Guest post by WUWT moderator Mike Lorrey
Up here in northern New England, we like our tall tales. Stories of the humor, wisdom, and idiosyncratic thought of the yankee farmer stretch across the ages. This one you may have heard before, but it fits in with the current predeliction of our government climatologists habits of relabeling and redefining things in order to fabricate a public perception that things are getting warmer than they actually are….
Tink Fitzhew was a tough old codger. As knotty and wiry as those gnarled stumpy trees you see dotting the peaks of the White Mountains, much like his father, grandfather, and other ancestors going back to colonial days, when the family farm had been granted by the Governor of Massachusetts (yes, Maine was originally part of Massachusetts until the Great Compromise of 1820 in which Missouri was admitted to the Union as a slave state, with Maine being created as a free state to balance things out again in the US Senate) to his highlander forebears. Tink knew how to wring a living out of the thin stony soils of his farm. The rock walls around the edges of each of his fields was testament to the back breaking crowbar work that generations of Fitzhews had wrought to remove most of the rocks from their land. Every spring, however, a new crop heaved up through the frost laden soils. It was said that granite was really the only crop that grew well on that farm, other than maple trees and grazing grass.
In the winter, one fought to survive. The jet stream blew frigid arctic winds and snow down onto his farm with abandon. The barn needed to be boarded inside and out, and the farmhouse had a “bundle room” without windows, next to the central chimney, in which the family and farm hands eeked through the coldest part of winter. People got cozy like that. It was said that more marriages began or ended in the bundle room than anyplace else.
By the time Tink was near on retirement age, his kids were grown and moved away, the wife was dead, but he still managed to eek out a living with a small herd of Holsteins, though he’d always considered them to be closer members of his family anyways. Each had a name, and once you got to know them, their own personalities, though they, like Tink, weren’t very long on conversation unless you whet their whistle first with a good amount of mapleshine or applewine.
It was about that time that the US Geophysical Survey was surveying that area of the country, and while that area of New England had been surveyed as far back as the early 18th century, it wasn’t always by the most sober of individuals, nor did they have the benefit of satellites or aircraft back in the day.
Tink knew his farm was near the state border. How close it was, though, he didn’t know exactly. The whole town had long been in dispute as to which state it was supposed to be in in the first place, and his farm was on the edge of town. Many towns along the New Hampshire border had been chartered by the colonial Governors of both NH and Massachusetts, just as many in Vermont were chartered by NH and New York in conflict. Just which state one lived in was an issue of debate for many. There are even records in Britain of Revolutionary War POW lists that listed American prisoners as originating from Kittery, New Hampshire, Berwick, NH, etc. (some are online today) However Tink had always followed convention and voted in Maine since that was what the grant deed said.
So it was with some sense of excitement that Tink held when he saw the USGS surveyors coming up his drive one day, stopping at his porch.
“Mister Fitzhew?” one surveyor queried.
“Ayup, thets me,” Tink replied.
“Well sir, we’ve completed the survey in this area, and we have some rather startling news for you.”
“Oh, really?” Tink asked.
“Yes, it appears that your farm isn’t actually *in Maine*. You sir, are a resident of New Hampshire. Isn’t that great?”
“Well I’ll be, isn’t that sumthin?” Tink said in hopeful resignation, “I nevah could stand them Maine wintahs.”
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Well, apropos of nothing in particular, the only other Maine farmer story I know goes something like this:
A Maine small plot potato farmer regularly used a pig randomly rooting around the field to turn the soil so that the next crop could be planted.
One day, an eager young man from the School of Agriculture dropped by to discuss with the farmer how he could enhance his farming techniques. He explained to the farmer how much time he could save tilling the field using a tractor and a plow instead of letting the pig do its thing.
The farmer was unimpressed, replying, “Waal, time don’t mean nuthin’ to a pig.”
Well, maybe you had to be there . . . .
😉
I think it is rather ironic that the 20th Main Regiment commanded by Colonel Joshua L. Chamberlain, which fought so bravely at the Battle of Gettysburg and on many other notable occasions, actually owed its existence to the Missouri Compromise.
Well, it’s sort of like the farmer who wondered if his crops could survive the extra hour of sunlight when daylight saving time was instituted; but different.
Just happened to come across this page from the USGS about the hydrologic cycle, and cloud formation. Simple explaination, and remarkably little mention of climate. It also notes that jet contrails might contribute to cooling thru cloud formation.
http://ga.water.usgs.gov/edu/watercyclecondensation.html
Reply: Don’t forget about the 2% increase in solar forcing globally from DST as well. ~ ctm
I knew this thread was going to be some kind of amusing story before I opened it. Why did I do that?
Just kidding. I really liked it.
evanmjones said:
As I recall, when it was Russian vs. Polish winters it was “live unfree or die”.
