Hello Good People and Hello from me, Percival Pretty Boy Peacock*,

Being of the Fowl world and an eloquent fowl, I allow, I always have a fancy-feather quill pen handy. I am pleased to relate to you, the friends and fans of the Olde Fogie Farm, the Summer's highlights and news as harvested from the grapevine service.

Now it is mid-winter and all is seasonably quiet at the Olde Fogie Farm. The children are not visiting-instead, the grown-ups have come to vacation on the farm. That fact is most welcomed by me. I prefer to spend the winter quietly resting in seclusion as my sensationally long, dazzling tail feathers drop off in early fall. Now I feel almost naked, embarrassed, with merely the equivalent of sackcloth and ashes to wear. I draw comfort from the long wonderful summer season that is coming when my feathers will return and I will once again be privileged to shine like my fellow NBC peacock. Then I, Percy Peabody, will graciously welcome your return to the Olde Fogie Farm with a humble curtsy display of my beautiful feathers-maybe even a shimmy shake feather dance.

Summer began unassumingly, yet when it was over there was more than the usual publicity about the Farm. The Olde Fogie Farm made it to television, print and the internet. There are more pictures in those newspapers and magazines of the barn yarders than the Olde Fogies and the people crop! There was even a full color picture of me in the Country Woman magazine. In it I stand with my thin neck imposingly framed before brilliant plumage that shines in timely color. A spot of coy ambience dots a reflective eye as I turn to my humbly scarred right foot. Shortly there after, exaggerated details began to vibrate the farm. Though, I remembered posing for the photographer, I was beginning to feel the turkey's talk was less than germane. Me-a media sensation-the only reason the Farm is "special?" And I thought my role on the farm was rather humble.

It is unfortunate that my mannerisms are judged critically by some. The roosters in particular feel that I strut excessively. Could it be they are envious of the lovely and genteel visage I am privileged to wear as a singer of the heart? I admit that I have shown those cock-a-doodle rosters a thing or two with a performed twilight lullaby. Gustavo, the goose, thinks I am a little like that Pavarotti on public radio. On occasion I assist Biz with the high notes as she sings and entertains the Kitchen Cabaret. I doubt my gentle talent upstages her. I am not sure what Thomas may have meant when once wording, "a peacock ‘in season' does not sound like a nightingale." Perhaps I have sung my lullaby a little after the baby was asleep.

It may be trivia, but in checking the Holy Scriptures, I have seen that Wise King Solomon had birds of my caliber strolling his palace grounds. Now, If the Fogies could see the need for another of my kind, I would be a happy bird. I do not request a thousand, one sweet lady and I would positively burst to melody.

What else happened? Each year the extra funds you people leave are advanced towards mutually beneficial things on the plantation. This season they black top paved the driveway. I, Percy Peabody, was not dramatically impressed by this although the guests were. Desiree thinks that the driveway was paved just for her and the bicycle that she is proudly learning to ride. Desiree also has the honor of showing the new playhouse to the kids. There are differences of opinion regarding whether it is a playhouse or a clubhouse. Seems little men refer to the building as a clubhouse, while little women play in the playhouse. The cats prefer it as a nap house. They have their own pet door and litter box!

Thomas Junior quietly chuckled from Maine when inquiry was made of what he thought of the clubhouse/playhouse nomenclature. It was Thomas who originally pioneered the once grimy toolshed to become a summer bedroom after Farmer Tom relocated the farm tools to a new space. Now after a few coats of yellow paint inside and red paint outside, a porch addition, and some especially thoughtful touches from Vicki, all surely agree that it looks great as a playhouse (or clubhouse). Regardless of your opinion, it is waiting for some use. As I Percy Peabody enthusiastically do and say, "If you got it, flaunt it!"

Late summer, there was outrage about the arrival of certain dinner guests. Desiree saw them resting by the water garden and burst the news to Farmer Tom, "Grandpa, there's big birds out there!" Farmer Tom looked out the window and there was my distant Blue Heron cousins, Hector and his wife Clara. Hector was without invitation furnishing Clara an unbelievable dinner of Japanese Koi! This was not welcome. Now there is a tight net over the water garden to preserve the beautiful fish. The Fogies are waiting for the new dog to grow into his position of guard dog and keep away such bad animals as my distant cousins and their gourmet interests.

Considering what is to come next year, the grapevine sprouts fruit tasting of paint, Talk has it that the barn will match the playhouse: red with white trim. I also think that you will find a new powder room near the big farm kitchen. Farmer Tom will be retiring from his faithful duty at his off farm job. He says he is gonna' stay home and and play with his toys. When he says toys, he means the real things: tractors, bailers, planters, shovels and compost. This year there is a fancy new front end loader that he will enthusiastically tell you about if he ever stands it still. Maybe he will even groom the cows and "polish" the barn walks every day like the Amish farmers.

Do you want to be in on the action this coming year? I must remind you to have Biz etch those tentative plans into granite. The phones are ringing and most weekends April through July are booked. You can still carve your name into the weekdays-but don't wait! As Wootsie Woo would symbolize with an innocent grunt, "do not get pushed out of the feed lot."

Speaking of Wootsie, I feel her diligence in hogging the microphone from the turkey Elka Fitzgerald who was inexcusable. The successful recording: "Yippe, We're Enroute to the Olde Fogie Farm: Are We There Yet?" was a hoot thanks to the barnyard chorale and the many other authentic farm stars. (I perform a deep and piercing ballad.) Although, I can parse the artistic merit of Wootsie's solo acting, did I hear an Oink? Judge for yourself-get the tape for your next trip to the farm, $7.50. If you are returning to the farm from a previous visit, the cassette tape is $5.00.

Yes good people, next year ought to be grand. Farmist Biz always orders Camelot weather for the guests and she is ninety-nine percent guarantied to produce it. Goodness, my original intent of a simple, jauntly note to the friends and fans of the Olde Fogie Farm has turned into a letter, and I have barely begun to finish, you must come to visit.

Sincerely, Percival Pretty Boy Peacock

Percy's signature


P.S. As the chickens comment again and again that my speech is overwhelmingly "uppity." I want to make certain that you and I are evenly communicating. Kids (and roosters), please find each of the following words in my letter, ask your parents for a dictionary, and "look 'em up!"

A few most excellent words: eloquent, seclusion, sackcloth, Camelot, jauntly, media, visage, germane, tentative, genteel, trivia, caliber, etch, parse, and flaunt.

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