Once, quite a few years ago, my dad wanted some manure for his garden. To be more specific he wanted cow manure. My dad is a great gardener and he loves playing in the dirt and making things grow. Nothing says that spring has arrived like the urge to order a load of cow poop for your backyard.
Coincidentally, Martin had received a call from a farmer from Binbrook asking him to do some Bobcat work in a barn. And even more coincidentally the farmer was a cattle farmer. And perhaps the more-est coincidentally Martin worked it out that the farmer would pay Martin a little less money but Martin could take some of the manure home. We had a garden at the time but there was going to be plenty to share. So Martin offered some of the bounty to my dad. The affirmative reply came quickly before my mom heard tell of Martin’s offer as she would not appreciate the manure delivery as much as Dad would.
So Martin delivered to my parents two very, very fresh loads of manure. Now my parents live in the city of Hamilton on a pretty busy main road and there have been many tales told of their front lawn delivery with it’s aromatic attributes. These loads of manure were so fresh that the steaming piles came with their own flies. My father insists that the flowers from next door were leaning over the fence just for a sniff of his magnificent pile. Neighbours shot withering glances to my father who proudly presided over his pile of poop like a king surveying his kingdom.
Apparently my dad began to load up the wheelbarrow with some shovelfuls of the stuff when mom came home from work to two huge piles of manure sitting just off of the driveway. Dad tells the story that she was the one who had to wheel it into the backyard (apparently in her high heeled shoes) (apparently Dad held her nose as she wheeled).
That should be enough said about those loads of manure. But, of course, it is not. To make a long story even longer…
Apparently when discussing the monetary contribution that Dad was going to give Martin the subject of dowries came up. Now, in some cultures families need to give money to get rid of a daughter when she marries and in other cultures the family will get money when a daughter is married off.
My wonderful husband figures that he got himself a deal.
Two loads of manure for one slightly odd wife.