Neither you nor I can argue that the world has gotten itself into so many pickles that it’s become a whole pickle factory. Nobody really knows who the CEO of the pickle factory is – which complicates things excessively. I decided I wanted nothing to do with pickles so I decided to be a humble cucumber farmer instead. This is all just an analogy.

Cucumbers are good all by themselves and don’t crave a life of being spicy and locked up with other cucumbers turned pickles packed into a stuffy jar. Cucumbers like to be in the presence of other cucumbers. They share their vines. This week I met a cucumber who instilled the refreshing realization that there is indeed, hope for humanity! And all because I decided to park in a ditch.

Since I’m a blonde – I hadn’t planned on parking in a ditch. I took off towards the city. The hoar frost mixed with rime ice accented the prairie in a scene that looked like fairies dusted the whole tundra with sparkly things. All this while I slept. I drive a mighty Toyota FJ Cruiser. It’s 4-wheel drive and would make a magnificent vehicle to take on an African safari. I named my vehicle Zulu. I trust her. I drove a few miles until I met the crossroads corner. I could turn and take pavement all the way to the city or I could go straight on gravel for traction, “Everyone knows that gravel is safer on icy days,” I thought to myself. I might be blonde – but surely I’m not one of those dumb ones. Onto the gravel I trekked. John Denver was playing through my Bluetooth speakers. It was well with my soul. Oh no! Pride cometh before the fall and I just fell diagonally into a deep ditch. I remember driving Zulu confident in her footing on the gravel. But the fairies decorated the rocks with ice, too, I guess. I felt like I was on a Berger bucking bull! I spun left. Though I took my foot off the accelerator, it felt like I was picking up speed. My Daddy always told me, “Jodi Rae, if you ever start losing control on ice – don’t push the brake. Just quickly tap the accelerator!” As I negotiated with God and the steering wheel – I tapped the accelerator. The bucking Toyota whipped me to the right and my eight second ride was complete.

There I sat parked diagonally in a ditch. My adrenaline was permeating my DNA. I noticed I was sitting high in the air though the right side of my Toyota was at a horrid angle buried deep in the ditch. Husband is a city boy so I knew he couldn’t help me. I haven’t been introduced to any farmers near the plot we live on now so I did the only thing I knew to do. I called the Mayor of a small village near to ask if he knew of anyone to save me.

His wife answered. She knew just the man to call. I got his number, introduced myself and my predicament. He was the kind of kind in voice that made me feel like he was eager to help. I always worry that I’m bothering others with my mishaps. He asked, “Do you need a tractor or a big truck to pull you out.” I giggled that he dared to ask my opinion on this. Reluctantly and hoping I was making the right choice – I said a big truck would suffice. He told me he had chores he had to finish up on but that he’d send his son. There I sat lopsided in a ditch praying I wasn’t going to tip.

In my rearview I caught sight of one of those big farm pickups that you may have seen in a popular ranch series that’s all the rage. More of that in a minute. The fella backed his big, beastly truck up to mine, hitched ‘er up with a chain, told me he was going to pull me backwards and to hang on. Heeee-haw! After 3 violent tugs – my Toyota was back on gravel. I exited the vehicle. He wouldn’t take the money. Now – that ranch series I’m referring to is “Yellowstone.” Husband and I watched it out of pure boredom during the pre-Christmas storms. Immediate addiction took over.

This young, handsome man who had just pulled me out said, “I’m not taking your money. Now listen. You’ve got our number now. If you or your family ever need anything – you just call us, you hear?” I heard alright! I heard the voice of a cucumber in a world stuck in a pickle. With that, he tipped his hat, hopped into his big truck and drove back home to his ranch. Don’t be a pickle even if you get yourself into one. And that’s all I’m gonna say about that. Except that if you are the one causing the pickle – I may just have to turn into Beth Dutton on you! Tee hee! If you know, you know. And if you don’t – watch Yellowstone!