Sunday

(Stopped by Donna’s digs cause something she’d said. So bare with the next few words. Going back re-reading them I found them to good to let go. So, I’m including them in my journal.)
I'll be off topic likely... So be it... I ever get totally organized I'll be in some real trouble then.
See you've more company, Pic of additional bovine, big boarders looks to me and still growing. They'll add a bit more color to the pastures sure. Enjoy.
(Some talk about one my bloody images.)
Frieda's calling me all manner of names these Summer day's. The "Sheik of Ara Bee" most recently for all the get-ups I' wearing avoiding the sun's rays.
My bloody hand and wrist just another Shorthorn country hazard putting the bulls pen back together again a couple days ago. No snags, having to take brown jersey glove off, got just a few scraps on some rusty wire re-fixing it to a corner fence post.
(Donna’s Question?)
“Does Doc know?”
“Yes. I've shown him some my older more aged original scabs.” Just shows how, in-spite all our efforts, farming continues to run in the red for a lot of us.
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Day’s start had one weeping look to it looking back at. Dawn’s light was brighter than mid morning’s, so I cooled my heals taking no great pleasure in moving to fast. My down the road hay had to have been ruined sure. I know-ed it without even looking. About an hour later the sun coming out I thought I‘d better get out survey the damage. The deck was wet, a pair gloves laid out over night were just a mite damp.
Wheeling left out the driveway I went Otisville for my medication. Then headed west to see Tom with a couple questions like, “Get sparkplug cleaner fixed?” Was said, “It had couple grains sand stuck in valve.” Other question, “Did you get the lawn trimmer fixed?” “Not yet.” he replied, “I’ll look at this afternoon.” Them’s was it answered and out of the way about time his Cathy come driven in the yard. I asked her she’d plant my flower plants for half of them? “Sure!” she’d said. Sure as I’m anything but a dirty old man she likely stop by with her own shovel when I ain’t home, I’ll assuredly missing any chance at so visual estrogen fortifying.
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On my way home I stopped, looked at my hay. What a miserably wet looking mess I had there. Leaves on the trees turning over, bones I ain’t ever learned the names of hurt from inside my hide.
I come home, demanded a cold baloney sandwich and glad lucky that was all I got. Looked up the net here and west yonder, ain’t seeing nothing looking like rain, I ate and hit the road right out the drive taking to go slow poking’ racking that hay field. Home by 3:30 I got to kill two and half hours. Unload some of Ugly‘s load. Slip baler by ladies before they wised up to me, check twine, oil chains, come in looking innocent like and write some this. And sweat out the weather.
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5:00PM I headed out to bale the ten acres on the corner. Yeah Right. I rolled the first bale, checked it for moisture content and gave up baling until another day.
On way home I slicker-ed by a neighbor’s house rather than hurry home. Thought was I get Home I wouldn’t be going back seeing R.D. The man is near blind. He’s an appointment for cataract surgery the 23rd this coming month. I encouraged him his vision’s quest. I’ll be thinking of him all that day marking it on my calendar.
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I seem to be repeating myself. Just the same give this some thought.
Our Oliver tractors would likely been all junked, put in the clapper, and melted down long before now for more foreign made goods. So, knock foreign enterprise if it suits you but be advised, for instance, our Oliver’s wouldn’t/couldn’t continue their useful use’s if it weren’t for the Chinese picking-up making the very parts we need to keep these Oliver’s running and moving. There are more aftermarket parts available for all makes and models of what was once American made.
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It’s evening again, time to say good night. Wear a smile and you’ll put a smile on another’s heart. BGKC.
Fernan