Barnyard Tales Chapter 8: That time Satan tested me with a disc mower

Sweat poured down my back and I wiped my brow with one grease stained hand. This mower, oh, this mower. I was pretty certain that Satan himself had come to life and went to work for Case IH as a disc mower design engineer. The Case MDX91 is his gift to the world.

A single 3/8" roll pin had snapped on Tuesday causing the whole lift assembly to crash to the ground, popping apart like a can of Pringles and shearing the all thread that held the spring on. The mower was neatly immobilized, a beautiful piece of red and white pasture art popping up against the muted browns and greens of the hayfield.

Captain America texted me when it happened. His succinct text messages said more about his frustration than a dictionary of curse words.

I arrived the next day with some spare parts from the local hardware store and watched him attempt to loose the all thread from the cast iron jaws of the now seized spring assembly. It didn't work, and for the next morning neither did I as I hauled the spring to the repair shop. The little old farmers opened the door for me and did their best to reassure:

"Farming is only 5% farming, and 95% fixing the stuff that breaks."

"I'm gonna try to hire her."

"Me? Oh no, clearly I'm just good at breaking things!"

"That's fine." He motioned to the broken PTO shaft in his calloused grip. "I'm pretty good at that too. I just need someone to blame it on!"

"We have those springs too. They lock up all the time. These guys will get it extracted for you."

Guess what, they didn't. One new spring assembly and three days later CA and I were headed out, convoy style, when he pulled the big blue bulk of the tractor off the road and walked up to the door of the truck full of tools. I turned down the radio. I should have known then that this was the Devil's clever design.

"We don't have the replacement bolt for the roll pin. It's in my car."

"Oh, you want me to run to your house?"

"No. My car. At your house. An hour and a half away."

"F."

But that's fine I thought. Silly me. I believed I could just leave him in the field and run to the closest hardware store, only an hour round trip, and wouldn't even have to get dirty. Oh, I was so sure of my plan as I jammed out in the air conditioned truck. He'd surely have it mostly put together when I got back.

And that was how I found myself sweaty and blackened with grease and hydraulic fluid, repeatedly rocking a cast iron piece of metal over its seat over and over, and over again. We tried to beat it on by hand. We beat it with hammers. We beat it with the front end loader of the tractor. I kicked it. Nothing worked. We took it off, and put it on. I stood up and walked my pretty little head right into the bale spear, slipped on a grease gun and fell flat on my back. I couldn't tell if the water seeping from my eyes was from pain, frustration, shock, or laughter. We took it off, and put it on. Off and on. Our muttered cursing melded with the dull thunk of the hammer into a beautiful song about the human condition. The sonnoffawitchingmothertruckinggoshdanged whatchamadoodle kept jamming for absolutely no reason other than to be contrary.

Which is how I know that Case's signature red color shows their allegiance to the Underworld. Crafty, crafty.

I called for back-up. They couldn't figure it out either. There were no burrs, no reason whatsoever that the one pipe shaped piece would not fit over the other pipe shaped piece. None at all other than this being a test of fortitude. A divinely administered trial designed to plumb the depths of our resolve, break our spirit, drive a wedge in our hearts, and tarnish our souls.

Or not. As Heinlein said, the purpose of laughter is to keep from crying. It also helps keep you from killing your mate as you work towards a seemingly unattainable goal on a 90 plus degree day with about 500% humidity.

"Hammer."

"Hammer."

"Block."

"Block.

"You can call me doctor if you want. Punch."

"Yes, doctor. Punch."

After four hours of repeating the process, the incessant beating with the front end loader worked. The part slipped on like a glove. I cheered. I laughed. I cried. I thanked the Heavens. Hallelujah. There is a God and he answers prayers. The disc mower was my Moby Dick and CA and I had just harpooned the crap out of it. Suck that, Devil-mower.

We didn't stop to question why our relationship had needed to be so rigorously tested through heat and frustration, our love tempered by the fire of both. It wasn't until later that the thought crossed my mind that the Devil-mower was a test. It wasn't my Moby Dick, it was a brief blink of our book of Job.

We merely did a happy dance and went to work inserting other pins and adjusting parts and pieces.

