The Corn and the Ol Cobb

　

The day had been filled with one mishap after another, frustrating to say the least, for those that had to participate. Holidays always seem to bring a bit of disappointment to me on the farm. It seems to be the only time of the entire year that the hay is ready to be cut or baled or transferred from the field, bringing the family together yet again, however not in a picnic setting. Yes, when there is hay to be cut everyone must participate. Oh no, there is no choice in the matter. It is the way...

On one of these days the ol farmers wife had been ill. To the point that morning, he had been concerned enough to ask if she needed to go to the doctor. Of course not she replied, she would feel better as soon as this flu had run it's course. Now we all know how the flu can affect one's need to stay close to home. The day had gone by with little relief and the wife was not feeling well at all. The heat that had climbed up into the 90's hadn't helped the situation either. Well, around 4 o'clock, the ol farmer came bursting into the house and told her to bring the truck to the field and hook up to a trailer. He just as quickly went back out the door without another word, or an answer. Giving it a good slam too, to emphasize that he had spoken and that was that! It was hay day!

Well, the wife got herself up off the sofa and dressed. Making her way to the field and hooking up that blessed trailer, the sweat had soaked her clothes and her eyes were burning from it. Climbing back into the truck and pulling up beside the bale to be loaded, she began to think of the blessings of marriage and farming. Picturing the words overlapping one another, in other words, one was synonymous with the other and today was not the day to test the joys of marriage. Just as she pictured another font in her mindless word scramble, the old farmer came to the truck and peered into the window at her. He wanted to remind her not to run the air conditioner because it might over heat the truck.

Ok, thanks for the heads up honey...or was it jealousy? He didn't have a dry spot on him anywhere and was sun burned to boot. Yes, that was it. Pure jealousy. I, the wife, had the truck with the air in it and he was on an open tractor. Oh well, so sad I thought as I turned up the air and pointed the vent to my face. Oh my, it felt so good I positioned all the vents to the various positions that pointed to every inch of myself! Ha! I thought. My own little holiday celebration. I smiled, as I wished that I were closer to the house in case of...need. But feeling better now that I could feel that cool air against my skin, just me and not him. So sad, as I watch him wipe the sweat from his eyes so he could see again, through the fog of dirt and hay seeds flying around him, sticking to the sweat as if with glue.

I lean out the window and holler to him, you look good that way honey! He doesn't laugh or smile, humph. He must be in a bad mood..oh yeah..he has been on that tractor all day long. I truly am starting to feel better now as I turn the music up..loud in my air conditioned truck. Uh oh, I missed the signal to move forward to receive another bale on my trailer. I cut the music down a bit now, so that I really can pay attention. You know, I wouldn't want to make him mad... Hmm..maybe I can rock the truck a bit back and fourth so that he can't drop the bale, you know, being a woman I just can't do things like a man. Being blond helps too. lol Now this is starting to be fun, pretending that I can't drive the truck into the right position. Holidays...

Just as I suspected would happen, he gets off the tractor and comes over to the truck. His head is down and his stride is long and fast. Oh, and look at those little fists clenched into a ball. I hide my smile and lean out the window asking ever so sweetly if everything is alright. He proceeds to tell me in a voice so loud that the words can't be decoded, that I need to keep the truck stopped while he is putting the bale on. He then goes into a dissertation of keeping the bales tight so they don't fall off while going down the road. I raise my head and smile. Uh oh..no he's not..yes, he is pointing... at me with a big ol finger in my face. Poor thing, hasn't he learned anything after all these years? My smile turns into a thin line as I reply, ok Daddy.

That stopped his tirade of how to drive a truck. Yes, he had learned his lesson now. He knew he was in for it, as my son a few yards away sitting on the other tractor just shook his head and laughed. He knew this was going to be a long night now. He gets off his tractor and comes over to the ol farmer. They talk for a few minutes and the ol farmer gets on the other tractor as my son takes over loading my trailer. Tricked!! My own son has gotten the best of me, just as I was planning my revenge so sweetly. I feel the heat rising now, as I know now I must behave. After all, my son had nothing to do with my being there, it wasn't his fault. I am thoroughly disgusted that I don't get the opportunity to rock that truck and make things difficult, when my sweet son is smart enough to ask if I feel ok.
Yep, my heart has melted and I am now contented to behave and do my job..the right way. The day got longer as we continue into the night to tote those bales and put them safely in the barn.

