A little bit of research gave me my answer,….load and loads of crap – literally.
It turns out that this bit of suburbia had been built upon what was once the old Bateman Dairy Farm and the miles and piles of cow manure that once was, became the scoop about poop.
How was I supposed to go to my editor and tell her that my story which she was planning on putting on the front page above the crease was nothing more than a load of cow pucky?
It was then in a torment of frustration and angst that I looked up to the cork board above my desk and saw a little Ziggy comic my father had once kept on his bulletin board above his desk. Although I’d never really paid attention to it before, my father’s wisdom came to me from beyond the grave and gave me today’s “Life Saver”;
Even in a pile of manure, a flower will grow.With confidence, I wrote my story and later on even won an award for it. The fun tone of it mixed with history was so popular, that my paper got more letters than they knew what to do with. Their readership went up and my stock as a new and upcoming writer soared.
To this day, when introducing myself in that area of the valley, my fame precedes me when I refer to myself as the journalist who cared about a load of crap. Apparently dairy kings and cow pies can create more than just a banana squash bonanza – it can create opportunities that bloom into the lives dreams are made of.
