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Smiles from Summer Shade writer
Wendell Kennison is a long-time writer from this region who specializes in humor. He has put his collection into a book and shared the following with us in issue 42:
When youre twelve years old and live on a farm way back from a main road you have to improvise ways to have fun. I remember very well the day my cousin Burl and myself got into a world of trouble in the name of fun.
My uncle Allie was as scared of a snake as anyone alive. He often said, Maybe a snake wont hurt you, but hell make you hurt yourself.
Burl and I were helping Uncle Allie set tobacco along Fiddle Creek in Breckinridge County near Custer, Kentucky. In those days you set tobacco the hard way, by pegging it. Along up in the morning we took a break and Uncle Allie pushed his way through the horse weeds to wash some of the grime off his hands and face in the creek.
There was a long rubber hose on the wagon which we used to siphon water from the creek to water the plants. Burl and I grabbed the hose and snuck up behind Allie who was squatted down splashing water on his face. We slid the black hose between his feet from behind and just as he spotted it slithering between his feet we hollered SNAKE!!!
Now everyone has heard of the standing broad jump and the running broad jump in the Olympics. Well Uncle Allie invented a new one right there, called the squatting broad jump. He would have won two ways that day had he been competing in the Olympics; #1: in distance, he must have jumped forty feet, and #2: in height, at least fifteen feet! Burl and I must have wallowed down two acres of horse weeds.
We were laughing so hard we couldnt get up. Needless to say when Uncle Allie cornered us that evening it was not so funny. After he got done with us our britches wouldnt hold shucks.
Then there was the time...I guess I had better stop for now. There is a twinge just below my hip pocket that brings back memories of that day.
~ ~ ~
All of my life I have heard that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. This story I am about to relate proves that theory.
Seems that a city slicker decided to come to the country and do some hunting. He drove up to an old farm house and asked the farmer if he might hunt on his place. Being an obliging sort the farmer said he could hunt if he was very careful because there were goats and cows roaming around in the woods.
The city dude allowed he had seen all the current nature shows on TV, and therefore thought he qualified as a hunter. Well sir after a while the city fellow spies a movement in the bushes and out steps a big old billy goat. Now being from the city this hunter didnt know a billy goat from a robin red breast, and he shoots the poor animal graveyard dead.
The big game hunter runs to find the farmer to help drag him drag the goat back to the car. The farmer says, I heard you shoot a while ago, what did you kill?
The city slicker answered, I dont really know but Ill try to describe it to you. It had shaggy hair, the hardest head I ever saw, and stunk something awful.The old farmer turns pale and shouts, You danged fool, youve shot my wife! Marthys a blackberry pickin.
These stories are from the Book Of Smiles, by Wendell Kennison of Summer Shade, Kentucky. Published with permission of Wendell Kennison.
This story was posted on 2002-11-01 05:00:00
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