I like to dream about 'what if . . .'

The following is my current column in the Midwest Producer. It can also be seen at : http://midwestproducer.com/

Wednesday, March 12, 2008 Edition

I like to dream about what if. What if I were to win the lottery? What would I do with all of that money? I know I would give a lot of it away and build a house. Then what would I do? Would I move? Where could I move to that would appeal to me 12 months a year. The fact is that when I go on a vacation to fish, it becomes like any other job after about four days of it in a row. When I go somewhere to play golf it is a lot of fun until I get there and write down two double bogies in a row. Then I again begin to dream. Like what a set of Ping golf clubs will look like after being run over by a tractor trailer on I-80. Lately I dream about what if we had really nice winter weather. Now this part I'm not serious about because I don't want to live in a 'destination' state. If Kansas and Nebraska had great winter weather, then we'd become what we despise when we go to the big city. I like looking out of my front door and looking at dirt, not people. Dirt with grass, dirt with corn or beans growing on it, or in today's case, dirt with snow on top of it. I like the fact that if someone drives by my house this time of year that I must get up to see who that was. For crying out loud, that's the second car this week. We may need to do something about it.
What we do and who we are usually depends on who our folks were. My dad was a farmer on the Missouri River bottom 50 miles north of Omaha. So am I. He raised corn and beans. So do I. Dad started out farming with horses but got rid of them as soon as the tractors took over. As for me, I don't remember a time we didn't have tractors but I have horses anyway. Yes, Dad was smarter than me in a lot of ways. But in this regard there is a good explanation. Mom didn't like horses and wouldn't ride one. My wife does.
What if Dad had been a greens keeper in Hawaii? Today I could be mowing grass, raking sand and taking orders from a Polynesian who is even larger than me. (Not likely on the last part)I could be greeting mainlanders with a big smile and inviting them to play golf. "Why yes of course we take Visa," I would say to them, and then I'd put my arm around their shoulder and quietly say, "Wait until you see the girls running the beverage cart." Wink, Wink.Then I am brought back to reality in the most brutal of ways. My doorbell rings and some guy dressed for a trip to the North Pole asks if it's okay if he does some deer hunting. He has on one of those Russian style hats, a camo coat and he has tobacco juice running down his uncut beard and I'll not even describe his smile. I say "yeah, go ahead and hunt all you want." Then, as he turns and starts to walk away, I say, "Wait until you see the girls running our beverage cart." Wink, Wink. He stops, then turns and stares at me and says "Huh?"

"Ah, never mind, I didn't say anything, I've got something in my eye."