Poems

The Farter of His Country

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Today is George Washington’s Birthday. The father of our country has received every possible accolade except an Oscar. It must annoy Washington’s most ardent fans to think that Lincoln is about to get one first. Before the founder? Unthinkable!

But at least Washington’s profile is on the still-worth-having quarter and his pained face is on the not-yet-completly-devalued one dollar bill, while Lincoln is the one stuck riding the doomed penny into oblivion.

Still, it’s hard to imagine what sort of salute a single person can offer when so very few honors remain unbestowed. Unless it’s that most American of tributes – a disrespectful limerick. Or three.

Washington

I
George’s obelisk anchors our mall
In the town, nothing else is as tall.
Not a king or a God
it’s a vertical nod
to a guy who made cherry trees fall.

II
Our first President, patriot, scholar.
had a hairdo that reached to his collar.
All his powder was white
He wore curlers at night
And today that’s his ‘do on the dollar

III
George’s troops had no shoes and no pillows.
But they loved him like kids love marshmallows.
They were men without means,
But when he fed them beans,
He was first in the farts of his fellows.

A grateful nation has decided to create a monument to you.
What should it be?

58 thoughts on “The Farter of His Country”

  1. Thank you for remembering old George’s birthday. Back in ancient times, February was great with Lincoln’s birthday, followed quickly by Valentines Day, and then, just about when we’d forgotten what a treat holidays were, came Washington’s birthday.

    Good old George and the imaginary stories by Parson Weems. (Or was Weems a mythical character too?)

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      1. I remember February as being a great short month for special foods to mark the many holidays that occurred therein. My mother was a great one for the special commemorative food.

        Sausage for breakfast on Ground Hog’s Day

        Corn pone (not sure if this is accurate, but my mother’s version was cornbread with bacon crumbled on top before you baked it) for Lincoln’s Birthday.

        Heart-shaped jello and cake for Valentine’s Day.

        Cherry pie for Washington’s Birthday.

        And if Shrove Tuesday occurred in February, there would be pancakes for breakfast, school day or not.

        We still do some of that.

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    2. i remember alternating which day you got off from school. they wouldn’t give you both 10 days apart but you got one ne yer ant theo other the next. when they combines it and made it some monday so the teachers and got workers coulds have a 3 day weekend it quit being about the guy and started being about scheduling

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      1. I once asked my mother what day was my father’s birthday. Her answer: “It is the day that George Washington’s isn’t.” If you study that response, you might get a clue or two about how I turned out the way I did. I think she meant she could never remember if Dad had been born February 21 or 22. She resolved that by realizing her husband was born on the day the farter of our country was not.

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        5. If I recall correctly, we celebrated Steve’s 70th birthday at Minnehaha Park, and I’m pretty sure there wasn’t any snow on the ground.

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  2. Rise and Shine Baboons!

    I would request an art studio open to amateur artists surrounded by a lovely garden. Both spaces would require nooks where one can curl up with a book.

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  3. A meandering path with many splits that allow you to take a slightly different route every time you walk it. If parts of it are woods and parts are by a body of water, so much the better.

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      1. Absolutely dogs are welcome. Mine would be a place to discover and play – some places may be quieter than others. Ideally it has a few benches where you can sit for awhile to rest or just be quiet if you like. Maybe I’d seed it with “Little Libraries” with an assortment of books. And an occasional paved spot with bins of sidewalk chalk, just because.

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  4. Good morning. Why would the nation want to erect a monument in my honor? Maybe it would be a monument to a person who has managed to avoid any claim to fame. Perhaps my monument should be a statue of a person with a puzzled look on his face who is scratching his head. I think this statue should be part of a sculpture park featuring various kinds of outsider art made from cement and scrape metal and would also be made from cement and scrape metal.

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        1. Sort of OT, but this exchange reminded me of this story.
          Someone threw out a plastic statue of Joseph about a month ago; dumped it on the side of our road. He stands about three feet tall.
          Well, I couldn’t very well throw it out, yet we’re not the type to display a full blown creche in the yard… so Joseph is standing watch in front of our garage. Depending on the weather, he looks very forlorn. Or maybe just cold. Couple weeks ago he blew over during a freezing rain, and when I stood him back up, the icicles stood straight out from his forehead. He looked especially dismayed that day.
          It’s not the type of monument I’d want… And I’d rather not have the lightbulb stuck in my butt either.

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        3. If not a light bulb what?
          Maybe I don’t want to know, but I’m envisioning the light show you could set up. A bellagio ennema

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  5. Some time ago I reflected upon my unique contribution to the great body of outdoor literature. And it is clear what my legacy is. Almost all outdoor writers have made themselves the heroes of their stories. They never miss a shot or lose a fish, if you are to believe what they write. Not surprisingly, I went the other way.

