"A Tribute"

A little over a month ago the world lost a good man. Not necessarily famous or wealthy by the world's standards, but then, it doesn't take those things to make a good man.

One of my first real jobs was helping Dan milk cows after school in the evenings when I was maybe fourteen. Dan's barn was a stanchion style barn, with about 46 stalls. I remember at one point milking about 90 head; we would milk half of the cows, turn them out, and get in the other half.

I got three of my front teeth busted off in that barn when I got kicked by a cow when Dan and I were clipping udders one evening. We knew the heifer was high strung, so Dan was holding her tail up in the air while I clipped. (this is supposed to put a cow's kicker out of gear) Well, somehow she managed to kick anyway and she knocked the clippers back into my mouth.

Times were hard on the farm in those days.I'm pretty sure they were way harder than I ever realized at the time. Dan drove truck part time to supplement his income. Legend has it that he kept his boys (Milo and James) back a year from starting first grade so they could help on the farm when they couldn't afford a hired man.

 And there were other pressures too. Enough of them if you would put them all together would be enough to break down a man of lesser caliber. But Dan always seemed to plod on,putting one foot in front of the other and making the best of his circumstances. And he didn't bellyache about things either. And most of the time had that smile shape on his sort of round face. Pretty much exactly like you see in the photo.

Dan was born in upstate New York and moved to this part of Va. along with his parents when he was a young man. He had graduated from high school in New York and his history teacher insisted that he should go on to college and become a history teacher himself. Dan told me that someone asked him once, how he had ever settled in this God-forsaken part of Southside VA. He said he told them that he had moved here in the beginning and had always stayed too poor to move out.

When I was a youngster, Dan sang in a quartet along with my dad and my uncles, Bud and Robert. Dan singing 2nd tenor, my dad baritone, Uncle Bud first tenor, and Uncle Robert bass. Us young guys called them the "Old Fogies Quartet". I thought they made the sweetest music this side of heaven. It was my first introduction to men's quartet music and listening  would send shivers up and down my spine. I can still hear  Dan singing the melody on "Have you waaandered  awaaaaay from your Father's care, heavy hearted and sad do you rooooam". He would slide just a little from the first note of "away" to the second, but he always landed square.  And he always had a little tin container in his suit coat pocket with some mysterious little brown pills of which he would pop one when he was singing. I never found out what they were.

Dan was one of the steadiest truck drivers you could ever see. Back in the day when I thought the only way to run something was  wide open, he would ease up the road shifting gears as smooth as silk. He told me a story once from way back in the days when trucks had (compared to today) ridiculously small engines.And mind you, vacuum brakes which operated off of the intake vacuum of the engine. So what would happen is that you would lose your brakes if you let your rpms get too low.


On this particular occasion he was hauling a really big load of lumber to somewhere in Pennslvania. He had hauled loads of this size before but the loads were at least partially dry. This certain load was green lumber. To make a long story short, he got on a long uphill grade somewhere between Hancock, Maryland and Breezewood, Pennsylvania. He kept going down in the gears until he was in the lowest one he had. And it soon became evident that "grandma gear" wasn't up to it either and he was going to stall. And that's just what happened. To make matters worse the engine started to turn backwards letting the truck start back downhill. And also, of course, no brakes.

As he started to roll back down the hill,  he turned the wheels so the trailer would head into the bank on the side of the road and then jumped out.

Many, many years later on a run north he stopped at a truck stop near this same spot and got to talking with another old trucker while eating his meal. Swapping war stories, I guess you could call it. This other guy told Dan that the funniest thing he had ever seen happen was many years ago there was a trucker trying to get up that big hill just up the road there a little and his truck wouldn't pull it and it started to roll back and the driver jumped out. Dan said he didn't tell him that he and the chap in the unfortunate circumstances were one and the same. (and by the way, Dan continued to drive his beloved old cab-over International for several years after he turned 80)

Dan loved John Deere tractors. He had a 435 with a two cycle  Detroit engine. And a 720 poppin john with a hand clutch. But along about the late 60's he took a big step up and bought one of the first 4020's to come out. Now as far as I'm concerned the 4020 was the best tractor ever made. Six cylinder engine, a sweet running thing it was. Dan was the talk of the neighborhood. A 4020 was the biggest tractor ever to get used on any farm in these parts. A few people wondered why you would ever need such a huge tractor. (of course now a 4020ish size tractor would be viewed as small)

There was once he did something with his 4020 that looking back seems a little out of character. Jack Poindexter, who farmed on Long Island had a huge old steam engine he had restored and that he would fire up on occasion. Dan was probably down on the Island chopping corn silage with his 4020 when they decided to have a pulling contest. I was misfortunate enough to have not been there, so I'm not sure how this got started. Maybe it goes to show that even grown men deal with some peer pressure.