Ah, but your are underestimating the quality of life in Dear Mother Russia.
I think the motto was more like, “Live Free and Die.”
What a Country!
Er, shoulda been, “Live Unfree and Die”
Not used to the inferior Roman alphabet, comrades.
20 below, the beloved Cyrillic, unfreedom and death! All that, plus Vodka! What a Country!
pat says:
July 19, 2010 at 9:01 pm (Edit)
For example, the report shows that each 1 °C of warming will reduce rain in the southwest of North America, the Mediterranean and southern Africa by 5–10%; cut yields of some crops, including maize (corn) and wheat, by 5–15%; and increase the area burned by wildfires in the western United States by 200–400%…
Pure junk. We’ve already had a 1C warming and it affected rainfall not at all.
Saveashark,
“God I love NewEnglanders”.
Which ones?
There’s a huge difference between those who are many generations in the White or Green mountains, and those that moved up from NY/NJ a few years ago.
The real New Englanders (Yankees) are a disappearing breed.
Ethan Allen is rolling in his grave for sure.
One could say I love Arizonans – but how many are really Arizonans? 90% are transplants seeking a little warming.
Re cold winter weather.
A chap related how cold it was at his town by commenting – It must have been really cold this morning, I saw a lawyer with his hands in his own pockets.
Just one small correction: Maine would be pronounced ‘May’un’ by the Down Easters.
Cahn’t get they’uh from he’yuh!
😉
Otherwise, very humorous story!
Being originally from that part of the country, and having known may from those parts, the accent and history bring back old memories.
🙂
I’m sorry – I just can’t help myself: The word is eke; and its past tense is eked… Eek is what elephants say when they see a mouse.
For the longest time, I’ve been curious about the correct spelling for “ayup”. Thanks, Mike.
Ha, that joke reminded me of the American that sent his eldest son to the UK to w ork out the difference between American and English humour (humor) In the course of his education an Englishman recounted the story involving social graces where all the lads gathered for a fox hunt and there was a pretty young lass present, and in a society where you needed to be formally introduced before you spoke to a female, who should be the one to introduce the female?, sorry, replied the American, I don’t know. Simple, said the Englishman, the Horseman knew her. (Horse manure)
The American lad went back home and when asked to explain English humor, he related the story, but the punchline escaped him except, that it had something to do with horse sh*t.
But my purpose in posting this, is that I went looking on the net for subtle nuance of this very old joke. Among the thousands of manure jokes, I didn’t find that one but I learned that you need to be careful in using words such as warmist as MIST in German, is slang for Horse Sh*t.
I’ll bear that in mind!!
Thanks for the shaggy dog story Mike, excellent!
Here’s a story about the time Tink Fitzhew tangled with the Maine State Wage & Hour Department, who claimed he was not paying proper wages to his help and sent an agent out to interview him.
“I need a list of your employees and how much you pay them,” demanded the agent.
“Well,” replied Tink, “there’s my farm hand who’s been with me for 3 years. I pay him $200 a week plus free room and board. The hog wrangler has been here for 18 months, and I pay him $150 per week plus free room and board.
Then there’s the half-wit who works about 18 hours every day and does about 90% of all the work around here. He makes about $10 per week, pays his own room and board, and I buy him a bottle of bourbon every Saturday night. He also sleeps with my wife occasionally.”
“That’s the guy I want to talk to — the half-wit,” says the agent.
“That would be me,” replied Tink.
Interestingly some think that the ancestors of these hardy farmers could be remnants of a party of the Knights Templar led by Prince Henry Sinclair, who landed c100 before Columbus. However, despite some evidence, this is not the consensus position!
Nice one! I had a good smile.
BTW. ‘The Age’ (Melbourne) has headlines today about the coldest morning this year. Of course, it’s only ‘weather’. The first time they record a 40C day next summer it will, inevitably, be ‘climate change’.
Not long before WWII an elderly farmer in New Zealand was visited by the Ford salesman from the nearest town, intent on getting the old chap out of his New Beauty Model T and into the latest V8 coupe. The salesman took the old chap for a long drive on the district’s narrow gravel roads, extolling the new car’s superior features, including the three-speed gearbox.
At the conclusion to the visit, the old chap told the salesman to take the faithful Model T back to town and leave the wonderful new car on the farm. He settled with a cheque and the salesman rattled his way back to town, congratulating himself on his excellent salesmanship.
A few months later, the old farmer arrived at the dealership, the engine in his new car rattling badly and pouring smoke from the exhaust. After some discussion as to how the new engine could become so badly worn so quickly, the old fellow said
“Darn thing wouldn’t ever do more than about 60 in top gear.”
