down and around the world somehow and got shortened to "Cobb".

The reason why so many people turned out to help search for Russell is that he helped a lot of people over his lifetime. He was certainly his own man, and he could be very direct and to the point many times, but you always knew where he stood. Through the hard exterior, you always knew that he cared about people.

A few of his family members and I went to the spot where he was found, and placed this very fitting piece of Swenson Gray granite curbing to memorialize the man who called his friends Cobb. The bottle of Budweiser was left by his son Michael, as Russell did enjoy his refreshments:)

Rest easy, Cobb.