{"id":4890,"date":"2026-01-05T15:47:22","date_gmt":"2026-01-05T15:47:22","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=4890"},"modified":"2026-01-05T15:47:22","modified_gmt":"2026-01-05T15:47:22","slug":"i-was-feeding-two-deer-at-the-fence-when-i-discovered-who-truly-owns-this-land","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=4890","title":{"rendered":"I was feeding two deer at the fence when I discovered who truly owns this land."},"content":{"rendered":"

They wandered up while I was jogging the ridge behind the orchard\u2014two fawns, speckled and bold, like they\u2019d never been taught to fear people. I knelt, held out a palmful of dry clover, and they came right to me. No hesitation.<\/h3>\n

I thought it was a fluke. Or maybe they\u2019d been orphaned and got too used to humans. But when I came back the next day, they were waiting for me. Standing by the same fencepost like they had a schedule.<\/h3>\n
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n

\"She<\/p>\n

That\u2019s when I noticed the tags. Tiny green clips on their ears. Faded letters burned into the plastic: \u201cEL-9\u201d and \u201cEL-10.\u201d<\/h3>\n

I asked around. Neighbor said, \u201cOh, those aren\u2019t wild. They\u2019re part of the old Elborn farm herd.\u201d<\/h3>\n

Except\u2026 that farm\u2019s been abandoned for years.<\/h3>\n

\"Driveway<\/h3>\n

The barn still leaned against the hill like a drunk, doors hanging open, hay long gone. Everybody in town swore the last of the Elborns left after the foreclosure fifteen years ago. But the deer tags\u2014fresh enough to still be readable\u2014meant somebody was tending to them.<\/h3>\n

I started jogging that ridge more often, always bringing oats or clover. The fawns grew braver. Sometimes they followed me for half a mile. Once, they even let me scratch behind their ears like dogs. And every time I passed the fence, I\u2019d glance toward the barn. Something about it felt less abandoned than it looked.<\/h3>\n

One evening, near dusk, I saw a light flicker inside. Not the golden glow of a lamp\u2014more like the quick flash of a lantern being moved. My first thought was teenagers messing around. My second was squatters. Either way, I couldn\u2019t shake the curiosity.<\/h3>\n

The next morning, I jogged up again. The deer were there, but this time they weren\u2019t alone. A man stood by the fence, scattering feed from a bucket. Tall, wiry, sun-weathered. He wore a cap pulled low and an old flannel shirt. The fawns nudged at his legs like they knew him.<\/h3>\n

\"22+<\/h3>\n

He looked up at me. For a second, neither of us spoke. Then he tipped his cap. \u201cMorning.\u201d<\/h3>\n

\u201cMorning,\u201d I said, catching my breath. \u201cI thought this land was abandoned.\u201d<\/h3>\n

He smiled a little, but it didn\u2019t reach his eyes. \u201cNot abandoned. Just forgotten.\u201d<\/h3>\n

I wanted to ask who he was, but something about his tone made me hold back. Instead, I pointed at the deer. \u201cThey\u2019re friendly.\u201d<\/h3>\n

\u201cThey should be. I raised them.\u201d<\/h3>\n
\n
\"A<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

That threw me. \u201cSo\u2026 you\u2019re an Elborn?\u201d<\/h3>\n

He didn\u2019t answer right away. He just leaned on the fence, watching the fawns. Finally, he said, \u201cDepends who\u2019s asking.\u201d<\/h3>\n

I didn\u2019t know how to reply. I stammered something about being the guy who jogs the ridge, about feeding the deer, about meaning no harm. His expression softened, just a little.<\/h3>\n

\u201cName\u2019s Mark,\u201d he said at last. \u201cElborn\u2019s my mother\u2019s name. Most folks think the family line ended when the farm shut down. Guess I didn\u2019t do much to prove otherwise.\u201d<\/h3>\n

\"A<\/h3>\n

Over the next few weeks, I saw more of him. Sometimes feeding the herd, sometimes mending the broken fence, sometimes just sitting on the porch of that sagging barn with a thermos in his hand. He never talked much, but when he did, he told stories\u2014about his mother bottle-feeding deer fawns in the kitchen, about the orchard before it dried up, about the nights when the farm buzzed with harvest crews.<\/h3>\n

