Farmer’s Beard Becomes State Park
Pa stopped shavin’ back in May,
Said, “This chin crop’s here to stay.”
By August it grew birds and moss,
And hosted Granny’s quilting boss.
Lou hiked trails through bramble twist,
With GPS and beard-fog mist.
Ma set camp in curl zone three,
The ranger called it “Beard Ravine.”
The preacher held communion deep
Where squirrels prayed and rabbits sleep.
It rained one day, a flash flood came,
But Pa’s chin held–his beard’s to blame.
Now tourists flock with selfie sticks,
To catch a trout in facial mix.
The governor named it “Brush Reserve,”
Where chin and pine share every curve.
Alan Nafzger (editor@bohiney.com)
Last Updated on June 21, 2026 by Alan Nafzger