Everyone is tired and hot as we head to the house to finally grab some kind of dinner. I pull out leftovers and make everyone a plate, thinking how grateful that I had enough to make a meal for them quickly. Thinking too, that the ol farmer would feel better now with a good meal in his belly and the cool air on his face. No...I was wrong. He must not feel too much better as he says he will have to feed the sweet corn to the cows that we had planned to have on this holiday since I didn't get it fixed for dinner. Of course his meaning was, that he had counted on that corn for dinner and he was disappointed, so his smarmy remark at 10 o'clock at night didn't quite sit with me, not quite at all.

Of course, he has no memory at all that I have the flu, actually, the day has gotten so completely out of whack, I really don't know if I still have a head. The remark about the corn however has struck a chord. Fine, you want corn so bad, you sir, will get corn. I pull out the bag of corn and start to shuck it. In the middle of the kitchen floor. I place each fine kerneled piece into a pan on the stove, the water is starting to boil now, much like my blood. He is trying to apologize with all his might at this point, telling me he didn't mean it, he is so sorry. I continue to shuck corn, not saying a word. He hangs his head and proceeds to pick up the shucks I have carelessly (purposly) let fly on the floor. My son doesn't know if it's appropriate to laugh or not, after all, this ol farmer is his stepfather.
He can stand it no more and rolls into uncontrollable laughter. It's catching and we are all finally standing in the middle of corn shucks laughing our heads off.

We did finally enjoy that corn on the cob that night, dripping in butter and laughter, after much ado about it on my part of course, you know, being a woman. Now that we were all fed and full, everyone was in a better mood, even me. My flu seemed to have...boiled away.　
　
　
　
　

Caretakers Of The Land

Farming:
Definition:
I found this definition while searching for the definition of farming today. I wanted to see what the perception of farming is by the bankers, traders, computer techies and even teachers and the web search engines. Not exactly what I expected to find.　

There's one thing that almost all successful real estate agents have done to develop their business in a specific area or market demographic. They "farm" the area for business. The term farm implies growing something. That's what you do when you farm a local subdivision. You plant the seeds of future business, nurture them with marketing and then hopefully reap the rewards in commissions.

The majority of people today all live in suburbia, surrounded by homes just alike. They each strive to see who can produce the nicest yards, the most lush green grass, with just the right amount of trees and shrubs to enhance the beauty of their home. Yes, they are pleased during the summer months with the results of watering their lawns as they sit on the outdoor furniture and admire their labors. Their quarter acre has cost them quite a sum of money for the results however. The many trips to the big box store for seed and fertilizer was worth it though, they have a beautiful lawn and it shows to all of their neighbors.They are pleased with their labors. These are the people that the realtor's " Farm".

The realtor is almost like the coyote sitting in the edge of the woods, waiting for his opportunity to steal a calf. He's patient and waits for the herd to leave the calf on the edge of the pasture...
stealing in at the moment the calf is asleep. The mother never knowing what happened..but searching frantically to find her baby, back and fourth she travels across the fields...in vain.

Beyond suburbia's world of busy lives so filled with things to do, a farmer stands leaning on a fence post with a blade of dry grass between his lips. He stares at the fields in front of him, with the grass burning up from lack of water, the rains won't come this year. He looks up to the sky in hopes of seeing a cloud with some water in it to quench the thirsty blades before him, he can't find a single one, the sky is clear and blue. He is taken back to a time when the field was barely covered by grass. He and his father had cleared the land of stumps and briars with a mule and sore hands and backs. It took them many months to make the land useful, with sweat and hard work, pulling out tree stumps to make way for the crop. The man was only a boy when he helped his father guide the mules across the land, to till it and then seed it and bring it to fruition, with a harvest to bring in come fall. Times have changed since then, progress has brought the tools to work many more acres than could be done with a mule and one man.

Progress brought them a tractor one day, along with a payment they weren't sure they could make and still put food on the table for the winter. But the garden had provided well for the winter months to come, and the hams and bacon were hanging in the smoke house, providing food for the winter. Cool fall days brought the local folks together to make sausage in large quantities. This was the way it was done, so that everyone could have the homemade sausage fried up with eggs and biscuits. Homemade biscuits, because the stores didn't have them lining the shelves to be bought everyday. This was the way, of the past.
Homemade clothes and homemade bread. The women didn't work outside of the home. There wouldn't have been time even if there had been a job to go to. They were few, back then.