One afternoon, I asked him why he never told anyone he was back. He shrugged. \u201cTown didn\u2019t want us when times got hard. Bank took the house, neighbors kept their distance. I figured\u2014why come running back now?\u201d<\/h3>\n

Still, I noticed he was careful about the land. He cleared brush, patched the roof, kept the trails walkable. It was like he believed the farm still had a future, even if everyone else had given up.<\/h3>\n

Then came the twist. One Saturday, while helping my neighbor haul firewood, I overheard him muttering to another guy about \u201cthat squatter up by the orchard.\u201d They were planning to call the sheriff, maybe even the county. Said the land wasn\u2019t his to take.<\/h3>\n

\"Rescuing<\/h3>\n

I stepped in, told them the man wasn\u2019t a squatter, that he was an Elborn. They laughed in my face. \u201cThere ain\u2019t been an Elborn around here in years. Whoever he is, he\u2019s trespassing.\u201d<\/h3>\n

I went back up to the ridge that evening, anxious. Mark was on the porch again, sipping from his thermos. I told him what the neighbors had said. He listened, jaw tight, eyes hard.<\/h3>\n

\u201cThey don\u2019t know,\u201d he said quietly. \u201cBut maybe it\u2019s time they did.\u201d<\/h3>\n

The next week, papers started surfacing. Old deeds, tax receipts, faded letters from the county. Mark showed them to me in the barn one evening. \u201cThey think the bank owns this land. Truth is, the foreclosure was never finished. My mother fought it till her last breath. Technically, it\u2019s still ours. But the county buried it.\u201d<\/h3>\n
\n
\"120+<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

I didn\u2019t know much about property law, but the papers looked real enough. \u201cSo\u2026 you own it?\u201d<\/h3>\n

\u201cNot on paper,\u201d he said. \u201cNot yet. But in truth, it\u2019s mine. Always was.\u201d<\/h3>\n

A few days later, the sheriff came knocking. Word had spread, and now half the town was talking about the \u201cmystery man\u201d living on the ridge. Mark met the sheriff at the fence, calm as ever, and laid out the papers. I watched from a distance as the sheriff leafed through them, frowned, then finally nodded.<\/h3>\n

It turned out Mark was right. The foreclosure had been botched. Legally, the farm was still in limbo. But with the right filings, the land could be reclaimed.<\/h3>\n

\"Elderly<\/h3>\n

That\u2019s when another twist came in. The bank, hearing the stir, swooped back in with lawyers, claiming they had rights after all. It became a battle\u2014one quiet man with a stack of papers against a corporation with endless resources.<\/h3>\n

Mark fought anyway. He drove into town every week, filing motions, digging through dusty archives. And through it all, he kept feeding the deer, tending the land, living like the farm was already his again.<\/h3>\n

I started helping him. Small things at first\u2014carrying supplies, clearing brush, patching fences. But little by little, it felt like we were both rebuilding something bigger than just an old farm.<\/h3>\n
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n

\"2,400+<\/p>\n

Then came the day of the hearing. Half the town showed up, curious to see the showdown. The bank\u2019s lawyers argued hard. But Mark\u2014soft-spoken, steady\u2014laid out the history, the mistakes, the forgotten paperwork. And in the end, the judge sided with him.<\/h3>\n

The Elborn farm was his again.<\/h3>\n

When the news spread, the same neighbors who had called him a squatter came by with pies, tools, even offers to help rebuild. Mark accepted, though he never gloated. \u201cLand remembers,\u201d he told me once. \u201cIt knows who cares for it. Folks will catch up eventually.\u201d<\/h3>\n

As for the deer\u2014they kept growing, sleek and strong. More fawns joined them each spring. People from town brought their kids up to the fence to watch. What had once been seen as wasted land became a quiet gathering place again.<\/h3>\n

The biggest twist, though, was personal. One evening, after months of working side by side, Mark admitted something. \u201cI almost walked away,\u201d he said. \u201cFigured there was nothing left worth fighting for. Then you showed up. Feeding those fawns like you belonged here. Reminded me maybe I did too.\u201d<\/h3>\n
<\/div>\n

\"Repairing<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t know what to say to that. But I realized then that sometimes, we stumble into people\u2019s lives at just the right moment. Sometimes, something as small as holding out a handful of clover can change everything.<\/h3>\n