Anyway, they parked the steam engine and the 4020 back to back, hooked a chain between them and commenced pulling. The 4020 spun but couldn't budge the steam engine. The steam engine had the weight and traction advantage but didn't have the power to pull the 4020 backward either. So I guess it was called a draw.

Dan made me feel worth something when I was young and pretty worthless feeling otherwise. He would shake your hand an extra long time and ask how you were doing. Maybe not much more than that, but it meant something to me at the time and looking back now it means a great deal.

I thought of him again this evening as I was driving truck myself, hauling a load of chips. Dan, may you rest in peace from all your labor and may the Lord reward you mightily for your faithfulness.

"The Devil of Doubt"

Ok, I looked back and it's been almost exactly four months since I last appeared here. So where have I been??

Let me explain it this way. I have to feel a certain level of inspiration before I can write. I can feel it start to tingle in my bones and finally after several days of building intensity I have to sit down and put it down on paper.

Well, it hasn't happened. Several times I thought it was getting close and then the feelings went away.  And also there are things like stress and discouragement (ahem, depression maybe?) that can pull you down until you feel like you don't have anything in you to give.

  Let's put it another way; on that often used "scale of one to ten". (Which I hate because it oversimplifies things, and plus, the stress of trying to figure out where I am on the scale can knock me down one number just in itself.)

Let's just say, for oversimplifing's sake, that I need to be a "5.5" on the scale before having enough "energy" to write. Now let me be honest here; I don't have many days that get that good on the scale. Melancholy runs strong in the Yoder clan; we're steady but not given to emotional highs.

I meet in a small group with three younger guys who have either a mom or a dad that are  double first cousins of mine. And all four of us are melancholies. I said recently when talking about our group, that sometimes when we get together the melancholy is so thick you could spread it like peanut butter.

I've always sort of envied the people that seem to have those "great" days. (Of course I've also always been suspicious that somewhere there's a dark part of the picture that they're not seeing)

We once had a young lady that boarded with us while she taught at our school and she had a marvelously upbeat personality. I remember well hearing her come in the door after what (as I recall) was a fairly normal school day and Mary asking her how her day had gone. "Oh, it was WON-DER-FULLLLL!!," she said. I was in the background thinking to myself  how I would like to, just even once, experience a day like that to see what it would be like. (Thinking back now, maybe this was one of those days when she might have had two Mountain Dews before breakfast and that kept her cheered up) Seriously though, she was almost always like this. Except on rare occasions  when she was sad, and then she was frightfully sad.

So where she had a delightful range of emotion (from 0-10.5), I tend to be steady in the 3.5 to 4.5 range. Stinking boring, I know.  Especially for the people that have to live with us.

But I used to be higher on the scale. It seems the cares of life have worn me down and the last number of years I've struggled more and more with doubt. When God allows some things to happen that you really, really, really, really, really can't understand, that creates a fertile field for doubt to grow.

I used to laugh and make jokes about the atheists and agnostics. I don't anymore.

Now don't get me wrong, I don't believe they are right. It's just that I now sympathize a little more with people that look down inside themselves and just can't seem to find that germ of faith to reach out and believe.

I've been somewhat honest about my struggle with doubt. A number of years ago I stood up to teach our men's Sunday school class with the lesson  including the verse "Without faith it is impossible to please God". I told the class if I did what I felt like doing, I would quote that verse and then walk out. (I didn't. So maybe that shows a germ of faith)

I've been thinking of a quote lately that goes "There lives more faith in honest doubt, believe me, than in half the creeds". I had in mind it was a C.S. Lewis quote but looking it up this evening found out it came from Alfred Lord Tennyson in a long poem he wrote after his best friend (who was engaged to his sister) died suddenly from a brain hemorrhage. I think what he's trying to say is that a person who is grappling with the issues is closer to faith than the person who glibly quotes a creed before having to face the hard questions of life.

