I’ve talked and shown some of the scrapped commodities hauled onto the farm. About the only good thing to come out of this calamity, excuse me, at least two things; one, these leftovers aren’t winding up packed down in an supposedly insignificant land fill; two, we are able to use these leftovers in the production of still more food for other peoples dinner tables. The sorriest over looked or by passed use for these commodities is why couldn’t they have been of further benefit of more starving peoples. I’ve got to recount a third very economic benefit to the farm in these times of rising production costs these goods have been a feed saver. The produce have indeed been real taste different treats according to the witnessing the bovines their individually favored ingesting emptied boxes varied fruits and vegetables. The baked goods made of baked Michigan grains have supplementing eased costs of feeding ever higher spiraling corn, oats, wheat, and other combined grain crops in the production of breads for American tables and tastes, these leftovers fattening, marbling beef into an easily cooked good tasting product.
It was sort-a later than usual (Sneak & I) our coming in. Sneak headed for the kitchen, I commenced to make myself comfortable. My sitting down I also commenced to fall off into a pre-dinner nap. I couldn’t have put in that hard of a day? Supper was good. A once upon child time old favorite mac’n’cheese wit last minute fresh (frozen) garden peas thrown in. Yum! Sneak had made a quick fixed cooked meal. Then I think I immediately succumbed into a post-dinner nap what lasted until I a-woke enough to move it from semi-vertical to fully horizontal. What’s more I even over slept the (this) morning I’m trying to finish this submission. I’m even hoping it’ll steadily rain so’s I may legitimately call this a #333* required two acetaminophen headachy lazy day after.
What the Devil wore me out?
Ahem, Tom joining us for a little while we did some out of sync morning chores. Then moved two 1850 Olivers and one baler from here to the shop. In front of the shop Shane joined us in play. He power washed the newer 554 Vermeer baler free of all is collected dirty oil covered interiors and outside exterior’s workings clean. When he’d finished I swear that baler hadn’t looked that good since new. Not to hold Shane back I let him blow clean the much much-older 605 Vermeer baler.
One 1850 was found to need a font end steering adjustments. That same tractor also needs it’s hydra-power transmission replaced with an unfinished in the shop rebuild.
Enter next a community problem!?
The older baler Bro’ tried (engineer) upping the working bale making pressure to 1600#’s in lew of my 1300# last Summer’s attempt. This hydraulic problem Vermeer manufacturing ignored pressure problem denied enough, so well, and so fanatically irresponsible to the needs of it’s dealers (our’s ) and customers (us twice one of them, one dealer told Vermeer where to put their product. Bro’ calling Vermeer, Vermeer denying him (us) a satisfactory response in either a problem existed or direct assistance in solving the mechanical problem. Bro’ announced by his understanding Vermeer’s newly adopted attitude we were on our own.
We worked on it, Bro’ picking up from where I had left off. To carry out the change an extra large “C”clamp was employed along with the once by itself 1 1/8” open end wrench to make the necessary hard fast adjustment.
While I had shown Shane a good time all his own I found pleasure sort and sifting through oodles of junk filled containers. Precious jewelry if ever a piece of this junk were required to make an unusual repair, modification, renew, or inventing something new’r’different.
Along about in here somewhere I had to run Tom home. Driving the tractor down to the shop had made given him an painful jolt to his spine.
Shane earlier in the day had unfolded a non hunting scene. We passed each other earlier. He was on his way out back to add a nylon strap to his tree stand. While he and his squeeze were in the woods ding his modification thing a spike horn buck came walking close enough for an ideal bow shot. Moments later another buck with a big-a rake came along also presenting an easy shot. However, Shane hadn’t bothered to take his bow along. ROFLMAO…….
*333: half as retched as a flow blown beastly marked a 666.