Years later, the orchard is green again. The barn\u2019s roof is patched, the fences stand tall, and the Elborn name is spoken with respect instead of pity. And whenever I jog that ridge, there\u2019s still a pair of deer waiting at the fence. Not the same ones, of course, but their descendants. Proof that care, once given, carries forward.<\/h3>\n

The lesson I keep with me is simple: never underestimate the weight of small kindness. A jog, a fencepost, a handful of clover\u2014those were the first steps that led to saving a farm, restoring a family\u2019s name, and healing old wounds.<\/h3>\n

If this story meant something to you, share it with someone who might need the reminder. And if you liked it, let me know\u2014it helps me keep telling stories like this.<\/h3>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

They wandered up while I was jogging the ridge behind the orchard\u2014two fawns, speckled and bold, like they\u2019d never been taught to fear people. I knelt, held out a palmful of dry clover, and they came right to me. No hesitation. I thought it was a fluke. Or maybe they\u2019d been orphaned and got too used to humans. But when I came back the next day, they were waiting for me. Standing by the same fencepost like they had a schedule. That\u2019s when I noticed the tags. Tiny green clips…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":4891,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,5,10,4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-4890","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-entertainment","category-feature-post","category-featured","category-lifestyle"],"gutentor_comment":0,"yoast_head":"\nI was feeding two deer at the fence when I discovered who truly owns this land. - Old Aged Humor<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=4890\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"I was feeding two deer at the fence when I discovered who truly owns this land. - Old Aged Humor\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"They wandered up while I was jogging the ridge behind the orchard\u2014two fawns, speckled and bold, like they\u2019d never been taught to fear people. I knelt, held out a palmful of dry clover, and they came right to me. No hesitation. I thought it was a fluke. Or maybe they\u2019d been orphaned and got too used to humans. But when I came back the next day, they were waiting for me. Standing by the same fencepost like they had a schedule. That\u2019s when I noticed the tags. Tiny green clips…\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=4890\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"Old Aged Humor\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2026-01-05T15:47:22+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/01\/2-3.webp\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"1024\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"1536\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/webp\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Destiny Denver\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Written by\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"Destiny Denver\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"9 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\\\/\\\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/?p=4890#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/?p=4890\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"Destiny Denver\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/bc7629c79dd98873477de0fb4a90d24d\"},\"headline\":\"I was feeding two deer at the fence when I discovered who truly owns this land.\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-01-05T15:47:22+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/?p=4890\"},\"wordCount\":1449,\"commentCount\":0,\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/#organization\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/?p=4890#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/01\\\/2-3.webp\",\"articleSection\":[\"Entertainment\",\"Feature Post\",\"Featured\",\"Lifestyle\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"CommentAction\",\"name\":\"Comment\",\"target\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/?p=4890#respond\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/?p=4890\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/?p=4890\",\"name\":\"I was feeding two deer at the fence when I discovered who truly owns this land. - Old Aged Humor\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/?p=4890#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/?p=4890#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/01\\\/2-3.webp\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-01-05T15:47:22+00:00\",\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/?p=4890#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/?p=4890\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/?p=4890#primaryimage\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/01\\\/2-3.webp\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/01\\\/2-3.webp\",\"width\":1024,\"height\":1536},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/?p=4890#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"I was feeding two deer at the fence when I discovered who truly owns this land.\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/\",\"name\":\"Old Aged Humor\",\"description\":\"Proof That Age and Humor Only Get Better Together\",\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/#organization\"},\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":{\"@type\":\"PropertyValueSpecification\",\"valueRequired\":true,\"valueName\":\"search_term_string\"}}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"Organization\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/#organization\",\"name\":\"Old Aged Humor\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/\",\"logo\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/logo\\\/image\\\/\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2025\\\/08\\\/cropped-cropped-97da200e-7eb0-4389-9408-e3e79b35f1ab-2.png\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2025\\\/08\\\/cropped-cropped-97da200e-7eb0-4389-9408-e3e79b35f1ab-2.png\",\"width\":290,\"height\":79,\"caption\":\"Old Aged Humor\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/logo\\\/image\\\/\"}},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/bc7629c79dd98873477de0fb4a90d24d\",\"name\":\"Destiny Denver\",\"image\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/secure.gravatar.com\\\/avatar\\\/51bc23eedfdade3ea514a5cf7610b58910204d6b8e6d03f02622cae720112085?