    I am–and I’m quite sure of this–the fist outdoor writer to describe himself having an attack of diarrhea while hunting or fishing. I did that with a story that described me having a nasty jealous contest with a trout fishing buddy who had lied to me, and in that incident I had to sprint out of the water and dash for the trees because it is a serious thing to have diarrhea while wearing chest waders. Fifteen years later I described another incident like that, something that happened during a South Dakota pheasant hunt.

    There is no Hall of Fame for those of us who scribbled about hunting and fishing. If there were, and if I were somehow to make the cut and have a statue in the Hall, it could only be one thing. I see myself rendered in bronze. I’d be squatting, desperately holding a young tree in my hands, my pants around my ankles.

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  6. I was, um, expecting something a bit different from a blog entry titled “FARTER of His Country,” but I’m just as happy with this content. If I was going to receive a public memorial, and I can’t imagine what for, I’d want it to be either a nature preserve or a reference library, or even an oak grove planted to provide meditation space in some public park. No statues or awful postmodern sculptures, thanks all the same! Although I like Jim’s idea about scrap metal outsider art–the greatest memorial any human being (real or invented) could have is, naturally, the magnificent Forevertron in Baraboo WI.

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    1. According to the Google Doodle, it’s also Edward Gorey’s birthday. I’m perfectly fine with Alan Cummings as host, but I can’t feel the same about “Mystery!” since they changed their opening and cut most of Gorey’s delightful and iconic animation.

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  7. A grateful nation has decided to create a monument to you. What should it be?
    How about a nation that’s actually grateful?

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  8. My monument would be an homage to silence. It is amazing what wonders can be reslizedmif you take a minute to listen to the voice inside and follow. We don’t get time with headphones and wireless internet on mountaintops to listen to that very articulate but easily drowned out in er voice . My monument could be someplace awe inspiring and geographically wonderful but may be more useful on a bus bench at a busy intersection, whereeople need a breath and a moment to take stock of the wonderful world that surrounds us.
    Then put of the headphones with miles Davis kind of blue album playing and look at the architecture around and the little wonders every day abounding.

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  9. I would have a woodsy retreat, complete with an outdoor hardwood “sprung” dance floor (it’s easier to dance on level ground). Might have to be some magic involved, with a retractable roof maybe. There would also be bookshelves on one end, the “bring one – leave one variety”. The following tangentially shows one possibility, but it’s on the water.

    http://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=I'm+a+new+soul&mid=5B9AFC5F6B44F1C7DD0B5B9AFC5F6B44F1C7DD0B&view=detail&FORM=VIRE1

    OT: I will be gone for the weekend to Wilder National Forest, teaching Romanian dances at a regional workshop called SNOPA. 🙂 Wish me luck, Baboons – I’ve prepared all that I can.

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    1. What kind dancing is done in Romania, Barbara? I am a little familiar with Bulgarian folk dancing. Is the Romanian dancing similar to Bulgarian dancing?

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  10. On washingtons day we recall
    Apple trees and wooden teeth
    Not too much of the man at all
    So little known of the man beneath

    A powdered wig and valley forge
    A general gainst the red coats charge
    He must have inspired lots of courage
    A stoic persona grown so large

    Refused kingship that’s not how we go
    That’s why I respect the man
    Put the country before his ego
    Pay him the biggest compliment we can

    He understood this country’s soul
    Depends on learning from the past
    And graced us all with leadership role
    And the model it has cast

    Thank you George with wooden teeth
    Who died celebrated but an every man
    I wonder if what is beneath
    Speaks beyond words I believe it can

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    1. I just learned last night that George didn’t actually have wooden teeth. He had ivory but didn’t replace them much so they got those grooves/lines in them that you sometimes see on old piano keys. Who knew!?!

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        1. His horse arrives and tracks in it
          George always thinks that’s funny
          George shows his ivories with cracks in it
          new dentures would be too much money

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  11. Hey all — excellent topic for me since I just went to a George Washington art book tour at the Art Institute last night. Among other things we saw a painting copied from the above painting by Gilbert Stuart!

    Like others, I’m not sure why we need a monument for me, but I would love to be remembered with gardens, a hammock or swinging chair and a nice trinkling fountain. And it should always be 80 degrees and sunny at my monument.

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  12. As I read the descriptions of Baboons who would be memorialized by nice places to read, I am reminded of the many hours I spent reading in the kitchen garden at Mount Vernon. I lived in a tiny studio apartment in a high rise in Alexandria with a scenic overlook of the parking lot for the said high rise. An annual pass to Mount Vernon was very affordable at the time, and it was not to difficult to get there.

    Mount Vernon kept me sane. Thank you, George and Martha.

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