what a deal

Once, years ago, my dad wanted some manure for his garden. Coincidentally, Martin had done some Bobcat work for a farmer near Binbrook. And even more coincidentally the farmer was a cattle farmer. And even morer coincidentally Martin's job was cleaning out the barn. This farmer was happy to let Martin take away two very very fresh loads of manure. These loads of manure were so fresh that they were still steaming and it came with it's own flies.

So these wonderful loads of manure got delivered to Upper Ottawa and then  dumped on the front lawn, just off of the driveway. Tales have been told of these particular loads and their particular attributes. Neighbours shot withering glances over to the pile and the aforementioned flies. Apparently the flowers from next door were leaning over the fence just for a sniff of the potent aroma. Apparently my dad had loaded up the wheelbarrow with some shovelfuls of the stuff and when my mom came home apparently she was the one who had to wheel it into the backyard (apparently in high heeled shoes) (apparently dad held her nose as she wheeled).

That should be enough said about those loads of manure. But, of course, it is not.

Apparently when discussing the monetary contribution that dad was going to give Martin the subject of doweries came up. Now, in some cultures families need to give money to get rid of a daughter when she marries and in other cultures the family will get money when a daughter is married off.

I do not know how the conversation went.
All I know is that I was apparently worth two loads of manure.
What a deal.