Saskatchewan Dynamite
Copyright 2006 - Murphy
Last fall, I needed a box of dynamite to blast out some tree stumps at the farm. I wanted to be finished before the weather turned too cold and huntin’ season started. I figured on using good, old fashioned sticks, but my buddy Riley said no, that they got special plastic bags at the hardware store now.
“Old Alfred Nobel would be proud of you, Steve! Them bags are the ones with granulated dynamite kibbles inside. Just like on the TV!” he said. “You should make a slurry. Got any diesel?" he asked. I farm four sections! Of course I got diesel and nodded my head. “Well, heck, don’t stand there lookin’ dumber than you are. Let’s go!”
So me and Riley jumped in my pick up and drove to the hardware store in town. When we arrived, I seen that Old Norm was workin'. Well, if you call sittin' on a lawn chair out front, talkin' to garden gnomes workin'. He's older than dirt and not all there…if you catch my drift. Since Monday was the owners weekly bowlin’ luncheon and tournament afternoon, who else would be watchin’ the place?
"Hi Norm!" I said. "Sure is cold out today. Cold enough to freeze the brass off a bald monkey!"
He just ignored me and kept fightin' with a small box, talkin’ to himself.
"They snapped right off! Damn French made crap!” Norm must have finally noticed that we was standin’ beside him ‘cause he looked at Riley and said, “You know, there was a time when imported stuff was really high quality and fancy. Look at this!"
The three of us stood there starin’ into a box full of aluminum nails. Now, I'm not talkin’ about nails that you use to nail aluminum with. I'm talkin’ about nails MADE of aluminum. French made aluminum nails. What the heck would they be for?
"Norm," I said, "I’d like to help you with them things but I’m in a rush. You got any dynamite in the back? See, I gotta..."
"No, no, don't tell me! You're goin’ to blow up manure piles again, ain’t ya? Ha ha! I'll never forget when you graduated from high school. While all your friends was at the dance, you and that stupid kid...um...what was his name again? Oh yeah, Nelford Beardsley! The two of you came in lookin' for to buy some dynamite that day too. Boy, he had a face that could curdle milk, didn't he?”
Then Norm spun around and looked right at my buddy, Riley. “I know you never met him but don't worry son, you didn't miss nothin'!”
He continued tellin’ his story, starin’ intently at my very confused friend. “Nelford was the youngest boy of a government fellow what tried to grow pineapples around here. Hah! A pineapple farm in Saskatchewan! And they called me an id-yut!”
As he finished speakin’, a bit of drool run out the corner of his mouth. Then he started laughin’, but stopped almost immediately. “What ever happened to him, Steve?"
"I don't know, Norm."
"Don't matter. Dumber than a bag of hammer handles he was. His family moved here, all the way from Ottawa. Nelford's daddy was a know-it-all government man, come to start a job program. Damn Liberals! What id-yut would plant pineapples in Saskatchewan? Fish farmin' maybe. Heck, it worked in British Columbia!"
I was puzzled and said, "Come on Norm, BC’s on the coast."
"The coast of what?"
"The coast! The west coast. The Pacific coast! You know, the coast of BC. The BC coast, where they have all that water..."
"Oh yeah, that coast. That’s where them damn hippies live! I bin tellin' you boys since you was kids not to trust no one from a place with all that water. It ain't healthy. See, if I was the prime minister, I'd be sellin' that water to the States..."
"But Norm, it's salt water."
"So? At least they wouldn't have to drill down hundreds of feet and pump it out. Why, when I was your age, our fathers would make us dig a hole so deep it took you the better part of a week to get out of! They lowered us down on a big rope and made us fill water buckets by hand..."
And that's how it went for the rest of the day. We spent the whole afternoon listenin’ to old Norm. Riley said that he was the reason why Manitoba and Saskatchewan never became big industrial superpowers within of the Dominion of Canada. Too many kooks like Norm around, he said...
Well sir, days like that made me wonder how the species managed to survive this long. Okay, if my mother was still alive, she’d a likely washed my mouth out with soap by now, for thinkin’ something unkind like that about my elders. Oh heck, Norm’s a good guy and all. He’s just what my uncle used to call ‘touched by the angels’. You know, the porch light’s on but nobody’s home... Sorry mom.
