Okay, this morning I asked the property caretaker if people around here tap trees for syrup.
He looked at me as if I were Bozo from Outer Space.
Apparently they do, and it's not a big deal; it's just something they do if the weather's right (it's not right this winter) and they got nothing else going on. Even though done irregularly, apparently many have the know-how and skills to do it, and have done it. He insisted the neighbor's done it.
But as an "activity," he'd rate it about as popular as raising mistletoe in Michigan.
Then he got on my case; "Are you sure you were born and raised in Nebraska?"
To which I replied, I was raised in the middle of the Sandhills. The Sandhills were the last part of Nebraska ever settled, and by the time people started moving there, factory-made clothing, indoor plumbing, grocery stores, and horseless carriages had already been invented, and in popular use. So we didn't bother utilizing any of these ancient arts.
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Now, if Dennis the Menace hasn't been lying, apparently he's a graduate of Michigan State, with a degree in horticulture.
Which flummoxes me to no end.
Why the Hell is he bothering being a paralegal?
I suspect his life would've turned out a whole lot better--and maybe he would've avoided becoming a primitive--if he'd just built a great big greenhouse and dealt in flora. (No, I'm not talking about dope; I'm talking about legitimate plantage.)
Why do primitives start out so well, and then suddenly change course?