The problem became apparent – the old chap had not taken in the fact that the new car had a third gear available during the demonstartion – and had never used it!
For posters who have little or no sense of humour, this story is true. I sometimes use it to illustrate the fact that people often only hear what fits in with what they think they know!
I learned that you need to be careful in using words such as warmist as MIST in German, is slang for Horse Sh*t.
Why Rolls Royce had a problem when they tried to launch a Silver Mist!
“As I recall, when it was Russian vs. Polish winters it was “live unfree or die”.”
In communist russia the harsh winters can’t stand YOU.
A billionaire Texan yarning with locals in an Australian outback pub describes his extensive acreage back in Texas:
“Ef I get on my horse et mah northern boundery et sunrise an’ keep ridin’, why, by sunset ah still won’t have reached mah southern boundery. An’ the next day, ef I get on my horse et mah western boundery an’ ride east till the sun sets, ah still haven’t reached mah eastern boundery!”
To which one of the locals responds: “Yeah, I had a horse like that too.”
Daniel H says:
July 19, 2010 at 8:12 pm
Chill Pill required!
Mike, thanks, I needed a smile today and you got a laugh out of me that made the barmaid ask what made me so happy. Hell, she is Chinese so how do you explain “Eyup”! Nearly Yorkshire U.K. there!
Minor quibble. US Geophysical Survey should be US Geological Survey. Geologists (like me) think there is a difference.
Actually, I believe the correct spelling is “Ayuh”…and yes, I’m from there 😉 Never heard a “p” on the end of that exclamation…
JimB
Daniel H
you’ve missed the boat completely! In my neck of the woods which is south of the equator down in the south west quadrant of the ‘big pond,’ aka The Pacific Ocean, you are what we Antipodeans call a, “Dead Ball B*****d.” I can only guess that you come from somewhere that has a high propensity of tornados. I’m guessing one of those twisters got close to yah and sucked out all of your humor! Including the dry stuff!!
As a surveyor and amatuer astronomer of little note I can easily appreciate the irony of mis-placed lines on the land and in the sky, put there by totally fallible humans, intentions good and bad. Unfortunately the consequences to humanity of people drawing arbitrary lines on maps have probably greater signifigance than any change in climate could ever match. Consider the current situation in the middle-east alone, brought about by the same class of people in Britain who today foister upon us the sham of the CRU investigations that allow the accused to detail what should be investigated. By class I don’t mean upper or lower, but ability. I come from a somewhat classless society here in New Zealand so I don’t use the term of ‘class’ in the way of my forebears.
Some of the many beautiful things about this story are, firstly this is a direct connection to some of the people who experienced the Dalton Minimum first hand! Their description of the situation along the border of Maine & N.H. in the 1820’s maybe mirrored by the young people growing up in that area right now. There is unfortunately for the modern youth a vast difference between what they are being told about the future and how to handle it, and what those young people of two hundred years ago expected and went on to handle with strength and fortitude not apparent today.
The other startling part of this story is the comparison of how we humans communicate in given situations. Old Tink got close to his animals. Naming them all and conversing with them as if they were almost human. This is not some sign of madness brought on by isolation as anyone who has pets that are more than perfunctory comapnions will tell you.
The most intersting part about the cold living conditions and the habits created from them was the advent of the ‘bundle room.’ I am far from being expert on this subject but I would guess that ALL societies that lived, and stll live, under cold conditions have a ‘bundle room,’ of sorts. From this they often have societies that communictae and co-exist to a higher degree than people in modern western society.
In our time of electronic disconnect type communication we can’t handle the minor discomfort of body odour from a colleague. We try and handle it, not by speaking openly to the person concerned, but by sending an e-mail to the HR person across the aisle! The people of New England and elsewhere 200 years ago would have considered such a situation as science-fiction, if they had the notion that science could be so fictionalized in the way 20th/21st century climatologists have so blatantly done with their very small, new, tiny-but-loud and trying to be scary, piece of science.
The final, succinct point by Tink about the “scientific” movement of his property from one state to another due to human error was probably lost on those old surveyors and Daniel H!
The story also, unintentionally perhaps, highlights micro-climates and the very real problem of climatic homogenisation. People today are very aware, perhaps even more so than in the past (but this is debatable) of micro-climates on a daily basis due to the advantages of modern communication. The counter to this awareness is of course the modern person’s lack of awareness about how climatologists ‘smooth’ the microclimates into an easy to handle “World Mean!”
Cheers
Coops
BTW we are having a Joe Average winter in our part of the North Island of New Zealand, but our “rellies” (Kiwi for “Relations”) in the South Island have been struggling with a prolonged period of low temps, mainly in the hinterland where this can happen often. The Bon Spiel (forgive my spelling) in Central Otago province happened for the first time in 3 years recently for example.