The Colonel ain't a farmer... but, he plays one on the sitcom that is his life here at the shallow northern end of deep southern nowhere.
He has a tractor.
He has farming implements for that tractor.
He has lots of dirt.
The similarities end there. Just like sitcoms and real life.
It is a very good thing that the Colonel's livelihood and the standard of living at which the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda expects the Colonel to maintain her don't depend on his ability to market a crop.
The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda, nevertheless, provides plenty of encouragement for the Colonel's agricultural efforts. Just the other day...
"Hey, knucklehead," the Colonel's bride asked in her most endearing way, "where have you been all day?"
"Riding Semper Field."
"Semper Field. The Colonel's tractor."
"You mean that smelly, old, diesel-guzzling, eyesore of a monument to your stupidity that spends most of its time parked out behind my rose bushes in the backyard?"
"Semper Field is not an eyesore! Oh, and by the way, been meaning to talk to you about those rose bushes. They block my view of Semper Field. Thinking about whacking those boogers back a bit."
"Knucklehead, if you start whacking on my plants, they won't be the last thing that gets whacked!"
The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda had assumed the dreaded hands-on-hips, eyes-on-fire, pre-attack position with which the Colonel has grown very wary. Bad things follow.
"Yes, dear. The Colonel understands, dear. He won't touch your rose bushes."
"You better steer clear, Knucklehead. And, stop referring to yourself in the third person. Seriously! Creeps me out."
"So, what, dear?"
"So, what have you accomplished riding that smelly, old tractor all day today?"
"Semper Field. The tractor's name is Semper Field."
"Give it up, Knucklehead. I am not going to call that wreck by some stupid name. And, why are you pronouncing the end of the word 'field' so funny?"
"Emphasizing the italics."
"You are seriously the strangest man on the planet."
"But, you love me..."
"Don't push the issue, knucklehead!"
The Colonel loves these heart-connecting conversations with the love of his life, but he knows when there's been enough of a good thing and when it's time to move on. He proudly provided the answer to her question, "been planting soybeans in the Middle Field."
"Knucklehead, when did we start eating soybeans?"
"We don't, dear. The deer and the turkeys love 'em, though."
"Deer and turkeys?" You planted a couple of acres of soybeans just for deer and turkeys?"
"Four acres, to be exact!"
"Quit emphasizing the italics! Makes you sound like a yankee."
The Colonel tolerates a lot of things. Being called a yankee ain't one of 'em. "Now, see here Miss Brenda, there's no need for name-calling..."
"Yankee, yankee, yankee!"
"That's just plain hurtful, Miss Brenda!"
"Hurtful? What's hurtful is all the money you spend on diesel, herbicide, fertilizer, and seed, just to feed a bunch of critters. And, don't get me started on all the money you spend on sugar for those stupid hummingbirds!"
The Colonel fairly recoiled in horror at the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda's seeming suggestion that feeding his beloved birds was wasteful. "Heresy!," he cried.
"Get a grip, knucklehead!"
See? The Colonel's life is a sitcom.