Weekend Retreat to the Farm

Thanks to my brother’s high school graduation, I had an excuse for an extra long Memorial Day weekend. I made it home Wednesday afternoon, and I went with my family out to the graduation ceremony that evening to watch the 40 or so kids walk across the stage.

And as much as I loved celebrating my younger nuisance—I mean, brother—I enjoyed the opportunity to spend almost a week at home on the farm more.

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Nothing can stop me when I get to drive the truck.

Thursday morning I got to drive the farm truck. (For some reason, I get to drive it only under very special circumstances.) Well lucky for me, my mom and 15-year-old brother left their lunches at home, and I needed to drop the lunches off at the school. Normally I would take my own car, but my dad had left my keys in my mom’s car, which was of course in the school’s parking lot. The only remaining option—drive the truck.

I don’t know what it is, but I love driving our big, old truck. It’s a power trip. And I feel so country. In case you’re impressed by my stick-driving abilities, go ahead and clap, but I should admit the truck is automatic and I can’t drive stick.

After my brief trip to the one-hall school, I pulled the truck back into the farm. My dad

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We found a fishy just outside the neighbor’s reservoir. The water isn’t quite as high as it was earlier this spring, leaving this fish dry in the mud and our fence four feet above ground.

met me out there, and after I grabbed my boots from the house, I joined him for the rest of his midday chores.

We did a few things around the farmyard, and then we rode down on the four-wheeler to the pasture for something about checking on cows and making sure our heifers were staying put on our side of the fence. They weren’t.

The result of a long series of events—a portion of our fence was hanging about four feet above the ground. It was no wonder two of our heifers had walked casually under the barbed wire to join our neighbor’s beef cattle.

 

My dad and I herded them back to our side. (I forget what our two cow dogs are for.) And the fence was later fixed.

My pastural retreat wasn’t over though. I drove the four-wheeler along the west fence of our pasture. On the other side, my dad picked dyer’s woad—a weed that needs stopped.

Dyer's Woad
If only dyer’s woad were a lovely bouquet of flowers instead of a nightmarish weed.

Then the good woman rang the triangle letting us know it was lunchtime. That’s a joke. My self-worth depends on your laughs.

We drove back up with dyer’s woad in tow, took care of a few last things, and then went in the house for lunch.

 

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