And you know what? After all was said and done, I still never got no dynamite…
Copyright 2006 - Murphy
Last fall, I needed a box of dynamite to blast out some tree stumps at the farm. I wanted to be finished before the weather turned too cold and huntin’ season started. I figured on using good, old fashioned sticks, but my buddy Riley said no, that they got special plastic bags at the hardware store now.
“Old Alfred Nobel would be proud of you, Steve! Them bags are the ones with granulated dynamite kibbles inside. Just like on the TV!” he said. “You should make a slurry. Got any diesel?" he asked. I farm four sections! Of course I got diesel and nodded my head. “Well, heck, don’t stand there lookin’ dumber than you are. Let’s go!”
So me and Riley jumped in my pick up and drove to the hardware store in town. When we arrived, I seen that Old Norm was workin'. Well, if you call sittin' on a lawn chair out front, talkin' to garden gnomes workin'. He's older than dirt and not all there…if you catch my drift. Since Monday was the owners weekly bowlin’ luncheon and tournament afternoon, who else would be watchin’ the place?
"Hi Norm!" I said. "Sure is cold out today. Cold enough to freeze the brass off a bald monkey!"
He just ignored me and kept fightin' with a small box, talkin’ to himself.
"They snapped right off! Damn French made crap!” Norm must have finally noticed that we was standin’ beside him ‘cause he looked at Riley and said, “You know, there was a time when imported stuff was really high quality and fancy. Look at this!"
The three of us stood there starin’ into a box full of aluminum nails. Now, I'm not talkin’ about nails that you use to nail aluminum with. I'm talkin’ about nails MADE of aluminum. French made aluminum nails. What the heck would they be for?
"Norm," I said, "I’d like to help you with them things but I’m in a rush. You got any dynamite in the back? See, I gotta..."
"No, no, don't tell me! You're goin’ to blow up manure piles again, ain’t ya? Ha ha! I'll never forget when you graduated from high school. While all your friends was at the dance, you and that stupid kid...um...what was his name again? Oh yeah, Nelford Beardsley! The two of you came in lookin' for to buy some dynamite that day too. Boy, he had a face that could curdle milk, didn't he?”
Then Norm spun around and looked right at my buddy, Riley. “I know you never met him but don't worry son, you didn't miss nothin'!”
He continued tellin’ his story, starin’ intently at my very confused friend. “Nelford was the youngest boy of a government fellow what tried to grow pineapples around here. Hah! A pineapple farm in Saskatchewan! And they called me an id-yut!”
As he finished speakin’, a bit of drool run out the corner of his mouth. Then he started laughin’, but stopped almost immediately. “What ever happened to him, Steve?"
"I don't know, Norm."
"Don't matter. Dumber than a bag of hammer handles he was. His family moved here, all the way from Ottawa. Nelford's daddy was a know-it-all government man, come to start a job program. Damn Liberals! What id-yut would plant pineapples in Saskatchewan? Fish farmin' maybe. Heck, it worked in British Columbia!"
I was puzzled and said, "Come on Norm, BC’s on the coast."
"The coast of what?"
"The coast! The west coast. The Pacific coast! You know, the coast of BC. The BC coast, where they have all that water..."
"Oh yeah, that coast. That’s where them damn hippies live! I bin tellin' you boys since you was kids not to trust no one from a place with all that water. It ain't healthy. See, if I was the prime minister, I'd be sellin' that water to the States..."
"But Norm, it's salt water."
"So? At least they wouldn't have to drill down hundreds of feet and pump it out. Why, when I was your age, our fathers would make us dig a hole so deep it took you the better part of a week to get out of! They lowered us down on a big rope and made us fill water buckets by hand..."
And that's how it went for the rest of the day. We spent the whole afternoon listenin’ to old Norm. Riley said that he was the reason why Manitoba and Saskatchewan never became big industrial superpowers within of the Dominion of Canada. Too many kooks like Norm around, he said...
Well sir, days like that made me wonder how the species managed to survive this long. Okay, if my mother was still alive, she’d a likely washed my mouth out with soap by now, for thinkin’ something unkind like that about my elders. Oh heck, Norm’s a good guy and all. He’s just what my uncle used to call ‘touched by the angels’. You know, the porch light’s on but nobody’s home... Sorry mom.
And you know what? After all was said and done, I still never got no dynamite…
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