Some of my favorite lines in the poem were these:
                                            I falter where I firmly trod,
                                            and falling with my weight of cares
                                            upon the great world's altar stairs
                                             that slope thru darkness up to God.

I came up with a poem myself recently entitled "Fear and Doubt". Now both can destroy your faith and your joy, but of the two, I think doubt is the most insidious.

                                              "Fear and Doubt"
Verse 1- (with loud bravado)
Now fear, he comes a bustin', right up to yer door
A rattlin' at the winders and a shakin' the floor
A bluffin' and a threatnin' to blow yer house in
It's like the big bad wolf all over agin.

Verse 2- (in a sneaky whisper)
But doubt, he comes a creepin' on some sly fox feet
Like a fog up the holler while yer fast asleep
A slippin' and slidin' thru forest and glen
Till it feels like darkness with the sun shine-en'

/Verse 3
So whatever yer a facin', whether tiny or tallish
Whether blowin' in big or sneakin' in smallish
(If the fearin' and the doubtin's got you driv up the wallish)
Keep yer eyes wide open in front and back sections
And yer ears perked up in most every direction
And last but not least, the most important of all
Let yer faith run deep when fear and doubt come to call.

I've resigned myself to the idea that I'll probably always have trouble with doubt. Maybe you think I'm like so pessimistic.  But I also plan to keep putting one foot steadily in front of the other one and keeping my name signed on the dotted line of "I believe".

And just a couple days ago I was thinking of what it would feel like to embrace the philosophy of an agnostic. I let the feeling sink in just for a little and I realized something. I would have DOUBTS! I would have big time doubts wondering if I was right. Way bigger doubts than what I have now.

And those thoughts gave me great  joy and pushed me all the way up to, let's say, a 6.5.

"The Gospel Truth"

Carlton Dwayne Yoder

There's a brand new little human being in the Yoder household across the road. "He's beautiful!" "Beyond cute!"

And there you have it. The gospel truth according to the two grandmas.

"For the Love of Work"

For the love of WHAT, you say? Well actually, I said work. And honestly, that's how I feel. And I guess that's my privilege, right?

It seems like in today's world, work is a four letter word. It's what you do because you have to get your hands on a few dollars to pay the bills and buy the groceries.

Now I realize, I love my job. (most of the time; more on that later) Some people's jobs aren't as pleasant as mine so that colors their thinking. I have a friend that works in the grant department at a prominent VA university and he says he dreads going to work because he has to work with a bunch of grouchy old women who want to rule the world. That would sorta take icing off the cake now wouldn't it?

Of course every job, no matter how great, has it's downsides and bad days. Before I took up logging and then later joined forces with son Myron, I managed a dairy. It was a wonderful job. There were a few downsides like cows getting mastitis, not getting enough rain, getting too much rain, the milk check not being big enough to cover the bills, the well pump quitting in the middle of a snowstorm, the mix wagon breaking down late Sat. night,etc. etc. etc. etc. etc.

I remember well one of the worser starts to a day on the farm. It was in the winter sometime and when I got up to milk it was just above freezing and raining that absolutely miserable VA winter rain. Oh yeah, that reminds me; getting up to milk. That was the daily downside to life on the farm. I hated getting up that early. I would set my clock a half hour fast so that when the alarm went off I knew I still had some time to sleep. Besides that I would set the alarm maybe 45 minutes early and hit the snooze every ten minutes until time to get up. Drove Mary crazy.

Back to the miserable, cold, rainy morning. I headed to the barn, started the sanitizer cycle for the milk line and stumbled out into the cold to get the cows in from the pasture. I hadn't gone too far until I came on a cow that had freshened during the night. In other words, she had calved.

Which was all normal, well and good. But she had milk fever. Cows with milk fever can't get up; it's like they loose muscle control or something. The cure for milk fever is to give them IV dextrose with calcium and often a few minutes after you've given them one bottle they are ready to get on their feet.

But there was more. She had also pushed her uterus out. Sometimes after cows calve they continue to push until they turn their uterus inside out and push it out of themselves. If you've never seen the uterus of a cow, you have missed quite a ponderous sight. You've gotta remember, a 80 to 100 lb. calf has just come out of this thing. Suffice it to say, the uterus of a cow looks considerably better on the inside of her rather than out. And if you've seen one on the outs, you have wondered along with me, "How in the world will all of that fit back in??"

