Skip to main content

June 3rd, 2021

 Summer is soon upon us and that means a substantial increase of heat here in NW Minnesota, requiring our best efforts to combat its unpleasantness by utilizing ice cold lake water and ingenuity to save ourselves from the effects of odoriferous armpits and sticky swamp nuts. 

   Don’t be laughin’ now, should you be a guy or facsimile, for the struggle is real. Fortunately, there are products out there to combat this fetid issue. One individual, although probably paid by the vendor, has discovered the answer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Fe4GlbyN6U

Comments

Joe - Wednesday's Child said…
I don't tink da T-powder guy is a Palmville resident.

Our next door neighbor has a spring fed pond with a gazebo on the shoreline. He lets me store a bar of soap under da pond side of the foundation. At da end of each hot day, I dash over, take da plunge, and dash back, having cleansed my skin of sveat and bug repellent, and my nethers of any icky accumulation.

Yes, da vater is cold, and der is shrinkage, but dat's part of da fun!
June 3, 2021 at 7:14 AM
WannaskaWriter said…
Da bugs must love the excitement you bring to their part of the forest as they lay in wait in swale and glen for you to flit back yumpin' and shakin' pond water and all its accoutrements of sago pond weed and water lily root from your torso as you go, for afterall a moving target is much more the challenge than just a walker, man or beast.
June 3, 2021 at 8:17 AM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

August 6th, 2020 Tired of Writing

                    Comment on Parental Rights 1869-1940     I finished the second installment of my grandfathers biography I wrote in the Wannaskan Almanac for today, late yesterday evening. http://wannaskanalmanac.blogspot.com/2020/08/thursday-august-6th-2020-parental.html       I had worked on it for a good day, by Wednesday, including a few hours on Tuesday too, and in my waning energy for it decided just to wrap it up, rather than keep slogging through dozens of transcribed interviews, page after page, searching for some item that would fit my story, chronologically. In truth, I wanted to be writing something fun.     It wasn't like I wasn't interested in what I was mired in; I enjoy a good slog once in awhile myself, but my dilemma was how do I keep it interesting to others and not get bogged down? I could've just copied pages to be sure, but I needed it to flow somewhat smoothly, and not become just a repetitive list of names, dates and places. Argh. But t
3 comments
Read more

GUD-RIDGE! MAYBE THIS YEAR, BABY!

    Late April renders up another fine Joe tradition hereabouts, the Gud-drudge’ (Goodridge) Lions Annual Smelt Fry, in Gud-drudge’ (Goodridge), Minnesota, seventeen miles east and a mile north of Tuff Rubber Balls (Thief River Falls), Minnesota. ‘Gud-drudge’ is the local vernacular for ‘Goodridge,’ and its proper annunciation, is the separation between towners and tourists.     A small rural town, with a population of about 150 people, is an agricultural community residing within and well beyond the city limits. Often several miles apart, resident farmsteads dot the remote flatland topography of northwestern Minnesota, whose inhabitants often share the lifelong experiences of church, school, employment, and/or family relation.    The smelt fry is a community event that brings people home from across the region. Beginning in the morning, and in combination with area garage sales, auctions begin around town selling consignment items from boats to barrettes, wood stoves, ductwork, framed
1 comment
Read more

Friends to the End: Delmer Roseen and Curtis Johnson

  Delmer and Curtis: Friends to the End      From where he was buried on Saturday April 11th, 1992, the tin roofs of his buildings could be seen through the trees. Across the fence, at the foot of his grave, were the fields he farmed. Between them, Mikinaak Creek--so much a part of Delmer Roseen’s life and sadly, his death--still winds through willow slough, over beaver dams below the Palmville Cemetery, and past his door to the South Fork of the Roseau River, only a few yards to the southeast.         Delmer lived northeast of us in Palmville Township. If I looked just right, I could see his yard light through the woods between his place and mine. Either of us could hear the soft ‘clung’ of the rope and pulley against the flag pole in the cemetery at the corner of our two farms. Red willows, popple islands, and slough grass; green mossy fence posts; the often submerged patchwork of woven wire, and the depth of water in the creek vaguely separated us.      Delmer had live
1 comment
Read more