A client's country driveway was underwater.
Where's there's a paycheck, there's a way!
Running through muddy fields for weeks on end is an exercise in character building. Instead of starting at 1 in the morning, I've taken to pre-dawn runs in order to welcome the new day. Rewarding to see the raccoons scurrying as the birds and squirrels wake up. Just as much fun to scare the wits out of the newspaper delivery man in the dark. We've met like this a couple time before, but he still throws his car in reverse until he's sure that I'm not the Grim Reaper.
All the rain has made everything grow.
Perhaps the vegetable garden could stand less nuclear cow manure. The mustard stalks are freaking me out.
I swear Tommy and Mack are still growing too.
I need scaffolding to reach his topline with the fly spray.
All week, I'd pestered every welder in the phone book, none interested in repairing my future storm shelter. Friday afternoon, this angel flittered down onto the farm and patched all the holes in my tank.
Mr. James Moore rocks. You can't see the dear man because he's inside the tank.
Shelter project was green lighted again.
True to promise, Geovani showed up on Saturday to help me dig.
We dug side by side until we figured out is was more efficient to take turns in the hole.
6 hours later we were 4' deep and +6' long in spite of an unusually high water table.
Geovani said he'd try to return next weekend as long as I had more fun projects to do. Uh, yeah.
Instead of using my truck (which would be far too easy and dull), we can employ the services of Angus to snake lumber out of the woods to build edging for my driveway. Fun times ahead.
Getting back to the storm shelter project...
Coated every exterior surface of it with coal tar epoxy. Industrial goop-- was hard to buy. Safety Data sheet was a mile long.
What was the warning about contact with skin again?
Stand back. Genius at work: combining a sunburn with tar epoxy and gasoline.
Mommy's Little Helper had to rub herself on the fresh paint. As punishment, she was given her first clipper job and hoof trim.
Ever have one of those weekends were everything is so perfect?
This was a winner, right down to the hoof trimming on Sunday morning.
My new rasps had arrived. What a difference a sharp tool makes! Like grating cheddar versus parmesan.
Still riding high on the weekend, I took Tommy's sudden onset of explosive diarrhea in strides on Tuesday morning (no panic, really). This is why I love my camo PJ's, the splattered poop blended right in. Dr. Edmundson is a very patient and understanding woman. Tommy was prescribed hay. 100 acres of lush grass is too much for that glutton's wee little tummy. Fibrous hay should slow down his express lane digestive tract.
Mack was taking chances standing so close to the projectile factory.
By late Tuesday afternoon, he was still dehydrated, but on the mend.
I then switched gears and spent two hours covering everything that might be damaged by the record late below freezing night ahead.
Every tarp, every feed bag,
every bucket, towels, blanket, sheet,
even the bath mat was utilized to safeguard all the tender hostas, roses, blooming irises and budding peonies.
Winter, be gone!
Gracie here was carrying all the tarps out of the old house when she got tangles up and fell backwards down the stairs. My ankle is still annoyed with me, but my brain bucket survived the impact on the 4x4 at the bottom of the stairs. I tucked my neck in as I fell, just as I had been taught in my jiu jitsu class. Ha, ha, I shall live to fight another day, "Cato, where are you?".
Doesn't get any better than this...