Posts Tagged ‘hay delivery’
Wilting Winter
It doesn’t do any good to complain. I know that. That doesn’t seem to sway me from moping about the recent destruction of what started out to be a fabulous snow season this year. It melted big time, then refroze. Next, it warmed up again and rained, turning the snow on the ground into snowcone slush. Since that time, we’ve had some sleet mix and a dusting of flakes that covered the crusty frozen surface.
The snow cover is now a crunchy mess of greatly reduced value for most forms of recreation.
We received about a half-hour notice last night that somebody was coming to pick up the 85 bales of hay that the nutritionist frowned on feeding our rescued Thoroughbreds. Bad timing for me, since my back was teetering on the verge of a painful disc problem all day.
Somehow, both my degenerating spine and my bum shoulder survived tossing bales, and the shed is clear to receive a fresh batch from a different supplier next week. That put a crimp in our plan to sneak away to the lake place in Hayward for a few days after Christmas. We were given a date and a time when the hay would arrive, and that was that. We weren’t about to argue. Our response was, “Thank you very much.”
When someone tells you they can deliver hay, you do whatever it takes to make it convenient for them.
Well, while everyone was distracted by this and that in their lives, we have somehow arrived at the day before Christmas. Oh, you saw this coming? I should have been more aware. My online community was having an exchange of memories about the times the Santa myth unraveled for people.
I still remember the awe I felt when my dad told me, as I first appeared bleary-eyed one Christmas morning, that I just missed it. He said he had just heard the sound of reindeer hooves on our roof moments earlier. As time passed, I struggled to reconcile that powerful emotional “truth” I experienced with the logic that was debunking everything else about the Santa Claus ruse we were being sold.
My online friend shared the best description of the miracle of Santa. Sure, some of it is made up, but it’s based on this: it inspires people to experience the joys of giving gifts to others and making them happy, and it happens all over the world on the very same day.
That is something worth believing in for a lifetime.
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
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Anticipating Delivery
We were expecting a delivery of hay bales yesterday but by the time rain reached our region I assumed it wouldn’t happen. A chain of four people communicating, including Cyndie who was on a flight to Boston, revealed it was being rescheduled to today or tomorrow.
That was fine with me. I got some reasonable work accomplished while waiting in the morning, cutting the grass along the fence line down the driveway with the power trimmer. By the time I had exhausted the first tank of gas, a mist was beginning to fall.
I took Delilah for a walk and took advantage of an opportunity to take pictures of the aftermath of conquering the leaning poplar tree up near the road.
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That is the one that took me five angled cuts to bring the top portion vertical and then required I head back to get the pole chainsaw to finish. The job is not complete yet. I need to split the cut wood and haul off the branches to either be run through the chipper or tossed on the natural border fence along our north property line.
That will wait for another day. It isn’t raining right now, and I have just received a message that hay delivery will happen this morning. I am a little anxious about how the steep drop-off of our narrow new driveway will work for the turns required to come off the pavement at the roundabout of our hay shed and then back on again afterward.
I hope to be out there before he arrives to talk out a plan that should work best. Overshooting is a given, so I’d like to pick the most forgiving spot.
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Lingering Shock
Honestly, I still don’t believe what just happened in the few days I endeavored to find a new road e-bike to replace my old reliable, familiar, and truly simple touring bike of twenty years. Rapidly changing from thinking my preferred choice wouldn’t be available for a year to being told the only one (the perfect one) available in the country was less than an hour’s drive away has rattled my sensibilities.
Cyndie has picked up on my excitement and happily agreed to let me bring it inside the house to devour the manual and familiarize myself with the complexities of all the features that are entirely new to me.
In addition to having never had battery-powered motor assistance in a bike, I have no experience with brake lever shifting, disc brakes, or a carbon frame. Plus, I’m feeling a surprisingly powerful compulsion to simply gaze at the spectacle of so much technical engineering packaged in such a functional work of cycling artistry.
In a phenomenal comment on yesterday’s post, John Hopkins perfectly captured the purity of my experience, before I even realized it’s what was happening:
Funny how intimately personal bikes are (to bikers), and when you hit on one, it’s a huge jolt of energy and pleasure that goes on pleasing every time one saddles up, or in many cases, each time one merely ‘looks’ at the fine machine!
It being the depth of winter, I am suffering the lack of opportunity to get out immediately to ride. Yesterday, I didn’t even have time to tinker with moving pedals from my old bike to the new one because there was snow to be plowed and hay bales to be stacked.
Hay delivery was confirmed for the morning so I was pressed to get the driveway cleared of Friday’s snowfall quickly so the trailer of hay could be trucked in without complication. Delilah had us up earlier than usual so we got a head start on feeding horses and eating our own breakfast. That put me back outside and plowing with plenty of time to make extra passes around the hay shed to create as wide a path as possible for the incoming delivery.
Hoping to give Delilah a walk around the property before I got tied up throwing bales, we made it to the far side of the pastures when I spotted the truck come over the hill. Cutting our usual route short, I directed Delilah under the bottom wire of the electric fence and I hopped over at the gate to trudge through the snowy field to meet our supplier, Chris.
In a blink, they were tossing bales down and I found myself struggling to keep pace while carrying on an engaging exploratory conversation typical of two people who just met.
Three quarters through the load, my exclamations clued Chris in that I could use a break. He gladly called for a pause and grabbed himself a drink to sit and maintain our pleasant chat. It occurred to me I hadn’t stopped moving since breakfast.
By the time we finished, I was soaked in sweat and exhausted. Later, Cyndie and I cleaned up around the paddocks and packed the two hay boxes with the loose scraps of broken bales that came apart during handling.
At the end of the day, the only energy I had for the new bike was to look at it longingly.
Going forward, I think I will also find myself looking longingly at the pavement of our roads, anxiously waiting for the day they become dry enough I feel comfortable for a maiden voyage on my new pride and joy.
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Relative Something 