Wednesday morning this week, fresh off a late night picking up our new ewe lambs—and with morning chores and a vet visit already done—I had to head out to pick up Anne from the bus yard after her morning route. The trailer was still hitched from the lamb run, so it came along for the ride too.
We decided to stop for breakfast in our quiet little town at a spot only locals know—the Track Kitchen. It’s tucked away back by the barns at the horse track, and if you blink, you’ll miss it. But ask anyone from town, and they’ll tell you: it’s the best breakfast around.
Over bacon and eggs, we were chatting through all the exciting (and overwhelming) things going on at the farm. Somewhere between coffee refills and talking about the manure pile, I mentioned that I was planning to tackle spreading the rest of it myself this time. That meant about 20 loads—and every load involved dismounting the loader tractor, climbing over a fence, and getting up into the manure spreader tractor. Every. Single. Time.
I joked that maybe I’d get a couple step ladders to make it easier, and Anne said, “There’s that tall one in the barn—just put it over and climb up one side and down the other.”
I laughed and said, “Oh sure, that sounds real safe...”
And then it happened. We both looked at each other and realized we were thinking the exact same thing—at the exact same time.
Wouldn’t it be kind of nice to have a small injury right now? Nothing serious, just enough to sit out for a day or two.
We both smiled. Not because it was a good idea (it’s definitely not), but because it was just so perfectly honest. That’s where we’re at these days—dreaming of spraining an ankle for a little time off.
Don’t worry, no injuries have occurred (knock on wood), but it gave us a moment of much-needed comic relief. There’s probably something not quite right about that… but hey, if you can’t laugh about it, what else can you do?
Farmer Rod