Well, folks, I have done gone went and finally done did it. I have officially and finally moved my carcass, my visor, my shoes, my shorts and my socks, along with a neatly pressed shirt and a pair of new blue jeans, up to the outreaches of a country rural route, in the sunset direction of Markdale, which, if you check it out, is nestled just a one hour drive north from my home in Fergus, in the Township of West Grey.
This is the very first column that I have pressed the magical send key on my computer from this location to send it off to be scrutinized by the watchful eyes of my editors. Then it is whisked from the presses, in numbers that near 40,000, out to your various county-wide addresses each and every week.
Now, someone once suggested, since I’ve moved back to the farm, that it would be more appropriate if I bought a straw hat and threw away my visor, but let me tell you folks, that just ain’t gonna happen. No way. Too long we have been companions. It is a long story how it all came about, but I’ll try and shorten it down and explain the whys, the what for, and the reason it so came into being.
Years ago, in the somewhat distant past, I stood behind a raised counter, where we pioneered hand feeding, from day one, a numerous amount of young cockatiels, love birds, cockatoos, macaws and other rare exotic breeds. As intense attention was necessary, especially to the newly hatched, a florescent light fixture hung just inches above my head. The glare on my glasses was not really noticed, but each day, along about three, I got a slight headache, which grew intensely as the day wore on, but left as I walked home during the darkness of evening.
At the same time, I had a preteen school girl who was fascinated with birds, especially the babies, and came in almost every day to hang-out and help me when, and wherever, she could. As a school project, she one day brought me in a visor made from construction paper. Not to disappoint her, and to show appreciation for her thoughts, I put it on and wore it, that day and the next. It was not until the third day that I realized I no longer had my daily headache. It was the glare of the lights on my particular tinted prescription of glasses that was apparently causing it.
My Little Lady, who vended at the once famous Fergus Market for a period greater than 13 years, informed me that there was a leather worker there just a short distance down from her stand. There my problem was solved. I left my construction paper visor with him, and the next week I was in possession of what you have seen shading my eyes for the past 25 years. Leather has a much longer shelf life than you and I have.
It is ironic, I suppose, that it became my signature bonnet because it also doubled as a sweatband. On hot, sunny days, as I worked in the garden, it soaked up the sweat on my brow. The accumulated odour annoyed my Little Lady, and it was not unusual for her to snatch it from my head and throw it back out the door, referring to it, with obvious withdrawn affection, as my “road-kill hat.”
So there you have it, folks. You now know the whys, the what for and the reason for the continuous wearing of what has become just a part of me.
Take care, ‘cause we care.
barrie@barriehopkins.ca
519-986-4105