With the fire on medium. It’s what the pancake can take. The little boy will see to it. It’s starting to look like another above average year. Later when we’re bringing in the sheaves. Down in Texas right about now they are wringing out the sheaves. From drouth to flood. Also known as average for them. Rice and cotton come to mind. Even their oil farmers are feeling the deflation. As the spokes fly off the common weal. The takers keep taking what the makers are making. Though it takes to make the takers don’t see it that way. Well it ain’t neither half full nor half empty it’s damn near gone. On average. But you know how averages work. There may be more people than ever alive but if you go back far enough the average person is dead. For now.

In four years I’ll finally be average. All I ever wanted was to be average. Until I realized how averages work. I already am average when it comes to the size of my operation. I may be a little bigger than average. But as a farmer I’m still younger than average by about four years. Back when I started the average age was eight years younger. I was thirty years younger. Everyone was going broke just like today. They were and still are looking for that greater fool. Someone to stand in the field as they zero in the cross-hairs on you. Don’t worry they seldom hit their target. Always overshooting or undershooting it. Never quit leading it by the correct distance. But then it’s not the distance it’s the direction that matters. In matters such as these. That direction is older. Until we finally reach escape velocity. Falling out.