Well, howdy and hello to all you fine folks nursing your morning coffee or evening cocoa. It's me, Glenn Blamstead, your friendly neighborhood fool with a mustache that looks like it lost a bet with a caterpillar. If you've stuck with my stories so far—from the pie-in-the-face disaster at the Mora Muskrat Festival to the
Glenn Blamstead's mustache twitched like a divining rod sensing underground mischief as he leaned against the splintered fence rail at the county fair. "Ma'am," he said to the cotton-candy vendor, his voice gravelly from too many cattle auctions and not enough dry rehearsals, "if you were a fruit, you'd be a fine-apple." She paused mid-twirl, pink
Picture this: It's a lazy summer afternoon in the heart of Minnesota, the kind where the sun hangs low like it's too tired to climb any higher, and you're digging into a bowl of cottage cheese that's lumpy, creamy, and somehow both refreshing and perplexing all at once. That tangy bite hits you just right,
Choosing the Wrong Site Location Where you build matters just as much as what you build, many people assume any flat piece of land will work, but choosing the wrong site can lead to drainage issues, accessibility problems, and foundation instability. Pole barn mistakes often begin before a single post is set, starting with the
Thinking about your next home? A barndominium has some special benefits compared to a traditional house. Whether you want a cozy charm or practical features, both options have their own advantages to fit different needs and lifestyles. Let’s explore which one could be the best fit for you! Lifestyle Differences to Consider Your lifestyle can
Ah, Monday morning. The alarm clock blares like a foghorn, and you’re left wondering why weekends are only two days long. It’s a cruel joke, really. You’ve just spent 48 glorious hours pretending you don’t have responsibilities, and now you’re thrust back into the grind. The first five days after the weekend? They’re the hardest.
Back in ’82, at the Isanti County Fair, I tried arm-wrestling a carnival barker for a shot at a glow-in-the-dark cowboy hat. Got smoked in ten seconds flat. As I rubbed my ego, the barker cackled, “He who laughs last thinks slowest.” My buddies roared, and I shuffled off, dreaming of revenge via funnel cake
Last Tuesday, I found a universal remote control in a thrift store bin, nestled between a taxidermy squirrel and a VHS of Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo. It glowed faintly, like it was whispering, “I control everything.” I snatched it up for $1.50, convinced I’d just unlocked the cheat code to the universe. Point it at
Here I am, decades with Sherman Pole Buildings, eyeing a barn frame in Mora, Minnesota, when my mind takes a hike—literally. That title, “The Worst Time To Have A Heart Attack Is During A Game Of Charades,” struck me, though we don’t play it here (too much arm-waving for my old bones). Instead, I’m trudging
At Sherman Pole Buildings, we’ve built barns for all kinds of dreamers—goat yoga gurus, car hoarders, even that guy prepping for the alien invasion (spoiler: they’re late). But fruit farmers? They’re the real wild cards. They eat what they can and can what they can’t, juggling apples like circus clowns while praying the orchard doesn’t
