Al Batt: Precious memories from a meadowlark

Published 5:28 pm Tuesday, June 17, 2025

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Echoes from the

Loafers’ Club Meeting

I’ve got big news for you.

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Well, I’m glad I’m sitting down.

I just painted that chair you’re sitting in.

Driving by Bruce’s drive

I have a wonderful neighbor named Bruce. Whenever I pass his drive, thoughts occur to me. The sky was as black as blue and as blue as black. Then, a beautiful day shouldered its way in. I stood beside my father’s grave on what some might call a windswept prairie, regretting those things I had left unsaid, and my questions that went unasked. I thought there’d be more time. Then, I heard a western meadowlark call from a pastureland near the cemetery. It brought precious memories of my wonderful father, the farmer, and of our many talks. I know the bird was proclaiming territory, but sometimes, a bird sings when I need to hear it.

The cafe chronicles

“Close the door before you let the flies out,” said the friendly waitress at the Eat Around It Cafe. A place to find common ground.

I closed the door and sat down next to a friend who wears suspenders because he claims to have worked his rear end off and is fond of saying, “If you can’t find the needle, buy the haystack.”

“How’s the special today?” I asked the waitress.

“How nice of you to ask. It’s feeling much better, thank you,” she said with a smile.

I’ve learned

Traditions are often peer pressure from people you didn’t know.

I visited Big Tom in Frazee, Minnesota. The 20- to 22-foot-tall, 5,000-pound symbol of the “Turkey Capital of the World” is a monument to the world’s largest turkey.

Maybe they shouldn’t put “Wet floor” signs in a men’s restroom.

You’re getting old if you write the wrong century on a check.

I saw a guy in Starbucks who wasn’t using a phone, tablet or computer. He was just drinking coffee. It takes all kinds.

It should be against the law for a pedestrian to cross a street while looking at a cellphone.

I visited the Congress Avenue Bridge spanning the Lady Bird Lake in Austin, Texas. Austin is home to 979,882 people, 53,082 University of Texas students and 1.5 million Mexican free-tailed bats that hang out at that bridge in the summer and fall, forming billowing clouds at dusk when they head out to feed.

I ran a jackhammer for a step company one summer. It broke new ground for me.

Bad jokes department

A snake walked into a bar. “How did you do that?” said the bartender.

Barbers can’t cut hair any longer.

If you have three cats, two dogs, a pet chicken and a hamster, how many legs do you have? Two.

My neighbor is doing lunges to stay in shape. That’s a big step forward.

My cousin got fired from his job at the ice cream shop because he refused to work on sundaes.

Nature notes

There are three lagomorph species in the state. One rabbit and two hares. Hares are born well-furred with eyes open, and move around shortly after birth, whereas rabbit babies are born blind, hairless and helpless. The eastern cottontail is the rabbit we commonly see. The white-tailed jackrabbit is a hare with exceptionally long ears and 2 feet long and weighing 6 to 10 pounds. When surprised, it bounds off like a kangaroo. When frightened, it speeds away at up to 40 mph. It can leap 10 feet at a time. The snowshoe hare is slightly larger than the cottontail rabbit and can reach speeds of 30 mph and jump 12 feet in a single bound. Its coat is brown in summer and white in the winter, earning it the nickname varying hare. Snowshoe hares live in the upper half of the state, where they’re typically found in young forests, dense woodlands, thickets, and forest bogs and swamps. They’re about 20 inches long and weigh 3 pounds. The snowshoe hare’s food changes with the seasons. In summer, it feeds on grasses, berries, wildflowers, clover and other green vegetation. In winter, it eats bark, twigs and evergreen needles. The snowshoe hare roams a 7- to 17-acre home range. An acre is slightly smaller than a football field.

Black flies, also called buffalo gnats, are encountered around the running water of streams and rivers. The black fly season in Minnesota typically runs from late May through October, with peak activity in late May and June. I’ve endured their painful bites from the North Shore to the BWCA to the Minnesota River Valley and along the Mississippi River.

Meeting adjourned

The world abounds with kind people. If you can’t find one, be one.