Hartland could be described as a whisper of a town without enough pairs of pants to be the county seat. It is so defined by agriculture that a vegetarian meal is chicken and there is no point hurrying through town — the tractor ahead of you isn’t. At least one person has described the city as the Gateway to Hartland Township. There aren’t many people living here, but there are endless stories. Hartland has no newspaper, but it does have Hartland Harold. Here are the headlines according to Hartland Harold.

You won’t find mints on the pillows at the Historic Hartland Hotel. You’ll find mashed potatoes and gravy instead.

Ten-car pileup caused by a driver going the speed limit.

Procrastinate Now meeting declared a success after no one attends.

Steam-powered Internet on display at Historical Museum.

The Grab-N-Gulp offers terrible food, but in small portions. The cook almost eats it himself. Please, no tasteless jokes. The food doesn’t need the competition. This week’s special is mustard sandwiches. The hot dog man is on vacation. A suspect was arrested for hitting the cook, who was making a hamburger patty, with a small ceramic figurine. It’s the first recorded case of a knick-knack patty whack.

Senior Citizen Center’s football team finishes inaugural season. The favorite yell of the team’s cheerleaders was, “Ouch, ouch, ouch!”

Vegetarians launch squash league.

Full contact bowling league forms. It hopes to attract football fans.

Pat Pending, local inventor, creates edible pens for those who chew their writing instruments.

All the contents of Merlin’s Magic Shop suddenly disappear.

Ask Al

The customers of this column ask the world’s best questions. I offer these humble answers.

“Is it proper to eat pork chops with your fingers?” No, the fingers should be eaten separately.

“What’s the most exciting thing to happen in Hartland?” Each week, a train comes through town. It makes me wish we had some railroad tracks.

“How do you find the weather in Hartland?” I go outside and there it is.

“What does the ‘E’ stand for on the fuel gauge of a car driven by a man?” It means, “Eh, there’s plenty of gas left.”

“Who said that laughter is the best medicine?” Some guy who had no health insurance.

“What is spring in Minnesota called?” Double pneumonia.

“How come we can see through ghosts?” That’s how we can tell if the ghost is clear.

“What is an adjustable mortgage?” It’s one in which if you miss a payment, Guido from the mortgage company comes to your house and adjusts your attitude.

“What is lutefisk?” It’s a Scandinavian tongue depressor.

“Is a barn swallow capable of swallowing a barn?” No, but a tree swallow can gulp a tree.

“What are 12 finches called?” A foot.

“How would you describe life in the United States?” Battery-operated.

“What should I do if I see someone choking?” Move the individual far enough from the gas pumps so he could no longer see the price on the pumps.

Rich or poor?

I thought we were poor.

We didn’t have the things that others had. I know that it is a human tendency to think that everyone has everything we do not have, but we had no fancy house, no new car, and no snazzy boat. Major purchases were long considered and shelved far more often than not. When I asked for money, I was told how to earn it.

I thought we were poor until I reached the age where I had to buy my own food. I remember sitting in a restaurant and looking at a breakfast menu. In particular, I was looking at the prices of the offerings. The problem was that my hunger was bigger than my wallet. My billfold had been on a successful diet. I counted out my pennies, figuring in an appropriate tip. I ate my toast and oatmeal alone, and washed it down with water.

As I finished that glass of water, it wasn’t as watery as some I’ve had, I remembered what we ate on the farm. Growing up on what my father often referred to as the “poor farm,” a typical breakfast would include eggs, potatoes, bacon or sausage, pancakes with Karo syrup, toast with real butter, doughnuts, orange juice, coffee strong enough to eat its own breakfast, and all the milk we could drink.

That glass of water — a mischievous, yet brooding liquid with a hint of copper — brought about an epiphany. I realized that we had been rich. We didn’t have much money, but I ate well, I was seldom alone, and I had parents who loved me.

I know that we were rich in many ways.

I will never forget that.

Hartland resident Al Batt’s columns appear every Wednesday and Sunday.