Fernan s Shorthorn Farm Life

A cough woke me this AM. Nose running, eyes itching, and I had only though about weed waking evening last when I took a wee time out. This morning’s wake-up call has to have been the punishment I either earned deserved for being lazy.

While I languished evening last I didn’t know it but I’ve gone ten consecutive smokeless days. Only twenty more days and it’ll be beer party time. Come to think of it I hadn’t had what I’d actually call a smokers cough for a week now. I do believe I just may be making some headway. I’ve been blessed with a hay-fever attack just for thinking about weeds?

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Starting early enough I had my lonesome only to contend with. I unloaded yesterday’s modified JD crankshaft out of Bro’s van, along with lighter objects being electric fence gate handles and an inner-tube. The inner tube I used to fix the 1816 case skid-steer‘s flat tyre. Did you get it? Tyre: United Kingdom spelling. Having earlier finally moved Ugly up on shop apron and having cooled for a bit, I threw a couple corrugated cardboards under it for easier carcass sliding down under. The old exhaust manifold‘s nuts and studs coming out easier than half expected I soon had Ugly‘s exhaust system partially a-part. Any further apart I‘d had to run to town for more parts, namely exhaust system hangers. Trying to use the parts I had purchased yesterday finding them unworkable I gave up on them and installed my Chevy exhaust donut and using original nuts and bolts I put the pipes back together again, saving the unused new parts for an other later date use. The Ugly’s sound had been improved its crackling tempo brought down to fresh thrush sound without the holed exhaust pipe.

Somewhere in the midst of making fix on Ugly the twins came up and we rounded up the AI-ing bunch for sorting everybody out we didn’t want and bred the three lucky contestants left last. When the truck was finished it were my lunch time.

After lunch it were time to check out the distanced hay field. Would it be dry enough for baling. The hay still damp I had to find something else to do for a couple hours until projected bale ready time. I didn’t have to think long on it. By nature’s way the cows were out on the other end. Only me on legs I didn’t make any head way with them every time I had one headed right another on had out flanked me. The twins making an appearance I was saved, the afternoon was saved, my life had been spared.

Figuring I’d take the re-tyred 1816 up to my place I climbed aboard. The battery was dead. So, I brought out the charger and covered with a pail. Good thing I had.

The two fallen limbs on a couple fences didn’t get cut. It was to hot anyway. Plus by the time I had the time to do them I had run out of time. It were time to head out for distanced hay field baling. This year I baled these hay fields into smaller bales and tied them tighter with more twin than I had last year to hold this slippery grass together.. I finished up with a shade of a blade of grass short of 16 tons. Not bad for a lazy late/early afternoon’s sand box playing. Most interesting parts of the routine was the flashing white thunder bolt horizontally lighting up the clouded sky. I felt rain in the air as I rolled the last bale. Then took a chance on making it home on an inch and a half fuel in the tank. I had driven home 8 miles on less than a gallon of diesel. I doubt I had enough fuel left in that 1850 Ollie tractor to turn it around. Oh, the last mile and a half the rains started coming down getting steadier wetter until I was soaked through by the time I wheeled in my drive. Entering the house hail was falling right behind me. ‘Twas an interesting day going from yeller sun to precious liquid rain drops. My crop in, let it rain! BGKC.

Fernan