WORTHINGTON -- These columns have talked before of how, through history, until sometime in our age, all people were close to creatures daily and conversation everywhere was sprinkled with talk of creatures.
That guy -- he was strong as an ox but poor as a church mouse. He lived near here; five miles as the crow flies.
A little bird told me that guy has a boy who is just wild. The boy runs around like a chicken with its head cut off. The guy used to talk about other people's kids; I guess his chickens are coming home to roost.
I was talking with my nephew about this. My nephew said he has heard these expressions -- he reminded me there is no point in locking the barn door after the horse is stolen. But, he said -- no. He does not use such expressions and people he knows of his age don't use them.
"What do you say?" I asked him. "Are there expressions that have to do with cities and with the modern age?" He could think of nothing but then, a while later, he volunteered, "You might wonder how swift so-and-so really is -- you might say, 'I don't think his elevator goes to the top floor.'" I said, "That's pretty colorful."
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Bonnie Pomerenke of Lakefield is wonderful at remembering how it was when our minds were focused on creatures about us, tame and wild.
She recalled lately that we don't see buffalo grass and foxtail these winter days. The baseball season is still distant and the bullpens are empty.
Bonnie was talking of catalogs getting dog-eared. This reminded her, "A lot of people like to be top dog but no one cares to be the underdog." It's a dog-eat-dog world.
Bonnie recalled not-so-long-ago when televisions had rabbit ears and stores announced white elephant sales. People danced the foxtrot. Admission to a dance hall was only chicken feed.
She remembered shutterbugs and litterbugs and things that sounded fishy and made you think something fishy was going on.
She finds reassurance that, in Minnesota, ties with creatures never will be lost completely because of, among other things, the lakes which bear creatures' names: Moose Lake, Fox Lake, Coon, Gull, Duck, Bass, Pelican, Otter Tail, Badger, Crow.
The thing that brought all this to mind once again:
It is the first week of February. Seed and garden catalogs have come in the mail. In the City of Worthington alone, there are -- total -- whole acres of lawns that once were gardens. Everyone, nearly, was growing potatoes and tomatoes, carrots and beans and sweet corn. All these, too, were part of our language and conversation.
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She's a real carrot-top, we would say. If she gets excited, she gets red as a beet. She's so thin -- just a string bean. Always just fresh as a daisy.
Oh yes, she's some tomato. But her brother doesn't use his old bean. He's out sowing his wild oats and he thinks that's just peachy.
Isn't that the berries?
Does the brother pay his bills? Well -- you can't get blood out of a turnip, you know. He's always just cool as a cucumber, and he usually comes up smelling like a rose. He's not really a bad apple. He's got another brother just rotten to the core.
You think he will find a better job? I don't think he can cut the mustard.
Yes -- he's full of beans. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. But you know, he's got a hard row to hoe.
If you say anything, the whole family is on you, like white on rice.
Oh yes, they're like peas in a pod. I know it sounds corny, but they're all rough as a cob. They don't beat around the bush.
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They started talking about you, but I nipped that in the bud. Well, bless your little pea-pickin' heart. You're a petunia in an onion patch.
There's been a lot of fog lately. Oh, it's been like pea soup.
We could keep this up 'til the cows come home. Anyway, that's about it in a nutshell.
Dad -- what does this mean: "You're no spring chicken any more?"
You haven't said much. Cat got your tongue?
Ray Crippen is a former editor of the Daily Globe. His column appears on Saturdays.
