Living with Dan Haggerty

Over the years Martin has flitted around with a goatee. Grown it out, trimmed the edges, let it linger, then lopped it off. There’s never been any rhyme or reason and that’s fine by me. His face, his facial hair.

But what started last year as his traditional stubbly growth has morphed into a goatee-run-amok. It’s a full-on beard. And lately, it’s been looking a little…unkempt. I finally said something this weekend.

Martin, are you going to rein that thing in?
What thing?
That bird’s nest growing on your face. Seriously, creatures are starting to live in there.

(Martin thoughtfully stroked his wavy-wild bristles) I like it. I don’t want one of those little trendy goatees.
Well, I think you’re well past that point.

Granted, Martin works from home and most days the only beings that set eyes on him are horses, cats and sheep. There’s no incentive to fret over wardrobe or turnout. Which is why I’ve ignored his battered cargo pants, his holey socks and at times, his horsey smell (hey, you can’t knock free barn help.)

But recently the beard-tee has grown a braid-worthy length. And as I study it, I wonder if Martin’s approaching the on-ramp to some hippie-midlife crisis.

Martin, you look like Grizzly Adams.
Grizzly Adams — it was a tv show in the 80s about a guy who lived in the mountains with a bear. I think the actor burned off his beard in some boozy bar incident, so you’d better watch out.

Martin’s quiet for a minute before admitting: I don’t know how to trim it
Well, maybe it’s time to visit Floyd the barber.
He’ll fix you up.

So Monday evening, my cargo pants-clad husband fired up Chitty and, with Maisie sitting shotgun, puttered to town, parking beside the red and white pole at the 4-way stop.

And damned if the barber wasn’t closed that day.

Just my luck. Guess I’m stuck with Grizzly Adams.