So I trudge back to the milk house, get my IV kit and a bottle of treatment. I don't remember which procedure I did first. Probably the IV. You need at least three hands for this. One to hold the light so you can see to find the cow's vein in her neck. Another to press down on the vein to make it bug out; and the other to insert the needle. Then hook it to the bottle of dextrose and watch the bubbles as the fluid flows slowly into her vein.

Then start on the other job at hand. A nasty one it is, too. You have to lay down on the ground because that's where the back end of the cow happens to be. You gently start to shove some of the uterus back where it came from. The cow doesn't usually take kindly to this and pushes mightily back so five minutes of progress can be undone in one big push. So you start over and finally after you are exhausted and wishing your arms were a foot longer, the thing slips back into it's place.

Then it's time for a few stitches at the back end to keep the cow from pushing it out once again. And then it was time to go get the rest of the cows in and finally start milking, probably at least an hour late by now.

As I said, all types of work have their downside.

But the other evening, after putting in a full day of work already, I came home and got a bite to eat and then went back over to haul a couple loads of mats to another yard. These mats were in the way where I was stacking logs and I was too busy during regular working hours to get them moved.

Now I've always enjoyed working outside the regular hours. It's peaceful. You don't feel the same pressure as during the regular hours. I will have to say, though, that there is a little downside to this as well. Mary has the idea that I'd don't like to be with her at home. She says it's good practice if she ever has to be a widow; she'll be used to it.

Anyway, I was driving the truck, pulling a trailer load of mats. After a very hot and humid day, the temperature had dropped and the breeze felt quite pleasant. The sky was lovely in the west with the scattered clouds and the setting sun. The truck sounded mellow and sweet in the evening air. I let out a long satisfied sigh and wondered what else in the world there could possibly be to do that would be better than this??

But did I mention downsides? The very next day towards evening Myron called me. He said a truck is here to pick up those mats you just moved the night before. I told him I'd lead the driver down to the other yard   ( 7 miles away) and get him loaded up.

I was positively sure I knew which mats Myron meant. I mean if I were a swearing man, I would have swore to it. Plus, a bad thunderstorm was threatening and I was in a hurry so I didn't ask to see the driver's paperwork. He was Hispanic and didn't speak English very well and who knows if he had looked at his paperwork either.

I got him loaded and headed home. Along about the middle of the next day Myron calls me again. The driver is sitting at the job site (somewhere in upstate New York) and he has the wrong mats on his load.  Oh brother did I ever feel sick and helpless.

I guess you've got to give it to the cow, at least with her you had something to push back against.

Oh well. As they say, it's all in a day's work. Speaking of which, the truck driver got about two more day's work out of this job than he had counted on.

Needless to say, at our expense.

"Summer Bible School 2014"

At our church, we've had the habit of Summer Bible School since about the middle of the last century. Somewhere about 1955 was the first time according to someone who was alive back then. I wasn't on the scene just yet; I wouldn't arrive until 1956.

We would have a fit if we had to do Bible school like we used to back in the old days. These days we have air conditioned rooms with actual walls on the sides. Back then it was hot as all get-out and there were half a dozen different classes crowded down in the small church basement divided up by curtains stretched around on wires. Looking back, it seems more like a recipe for a zoo instead of a Bible school. But we always had a great time.

Back then we had class in the forenoon. That was so the farmers could do their chores in the morning, come for Bible school, and then have the afternoon and evening to work. We've had evening classes for many years now. And we're one of the very few that still go for two weeks.

Some things have changed, but many things are still the same. One sad thing is hearing younger and younger boys and girls talking about "relationships". As in, "I was 'going with' so and so back in the 3rd grade but then we broke up, etc. etc."

Another thing might be shorter attention spans due (in my opinion) to overstimulation from way too much TV and video-computer games. In one class the teacher decided instead of giving each student a "goodie bag" at the end of the two weeks, (which might be mostly candy, etc) she would give them a nice book. Something that would have value for the long term. So she spent about 15 dollars per student. But most of the students didn't seem to have any appreciation for the book and some of them expressed disappointment over not receiving the standard"goodie bag".


And then you have all the disorders out there that have reached epidemic proportions these days. This didn't happen at our Bible school, but one of the church ladies was telling of a girl she taught in a Bible school several years ago in another place.

