That's Money You Smell!

It's summer again at Juniper Hill, and the neighbors are busy. It's quite common to turn out the driveway and land right behind a tractor making its way from field to field, which sure slows down those trips to the beach.

From time to time the wind shifts, and you get a whiff of what the locals are up to at this season. When I would remark on this as a child, my grandfather would nod wisely and intone "that's money you smell." (I am compelled to point out that Pop was not a canny old back-country farmer, but a banker in residence for the summers only, who purchased the right of way to our house from old Thurmon Maine, a quite authentic COBCF, MORE THAN ONCE.)

The other day, I found myself behind one of those ancient and mysterious pieces of equipment that move around at this season. It was soon clear to me that it must be a manure spreader, so I fell back a bit and continued my leisurely drive home. Once home, I settled back in to clearing out the squirrels' nests, hanging curtains and, still getting faint whiffs, musing about my grandfather and the glories of country life.

At least I did until I looked outside and discovered Pete shoving his head into the spitmobile's wheel wells and giving his ears a good annointing.