The boy grew into a man and took over the care of the land, his father now too crippled from the years of labor to continue, as he sits in the truck and watches his son, unwilling to turn away completely from the land. The son, now grown with his own family, continues to care for the land in hopes that it will return to him the means to feed his own family another year.
Every year he goes to the bank and borrows enough money to take care of the land and grow a crop, doing the best he could to care for it, the land. Paying back the loan after the harvest, and what ever was left he could care for his family and maybe provide a few extras this year. The family couldn't afford all the things that others did, but they knew and understood, the land had to be cared for in order for them to eat. Each child knew that food was a precious commodity and they enjoyed the many meals from the garden. Each one of them had held those tomatoes in their hands and knelt on the ground to pick the potatoes up after they were dug, taking part in the garden that would provide them with food for many months.

The crop the farmer had raised was sold to put food food on the table for people all over the country. These people go to the store today and purchase all their food needs, without a single thought to how it is produced or that it will ever be gone. Farming, a word that is beneath their dignity. For most of the city dwellers that run to the store and buy most anything their hearts desire, think of "farmers" as low class people with dirt under their nails. Not someone they would invite into their homes for a meal. How ironic, that the people that feed the nation are thought of as lower class by the millions that enjoy filling their bellies every single day and demand good products in plentiful amounts. What if...the products become not so good..or not so healthy..

Standing in line at the local fair a mother smiles and asks the lady next to her what she does for a living. The well dressed lady replies that they are farmers and smiles. The mother moves away a few steps, not wanting to be too near...she was repelled by the word "farmer". The woman loved all the jellies and jams in the booth that had won ribbons, she was impressed with those, but not the farmer as she moved away. Her perception of what a farmer consisted of was a black and white picture from the twenties of a poor farmer, holding a shovel covered in dirt. She had no idea how those jellies had come to be in those jars, but more importantly, she didn't wonder at all. To her, the jars just got filled magically for her to purchase. How the food is produced, and how long it takes, has no impact on her. She works in an office with a very important job to do, food would always just be there for her, just because. She has no thougths or knowledge of caring for the land or the path that the food chain is on. For her, the land is where her house sits and she isn't capable of thinking past this. The woman with the important job and a mortgage, not understanding at all.

The farmers children understood how the land provided for them, giving back to them for the labor their father poured into it, seven days a week and long hours, leaving him tired when they wanted him to come to a game or go to a school play.
He did go to those games and was proud of his children as they strived to do their best, win or lose. Not always able to go to those games though, he had to be in the fields to beat the rains or the heat. He had instilled in them how to do their best by example, caring for the land. The man is old now too, past seventy, and yet he still takes care of the land as he has for almost all of those seventy years. His hands are riddled with arthritis now, showing the years and the hard work they have done, but he's not done yet. He takes care of the land now too, bent and humbled by the riches the land has given to him. Oh not by money, to be sure. But riches none the less.
The land had been in this family for generations, these caretakers didn't need someone that had never even lived on a farm, telling them how to take care of it now, the new way. Caring for it had been bred into them. But tell them they would, as politics came to the farm in a shiny new car and told them the better way to do things now, times were changing he was told. Worry creased the wrinkle in his brow as he thought about this.
The young man who stood in shiny shoes he didn't want to get dirty as he held out the map for the farmer to see, had never held the tools in his hands to till the land. This young man had never spent weeks and months, waiting and praying for the rain to come with sweat running down his back, from dawn til dusk. The young man got back in his car as the farmer got in his truck and headed back the same way he had come, from the city, with very clean hands and shoes.. and not a drop of sweat on his shirt.

What will happen to all those people in the city when the last farmer has laid down his plough? Of course the small farmer doesn't feed the masses by himself, but all together they will and do. The way it's been done for generations, handed down by families to care for the land and produce the food that feeds our country. Should we look to other countries for our food now? Have we progressed so far that we can't see beyond the end of our road? America has always been a great country, with great caretakers of the land and that hasn't changed. The politics have changed, gaining the power to govern how we take care of the land. Can you imagine what the landscape of our country will look like if bureaucracy takes over every inch of the land left in this country? Suburbia will take over for a while and fill the fields of grass with houses of wood and stone, before anyone notices that the landscape has disappeared.

