PATSY R. BRUMFIELD: Beware of dried plums

By Patsy R. Brumfield/NEMS Daily Journal

Have you ever wondered about those TV commercials for prunes? I love prunes. That’s good news and bad news, if you have any experience with the dried plums.
On TV, these folks rave on and on about how they love prunes and want more and more. Or at least they want us to buy more and more.
They’re now making the sweet darlings chopped into small pieces, “so you can put them on a salad.”
A salad? Whoever heard of putting prunes on a salad? That, my friends, is a sure-fire recipe for a forced sick day or a self-hostage situation inside the privacy of your own boudoir.
To avoid lawsuits, I suspect, the prune marketers came up with a really great idea: Package them wrapped individually in little plastic packs. That was smart because it consciously or otherwise reminds the consumer of what constitutes a serving, don’t you think?
My father ate prunes religiously. We never discussed, though, anything about them other than their deliciousness. We were not that close, I’m afraid.
I’ve heard that some folks stuff large fowl with prunes, that is, dead fowl for cooking. Of course, if you stuff a live large fowl with prunes, your yardman wouldn’t come back until the seasons change. I often think about people who’ve achieved a little something in life and happily build their dream house before a beautiful pond. Next thing you know, they look up and those impressive, large Canada geese are moving in.
I’m reminded of that potential difficulty whenever I drive toward Monroe County on Highway 45. There, just on the north side, sits a beautiful, comfortable looking home beside their pretty tree-shaded pond – their lawn teaming with big geese. Rubber boots are required for evening strolls, I bet.
When Grandpup Bonnie was a regular guest, I’d drive her to doggie day care down South Thomas Street, where another large pond reflects Mother Nature’s gifts, including dozens of the winged critters.
Is there a hunting season for such situations? Probably not within the Tupelo City Limits.
Likely, they don’t let you hunt anything within the city.
Remember what happened when deer-distracted residents of Oxford tried to institute a domestic hunt? The state wildlife folks went ape!
So, I guess anyone who’s unhappy with a yard-goose situation must resort to other means of flock thinning, or fattening for that matter. Thanksgiving may be a good time, and Bob Cratchit surely promotes the main course for Christmas, doesn’t he?
Back in simpler days, it was exciting to realize the approach of winter when you’d hear that eerie honking skyward.
My greatest such delight these days is my neighborhood owls, which I hope keep down our squirrel population, although not nearly enough to suit me. The little demons are frequent invaders in my garden and flower beds.
What a beautiful sound it is late into the evening, with the windows open, to hear that hoot-hoot-ta-hoot! I’ve seen them a few times, and I praise them for preferring the tree tops.
These noble creatures don’t seem to have created any ground-level problems, unless you look like dinner.
Even Grandpup Bonnie got used to their calls, once she got over the idea they wanted to carry her off. They probably don’t eat prunes, either.
PATSY R. BRUMFIELD writes a Thursday column. Contact her at (662) 678-1596 or

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