The girl warned her right up front at the beginning of Bible school that she had three personalities. Nan was quick to inform her that she wanted all three of them to behave in her class.

But some things stay the same. You still have some children that sit spellbound on the edge of the bench listening to what you have to say.

And there are always little things that warm your heart in some way. This year I had some interaction with five year old Margie. Her real name is Margaret, but they call her Margie, with the "g" sound, not the "j".

Margie couldn't actually come to Bible school this year because we've dropped the 1st Kindergarten class and only have the kindergartners that will be starting 1st grade this fall. Now to look at Margie, you would think she was a very shy little girl and I had never had any conversations with her before. But was I ever wrong!

She came up to me one evening and expressed her desire to come to Bible school. I asked about her age and so forth and we figured out she would be going to 1st grade next fall and so she could come to Bible school next year.

Every evening at the end of Bible school this year I told about different birds and the things that make them unique. And Margie must have been there one of those times. (probably with her mom when her mom was one of the "snack ladies")

Anyway, towards the end of Bible school she came smiling up to me again. "I came to Bible school one night", she said, just a little triumphantly. "I came the night you preached on owls!" And she made big circles around her eyes with her hands to illustrate what I had shown them; that if owls were as big as humans their eyes would be as big as oranges.

And there's always a little humor along the way. My wife Mary's 5th grade class was a lively bunch. Not really bad, just lively. Mary would tell them every evening that they weren't babies and that they could listen and behave. Well one evening they were being extra ornery and weren't listening. Here's how the conversation went:
                          Mary: "Ok! I've changed my mind! Yall ARE babies!"
                          Reshaun: "Not me! I just grew a chest hair!"
                           Craig: "Was it blond?"
The class dissolves in gales of laughter. (teacher included)

"Four Things Every Boy Needs"

Seeing as how I'm only a few short years out of boyhood myself and seeing also my growing little tribe of grandsons, (three on hand and one on the way) I've been doing a lot of thinking about things that all boys need.

It goes without saying that boys need loving families, good friends, etc. etc.  (of course, it's beyond dreadfully sad that the biggest percentage of children today are growing up without those most important things) My "four things" are in addition to those "most important things".

Thing 1. A Woods
Every boy needs a woods. When I was a boy my mama could hardly get me up on school mornings. But on Sat., when all the rest of the family liked to sleep in a little later, I would be out of the house soon after daylight, before anybody else was up. I suppose I must have wandered back home for breakfast at some point; although I can't seem to recall that now. Sometimes I would take the binoculars and crawl thru the bushes trying to identify birds. One spring I found a red fox den and would sneak up on my belly unnoticed and wait for the young fox kits to come out and play.

Our neighbor's son George has been living in New York City the last year or so. Now I can't stand cities but I'm actually really thankful for them. Why? Well, since so many people like to crowd up in the cities, it leaves more open space in the country for the rest of us. Anyway, back to George. I heard him awhile back going on about how great it was to live in the city. He said everything you might want or need is just real close by. I asked him what if you needed a woods? "Weeell," he said, "You could always go to the park". I guess that would be better than nuthin.

But a park is everybody in the city's woods. A boy needs a woods of his own. Outfitted with nothing more than his imagination, a boy can spend countless happy hours in a woods. He could be Daniel Boone, Robin Hood or Robinson Crusoe all in the same day without any problem at all.

Thing 2. A Creek
I can't imagine how any boy can grow up properly without spending half of his summer submerged in a creek. One summer we built a small raft and  were Huck Finn and Jim on the Mississippi.Somewhere back in the archives is a whole post on this subject entitled "The Old Swimmin' Hole". We spent countless happy hours in the creek. Every boy needs one.

Thing 3. A Bike
It's a sad thing when at an early age a boy gets something that is motorized. You learn so much on a bike. I wonder how many miles we rode our bikes when we were young. We never went far, just around the neighborhood. But our bike was how we got everywhere. To the swimming hole. To the county bookmobile that stopped at the Perrows Chapel parking lot in the summer.

