Zebulon's Thoughts

When I was a young ‘un, local meant as far as we  could ride on the old palfrey and still get home for supper.  When I was out  ‘xploring I done figured I had left boot prints across half the world,  and that was far from local.  ‘Course it’s done been more than a few coon’s ages since then, and now with them big old aero-planes and such one really can explore the whole humongous world. That said, I must acknowledge the corn: I don’t much tolerate such new-fangled contraptions, nor do I have a hankering to do something plum crazy like that. But there are folks that do, and their definition of local is right likely a wee bit bigger than mine.

Seems them boys, Chuck and Keith, are right proud these last few months that they done wrangled up some local business.  Ain’t seen any customers tie their horses up at our hitching post, so I ‘spect they are coming from a right longer distance. I reckon  that the boys mean the Colorado territory, which in my day that took weeks to cross.  I even hear mutterings about the wilds of Montana and of course there is always something happening in far California– but those distant outposts are now hours away instead of months. Means the shop is right busy these days with folks needing their contraptions designed or productized or whatever. Lots of coming and goings, lots of jabbering and odd drawings on them blackboards (that ain’t black and don’t squeak), and yet still no horses outside. Think I’ll walk into town and see if I can rustle up some O Be Joyful or some Red Eye, right here in Berthoud. Local.

Zeb