No more fences along the miles of lush green pastures with horses and cattle grazing the fields for people to marvel at as they drive past on their way to a vacation spot. No more farmhouses with mothers making jelly and jam. No more children learning to care for the land and the way of life that has sustained our country for so very long.
Then what, what will be left in America? Will the grocery stores dot every corner with shelves filled to the brim..or will it resemble other countries..and have empty store shelves without a loaf of bread? Children looking to their parents with hollow empty eyes, hungry. Parents hanging their heads without an answer. They didn't know, they didn't know.

Farmers have long been the first environmentalists of this country. They didn't go to college to learn how to feed the land, the knowledge was passed down from one generation to the next. Rotating the crops from year to year so the land would remain fertile. The caretakers of the land learned from hard work, how to give back to the land so that it would continue to produce and return to them food for people and livestock. As time went on and progress reached the farmers, they took out the loans for the equipment to make bigger crops, hoping for a better future. Today, one piece of equipment can cost as much as a house. It won't last as long though, it will have to be replaced before too many years pass, much higher than a lawnmower too.

Long before the enlightened, progressive, well dressed college grads were born, the lowly farmer has taken care of the land. The land in return, has taken care of the people, the city people and the country people, all of them.
　
　
　
 

Brothers That Crab Together....

Two little boys lay on the pier under the hot sun. The heat is unbearable as they splash water onto the boards to cool them off. The youngest boy has sun bleached curls and the other has almost black hair, brothers. Being four years apart in age, they fight as most brothers do, over silly things that don't matter. The fights never last for long and soon they are again laughing over something silly, the words forgotten and no bruises to show for their momentary anger.

Both little boys are darkly tanned from spending endless hours on the beach, searching for treasures or pieces of driftwood to give to their grandmother as gifts. The week they have spent at the cottage has gone by far faster than they had imagined. The week before they left to head to the cottage they made plans for every moment they would be there, from dawn to dark and beyond. They would blow up the raft and put the small boat in the water every single day. They were so excited they couldn't sleep and spent hours in the dark each night whispering about their plans, so their mom wouldn't hear and tell them to hush.

The day finally arrived to leave and the boys started packing the car before everything was even packed in the containers, they couldn't wait! Frustrated by having to unpack and make sure she had all the stuff they would need for a week, mom wasn't nearly as excited as the boys were. She sure took her sweet time re-doing all the groceries too! But they finally packed the last bag of groceries and left to pick up Grandma. It was excruciating waiting for the adults to load the last items and get settled back in the car again. By this time, the boys were exhausted from waiting to get started, so they both fell asleep in the car for almost the entire ride.

As their mom made the turn onto the road to their cottage, they awoke, as if knowing from the sound of the pavement, they were finally there and the long wait was over. Pulling into the yard the boys couldn't contain themselves any longer. They fell out of the car and scrambled up on their feet, heading straight to the beach at a full run. Of course, mom was calling them back to help take everything into the house first. They looked at each other with a knowing grin and started to grab bags and boxes. The car was unpacked in record time and off they went, leaving their shoes along the way throughout the yard.

Their mother watched as they headed up the beach, smiling and laughing together. This was the way she had always pictured her boys. Enjoying each other and happy to be together on the beach. Of course, she knew that this would wear thin as the days went by, but still..it gave her heart the warmest feeling to watch them run free. There was little to worry about here at the cottage, located on an island that was safe for kids to roam. They had been taught at an early age to honor other peoples property and they respected this, knowing where they could cut through and where they shouldn't. But if no one was home....

The boys soon came back to the house starving. They had forgotten in their excitement that it was well past lunchtime. As soon as they had filled their tummy's with tuna sandwiches, they headed out to get their first order of business on the way, putting the boat in the water. They had never done this on their own before and soon discovered that their uncle must have been doing most of the work. They soon devised a way to hook a rope over both of them, like oxen, and pulled the boat down to the beach. Mom had been watching from the porch, making sure they wouldn't get hurt and deciding to go help with the last stretch over the sand, the toughest part. The boat was finally in the water and they tied it to the jetty while they went to the porch to get all the gear that had to be put in it. The oars, life jackets, extra ropes and their own cooler filled with drinks and bait. They were ready. Boy, it sure took a long time to get here. Oh no! They had forgotten the crab nets, an absolute must have. Another trip up to the house.

