Tech upgrade to audio podcast!




In our last episode, we left Doran Strassel, early one morning at Shorty's place, eating breakfast (carefully) in his dress-up clothes before he goes off to see sugar beet baron John Sayre about working off an unjust debt. 

And that's where the story will freeze till Thanksgiving week. We pick up on Tuesday, November 26. . . in podcast mode~!

Yep, Rhizomania is becoming a podcast. Because digital media is about adapting to current needs. 

There will be a reminder a week before Rhizomania goes into audio mode. 

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Rhizomania Part 7

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“Our families go back a ways,” said Shorty. “And I know your mama and daddy. We got some of the same problems, wouldn't you say so? We all get shoved around by the ones that have the money and the big say-so, ain’t that true?” “I guess,” said Jorge slowly, squinting and trying to focus. I’m going to rely on you,” Shorty said.“I know you’re the kind of man who will give me the honest word if I ask for it.” “All us Lujans are honest,” said Jorge, looking down at the broken matchsticks scattered among the tufts of prairie grass. “Everyone around here knows that's the truth," said Shorty, looking at Doran. Doran nodded. "So," Shorty continued, "you don’t think your brother was the one that jumped him” — Shorty indicated Doran with a callused thumb — “last night?” “Cesario never hit nobody in his life,” said Jorge. “He don’t believe in it.” “He don’t  believe  in it?” asked Shorty. “That’s right,” said Jorge. He cleared his throat and spat,
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Doran jerked his head toward the approaching rider, and looked at Shorty. “Ain’t he going to be trouble?”   At the same time, Doran also found that he rode a bit more easily now — probably because Redboy had settled down with Ben next to him, and the horses mostly blocked his view of the moving cloud of dust. He didn't know what to think.  “Jorge’s not a bed fella,” said Shorty. “He’s had a hard time getting along in life, that’s all.” Now, squinting, Doran could really see the middle Lujan brother, mounted on the bay mare and cutting across the rock-strewn, pitted field to meet them — or maybe to cut them off from the roadway? Shorty began to slow Ben down, and then he brought the sorrel horse to a standstill. Ben was glad to graze, nosing through the tough tufts of prairie grass in search of new stalks of wild alfalfa. Doran brought Redboy around to graze near the same spot. Ben stopped eating for a moment and relieved himself in large splashes, which bent the strands o
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Shorty, riding ahead, turned in the saddle to regard the younger man. “Doran, you ought to go down and speak to Mr. Nemecek about that girl Barbara. If you had a wife, we could eat good.” “If she knows how to cook,” said Doran. “Was Winnie a good cook?” “Took blue ribbons at fair time every year,” said Shorty. “She’d take a ham and stick it all over with these little black things.“ “What were they?” said Doran. “Some kind of spice,” said Shorty. “They smelled good. And she’d slather honey on the meat, and I don’t know what else. I tell you what, I miss that good ham.” They rode in silence for a bit. Looking at the shrubs among the long prairie grass, Doran saw that the scarce bits of green and purple had almost disappeared, leaving the flat landscape greenish-brown. The cottonwood saplings, few and far-between, still had their heart-shaped leaves. Tiny bits of white and pink, showed where patches of asters and ironweed still thrived. But the loss of color meant that Neb
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