I found an old and very funny article that mentions the "August Farm Creed." The article begins, "Once upon a time, August was the month when farmers sneaked away for a vacation, politicians left steamy Washington for the beach, Chicago commodity traders invaded Wisconsin and heat-dazed dogs dozed in the shade of maple trees."
....Hot dog. But before the nation’s farmers, ranchers, politicians, bankers, commodity traders, bureaucrats and, yes, even its dogs overheat too badly this month, let’s take a moment to recite the nearly-forgotten August Farm Creed:
“I promise to spend August not making any farm- or ranch-altering decisions unless I am either waist-deep in tall clover, neck-deep in a cool lake or eyeball deep in cold beer.
Taste is #1. I will spend each day and night either on vacation and/or in the company of my family, friends, dog (but not the cat) and local liquor wholesaler. While with them I will hold only one tenet sacred: great taste is always better than fewer carbs.
As such, if asked to go fishing, I will. If asked to go shopping, I will. If asked to wear shorts, I will. If asked to cook supper, I probably will. If asked to wash the pick-up, I will have a beer.
Solemnly, indeed. “And I solemnly pledge to spend this August like Augusts of the past: I will not bend, concede, buckle, adapt, submit, stoop, kowtow or curtsey to any issue, idea, initiative, intrusion, interference, insect, in-law, innuendo or invoice so help me Sir Arthur Guinness.”
Adventures eventing as a semi-pro in the mid-south.