I want to work for the Tourism Board

Ah, Spring in Pennsylvania. The birds are chirping, the grass is a beautiful emerald hue, the sun is shining, and... what is that funky smell?

Ah. It's not really spring until the farmers start spreading manure. That's right. Good old fashioned shit. How do you think our fields got so fertile? Why do you think we all have that sort of "Oh God" look on our faces 3/4 of the year? We only really get a respite in the middle of winter, and that's only because the stuff doesn't stink nearly as badly in the middle of January.

Believe it or not, Farmers here have high-tech systems in place to know the instant you put a load of sheets into the washer, with the intent of hanging them outside to dry. The nanosecond the washer begins to fill, they spring into action. They quickly load the spreader, timing it just so. You cautiously peek at the field next door- no farmer, so you think everything's swell. And for a moment, it is. For the farmer doesn't move until you've headed back to the house. Then, using the turbo-thrusters (windmill powered, for the Amish farmers) on his tractor, he whizzes over to the field and begins to spread shit, as if his life depended on it. At that point, you can do one of two things:

a: Resign yourself to washing your sheets again, because no matter how fast you get them off the line, putting them in the dryer at this stage will simply bake the shit smell into them, or

b: Having planned ahead, and made sure that all the beds in the household are the same size, let the sheets dry outside, and put them on the bed of whomever has a head cold, or has been the biggest creep this week.

And for those not in the know, this space-age technology also applies to any time you plan on having a quiet night on the deck, a cookout, or simply want to enjoy the spring day without having to strain the air through your teeth.

To say nothing of the Alfalfa/Soybean/Skittles harvest. This is always, always done at 1:00 AM, with the equipment you have let the neighborhood children beat on, and partially dismantle, until it is as noisy as humanly possible. But that's a tale for Fall in Pennsylvania.

Springtime in Pennsylvania. Won't you join us?
(Just be sure to keep some air-freshener handy.)