Can you believe my son laughed at me? I know—unthinkable, right?
The weather's been great, the snow is gone, and that means one thing: manure spreading season. The pile in the barnyard had grown to a glorious 100 feet long and 30 feet wide, and it had to go. But with the fields still muddy, I had to wait for just the right frozen morning—one where the ground would hold the weight of the tractor.
After obsessively checking the forecast, I saw my chance: Saturday morning. I convinced Ezdon to help, and the plan was set.
Now, if you’ve ever spread manure, you know it can be a race against time. By mid-day, the ground softens up, and you’re done. So, we got an early start—me in the barnyard loading the manure spreader over the fence, and Ezdon out in the field spreading it. Everything was running smoothly until about 11 a.m. when, sure enough, the ground started getting soft. We were three-quarters of the way through the pile, hurrying to finish.
And that’s when it happened.
I nosed the tractor up to the wire fence for about the 200th time, dumped the bucket of manure into the spreader, then backed up a good 20 feet to get my next scoop. I turned to move forward and—well, that’s when I just sat there, staring in disgust.
The fence was coming with me.
Somehow, the front of the tractor had hooked a fence wire, and in one clean motion, I had dragged the fence back 20 feet, snapping five metal posts off at the ground. Behind me? Every single sheep, now freely wandering about.
Now, I wasn’t too worried about them running off—they like to stick close. But what I was worried about was them getting tangled in the mess of wire now lying on the ground. So, I took a deep breath, walked away, grabbed some feed, and lured them into a shelter.
Okay. That part was easy. But now, I had a bigger problem—time was running out, and I needed to fix the fence fast.
Now, you know me—I try to go with the flow. I like to tell myself not to get too wound up. But let’s be real—I always add a disclaimer that I’m not great at it. And, well, this was one of those moments.
The fence was down. The field was getting muddy. The manure was still sitting in a pile. And in that moment, I fully convinced myself that there would never be another cold morning again this year, even though it was only March.
So, frustrated, I jumped in the pickup, raced to the house for fence posts and a sledgehammer, then tore back across the field like I was competing in an off-road rally. I rounded the corner near Ezdon—who was just standing there, arms crossed, watching this whole disaster unfold—and backed up to the fence line, planning to use the tailgate as a work platform.
And that’s when the truck stopped moving.
Turns out, I had backed right into the deep ruts left by the manure spreader all morning. No problem, I thought. Just a little gas. Nope. A little rocking back and forth? Nope. 4WD low? Nope.
And then… I did the thing.
You know, the thing. The thing we’ve all done at some point when stuck. The thing that never works but feels like it should.
I floored it.
Did this help? No. Did it make me feel better? Absolutely not. Did it make Ezdon smile, shake his head, and immediately start crafting a story to tell anyone who would listen about how his dad buried the truck in the manure field? Oh, you bet it did.
In the end, we pounded the new posts in without the pickup aid, got the fence back up, and called it quits for the day—the ground was just too soft to keep going. A quick tug with the tractor pulled my truck free, and Ezdon headed off to the house to share his version of events with Anne.
So, yeah. Just thought I’d share this little tale of me completely losing it. It does happen! And I figured I should be honest with you.
Farmer Rod