Dodo Eggs

The strangest, most eccentric people I know are college professors, people who own lizards, and the frost bitten folks who live in Dakota Territory.  Life molds you a little differently when an ocean of open grasslands surrounds you.  On the high prairie, the only things that ever really change are the high clouds and the harsh temperatures. 

What do you do when the rest of the country forgets you exist? 

Option A – You can move away – possibly someplace with trees.

Option B – Well, there’s the Internet.  You could spend most of your time there.

Option C – This one has two parts…depression…heavy drinking.

Option D – Get a wee bit kooky.

Wish you were here?

I remember a particular dairy farmer who exuded “Dakota” with every step – cowboy boots, tanned face, and bone-dry wit.   This man and his family refused to own a television. He equated it with “running an open sewer pipe directly into his living room” and it was hard to argue with him.  During times of leisure, his family would sit around a spacious living room of driftwood lamps, afghan blankets, and out dated furniture digging through a box of conversational questions.

To shake the routine they would invite kids from my boarding high school over for an evening meal.  I don’t know anyone who ever turned them down or even wished they could.  The conversation cards might have seemed lame but they were always fun.  They never missed. 

“Alright Matt we’ll start with you.” He drew the first card and took on a parental tone. “If you had to get a tattoo, and I would break your arm if you did, what would it be?”

“That’s easy.  I would get two red, evil eyes tattooed to the back of my head. With my buzzed hair, you would only be able to see them only if you were standing directly behind me. And if I decided I didn’t care for the look anymore, I would simply grow my hair out a bit.  Cool, huh?”

The young lady beside me chimed in, “I’d want a tattoo that was small and tasteful.”

The farmer and I quickly exchanged looks.

“And what could that possibly be?”

She replied. “Um, I would probably just put my name in decorative lettering across my shoulder or ankle.”

“Are you in danger of forgetting anytime soon?   I mean, isn’t that a little like taking a permanent marker and writing ‘fruit’ across your bananas?”  I was trying to be funny but it came out a bit harsh. 

She took offense, “Well Matt, just because you’re a weirdo doesn’t mean I have to be. I mean eyes in the back of your head. How dumb is that?”

Another boy sitting to my right said, “Oh mine is worse. I’m planning on having a tight rope drawn between the nipples on my chest. Then I’ll have a stick man put on tight roping across.  I could shave my chest hair to look like passing clouds.  ARE YOU FEELING ME?!  AWESOME RIGHT?!”

A mixture of grunts and uncomfortable chuckles indicated weak approval.  Someone gave him a high five. 

“Yea, that’s neat until you get old and the rope loses a little tension.”

The farmer rubbed the side of his temple. “You know, a tattoo is like dental work or a hip replacement. It’s an investment that depreciates one hundred percent in the first minute and has absolutely no resale value. Only the thing is a tattoo doesn’t improve your quality of life. The only thing it really proves is you aren’t smart enough to move when someone keeps sticking you with a needle.

Draw another card.”

• Farm Raised Tattoos
• Choosing A Mate
• Developmental Item
• A New Apple
• A Good Use for a Forked Tongue