feeling stronger

Egads, slept liken a log as long as I slept. Darned me, I shouldn’t have drinkened that second beer, for I hauled water all night long. It‘s become a sad day when an old coot can no long hold his beer….
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Two scenes have been brought to mind…..
One, If it hadn’t been for a Spring’s insistent month’s rainin’ 9 yrs ago keeping me in and off the outside work I might never had gotten the Cushman together. Only able to get an hour to work on it now’n’them with everything animal or croppin’ coming first I spent the first half hour figuring out where I had left off and the last half hour not near enough time to finish anything next. Just ONE whole wet arsed week I had finally put it together between the chore times. Most the parts there, it was a matter of aligning the drive train, fitting and painting the front’s plastic body and building the more’r’less stake body for the back. Ray impatient with waiting for it’s use bought himself a EzGo cart. When finished that Cushman has become a faithful working companion under’n’next to me ever since. And has since also been the platform for the (not supposed to work) my innovated electrik fence wire winding machinery. Reminds me, I need to make a newer improved winder model one of these days.
Two, every time I’ve managed to pick-up, put it away, find a place for it, and sweep the joint out, each time some opportunist had come along and refilled the enlarged vacant space with something else.
One thing we seriously need and surely could use is an oil house for getting all the lubricants and paints safely out of the shop. Have got all the necessary materials to remodel, rebuild an unused wabbit hutch if only I could buy the time.
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Don’t what it is? Feeling better, stronger, fittered condition! Could it be attributed to all my exstra a-ruinous exstrysize I been getting on the contrived over zealoused woodlot. Sheesh, all that downed wood I was told last night is mine. Could well be enough for two winters running. Well, it don’t really hurt to be ahead I guess.
All my explaining the facts of life to, Chip. Is fallen on daft ears. He ain’t even straightened up yet and he’s talking cutting the last of the dead elms standing along the sides our private little Lovers Lane. There’s just no getting through some guys.
Hmmm, wouldn’t hurt if I could find the time for me to find the time to talk a Loopymom into talking to the idjiot. He might listen better to a pretty young lady rather than a crusty old retobait the likes of me?
*The immediate preceding written at sunrise.
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*The following written this very evening.
Tom running late I took it upon myself the run to the elevator for the first load of lime for the day’s continued spreading. Then went on along my way to bring back Tom.
Tom settled in the 2150 Oliver, I unloaded the last load wood brought up evening last. About the time finished the unloading my wood hauler, Chip showed up. Together we worked our ways through the gates taking wood hauler on Ugly and splitter on Cushman. Son of a gun, Chip can be such a wicked taskmaster. There were no reprieves, timeouts, rest periods nor nap times. Unrelenting Chip kept me supplied the tree trunk blocks for splitting. Why he even drop three or more heftily blocks again the one for my seat jarring me I think to keep me alert and a-wake. We hauled away five loads three coming up to my house, two on down the road. I’ve almost got my first three full cord sitting beside the Porsche. All additional firewood shall be stacked adjacent the east pasture’s fence where I had originally stacked my firewood for years. There’ll be no handling my firewood thrice this heating season.
Holy scrumptious halleluiah, our neighbor across the street or rather a party of gentlemen from across the street came over the road baring two bowls per each of us, venison stew and venison chili. Setting the offering aside momentarily we finished unloading the last load of the day. Them gentlemens had done alright. Eating mine moments later the offerings were absolutely delicious.
Everybody gone home, myself in for the night Frieda wanted a fire. I nuked my supper, she had already eaten her’s while I started the fire. Oh oh, the fire refusing to go, Frieda had taken over applying her personally home brewed dragon breath upon the wood I had laid. It’ll be going at any given moment now before my total retirement for the evening. BGKC.
Fernan