Beware of springtime hitches

Among farmers, there's often talk of 1-2- and 3-point hitches. In this "farmer's" case, there's talk this morning of a springtime damn sore hitch. It's called a hitch in my get-along, and this one is up in my shoulder area.

I'm sitting here with one of those warming pads filled with spices, which I bought a few years ago at a craft sale at Coolin. That day my mother and I nearly froze to death while sitting at our table hoping to sell her artwork and my books.

Thanks to Vicki Bushee, who sold me the long fleece pad, my lower back stayed warm that day. While setting up our table, I bent over to pick up a box of books. At that point, a chronic lower-back hitch reared its painful reminder that I should be careful bending over, picking up heavy stuff.

Vicki saved me that day cuz she had her pads and a microwave oven for heating them. Throughout the day, I returned to her booth to warm up the pad and give that back pain some relief. It worked wonders.

Ever since, I've kept the pad handy. Both Bill and I have used it for our various aches and pains over the years, and I must say it works miracles.

I can thank several activities yesterday for today's damn sore hitch, and I'll be thinking about that rototiller, that love seat and that spike-tooth harrow every time I bend, turn or reach for something today.

I guess I overdid it. And, spring tends to foster such behavior, which is usually followed by out-and-out pain, especially for old coots like me. Spring in North Idaho probably multiplies the possibilities cuz we all know we have so much to do and so little time to get it all done.

So, we overdo, and later, the pain screams, often when we're performing trivial tasks, like rolling over in bed, making the bed, reaching for a towel, putting kindling in the stove, picking up your computer laptop, combing your hair, etc.

Here's what led to my demise today. First, I rototilled the big garden in the north lawn, which has finally lost its lake. A few spots in that garden are kinda tight, so I have to maneuver the rototiller at weird angles to keep it from taking off through the woven wire fence. That happened two or three times.

The time the tiller fell in the hole which I had dug--the same one the juniper tree once occupied, I had to perform some rather unusual contortions to get it back on level ground. The tiller is a nice, light Troy-Built, rebuilt by my friend Tony, but even the lightest of rototillers can give you sensations much like you'd maybe experience while trying to pin a 1,500-pound rodeo steer.

I finished most of the garden except the northeast area where I suddenly grew four inches taller, thanks to the mud packs on the bottoms of my shoes. I decided the wind needed to dry that out a little more.

So, I left the rototiller, finished some other projects and then headed to my mother's house with four puny tomato plants, freshly transplanted into bigger pots and needing to go somewhere different in hopes they'd grow.

Mother's garden window seems to be the ticket, cuz the plants I took over to her several weeks ago were beginning to touch her ceiling. Lest she have a "Virginia and the tomato stalks" ensuing nightmare, I promised to take her plants, exchange them for my puny ones and maybe help out both sets in the process.

My greenhouse can help stunt her long, lean Burpee wonders while her garden window and her cranked-up heating system can maybe give my Burpee punies a boost.

While I was there, we talked about the new love seat she's getting today. I measured its twin in the living room and told her she'd be gaining almost of foot of length in the area where the new one will go. I also moved her love seat closer to the television set to make sure the new one, a recliner would have plenty of room to recline.

After a couple of pushes, I found that her love seat moved a lot easier when she wasn't sitting in it. My left shoulder probably took note of that too. Anyway, we got all that details discussed about the new piece of furniture, and I headed home with those string-bean tomato plants.

After getting them situated and fully propped up in the greenhouse where they'll have more head room, I decided it was time to drag the barnyard. I love this time of the year because the barnyard looks pretty rugged after a winter's worth of snow, ice, mud, manure piles, etc. It had dried out enough for me to take the tractor in there and tidy it up.

I also decided I could run fast enough at the gate to head off any horses just dying to get out of that barnyard and race down the lane to feast on green grass. Well, that job was easier said than done because the harrow behind the tractor kept getting caught on things; in this case, a post in the open gateway where those horses wanted to escape.

Long story short, the harrow got caught twice---going in and coming out. Both involved some quick action jumping off the tractor, throwing rocks at advancing horses while grabbing that mass of heavy iron, lugging it out of the way of its obstruction, racing back to the tractor, finding the right gear and getting the hell IN the barnyard and getting the hell OUT.

I think that was the straw that strained Marianne's shoulder beyond tolerance. It had suffered enough throughout the day. So, about 3 this morning, it launched its revenge. I could find no comfortable position, while rolling over.

When I finally arose, I knew, with every minor movement from my left shoulder upward, I had sinned against my body. My penance will come throughout the day. I'm hoping Vicki's miraculous pad will help because there's still too much to do, so little time.

I'm willing to bet that springtime damn sore hitches are pretty prevalent in this area where we wait so long to do a year's work in one week.

As for my sore shoulder, it had better get over it, cuz time is a wastin', and I'm not gonna let a little pain slow me down too much.

Well, at least I think I'm not. We'll see.