Ron called me Thursday to see if I could stop on Friday morning first thing to get a load of manure.
I had planned to pick it up Friday after work, but he had some farm chores then.
ìSure,î I said.
ìYouíll have a truck full of manure all day,î Ron said.
ìThatís all right. Itís a status symbol in Caledonia,î I replied.
So before work on Friday, I arrived at my usual spot down the road from Ronís farm, and he did his usual quick work with the loader. I watched as he dropped two buckets into the old truck.
It was good looking manure, full of red worms, not too ripe. Almost garden ready, but it was definitely manure.
My truck sagged and settled under the weight, but I had a sense that it didnít mind a bit. What higher honor for a truck?
ìThank you,î I told Ron. Thatís all the payment he ever wants. Then it was off to work.
The manure got a few looks over the course of the day. Gary and Bob at B&M service sized it up and decided maybe they shouldnít put the truck on the hoist to get at the leaky rear brake line. ìBring it back when the manureís gone,î Gary said. I drove off, leaving a little reminder of my visit.
At noon I drove it to Good Times for the weekly Rotary meeting. It may have been the first time in the history of Caledonia Rotary that a member drove a truck full of manure to a meeting. I was proud of that. Ann Thompson sniffed it out and asked if I could drop some off at her house. ìSorry,î I said with a smile that matched her own.
The courthouse, police station, and high school all were blessed with my truck full of black gold that afternoon. The state patrol caught a glimpse of it too as I checked out an accident on Schauble Hill after work.
It was kind of a fun distraction, and it got a few laughs at work too. ìIs that what I smell?î Dawn asked when she came in from a sales call. Sheís always teasing. But she didnít seem to mind either.
Thatís the thing in Caledonia and probably anywhere in rural America. A load of manure is not a bad thing. In fact, just the opposite is true.
Granted, there are certain stages of manure that would not be welcome on a reporterís Friday beat. Itís like a farmer that forgets to change his chore boots before going to church. Thatís not the kind of pew you want.
But the faint whiff of the barn on a person or a truck is just fine with me. Iím thankful we live in a healthy farming community, and Iíll take little reminders like that with no problem.
I unloaded the manure Saturday morning. It was good to shovel it onto the ground. I was thankful Ron had loaded it, but at some point youíve got to add some sweat of your own to get manure to work just right. A stiff back makes a person a little more grateful too.
My new manure pile will sit for a couple weeks, then Iíll probably mix it with some black dirt, and throw in some sand from the dredge pile in Brownsville. The result will be a rich soil to add to the garden. Cindy wants some for her flowers, and the vegetable garden has a bed with soil that is thin, as Mike Carpenter would say. The cucumbers and zucchini and melons there could use a little of Ronís black gold.
Black Gold. Caledonia M. Thatís my kind of currency. A little investment that will yield some big dividends in a couple months.
The cukes and zukes and zinnias and azaleas will emerge all the stronger thanks to Ronís generosity and that load of manure. Thatís something to be thankful for.

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Caledonia Argus
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