You know those jobs that seem simple until they’re not? Well, Anne and I found one this week.
We needed to put in another outside water bowl for a group of sheep before winter. Easy on paper, right? Just bore a ten-inch hole eight feet deep so the bowl can draw ground heat and not freeze.
We’ve got the tractor PTO auger, so I figured we’d be done before coffee got cold. But about four feet down—bang!—we hit cement. Moved a few feet—clang! again. We tried five different spots in a ten-by-ten area, and every one of them was full of buried treasure: chunks of concrete, twisted bits of steel, and the remains of who-knows-what.
That’s when we realized what was going on. Years ago, somebody—probably my granddad or great-granddad—must’ve dug a hole and filled it with all the debris from some old barn or shed that came down. Back then, that was the way of doing things. Out of sight, out of mind.
By the fifth try, patience was wearing thin—Anne’s especially. She muttered something about “those old-timers and their bright ideas.” I might’ve agreed a little too quickly. In the end, we gave up on the full eight feet and settled for four. Not perfect for heat capture, but it’ll have to do. Sometimes “good enough” is the only way forward.
A few days later, I was tilling one of the fields when I caught sight of something hooked on a plow tooth—an old, rusty horseshoe, still solid, maybe shaped by hand. I climbed down, brushed it off, and had to laugh. Maybe that was my forefathers’ way of saying sorry for all that buried junk—sending up a little luck by way of a lucky horseshoe.
Standing there in that same field, I couldn’t help thinking about the generations before us—working the same ground, behind the horses that once wore that shoe. Their sweat and effort built everything we have today: cleared the fields, worked the land, and gave us the chance to keep this farm going. Sure, they buried a few surprises along the way, but they also buried their work, their grit, and their hope right into this soil.
So, I’ll take the broken concrete in the barnyard if it comes with the blessings buried beside it. Seems like a fair trade for the life we’ve got here.
Farmer Rod
