Travels With Becky

More silly questions

Maple syrup. Always good for a story, because it’s so misunderstood.

The Lucy family in Bartlett had a sugar house on West Side Road. A visitor from out of state, seeing the boiling sap, had this question: “When do you put the brown in?”

Goes right along with the question a few blogs back: “When does a deer turn into a moose?”

Or this one: “Where can I buy one of those frost heaves advertised on signs along the road?”

Have you ever been asked a question that just floored you with such a fundamental misunderstanding, you didn’t even know where to start?

Family poems

At a joint meeting of the Colonial Dames and Daughters of Founding Patriots at the Congregational Church in Northwood, we regaled one another with stories.  “We’re not a very diverse group,” warned the woman who booked me. That made me smile.

My Aunt Rosa traced her ancestors back and got enough documentation to become a member of the Daughters of the American Revolution. I’ve got the scroll tucked away in a drawer somewhere. Rosa wasn’t very diverse either, come to think of it.

One lady recited a couple of family poems. My family has poems, too, one anyway. It involves Rosa and was a listing of the names of the children, because there were so many. Went something like: 

Rosa, Etta, Tamar, Scott.
Molly, Polly, Jane and Dot.

And Dot was Ned but Ned didn’t rhyme.

On the other side of the family there were so many Robert Stewarts, we had a saying for that: Big Rob, Little Rob, Rob’s Rob and Curly Bob.

Here’s one of the family poems from a Colonial Dame (or maybe she was a Daughter of Founding Patriots).

Stephen Stephen, cut the cheese! 
Even or odd
I’m going to have my cheese
by God

Stephen was also the one, evidently, who wanted to help out by burning the cobwebs in the woodshed. A nimrod move if there ever was one.

I’d LOVE to hear some more family saying and poems. Send them my way by clicking comments below or e-mailing [email protected]

That takes the cake

Grace and her husband raised their children in Westmoreland (pronounced, I believe, Wesmuhlan).

She had baked a cake from a favorite recipe for a meeting of her ladies group. She told the children, “Don’t touch the cake.”

When she was out of the room, young Richard touched the cake. He cut himself a slice. 

When she returned and saw a piece missing from her beautiful cake, she might have gotten mad at Richard. But she couldn’t. 

He’d placed a blue ribbon in the hole.

Loving life after 100

Just a quick one to show that in some folks our sense of humor sharpens over time. 

Grampa turned 101 on April 16, 2009, his granddaughter said.

She asked what was the best part of being over 100. 

He said: “No peer pressure.”

Churchgoers

A sweet lady in Loudon told this story. She said that during the ‘60s, a minister in town tried to get her father to attend church.

Father said: “When I get to feeling wicked, I’ll be down.”

If I told this story before, cut me some slack, would ya?

True story. I was selling books at the church fair and remarked to the minister how very much I enjoyed the folks affiliated with the church. Such nice people. 

She said: “We get together every Sunday morning at 9:00. Maybe you’d like to join us.”

 

Silly questions

Fella from the city visiting the farm says, “That’s the homeliest dog I ever saw.”

He was looking at the nanny goat.

Same fella, at dusk, looks out in the field.  “That’s the homeliest horse I ever saw.”

It was a moose.

And then, there’s the silliest question tourists ask guides in the White Mountains: “When does a deer turn into a moose?”

Oh, that Pearl!

Pearl Tucker lived next door to Leo Corliss in Alexandria Village. They were good friends with wicked senses of humor. One day Pearl asked Leo, who was handy, to take a look at her desk. One of the drawers was sticking shut.

Later that day, Pearl was talking with a neighbor.

“That Leo Corliss,” she said with a twinkle, “he’s been fooling around with my drawers all day!”

 

Scandal in Alexandria

Mrs. Bob Pealer* was driving down the road in early spring when she met another car, swerved into the ditch to avoid it and got stuck. The fellow in the other car felt bad.

“Can I help you?” he asked. 

“Yes,” she said, “would you take me home?”

“Where do you live?”

“Up top of the hill by the four corners.”

“Way up there?”

“Yes.”

“Whereabouts?"

“The Pealer place. I’m Bob Pealer’s wife.”

“No, you’re not. I was up there last month fixing the chimney and you ain’t her.”

She didn’t say whether she ever did figure out just who she was.

*Pealer may not be the exact right name. I wrote it down in my little book, but couldn’t make out my scribbles. Probably for the best, considering.

Moose and chickens

Spotted outside the Alexandria Town Hall -- a herd of moose. They were already posing for pictures, so I shot them too. A picture of them, I mean.

 Evidently, they’d participated in a Moose Run for charity.  Looking good.

This story was told of Hap from Elkins who had some chickens come up missing.

Hap said to his neighbor down the road: “Be sure not to let your chickens out. They might come home.” 

(Thanks to Tom Keegan for that story.)

Cow tales

The visitor to the dairy farm noted the names of the cows on the stanchions and wondered how the cows knew which stall was their own. The farmer said, “Well, they don’t – until they’re six. That’s when they learn to read.”

Which reminds me of the story told to me by Steve Taylor’s son regarding his father’s dry sense of humor. Steve served many years as New Hampshire's commissioner of agriculture.  On the farm they raised Holsteins. One morning after milking, Steve announced that one of the cows was kinda frisky and acted like she need breeding.

“Which one?”

Steve said, “The black and white one.”