Spring Skiing

Caveat: this is not for the faint of heart or sensitive of nose.  Nor is it suitable for children, members of the SPCA, the inherently squeamish - and, frankly, anyone with a modicum of good sense.  If you fit into any of these categories, stop reading NOW!  Or, continue at the risk of being highly offended.  You've been warned!

Once upon a time in a state far, far, away (Minnesota) there lived a boy on a family farm.  The boy milked cows, slopped hogs, herded sheep, forked manure, hauled hay bales, shoveled grain, picked rocks - just like numerous other farm boys in that long ago time and far away place.

Winters were long and cold.  Animals sheltered in the barn at night, but were let outside on warm days.  They took care of business, both inside and out.  Lots of business!  Snowstorms were frequent, resulting in multiple layers of business and compacted snow.  Come spring, those multiple layers would slowly melt down and form a pool of thick, odoriferous slop several inches deep.

And then it was time for Spring Skiing!

First, carefully select your tow vehicle.  A cow of course, but not just any cow.  An old cow couldn't get up to speed quickly.  A young heifer, on the other hand, could jump start you right off your feet.  Next, get a firm grip on the chosen cow's tail, holler HI YO SILVER!  And you're off!

These were short rides.  20' in 5 seconds was the course record.  If your ski boot (overshoe, actually) hit a submerged obstacle and you did a face plant into the muck, the ride was even shorter.

Tow vehicles kicked up slop so best keep your mouth shut and eyes nearly so.  As for clothing, well... let's just say it was heavier afterward.  Didn't matter really; farm boys smelled like self-propelled turds pretty much all the time.

Oh yeah, those were the days!