Ten minutes later they are happily paddling among the waves, toward their favorite spot to crab. Not too far out in front of the cottage were a set of sand bars. The boys could anchor the boat and get out of the boat to search for crabs, grabbing them stealthily with their nets. Pure joy would cover their faces with each prize they captured. Rowing in was more work than they had remembered and they were tiring after the long day of waiting.

Finally they reached the shore and pulled the boat up onto the sand. Grabbing their prized basket of crabs they found new energy as they hurried to the house to show their catch to their grandmother. Proud and sun burnt, they were delighted when the crabs were put into the pot to cook. The two brothers had provided their grandmother with her favorite thing, crabs. She loved to pick the tender meat from the crabs when they were done, but the boys were a little offended when she asked them to help. After all, they had done the hard part, by capturing them and bringing them to her. They did help for awhile until they were making more mess than help. They were soon allowed to head back out again.

The days were sunny and long, as the boys traveled the beach each day. Their skin turned the color of bronze and their smiles were constant. Not a moment of bickering had taken place and they shared in the delight of the other with each new find. They had collected shells and sea urchins, driftwood and sponges that stank. The treasures were kept on the porch in bushel baskets. Finding that they had filled the baskets and now didn't have anything to put the crabs in, they had to throw some of it back to the beach, letting the waves take it back out to sea again. As they watched it go they weren't even sad, they knew exactly where to find more when they found something to put it in. That was the deal their mom had made with them. As long as it was all kept together in something, out on the porch, they could collect as much as they wanted.

One of the boys, the older of the two, decided as he watched the objects they had found, head out to sea, that some other boys would find them on the other side of the water. They filled much of their time with wonderings of what the other boys would be like, laughing and comparing themselves to the imaginary ones they were sure had found their treasures by now.

Each day was new and exciting for them as they headed out each morning before breakfast. Each night they were asleep as soon their heads hit the pillows. The week had been restful and fun for their mom and grandmother too. Simple meals, mostly crabs, made life easy for them as well. The wonderful week had come to an end though, and it was time to go home. The boys begged to go crabbing one more time. The boat had been pulled to the house and put away, so they would have to go up the beach a ways to a favorite pier. They were told they could go, but to be back in an hour. They yelled thanks as they flew out the door and grabbed the nets, two chicken necks tucked into their pockets for bait.

The grandmother was anxious now to get home, since the time had already been planned to leave and she was getting a little upset that the boys weren't back on time. Their mom, knowing how boys lose track of time, suggested they just pack up the car and drive to the pier and pick them up. Grandma was a bit grizzly at this point, having to spend the time and effort to go pick them up. Mom tried to appease her with the suggestion they stop for lunch on the way home. Somewhat mollified by this suggestion, she dearly loved the shrimp salad at a place that was right on their way, she helped put the final bags in the trunk and got in the car, still not happy.

Their mom knew exactly where they would be. She and her brother had spent many hours there as children and she knew how easy it was to lose track of time. Pulling up close to the pier, but out of sight, they saw the boys. One was lying on his stomach on the pier pulling up, ever so gently, the string with the crab holding onto the chicken. Just it got almost to the pier, the other one swiped the net under it with precision. Jumping up from his position on the pier, the other boy looked into the net with excitement. You would have thought he had pulled gold from the placid water the inlet held by the look on his face. The grandmother had begun to smile as she watched the scene in front of her unfold. Watching the simple joys of being a boy, her heart had melted. The mother said to her, Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn, as she smiled at her boys in the cut off jeans with no shirts and no shoes. Grandma understood finally, as they sat for sometime watching. The boys were so intent on the job at hand they didn't see them. Sitting in the car patiently waiting now, the grandmother was glad that the boys were so happy and free, seeing them in another world now, all their own. The time they had spent watching the boys had been worth much more than getting on the road to home for grandma. She had found a new appreciation for the crab net that day, and her grand boys.

The memories of the week would fade with time, but this day would stay forever in the memories of the mother. Her boys...sharing moments and a string.

No new toy, or even a new bike could have made those boys happier than they were at that time. The simple joy of crabbing with a net and a string, were more than enough for the two brothers at the cottage.

