Well, I haven't made it into the Guinness Book of Records yet, but we did make Ripley's Believe It Or Not. The Sunday, July 24th, 1983 installment of the Sunday Comics version says:

"The Armadillo, an armor-plated animal, was given a birthday party by the residents of Fredericksburg, Texas in 1982 to celebrate its 300,000,000 years on earth."

That was our little party last year. This years party will be October 8th at Pat's Hall and in addition to the armadillos our special guests wil include Tex Schofield, Sam Lewis, and noted author James A. Michener who is writing a book about Texas (and armadillios of course).

Some of our northern friends stopped by this spring for a visit. Actually they would commonly be called Yankees by most folks around here but I have to be careful how I use the term since I was born and raised in Ohio. The Term Yankee is often applied in the hill Country of Texas to residents of Dallas. Billy Jenschke, who lives over the other side of Luckenbach, once defined a Yankee as being any one from north Mason. Now, Mason is a small town about 50 miles north of Fredericksburg and although his statement got a lot of agreement around the store, I think he might have gotten the town of Mason confused with Mason-Dixon Line. As I recall that line ran just north of my old home town of Londonderry, Ohio. I reckon it's all relative. But, so far, none of this has been relative to what I started out to tell you about.

These folks from up north had stopped by for a visit and we had a real good time teachin' them how to eat jalapeno peppers and chicken fried steak and how to catch armadillos. They took it all right well. I expect to have to explain such things as that to visitors from other parts of the country. However, there are some things I guess I've gotten so used to that it never occured to me that I'd have to explain them.

Take for instance the day I walked out of my bedroom and was greeted by a roar of laughter. People were all slappin' their knees and pointing at me. It took me by surprise. "What are you goin' to do?," one of them asked, "rob a train?"
"rob a train? What are you talking about?," I said as I mentally scolded myself for not warning them about staying out in the Texas sun too long.

"Well, you sure look like you're ready to rob a train. You've got that big cowboy hat, big red bandana up over your face, six-gun strapped on your hip. You've even got them big boots on. where's your horse, Tex? You don't want to miss the Wells-Fargo."
"Well, I can see right now that I have sorely neglected some very important aspects of your education in Texas living," I intoned in my most authoritative mode. "Listen carefully while I explain."

"I am preparing to undertake one of the more dangerous and daring adventures of modern man. Please follow me while I gather the rest of my equipment."

"What's that awful smell?," querried one of the female guests.

"That," I replied, "is the mixture of sulphur and number 2 diesel oil. The cuffs of my pants and my boots are coated with it. It's purpose is to discourage attacks by ticks, chiggers, scorions and a myriad of assorted arachnids and insects. The gun is merely a small caliber revolver which I carry in the event that I should encounter any of the numerous varieties of poisonous snakes which inhabit the regions into which I am about to venture. The bandana is to prevent suffocation and lung pollution from the thick dust clouds and these goggles are to keep dust and flying debris from damaging my eyes. The hat is simply to shade my head."

I stopped abruptly and turned to face the wide-eyed wonder of my listeners.

"Any more questions?," I asked.

"Yeah," one of my puzzled guests said. "Where are you going?"

"To mow the lawn," I said as I picked up my machete and walked out my door. "Save me some Gatorade."

B.S.