Patient Hubby

 

During the winter of 2006-07, we came home one Sunday afternoon to see horse prints and human prints in the snow. 

Both were especially noticeable near the gate to our barnyard. 

At the time, which was just a few months after we had moved to the Lovestead, the barnyard fence consisted of five strings of electric wire attached to treated fence posts. 

We never did turn on the fence charger and pretty much hoped the horses would stay in which they did until apparently this Sunday in January. 

On this particular Sunday, it appeared that at least one of our horses must have gotten out and some unknown nice person had put them back into their enclosure. 

That discovery prompted an urgent major project:  replacing the wire with boards. 

So we bought a lot of boards and spent the next couple of weeks nailing them to the treated posts. 

It was a mild winter that year, so doing our style of fencing in January turned out to be fairly easy. We also had help from our horses with nose nudging and inspecting every new item that came into their barnyard. 

Eventually, we finished the job and figured we could quit worrying about the horses getting out.  

About three months after our hurry-up fencing project, Bill and I went to Trinity Restaurant for his birthday dinner. 

While walking to our table, I spotted a neighbor from up the road who owned an indoor arena and several horses. Mr. O'Halloran was sitting with a priest we all knew fondly as Fr. Carlos. 

So, I stopped by their table to visit.

During the conversation, Mr. O'Halloran told me about the January day he had come to our place to retrieve his horse. Apparently, after escaping its confines, the horse had gone down the road to visit with our herd.

His revelation provided a complete explanation for the mystery which, we had assumed, included our horses escaping their barnyard and an unknown good Samaritan putting them back inside their enclosure. 

Our assumption had led us to spend a good sum of money and considerable time building a board fence in January, when, in reality, our horses were NOT the four-legged escapees. 

Twas the neighbor's. 

We later decided that, had this mystery been solved early on, it would probably have been some time before we ever replaced those strings of thin wire with a more sturdy board fence. 

Twas instead the accidental fence-building mission that most likely happened for a good reason. 

Well, nearly 18 years have passed since those boards went up and eventually received their first of many coats of white paint.  

When one blew down during the September wind storm, it took part of a post with it. 

So, among the clean-up projects, which included fixing the fence, Bill decided to replace the posts on the west side of the barnyard. 

After several days of removing the plum tree, he wasted no time getting started on the fence project. The first task involved pulling the posts, which had been in the ground since before we moved to the Lovestead. 

Bill was amazed that each post, which had disintegrated somewhat on top with horses chewing and general weather damage, had remained solid in what is often wet ground for what had to be at least 20-plus years.

Yesterday's project involved pulling the posts, stretching string to align the fence and setting the new posts in the ground. 

Let's just say those were Bill's intentions.  

Time after time he had to stop what he was doing to 1. try to start up the weed eater 2. try to start up the rototiller 3. figure out how the chute for the leaf bags on the lawnmower would stay attached for more than one swath down the lawn. 

It was truly an on again-off again day for my hubby, but his patience far exceeds mine, and he's not nearly as vociferous as I when stuff falls apart and refuses to work. 

At one time all three sick implements made a circle around the four-wheeler, waiting for Bill's attention. 

By mid-morning, Bill had finally gotten the weed eater to start.  When that happened, it was a quick hand-off to me so I could whack as many oregano stems as possible before the %$^ thing decided to die. 

I managed to get halfway through a patch of oregano, while the weed eater managed to get through the rest of the day without starting again---even with fresh gas which Bill had gone to town to purchase in hopes that it might do the trick. 

By noon, he had gotten the rototiller to start.  We have both learned with these tools to start 'em up right next to where you're going to use them cuz they might just die enroute. 

The instant I heard that rototiller going, I raced to the garden for the hand-off.  By the time Bill returned with the new gas for the weed eater, my rototiller's gas tank had emptied. 

BUT, happily, I had managed to make it through the entire garden before the last drop of gas had evaporated.

For the leaf bag dilemma, Bill tried tightening things, but it was obvious that wasn't the secret to keeping the chute attached.  

Eventually a little chunk of wood slipped beneath the metal bracket that would not stay in place seemed to do the trick. 

So, on this morning, Bill, with his sideline gig of spontaneous small engine repair, may just get some more fencing done today. 

 I now have a garden that's been worked up once, but I may ask him to start the rototiller one more time in hopes of a second sweep through the garden.  

To Hell with the ^%^# weed eater.  

I swear those suckers have built-in timers which tell them to fall apart so Bill will have to go buy Marianne another new weed eater. That HAS happened in past years, cuz they usually last two years max if we're lucky. 

I really hope that little piece of wood stays in place on the lawnmower chute so I can continue the leaf marathon without any more cuss words. 

Whatever the case, I know that my patient husband will do whatever is needed to keep his impatient wife happy when she's trying to do her yard work with fickle equipment. 

Happy Tuesday.