Living on Turbo

Seven days a week, my farm team plows through work.  Jamie, Tommy and Michael. We rock and this is how we roll:
This week we said a final goodbye to the old administration.  As a parting gift, I helped him part with his storage shed.

I shamelessly coveted it.  

The building wasn't as portable as I had hoped.  An hour was required to get it this far up the flatbed. I'd scurry under and chock it, then it would be dropped and lifted a few more inches.  The entire while, this curmudgeon spewed his usual negativity and was generally in the way. I should sue him for forcing me to seek my colorist every 6 weeks. Within a year, I have turned completely gray, and brown from a bottle does not come cheaply.

The battle was won thanks to an alliance with the tow truck driver.  We instantly fell into cahoots after discovering our common Massachusetts roots.  A Springfield native, he vowed to move that shed for me, even if it took him all day --- I had lived only a year in Springfield, but that passed muster for him!  
The shed now sits at the corner of my garden, patiently awaiting two salvaged windows and some a new paint job.
On Friday, I picked up the new farm truck.  My mechanic had found it for me two months ago, but the owner had been unreachable due to his military job in the Middle East.  All the while, the mechanic was treating this 2003 F-250 as his pet project.  By the time he was able to sell it to us, he'd put more into the truck than the sale price.  I walked away with this for an obscenely low price:

A few dents here and there, but I love her.  Cole feels the same.  No more sharing a bench seat with two other dogs.  He has his own captain seat. 

Valentine's weekend brought some eagerly awaited guests to the farm.  The new truck earned her keep.

Evening hay ride... down muddy trails I know my own beloved F-350 dually couldn't have navigated... the new truck sailed through. 
Surprise ending to the hay ride:

Can you guess what was planned?  What if I tell you we had promised the kids a bonfire, but winds were too gusty and conditions too dry?  The epic allegory that guides my life spawned an idea.  Beowulf.  After his death, his body and boat was cast to sea, aflame.

The former manager's abandoned boat was filled with wood and set ablaze.  My pyrrhic victory over a year of tyranny.  
I recite this quote from Beowulf as my mantra:  "Do your utmost.  A good name, a glorified example and fame after death are all you can expect from this world. It is the courage to strive-- not success, which ultimately reveals the true hero".
I doubt the Vikings roasted marshmallows, but we did.  Sweet success.

Cole and I patrolled the peddleboats gleefully until the waterlogged kayak and Cole's shivering, in spite of my jacket, forced us back to shore.  
Epic Valentine's Day.  Epic. 
Tip of the hat to Michael for turning my Saturday idea into a Sunday night pyre! Go Farm Team!