Let Your Fowl Flags Fly

Last night/this morning at 12:03 a.m., I took it upon myself to change the baby. That is a euphemism for dumping my new dehumidifier, named D'Hummi, because, as I told the #1 son, it is as time-consuming as taking care of a newborn.

During a short break in the action during Big Brother After Dark, I figured it was better to get it over rather than wait until D'Hummi cried that he needed changing. I toted D'Hummi's pail of pure basement atmosphere water through Farmer H's workshop and out the basement door by Poolio. This task hasn't been too bad of late, what with the full moon. I can see the giant flat creek rocks that Farmer H scattered as stepping stones to Poolio's wooden stairs.

As I turned back to try and channel my inner goat so as not to trip on those uneven rocks, I spied something out of the corner of my eye. Over by the goat/chicken compound. It looked like a string of Tibetan prayer flags at an Everest base camp.















Since none of the Mansion-dwellers have notified me of their intent to scale the summit, I knew this was an erroneous perception. I looked closer. I squinted. There was definitely something along the entire side of the chicken pen fence. But I could not see well enough to figure it out. Farmer H left this morning before I had a chance to ask. I left with The Pony at 8:30, before the #1 son had arisen. When I called him around 11:00, I asked if there was something on the chicken pen.

"Yes! He's hung a bunch of colored towels along there. I don't know why. It looks stupid!"

"We do seem to be getting hillbillier and hillbillier by the day."

"I know. I hate those animals. They come running at me when I try to walk through the yard."

"I don't so much mind the yard. It's the chicken poop on the porch that gets to me."

"You need to tell him to get rid of those animals."

I agree. Don't think I haven't tried. Farmer H has selective hearing. But this evening, when I saw the glorious towel art that adorned the pen, he admitted that he hung them. "We had a leak in the camper. I mopped it up with towels, and I hung them to dry." He then plucked the stiff water-wipers off the fence, squeezed them into a bundle, and stuffed them in the back door of the camper.

I can never be sure what he's up to. But if he invites you to go camping, bring your own towel.