We merely lifted the 30lb spring into place and connected it.

CA merely told me to stand there and depress the hydraulic hose button so that I got a face full of hydraulic fluid, not even a courtesy tap. Seriously. But through laughter we overcame even that, and came out the other side with minimally clogged pores and remarkably silky skin. We freaking persevered.

And that is the story of the time Satan sent a disc mower to test my relationship.

The difference between want and need...

I hear lots of my friends talking about wants and needs when we are out and about. I struggle with them too. Do I want or need those new boots? That purse? That replacement bale ring for the cows? Then there are the wants and needs that aren't material: more free time, more rewarding experiences, vacations, weekends with friends, or exercising. I'll give you a hint. That last one is probably a need, but I really don't want to!

A lot of times the difference between want and need is painfully apparent when you live on a farm. Fortunately, this week began with them coinciding quite nicely. I wanted to be outside because it was sunshine-y and almost sixty degrees. I needed to move hay. I needed to fix the fence because the cows can easily get on the highway and die tragic bovine deaths.

 

But there are obviously times when the opposite is true and my wants and my needs are opposed. Like when it is -20 and I need to move hay. Or I want to leave for a vacation, but things will starve to death. Then there are times when my wants turn into needs.

 

For years I have wanted to clean up the old barn that stands on my parents’ property. It is a thing of beauty – all hand hewn oak beams and hand cut stone quarried from the property is stands on. Though it is home to six stalls and a great amount of space we really only use it for the hayloft and storing a few wagons. The space has been underutilized my entire life, but especially in the last five years since we started feeding the cats in the newer horse barn. The old barn has not received much TLC. We don’t really go in there unless we have to throw hay to the cows.

 

My grandfather recently passed away, and I am staring some massive barn and house renovations in the face starting around September; so, I have felt a huge push to try and get all of the little things off my to do list at mom and dad’s farm. Some of those things require more than one set of hands. Yeah. I’m talking about you Mr. Corner fence post that is washing away and needs to be fixed before taking the whole fence row down. We are gonna tango mister. Mark my words! Or are made easier with multiple sets of hands like trimming the fence line or replacing white boards in the danged vinyl fence. But one of them that didn’t need many sets of hands was cleaning up some of the trash in the old barn.

 

I mentioned that we used to feed cats in there. I have a confession. I’m lazy, and rather than cutting the weight circles off the bags (you can turn them in for rewards with Purina) I just threw them behind a partition. Out of sight, out of mind. I am really hating myself for that one. I have spent maybe two hours cutting off weight circles so far, and I am not even close to being done with that project. In the course of this though I have found that my desire to clean the barn might not be a want so much as a need.

 

When I took Captain America in there to show off my progress three weeks ago we heard the sound of running water coming from the barn basement. Yup. We had a pipe burst right outside the basement wall. The good Captain got right to work and dug a trench that appeared to go halfway to China before I could so much as blink. He and my dad fixed it, and it was all good. Well, if anything like that can actually be good. However, I had this thought in the back of my mind saying,  “How long would it have leaked if I hadn’t started cleaning in there? If I hadn’t wanted to show it off it could have run for months without anyone noticing.”

 

Then it got cold again, and it wasn’t until yesterday that I snuck away from my desk job and out to fix some fence. I got done in the daylight and decided to let the chickens loose for awhile. I won’t leave them out of earshot anymore since the Great Defeathering Incident of 2013 so I went back into the barn to clean up more feed sacks. I opened one of the stall doors to try and shine a little light on my project and started rocking out on my iPod and cutting out weight circles like a boss. I don’t know what drew my attention to it, but after awhile I looked up and noticed that one of the support beams, one of the support beams that is under the hayloft mind you, was sagging. The oak beams it was sitting on have splintered and rotted into almost nothing.  

 

Suddenly cleaning the barn is not a WANT, it is an EMERGENCY. AGH! So much for wanting to go to Captain America’s house this weekend.

Batwings and Lake Monsters, oh my!

What a weekend! We were surprise attacked with a load of hay Friday night, which is why it was a really good thing that I had decided to have a stall cleaning party while the horses ate.

