My journal entry for Monday, July 8, 1968

[Soapweed]

My journal entry for Monday, July 8, 1968

I went to bed at a good early hour, but couldn't get to sleep until about 12:30. This lack of sleep kind of gave me a bad start on the day. [Perhaps I took too long of a Sunday afternoon nap the day before.]

After breakfast, I rode Sassy to the pasture south of the meadow and brought in about twenty or so cows and calves. These Dad eventually sprayed, but I didn't get in on the job.

I used our old 450 tractor and mowed the stack yard and lane behind the barn. Then I fixed a sickle and headed the outfit for the west meadow. Lloyd came to get me for dinner just as I got there.

We had dinner and watched a little of Art Linkletter. Then I read awhile.

In the afternoon, I took the four wheeler up north and mowed. I mowed about a third of the west meadow in two lands. This is on the east side, and has probably five or six stacks in it.

I came home at seven o'clock, after taking out a couple sickles and walking quite a ways to the pickup. Dad and the hired men were putting up a bulk diesel tank, so I helped. We then did chores and came in to supper. Harry Stokely was out to tag club calves. We tagged nine and left them in—to start feeding them and getting them in show shape.

Dad wasn't in a very good mood for a while today. He couldn't think of anything good to say about my white rummage sale hat, and not much about the guy wearing it—me!

Schneiders are bringing a load of corn.

 

[Big Muddy rancher]

Sounds like Kosmo come by his "Hat fetish" honestly. :lol: :lol:

 

[Soapweed]

The hat in question came in a box of hats that was sold at the Ralph Arnot ranch estate auction. Ken Moreland, John Fairhead, and I went together and purchased this box for $2.25. This came to an investment of 75 cents for each of us, and then we divvied out the hats. One I ended up with was silver-belly colored and open crowned with less than a two-inch brim. This was the hat I was wearing that day.

There are probably two sides to the story. From my perspective, all I had to do was plop the hat upon my head and wear it. From dear old Dad's point of view, he had to watch me wearing that gosh-awful hat all day. There may have been other "issues" (that I don't now recall), but the hat was the frosting that broke the cake's back. We probably came to some kind of agreement--if I'd quit wearing the hat, he would quit watching me wear it. :wink:

Later I peddled the hat to Davy Jones, our old camping buddy from Martin, South Dakota, for a dollar. On our camping trip that was featured in the August 1969 issue of NEBRASKAland magazine, Davy is pictured wearing the hat in question.

 

[Big Swede]

I'd like to see that picture.