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/secure.gravatar.com\\\/avatar\\\/51bc23eedfdade3ea514a5cf7610b58910204d6b8e6d03f02622cae720112085?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/secure.gravatar.com\\\/avatar\\\/51bc23eedfdade3ea514a5cf7610b58910204d6b8e6d03f02622cae720112085?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"caption\":\"Destiny Denver\"},\"sameAs\":[\"http:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\"],\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/oldagedhumor.com\\\/?author=2\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"I was feeding two deer at the fence when I discovered who truly owns this land. - Old Aged Humor","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=4890","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"I was feeding two deer at the fence when I discovered who truly owns this land. - Old Aged Humor","og_description":"They wandered up while I was jogging the ridge behind the orchard\u2014two fawns, speckled and bold, like they\u2019d never been taught to fear people. I knelt, held out a palmful of dry clover, and they came right to me. No hesitation. I thought it was a fluke. Or maybe they\u2019d been orphaned and got too used to humans. But when I came back the next day, they were waiting for me. Standing by the same fencepost like they had a schedule. That\u2019s when I noticed the tags. Tiny green clips…","og_url":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=4890","og_site_name":"Old Aged Humor","article_published_time":"2026-01-05T15:47:22+00:00","og_image":[{"width":1024,"height":1536,"url":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/01\/2-3.webp","type":"image\/webp"}],"author":"Destiny Denver","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_misc":{"Written by":"Destiny Denver","Est. reading time":"9 minutes"},"schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"Article","@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=4890#article","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=4890"},"author":{"name":"Destiny Denver","@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/#\/schema\/person\/bc7629c79dd98873477de0fb4a90d24d"},"headline":"I was feeding two deer at the fence when I discovered who truly owns this land.","datePublished":"2026-01-05T15:47:22+00:00","mainEntityOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=4890"},"wordCount":1449,"commentCount":0,"publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/#organization"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=4890#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/01\/2-3.webp","articleSection":["Entertainment","Feature Post","Featured","Lifestyle"],"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"CommentAction","name":"Comment","target":["https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=4890#respond"]}]},{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=4890","url":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=4890","name":"I was feeding two deer at the fence when I discovered who truly owns this land. - Old Aged Humor","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/#website"},"primaryImageOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=4890#primaryimage"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=4890#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/01\/2-3.webp","datePublished":"2026-01-05T15:47:22+00:00","breadcrumb":{"@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=4890#breadcrumb"},"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=4890"]}]},{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=4890#primaryimage","url":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/01\/2-3.webp","contentUrl":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/01\/2-3.webp","width":1024,"height":1536},{"@type":"BreadcrumbList","@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?p=4890#breadcrumb","itemListElement":[{"@type":"ListItem","position":1,"name":"Home","item":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/"},{"@type":"ListItem","position":2,"name":"I was feeding two deer at the fence when I discovered who truly owns this land."}]},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/#website","url":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/","name":"Old Aged Humor","description":"Proof That Age and Humor Only Get Better Together","publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/#organization"},"potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":{"@type":"PropertyValueSpecification","valueRequired":true,"valueName":"search_term_string"}}],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"Organization","@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/#organization","name":"Old Aged Humor","url":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/","logo":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/cropped-cropped-97da200e-7eb0-4389-9408-e3e79b35f1ab-2.png","contentUrl":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/cropped-cropped-97da200e-7eb0-4389-9408-e3e79b35f1ab-2.png","width":290,"height":79,"caption":"Old Aged Humor"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/"}},{"@type":"Person","@id":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/#\/schema\/person\/bc7629c79dd98873477de0fb4a90d24d","name":"Destiny Denver","image":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/51bc23eedfdade3ea514a5cf7610b58910204d6b8e6d03f02622cae720112085?s=96&d=mm&r=g","url":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/51bc23eedfdade3ea514a5cf7610b58910204d6b8e6d03f02622cae720112085?s=96&d=mm&r=g","contentUrl":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/51bc23eedfdade3ea514a5cf7610b58910204d6b8e6d03f02622cae720112085?s=96&d=mm&r=g","caption":"Destiny Denver"},"sameAs":["http:\/\/oldagedhumor.com"],"url":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/?author=2"}]}},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4890","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=4890"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4890\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4892,"href":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4890\/revisions\/4892"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/4891"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=4890"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=4890"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/oldagedhumor.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=4890"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}