I heard the statement “All men are created equal” the other day and all of a sudden I remembered meeting Turner Brown. I guess it was some kind of a flash back. If you have ever participated in high school/college sports or have been in the military you know that the ‘created equal’ statement is a load of horse apples. Turner Brown is a prime example. We all know that all the Jones, Smiths, Browns and Johnsons are not created equal. Some are proud of who they are. Some go so far as to having a special nickname. Others are just normal.
It all started out like a normal day does on the Massanutten. After arising and doing all my medical checks to see if I’m alive, I headed to the kitchen to make breakfast for the Pickle Queen and myself. Yogurt with blueberries, slivered almonds, and strawberries and/or grapes along with a slice of toast with homemade jam and a cup of decaf coffee for the PQ. A slice of toast with peanut butter along with a cup of decaf for me and I called, “BREAKFAST.”
With the breakfast fixings put away, it’s time to decide what’s on the agenda for the day. Although the breakfast routine is pretty well fixed from day to day, what the rest of the day may bring is a big crap shoot. There’s grass to mow, trimming trees/shrubs to do, garden to tend, vegetables and fruits to preserve, trees to fell and wood to split; the list goes on and on. Golden years my ass! PQ said she has some laundry to do and lettuce to pick for lunch. I flipped a coin and picking up branches down at the pavilion by the river lead the things to be done before I hear “Come home, Come home, it’s supper time.”
I hooked the trailer behind my X324 JD mower and down the road I went. Having a constant ringing in my ears from my growing up on a John Deere B, I wear hearing protection whenever using the mower, chainsaw, tiller, etc. That day was no exception. I often forget that I am wearing them and when I got down to the river and started to pick up branches, they were on my head, not hanging on the steering wheel.
I was making good time cutting up the bigger branches and loading them on the trailer when all of a sudden I felt that I was not alone. If this feeling has ever happened to you, you know how I flinched when I suddenly realized someone was standing behind me. Now, mind you, I’m not a small guy. My nephrologist is always concerned with my low blood pressure. He’s says he doesn’t want “a big guy like me” falling down and breaking a piece of furniture. This guy could double for Andrea the Giant. I always accused a fellow teacher/wanna be irrigation service technician of having “small man” syndrome, not really knowing what it must be like to be afflicted with this problem. That morning I KNEW what it was like.
Just outside the gate to Foster’s landing, our 5 home sites, stood an old black caddy that this guy must have driven up in. Nothing new. Strangers often end up here at road’s end and usually ask how they can get to US 340 which is visible just across the river. Some don’t believe and don’t want to hear that they missed 3 road ends in so many miles signs, and must retrace their route and go back 14 miles to Bixler’s Ferry Bridge to cross the river.
This big dude looked down at me and said, “7 feet tall, 350 pounds, 20 inch penis, 3 pound left testicle, 3 pound right testicle, Turner Brown.” This dude not only knew who he was, but was proud of it and definitely did not have small man syndrome.
I must have fainted because the next thing I knew I was laying in the shade of a big walnut tree to which this guy must have carried me.He was slapping my face and shaking me. After taking off my ear muffs, he asked, “What’s wrong with you?”
I looked up at him and said, “Excuse me, but what did you say?”
As he helped me up he said, “7 feet tall, 350 pounds, 20 inch penis, 3 pound left testicle, 3 pound right testicle, Turner Brown.”
I replied, “Thank God! I thought you said ‘turn around.’
Keep your fork