If you look closely at his cornfield by the nearest intersection, you'll note this gigantic pile of cow manure.
Across the intersection is a supper club--it has served Friday night fish fries and hosted wedding receptions and banquets for decades, too. It used to be the Starlite club, but new owners came along a few years ago and began making upgrades. They added a patio to the back of the building to accommodate smokers. They've pushed the "bar" by adding concerts in the back parking lot, annual hog wrestling, and most recently, cage fighting.
Green Girl still thinks the place is a dive, even though she's only been there once in the last 5 years.
This sudden influx of loud noises on sultry summer nights makes the farmer mad. He objects to the late hours, the obscene language of the cage fight announcers, and, I suspect, the traffic pulling in and out all week long. In protest (after going to a town hall meeting to complain), he's piling up cow manure along his property line--directly across the road and behind the club's parking lot.
A view from the Momvan of the edge of the club's back parking lot. That second pile of manure keeps getting bigger and bigger.
Every day I drive past and hold my nose and chuckle. And I wonder what will give out first--the club owner's patience and creativity or the farmer's stubborn will? One thing is certain: the farmer's stockpiles of manure won''t give out as long as he's got cows in his barn.