Hitting the wall; that's all, Folks!

Well, yesterday turned out to be the straw that broke the camel's back--er---my hand. I'm having a difficult time typing this morning because my left hand is in a cast. Everything went wrong yesterday---as if we needed any new problems.

The horses have eaten half the new board fence. Electric wires mean nothing to them. Well, the wires probably don't work, but the barnyard is too deep with slop for me to maneuver my way around to see what might be wrong with the fence. So, virtually every post top and half the boards now look like beavers live in the barnyard.

These beavers, at least one of them, that is, don't quite have those big fat paddle tails. Besides eating the fence, Lefty dines on horse hair---the tail variety----so, Lily will not be able to swat any flies if the summer ever arrives in this area. But I don't care.

I'm placing ads for both of them in the Nickel's Worth this week. I've hit the end of my rope; by the way a bunch of our ropes don't work because the doggies ate them in half while being tied up earlier in the winter.

I'm going to get rid of the horses, and we're not going to replace the storage shed because if the horses aren't there andthe barn decides to remain standing for a few more years, we can put the motor home and lawn equipment in there.

As far as the boat is concerned, the insurance adjuster came yesterday and said it wouldn't be considered on our homeowners' policy, so we're going to try to sell it to some desperate soul who doesn't mind driving around the lake with a bashed-in wind shield. Maybe they can take a hammer and get the frame for the canvas roof pounded out so it doesn't look too stupid.

Throughout the day and in between cold winds and a few series of snowflakes, I kept shoveling the spot out for my greenhouse. My hands were suffering enough from pounding on that ice, trying to break it into small enough chunks for me to lift and throw over the fence. It doesn't take much to throw over the fence because, of course, the fence only sticks about two feet above the ground---I mean snow.

Still that ice is pretty stubborn, and the pounding at it with a metal shovel takes a big toll on your wrists. So, one time when took a break and went into the house to take a few chugs off my ice water bottle that I keep in the refrigerator, that straw I was talking about earlier, went after the camel.

Someone had put a big Second Avenue Pizza box in the refrigerator on top of my water bottle and on top of Bill's big jug of tea---in such a position that one could not see the box when one pulled the water bottle from the shelf.

Well, the invisible pizza box became visible as it came with the water bottle and brought the gallon jug of tea along with it. The top went off the tea jug and brown water flowed throughout the kitchen floor. That's when I'd had just had it. I hit the wall, literally, left a hole and broke several fingers. Also said a few cuss words.

I left the ocean of tea for someone else to clean up and drove myself to the hospital, writhing in pain. Had to do that same thing several years ago after breaking my ankle in the 1981 Bloomsday. Broken ankles and pick-up clutches don't mix well, but where there's a will there's a way. Just like 1981, I made it to the ER, and the hand is now in a cast for who knows how long.

I may be putting an ad in the Nickel's Worth to go along with the one advertising some horses at cheap prices. I think our time at the Lovestead is running out. I think we'll sell this place to some poor sap from California who comes across that bridge and thinks this is the most beautiful place they've ever seen.

Then, we'll go move to a trailer park somewhere, which will make some folks I know really happy, cuz they'll never have to hear about the Lovestead again or groan as they read the continuing "Ain't It Awful" grind about the snow that never stops falling.

We'll become full-fledged North Idaho trailer trash and just sit around drinking our beer and talking about the good ol' days when we were unsuccessful farmers on the Lovestead. I'm ready!

APRIL FOOL'S