The price of admission to Hobson’s Pond was traipsing through two pastures full of cow patties, crawling through two barbed wire fences, and chasing cattle from its muddy waters. Sometimes, the cows chased back.  A broken down dock my Dad built sloped into the water and dared us to slide down its mossy, splintery surface so it could plant Kansas-sized splinter in our gluteus maximus.  My niece was the first victim, but that’s a story reserved for another blog where I talk about poetic justice.

Hobson’s Pond was a glorious place to spend summer days frolicking in the lukewarm mocha-colored water with the muddy bottom squishing between your toes.  Languid days would occasionally be interrupted by a shrill scream as a small bullhead catfish found it’s way up someone’s jean shorts.

As we frolicked in the muck, one of us would dig into jelly-like mud on the bottom and hurl a blob in the general direction of a random target and the fight was on. The cows would wander back and offer play-by-play commentary and start taking bets. Cars sailing down Highway 54 would slow down and honk; one of two occasions we could elicit their response. The other time was when the girls took our clothes and the three of us boys had to streak home through the same two barbed wire fences.

I couldn’t help but think about those days as I watched our Presidential election. Therefore, I suggest we have the next election in Hobson’s Pond. I see a lot of advantages:

    • We could do it for a thousand dollars instead of six billion.  The cows have unionized and charge rent for the pond.
    • We could take turns dunking the talk-show hosts and reporters.
    • We could easily smell who was handing out the real B.S.
    • Others slinging mud would have more fun and not worry about being “un-friended” on Facebook.
    • Cows could tweet social commentary.  They might make more sense than some of the opinions I read.

Then, after the mud fight, impose my Mom’s rules and make them:

      • Wash all the mud off of each other
      • Apologize if we actually hurt each other (sometimes there would be clams hidden and they hurt!)
      • Clean our own clothes
      • Kiss and make up
      • Act like friends and family again

This would be much more entertaining than that with which we were just assaulted.  The cows would naturally make it fun and any stink they left behind would dissipate in a day or two and actually produce effective results by fertilizing the pasture.

Do you have any other suggestions where we might hold the election?