At lunch I found out that I was going to have to put on my parts runner hat. A spring had broken on the baler. We called John Deere in Powell (closer than Billings) and they had the part in stock. When I pulled the pickup out, I noticed a brisket tagged cow in the pasture by the house. We do not have any brisket tagged cows. So I turned the pickup off and went into the pasture. I managed to get her in the corral with a few of ours. Then I went to tell my husband, who was taking more bales out of the field. It was a good thing I had stopped, since he had decided that I probably should get two springs. I went back to the house and left a message for the neighbor who owns the cow. Took off to Powell. Saw the pickup of the cow’s owner by the cattle guard and left a note under the windshield wiper.
Eighteen miles of gravel through the hills. Followed by an amazing paved road in the middle of nowhere. Oilfield dollars at work. I wanted to take some photos, since by now I sometimes take this incredible trip for granted. It decided to sprinkle, then it rained hard enough not to want to get the camera wet. Elk Basin was exceptionally stinky, reminding me of the Gowanus Canal. Much worse than Laurel on a bad day.
The Powell area farmers looked busy, too. They were discing, land leveling, spreading manure and of course working on equipment broken down in the fields. Which is a major part of farming. I picked up my springs, paid the bill and took off. I did take a few photos on the way back. I don’t have a digital camera, so we’ll have to wait to see them.
Brought the springs to the shop and my husband was now working on a tractor axle. It never ends. Checked the email and voice mail. Neighbor wouldn’t be able to get the cow for a few days. Brought out a snack to my bale moving husband, whose axle was slipping, again. Took a couple of pictures of the doe with the triplets – they’re getting big! I came back and hooked up the trailer on the first try. Which was better than how many tries it took me to get it to the gate. Sorted off Mrs. Brisket and loaded her up. Brought her home. Came in and turned off the computer – but only after checking my mail!
Sandwiches after 9, like so many other summer nights. I wouldn’t trade this life for anything. . .