Dear HHHy

I swear, Farmer H is a regular Dear Abby. As if riding with him isn't bad enough in times of fair weather and both hands on the wheel...I was a captive passenger yesterday in the rain, at 70 mph while Farmer H took a phone call. Two. Three, in fact.

Let the record show that Farmer H had a bright idea to visit our new favorite casino. Because, you know, we've only been home five days after visiting three casinos in three days. Still, I had all my money intact, and who am I to deny Farmer H a pleasure trip?

The first call was our back-creek neighbor Bev, who is concerned about the Crazy Stick-Road Man trying to steal her land by running his sewage onto it. I don't know about you, but if I was trying to steal somebody's land, I'd want it to be pristine. As untouched as pure Rocky Mountain spring water. Anyhoo...Farmer H answered his phone, and was on it for about 20 miles, trying to explain the facts of septic tanks. That Crazy Stick-Road Man is many things, but a dude who secretly installs an underground pipe to squirt his poopage onto her acreage is not one of them.

"He may not even know. I looked at it when you called me over there. There's no pipe. His drain field is leaking. I told you, call the DNR and let them check it out. I know they'll just send him a letter. But that's all they CAN do. They can't make him respond. Then it will have to go to court. No. There's no reason for you to buy a septic tank truck and suck it up and spray it back on his land. That won't work anyway. How are you going to suck it up? It just seeps onto the ground. I can't really help you any more than what I've told you..."

While I'm sad for Bev's paranoia seeping sewage issues, I don't think it's necessary for my life to be endangered while Farmer H sweaves one-handed in the fast lane alongside tanker trucks and car-hauling trucks loaded with next year's models.

The second call was Buddy, who gave Farmer H two chairs (that he had to drive home in the Gator after fetching them from outside Buddy's house) for helping Buddy in town at his rental house, moving in a washing machine. I couldn't deduce the question here. Maybe just whether Farmer H was the one who took the chairs that Buddy left sitting out. HEY BUDDY! I have two chairs on the side porch that you're welcome to come take!

By the third call, we were actually nearing the Mansion, on our gravel road. Good thing people can't see through the phone. "I'm not even home yet. [technically true] No. I don't. I don't have it. Uh uh. I can't." This one was sketchy, what with a relative asking Farmer H if he had anywhere near three or four hundred dollars to cash a check from a junkyard.

Seriously? According to Farmer H, every junkyard he has ever dealt with (you can imagine there are quite a lot), he's been paid in cash. He was also suspicious of claim that the local grocery store wouldn't cash it. "They cash checks all the time. From everywhere. Payroll checks. I can't imagine they wouldn't cash one from a junkyard." AND, the request had been to 'cash my friend's check,' which is probably the reason the store wouldn't do it.

"I'm not a bank! I'm not cashing a check! Then it becomes a THIRD PARTY check! NOBODY can get their money back for one of them if it's bad. YOU can't sue, because your name's not on the check. So you're stuck with a no-good piece of paper, after you've given them the money."

Yeah. Farmer H is full of advice. Sometimes, advice people don't want to hear.