After forty-five years of refusing to ask anyone for their advice, the last potato farmer left in Northern Maine shows up at the feed mill one Monday morning in early Spring.....just after "ice-out".
Seed potatoes?" asks the long-suffering clerk.
"Ahhh-Nope! Ahm switchen over ta chicken farming! Give me 700 chicks," says the old farmer.
"Did you want any brochures? ask the puzzled clerk.
The farmer doesn't even reply, he just starts loading the crates into his truck and drives away along the muddy swirling Aroostook River.
Every Monday for the next four weeks the same farmer returns with the same order, 700 chicks. Each time he loads the crates without a civil word and drives off down river.
Finally, on the sixth Monday, when he orders yet another 700 chicks, the clerk cannot contain himself, "Are you sure you don't have ANY questions about these chicks!?"
The farmer looks at the clerk for the longest time, while chewing on his own tongue......finally saying'....., "Well now I ain't sayins that I do or I don't .......but it seems as I don't rightly know whether I might be planting them chicks too deep......or too close together."