I never had a new bike in my entire life. And funny thing is, I really don't feel that deprived. My bike was a second hand 24" girls bike that I picked up somewhere. Just a single speed with a coaster brake. I painted it a nice gold color and put high rise handlebars on it and a long banana seat. I could "pop a wheelie" and ride with the front wheel off the ground for long distances. It was a very comfortable bike and to this day I feel so sorry for those high tech bikers sitting on those teeny-weeny seats and all hunkered down to reach those low handlebars and peering straight ahead with a terrible kink in their necks.

Thing 4. A Hatchet
Oh man. Hopefully there are no mommies who read this blog or I will be in deep trouble. Mommies are afraid little boys will chop themselves or scalp somebody. I recognize that possiblity, but how is a boy suppose to develop properly without being able to hack things?  Plus, he might need some poles for a teepee or a cabin in the woods.

There just seems to be a genetically inborn need for a boy to chop things. There are probably plenty of men today that have glaring character flaws which could more than likely be traced back to not being allowed to chop things when they were boys.

Think about it. When a right-handed boy is chopping something, he is holding his hatchet in his right hand. That is the hand he would miss the most if some of it got chopped off. This is not likely to happen if he's holding it in his right hand. Sure he might hack himself some other place but his most useful hand should be pretty safe.

And if you had to choose, a missing finger here and there would be a small price to pay for a boy who grew up to be a man of character.

"TAKE THAT, FEBRUARY!"

Ok, it's been exactly two months since I've posted anything. So, where have I been, hibernating?

I wish.

 My relationship with winter has slowly deteriorated over the years. I mean, I used to LOVE winter. I would huddle down by the old radio listening to the weather forecast and hope like crazy that they would be calling for cold and snow. And then if we were so fortunate to get some snow, I'd huddle by the radio again hoping against hope to hear the wonderful news that Campbell County schools were closed for the day.

Of course those days would have to be made up. But that was so far into the future it was almost off the radar. The day at hand was here to enjoy now.

And enjoy them we did. I wouldn't be able to tell you the hours we spent sledding on cousin Dwayne's hill.And then if we got too wet and cold we could walk across the road to Uncle Robert's house; hang all our soggy wet gloves and coats around the wood stove and play a long game of Monopoly while we warmed up.Sometimes when the snow was too soft for good sledding during the day, we would spend hours stomping up and down the hill, one footprint in front of the next one, making a packed down "track".That way when the sun went down and the temperature dropped we were all set for a night of sledding. We might take along a couple of old tires to set on fire to give us some light on an extra dark night. ( I know, some of those nights we had a pretty big carbon footprint)

In the middle of one big snowstorm during the  60's, my sister Judy came down with a bad pain in her side. The roads were impassable, with huge drifts across them in places. My folks were on the phone with our family doctor who said it sounds like appendicitis to him. He was just about ready to call the National Guard to fly him out in a chopper and operate on our kitchen table when whatever was causing Judy's pain eased up and it wasn't necessary. What a disappointment that was.

Like I said, I used to love winter.

But that was then. This is now. Now when the weather gets cold and the days get short I have to sort of grit my teeth and will myself to make it thru another winter. Most of the winter I feel a little foggy, sort of like I never quite wake up all the way. I get a craving for the sun when it doesn't shine for several days. And when it does come back out I've found myself doing just like cousin Pablo's pet black howler monkey in his book "My Father's World".

Soaking in the sun. (I know, there's a striking resemblance between  Sambo and I; we're probably relatives)

But we've almost made it to March! We had two nice sunny days in a row and my uncle Harvey gave me a poke in the ribs at the same time. I think I might be coming out of hibernation.

Speaking of which; let me tell about the animal that has winter figured out. I could almost be envious. It's the ground squirrel of Glacier National Park. They are awfully cute; they remind me of an overgrown version of our chipmunk. They are also fairly tame and you can get pretty close to one before they head for safety underground.

Took this last summer near Iceberg Lake, Glacier National Park

They have burrows that go deep below the frost line. They retire in late September and don't wake up till June! How do they possibly stay alive that long? I was going to say that they've got it down to a science. But I guess I should say that their Maker has it down to a science.

During hibernation their body temperature goes down to 37 degrees. Their pulse rate slows to 5 beats per minute. And the most amazing fact of all; they take one breath..................every five minutes. TAKE THAT, FEBRUARY!

Now, I'm not ready to sleep for 8 months out of the year just yet. I would hate to miss my favorite month, October. And April is usually sort of nice.

But February? You could  tempt me with February.