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Weather’s 77% humidity boiled in 81* temp’s sure is an unsettling wake-r-upper. Far from that feeling of an old salmon swimming up stream to spawn, I’ve the notion some body’s nasty fingers have dropped me in a boiling lobster pot. …. Back to my pallet where perhaps under the ceiling fan I may be blown dry and find slumber.
Re-awakening at my usual time I hardly feel rested. One beer evening last before supper I continued drinking water all night long havin’ to repeatedly get up to move it.
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A new Monday morning a continued fib it’s the first workday of the week’ If that the case I want to know what was that I was doing yesterday? Whatever it was I were doing I see a common continuation the likewise activities for today: continued delayed repair activity upon the Shultz Ollie’s charging system, moving more iron, rounding up some pre-major reconstruction tools and materials for a front door replacement, and one sure fired drive into the Crossroads for Dumpy gasoline and a supermarket stop. Perhaps, just perhaps I may take along seven bushels deposit bottles to sort and cash in during the heat of the day.
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Weell, I got one of them early curtain calls. I was informed I needed to grind grain today, tomorrow even if I couldn’t get to it today. Weell there ain’t nothen like getting it out of the way and done with it. Only I had a couple questions pressing on my mind. How much gasoline had the Dumpy burned? The other did Dumpy have enough fuel in it to make over to the crossroads? Weell, there ain’t a nothen like finding out! So I set out upon my pilgrimage to see what or where it was going to happen. Just to be on the safe independent motoring side I found me a can of gas with a proper spout on it, if I should just happen to need it. Along my way I stopped by the elevator for some supplement fixings. Moving again drifting into the Crossroads first thing I did was gas up. Golly whiz, I only managed to squeeze eight gallons gas into Dumpy truck‘s fuel tank. Gosh, I had driven both ways between the farms for four days both way al least three times each day. I’m figuring Dumpy’s easier on fuel than Ugly. Took a rounded number 600 miles reading off the speed-o-meter. I guess I find out mpg a latter’s calculation.
Grain ground, belly fed, I’m a needen to hit the road. Got more that heavy stuff the likes I moved around yesterday more to do today. I keep plugging away at my brother’s junk I’ll have all moved before I know I’m done. Now moving my stuff, that’s another story, that ain’t junk. Thems are piles of possibilities I‘m hard working on, in my mind. They’ll be used in time. I just don’t like rushing into anything, project.
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I managed to move two loads of varied implement parts one load saved the other one scrapped.
My hitting that cussed wall I had a time keeping it together to make of a load of shop trash to put out here. Trash contents: one paper feed sack household trash, One instant port-a-potty, two fed bags oil soaked drip catching cardboards and used oil socked first newspaper rags, and some several pieces cut up tires.
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A Cushman drive out back the fences were sound, the ladies busily grazing grass, their calves lazily laying under a proudly standing line of oak trees shade.
Coming back to house, I made me a tall tea and forgot to take the rattlers. Frieda caught it a bit later. Supper’s going to be an hour later tonight.
I was going to go out in the cool of the evening a work on the Schultz Ollie. No brighter than my pilot light is this evening I’m forgetting the Ollie. Nearly exhausted bed’s going to look awfully good to me tonight.
“Rainbows.”
Fernan
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