We have a “cornucopia” of grandkids. It seems we have an unending supply. They just keep coming, at least until they get old enough to know I didn’t invent everything from soup to nuts. I did invent the Spam Cannon, but that’s another story.
Several grandkids are cursed with living in the city. With its glamorous hamburger cafes and fancy indoor plumbing, they’ve never learned how to live. Most of them have never seen a 2-hole outhouse or played poker with cow chips. Not a one of them knows the proper way to grab an electric fence or how to chase a rooster. They may not even know what a ditch is.
The need for country classes is great. That’s where I come in. I teach at “Grandpa’s Country Clinic and Pie-a-Rama.” The course objective is to whittle, shoot, drive, and creek-walk without getting killed and without touching Grandpa’s recliner or pie.
