Brad Nelson

I received instructions the other day to be available by 6:00 Saturday evening for a birthday party for now six-year-old Ashton. There were four generations at the party. Charlie and Lois did the honors as the great-grandparents. Also present were Grandpa Troy, the boom loader, and Grandpa Brad, the old hay hauler, and their respective spouses, to whom the grandchildren are the neatest thing ever to happen.

Some of the tales I hear from the next generation are as interesting as things I had happen when I was hauling hay. About four years ago, the fellow who stole the heart of my oldest daughter spent the summer with us. He was attending college at the time, working on his MBA degree.

Stereotypes are bad. One of the sharpest ladies I know is a blonde. And she gets a good laugh at a good “blonde” joke. But the stereotype doesn’t fit her at all. So as I relate the next incident, bear in mind that this is not typical.

I left something out of the last article. When each issue of the Progressive Forage Grower magazine shows up, I scan over my article with paranoia that the story that was printed is not as I intended it to be.

A father related this story to me. A young man hitched a ride out to visit with his daughter. Their home was about 10 miles from Mountain Home, Idaho. After an adequate visit, it turned out that the young man needed a ride home.

Generally speaking, my kids don’t cuss. I’m not complaining, but when you take into account both some of my favorite vocabulary and some of my favorite people, well, you would think they would share this fault of mine.