….Hey, I know! It’s Father’s day not that I’m doing anything special to celebrate it. However should any accolades come my way I shall accept them especially should it they come in the form of a bottled beer. Now seeing’s as I’ve gotten one function of the day’s meaning worked out I’ll no longer worry about the other dated implications in the day’s meaning. Twitch is it, the last day of Spring, or the 1st day of Summer or a astronomical sharing of both? I don’t know why I worry about such small infinitesimal maters in the scheme of the universes workings‘. Maybe has something to do wit what my mind has volunteered to bare for the rest of mankind’s leisured payments.
Oh, crapola, This had all be so much easier to bare had I did my communing thing with all the ladies tripping their individual trips through the chutes. Oh well, I’ve one projected constellation coming up in life as I know it, I’ve got my azzkicker to get back to just as soon as I may get back to it without this seasons haying responsibilities. Oh well, even in controlled painful situations where my usefulness may be exploited to its present fullest advantage I’m just as happy with my accomplishments as if I were in my right mind. Today haying, tomorrow should it rain it'll be fun time with playtime project once more.
Now, assuming it’s a Shorthorn grounded flying circus, I’ll try to get it all back on track with words of real accomplishments and meanings. Oh well, such is the mind’s failing storage receptors of this auspicious day’s references. If none of this makes sense it’s the responsibilities of all my children driving accomplishments having succeeded in making me crazy.
Fully relaxed saving myself for the haying I knowed was ahead of me I’s phone, celled, and phoned again. The yearling heifers and the their yummy hunk had taken a walk cross country. And wouldn’t ya know it I‘m the one what was responsible again. Bro’ in his infinite wisdom turned them six heifers and their boy friend loose in the tenant barnyard rimed with an electric fence supposedly able to keep the yearlings honest in grass five feet tall laying on said electrically charged fence wires.
How is it I’m reasonable? I was never informed of such a secretive action upon his part. Nor was I informed when he’d decided to take the bush-hog apart as to when it was intended to be put back together. Nor was I given any assistance via the individual assuming responsibility for keeping the weed-whackers in good working order.
It all boils down to Judy’s passing screwing everything around here up with her passing. I’ll be hanged if I’ll ever speak to her again.
An hour late getting to my baling it was just as I had said it be. It took me three time as long to bale as it did to cut. Rushed out of the house empty pocketed I missed my phone and camera with me. So what did I see I’d have liked taken pictures of? A beautiful hayfield, postural scene, tightly wrapped round hay hales dotting the field, dozens upon dozens of seagulls, would you believe, all the way from Lake Huron having heard we’ve got the most hospitable inland fields noted for our scavenging birds best daily smorgasbord. I don’t know about a frame-able picture; although, it have been an interesting one if not an entertaining one.
Hay’s baled and all I know is I baled a lot of it without a count.
7:00 PM I’ve taken my rattlers liking a good father (I’d guess) in passing the house with the last hay load. I’m back and between being ravenous and thirsty I don’t know which is drawing me ever closer to a solution. Hup, Frieda just came by, and I asked, and I got a beer with a grumble. I don’t know what she’s peeved (if that be the word) about. I’m home and ready for her Sunday dinner: Fish and Chips including Onion Rings. With the beer in hand I’m ready when its ready for eating. Alreay told her I was looking forward to her Sunday’s cookin’.
Hey, alls said and done. they were 48 bales in all, moved in five loads, and tidily wrapped up and prepared to pickle or ferment which ever or both the case’s may be. Regardless and surely expected I’m all over tired for the day’s efforts to get all that hay in before the forecasted rains descend upon us.
Had my time with Ugly today. Well, actually the last three/four days. Crazy thing finely got to me this afternoon. I’ve been so &*&^%$*%$* upset with the mechanical beast I wanted to hit it right between the headlights. The last refusal to start and then when it did it set (or stood) in one place and blubbered unemotionally refusing to pickup the RPM’s, teasingly dying a couple times rather than move an inch. (grr)
Enough was enough, I popped the hood, removed the air cleaner and found the choke stuck shut. Trying to move it, it refused to move. A screwdriver, a pair of pliers I pried the choke plate loose opening the carburetor to let in more engine air. So what was wrong? The engine merely wanted 16 parts of air for each 1 part of gasoline I had inadvertently been forcing down its throat. Unchoked, Ugly once again came to life saving me a half mile walk up to the house for an alternative method of alternative transportation. Unlikely promises made one way or anther, I had silently spoken under my breath were better not heard words I had spoken over the last few days my ordeal with ugly. One the better ones was my getting Ugly nosed into the shop one these rainy days for a tune up. What the heck, maybe an oil change even.
OPPS! I fell asleep evening last before I had posted this. Sure hope everybody had been all they could be while I innocently slept. (grin)