It’s a horse, it’s a vulture, it’s my teenage sons

My granddad had a farm while I was growing up where he raised chickens, turkeys, horses and cattle. He’d come home after a long day at work and be out tending to the animals until dark. Later, after moving to Alaska, my father got horses of his own and he would also spend time after a 12-hour shift taking care of them. I liked having animals, but after seeing how much money was involved I decided I would never have any. But I was fooling myself.

It’s never polite to discuss how much money you make or spend, but I’m going to just throw it out there: I see somewhere between $1,300 and $2,000 fly out the door every month on the food necessary to feed my horses. And when I say “horses,” I’m referring to my teen-aged sons. That’s how I now think of them. AJ, Justin and Austin are now Mr. Ed, Horace Horsecollar and Francis the talking mule. I’m going to get rid of the dining room table and replace it with a feeding trough so we can just shovel the food into for them.

Those of you with teenaged sons understand what I’m talking about — especially if, like mine, your sons are into sports and have the metabolism and appetite to prove it. Lucky me, I have three teenage sons and three younger children rapidly approaching their teens.

Most of you plan your PFD money around vacations, new toys or perhaps some home improvement. I plan mine around a trip to Costco with a flatbed and a trailer. I’m thinking of calling ahead this year to see if I can come in after-hours and make use of their forklift for the 200 gallons of milk and 300 loaves of bread I’ll need to get me through the next month. Does Captain Crunch come in a handy pallet size? Of course, most of the time I don’t have the time to drive to Anchorage to shop at Costco, so I make “quick” trips into Freddie’s, Carrs or Three Bears for enough food to make it through the week. So, maybe only two full carts. Sometimes three. OK…often it’s four carts. I always get sheepish at the checkout. Oh, the looks we get from the checker and the people behind us in line. The checker will announce over the intercom, “Can I get assistance on checkout?”

At home we back the van up the driveway, walk into the house and holler “groceries!” Then we form a bucket brigade of children running from the rig to the door and bringing bags in to fill up the dining room and kitchen.

I make my children help put groceries away in the various refrigerators and freezers spread out around the house, which gives them the opportunity to look through the bags and start making plans on what they will polish off first. They have a habit of locking onto one particular type of food and demolishing that first before moving on to the next. As my wife, Glenny, and I re-organize the freezer to make room for new stuff we get a bunch of boys leering over our shoulder to see what food we got and where we’re putting it.

Did I say I look at them as horses? Scratch that. They are more like vultures.

With the cupboards, refrigerators and freezers bursting at the seams we finally sit down and I foolishly feel satisfied that I’ve re-stocked the house. I don’t know why I continue to fool myself in this way. Because the moment the van is unloaded, the food begins to disappear as if we were feeding a platoon. I lost the battle last year over allowing the older boys to drink coffee, so I now watch a few gallons disappear every morning. A gallon of creamer, half a bag of sugar, two large pigs worth of bacon and a few dozen eggs and out the door they go.

After school, it starts all over again. Did I say vultures? Change that to locusts. Or, maybe they are ogres. Cross country, wrestling and track makes for smelly, dirty ogres tumbling through the door and assaulting the kitchen. Loaves of bread vanish before my eyes. Entire jars of peanut butter and jelly are emptied faster than the gas tank on my old Mopar. In the blink of an eye, my empty sink is filled with dirty dishes. Their MPG (milk per gulp) is worse than an F-15 on afterburner. And this is just their ‘afternoon snack!’

I used to gripe about them eating so much before dinner, but my wife finally pointed out that they have no problem eating dinner even after this “snack.” And since dinner usually involves a five-yard dump truck and a shovel, I guess I don’t mind them getting some sort of small filler ahead of time.

As we rapidly approach the holidays, I’m beginning to plan out Thanksgiving. My kids dig Thanksgiving. The turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, stuffing, corn, pumpkin pies….all in over-the-top quantities. So around this time of year I go the bank and take out a loan so I can get enough food. Glenny begins preparing a few days in advance while the vultures all perch around the kitchen for a view. When she has her back turned, they swoop in for a quick peck or to snatch a piece of this or that.

The angry mother whips around as the teen/vulture quickly retreats out of range of the dreaded wooden spoon or ladle. When the big day arrives and the food is being placed on the table, I chain them up to the wall so the food isn’t consumed as fast as it’s set down. When the table is set and we’re ready, I cue the dramatic music from “National Geographic” (you know, the anthem that’s played while you watch the lion chase the buffalo in slow motion?) and set them free. It’s like watching a plank being run through a band saw. Sounds about the same, too.

So next time you’re shopping and you run into that couple at the checkout pushing a freight train of shopping carts, allow me to say “hi!” in advance. I sincerely apologize and no, we don’t own our own store out in Bush Alaska somewhere that we are stocking up. We’re just getting supplies for that night’s dinner.

Ben Compton is a Palmer resident and publishes his column under the tagline “Compton’s Corner,” the same title used by his grandmother, Phyllis Compton, a longtime Frontiersman columnist.