Everybody knows a turkey and some mistletoe,And that remided me of a time when I was a kid, hunting ducks with my Dad on a little pothole called Catfish Prarie in the Catahoula swamp. Dad and I were walking out of the swamp after a morning of duck hunting. I was an adolescent, probably 12 or 13 years old and was trying to figure out a way to get a little Christmas money in my pocket. I mentioned that to Dad, and he told me to sell mistletoe.
Help to make the season bright,
"Mistletoe?" I asked.
"Yeah, mistletoe." Dad said. "This thicket is lousy with it." He thumbed a shell into his shotgun and blasted a green clump in the top of a nearby tree. Mistletoe rained down around us. "Pick that up." he said.
He told me about mistletoe, a magical little parasitic plant that grows in trees and has the power to let young men steal a kiss from the girls. Today, that would probably be a sexist philosophy, but in the late '60s it seemed like just the key to get a little money in my pocket.
I blasted a few clumps and before long, had a hunting bag full of mistletoe sprigs. When I got home, I raided Mom's stash of ribbon, converting blasted mistletoe clumps into a salable item. I sold them around the neighborhood for 50 cents apiece, and took some to school the week before Christmas break. I don't remember how much money I made, but I had a lot of fun with it. Especially in the school-house, before the administration shut me down.
Good times, good times.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get busy. The family will be here for Christmas Eve and I've got a list of things to accomplish.
Merry Christmas, Y'all.