WuMo by Wulff & Morgenthaler for May 18, 2021

This is why you should always try and have a good map with you.

Take a left at the place that silo used to be.

“Ya can’t git thar from here.”

In my opinion, this is how you get directions from a woman. A man says, go east so many miles then turn north and go so many miles, etc.

“You go to where Jim’s pig barn used to be and turn left.” (actually told to me once.)

and of course, in the middle of the country is the perfect place to open a dog spa

Also identifies those that have lived in the area for some time as a true local.

So, the country’s the country the world over? I didn’t realize the Danish countryside was so like America!

My father’s directions; “It’s easy, just go down this road till it turns, then take the road between those two buttes and turn left at the first road, then go straight till you come to town”

Or the classic line from Chevy Chase’s Funny Farm (a fave of mine): “You can’t get there from here.”

I agree with PO’ DAWG! A classic line from one of my favorite movies: Chevy Chase’s Funny Farm

Ok you go straight down this road until you get to the 8th concession. They changed the name of it 20 years ago, but I don’t remember the new name, then turn left until you hit the 5 way crossroad, then take the branch the heads kind of easterly, but not the one that heads east. Follow that for 3 miles until you see a guy in a plaid shirt driving an old tractor. Honk a him and then turn in the direction he points and you’ll be there in 3 minutes.

Turn two miles before you get to the barn that used to be on the right…

End with “you can’t miss it” — which means they know their directions aren’t good, but want to get you away from them before you find out.

This made me really laugh as I live in the country and these are the exact kind of directions we give, the ones from the comic strip and from fellow commentors.

My dad loves to tell the story of when he and my mom were traveling to visit a friend in southern Utah. They had gone far off the main highway and stopped at a small roadside shop to ask for directions. There, he encountered what he describes – in typical dad fashion – as an increasingly stereotypical, intergenerational assortment of barefoot, overall-clad country bumpkins, all with no idea of where to direct him, but all trying to help anyway. The first, a young man who recognized nothing my dad mentioned, asked him with a high-pitched country drawl, “is it in Beaver County?” He called over another person, they discussed numerous landmarks that they knew of, and the second one turned to my dad, asking again, “is it in Beaver County?” A third person joined them and another discussion of familiar people and locales ensued, followed by, “is it in Beaver County?” This apparently repeated itself anywhere between once and a dozen times more before my parents finally gave up and called their friend for directions.