　
　
　
　
　
　
　

　

　

　

　

If I Could Fly...

　

Peeking through the crack in the door, I watch as two young children play. The table is set for four with teacups and napkins. The napkins are leftover from Halloween, and the teacups are pink and white. One child has a hat with flowers and ribbon around it, the other has a tie wrapped around their neck, twisted in a knot of sorts. The tiny little neck won't let the tie stay in place and he pulls on it constantly to get it out of the way.

The bread for the peanut butter sandwiches is squished and flattened and torn, with the peanut butter sliding off the sides. It's cut in two slices of unequal portions and gently placed on a paper plate, one half for each of them. Several forks and spoons, made of plastic are scattered around the table too, with teddy bears in the extra seats. The girl in the hat pours the pretend tea into the tiny cups and takes a dainty a sip. With a huge smile and her eyes wide, she nods to her brother that it's wonderful.

Of course, the child with the big floppy hat is the oldest of the two and makes all the decisions. With hands on her hips and a wobbly walk in her mothers shoes, she gives instructions to her younger brother. He gets up from the table and pulls out her chair for her to sit down, with a big sigh and a rolling of the eyes and a sigh. He stands beside her and picks up her sandwich off the plate. Right before it touches his lips, she has her hand on it and throws it back on the plate telling him he has to wait, pointing her finger to his chair. He rolls his eyes again as she stands up and points to his chair, her lips pouting with authority, as only a five year old girl can do. He obeys and sits in his chair, but...

He has stared at that sandwich now until he just has to have a bite. No longer interested in the game, he grabs the sandwich and runs from the room and her mighty stare, his tie flying off and landing on the floor. He doesn't care, he's free from the dreaded "tea party". I step back, so he doesn't trip over my feet and watch him run to his own room, chewing gleefully on the crumbly sandwich. She stomps her feet and falls off the shoes. She's not hurt, but now she has no one to boss around. She fumes for a minute, with those little fists on her hips, ahh..practice makes perfect. It's perfectly alright to take this stance in her own room, with no one to tell her to stop throwing a fit. Taking the shoes and placing them on the table where her brother had sat, now she could boss around the child that only she could see, her invisible guest. They played for some time, until she was tired of wearing the hat that kept falling over her eyes. She takes it off and tosses it on the bed among the giant pile of stuffed animals.

Climbing up on the bed and making room among the stuffed animals for her new friend to sit beside her, they read a book quite intensely and she points at the pictures as she turns the pages. She's barely five and reads this book from memory, missing some words, but telling the story beautifully. Finishing the book, so comfy and relaxed, she lies on the bed, her eyelids starting to close, and her little head falls off the pillow. She turns over and hugs her pillow, fast asleep. So quickly and softly sleep has covered her, the party is done for today.

Creeping down the hall to the other room, I can see her brother lying on the floor in the midst of cars and trucks with a red one in his hand, fast asleep. I pick him up, he doesn't  stir, and lay him on the bed. Standing over him, loving the chubby lips and perfect nose, his long eyelashes on his perfect cheek, I want to hug him forever and protect him from falling or crying or feeling left out. My brain tells me that will never happen, but it's nice to think it could for a moment. My mommy moment..of only I could...

They don't stay little for more than a day it seems to me. Just yesterday, they were cuddled in blankets in my arms, patient and calm, as they slept peacefully next to my heart.
Tomorrow and the day after are impatiently awaited on by them, they have so much to do! But I am quite happy with today, to watch them sleep and wonder what they will dream. From here I can see they are safe. Once out of my sight, that soon will come, I can't always catch them before they fall. If they could stay this age forever, I might save them from the boo boos and heartbreak, I might! They grow with every breath of air that stirs and even though I'll try, I can't stop the wind. They will go to school and out of my sight, and stretch their wings and grow so fast and tall...

The bruised knees and the lost baseball games, no front teeth and pants that don't fit. Playing in the mud puddle and looking up to find me watching from the window, smiling up at me with joy, because it's ok to play. I wish it could stay this way, for a little while..
Little girls and boys trying so hard to grow up..they won't remember everything they learn along the way...or tea parties in the afternoon, but I will.. as I catch their tears in my hands and hold onto them for a moment longer.

If I could fly.....I could catch them whenever they fall or get their feelings hurt...if I could fly...