Ice down the water trough. It's a barn party!

I don't know why none of my Facebook friends took me up on the invite. Seriously. What else could they be doing at nine pm on a Friday? Sheesh. I know where the party is at. We could have thrown down... some hay. Because it was stacked so high on the trailer that the guys bringing it by took out one of the overhead lights. Can't wait to fix that one. Or watch dad fix that one. Tell you what, I either need to get a lot handier, win the lottery and buy a farm hand's service, or get on the whole boyfriend thing. My poor dad has way too much to do.

Which is how he talked me into facing one of my biggest challenges. Spatial reasoning. I royally suck at anything having to do with trailers, spreaders, mowers, you name it. If I can jackknife it, I will. Can I misjudge the width and wipe out fences? Yup. I am all over that. I give a new meaning to the phrase, "Cleaning the fence row."

Duh,duh,duh, na, na batwing!

Despite my poor driving skills and complete lack of spatial reasoning. I successfully learned how to use the batwing mower, and I only hit a gate a little bit! Given the fact that I single handedly ripped all the downspouts off the barn with a manure spreader I am going to count it as a win! I didn't even jack knife it and bust the turney shaft thing (PTO). I am such a good farmer's daughter that I scare myself sometimes. And probably the neighbors too because I wear a bikini to brush hog. Hey, a girl has to get her tan on some how. Don't judge.

It isn't as if I can lay out all day on the lake. Well, I could, but we seem to have a lake monster.

I was innocently taking photos of the horses to show Captain America when I noticed it in the background.



Duh na. Duh na. It looks like we have our own Nessie. Can you hear the jaws music?



Duh na. Duh na. Duh na. Duhna. Duhna. Duhna!

Seriously, who knew cows could swim that fast?

DIY Electric Shock Therapy!

Last spring my horse started having problems with coughing. He is a stallion, so we can’t run him out in the pasture with everyone else, and he has some special fencing requirements so I started out building him a pen from steel t-posts and electrified rope fence. I am not a very good fence builder.

After numerous afternoons of struggling to shove the post upright with the post hole driver on it, slam the post into the ground, and drop the driver on top of my head while pulling it off of the post (Okay, until I started driving the truck or four wheeler around to give myself the extra height I needed. Thank God no one saw it and put it on YouTube.) I finished it. Then the heat and drought made the grass die so I took a break.

Another month or two passed and I hung the wire. Then it was winter and well, Moon stayed in his private bungalow through the winter months. It was better than than kill the potential grass this spring. Then about a month ago everything finally fell into place! I was so proud of my gates. I wired the new fence into the existing system and felt so bad ass and accomplished that it was ridiculous. It might be crooked, but it was all mine! So, I tested the fence Saturday and guess what!

Yeah. It didn’t work. So frustrating. I spent my Sunday evening getting it hot, and in the process took down and replaced all of the old electric that had been lining the ladies’ front pasture fence. It was almost dark when I finished so I just threw the old wire in between my two new fences and I went back to get it all Monday.


Hot wire to left of me. Hot wire to the right! Here I am stuck in the midle with you!

Great plan right? Yeah. I tired to pick it all up without turning off the fencer. Because I’m dumb. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb.

At least the fence is hot? Maybe?



All of the pain for this.
Maybe I can put a lightbulb in it and sell it as a piece of modern art?



So, I made a tiller.

And on Tuesday I looked down at my planned garden and said, “Damn. I don’t want to hoe that.” So, I made a tiller.

I said, I need something to break up the dirt, destroy all the weeds, push past the rocks and the buried walnut shells, take a beating and work it all again and again until the ground is perfect. So, I made a tiller.

I need a tool that will help me out as I try to garden. Reliable enough that I know it is going to work when I need it to, but low maintenance enough that I am not going to have to fiddle with it when I want to use it. Something strong enough to bust through roots and rocks and run for hours on end in crappy conditions until the job is through. So, I made a tiller.

I said, “I need a partner that can have my back and work the clay, loam, and sand with equal ferocity. That can push through compost and spread it through the soil for all those roots to find. To be there for me in evenings and on weekends after I finish my forty hour work week and actually start my work.” So, I made a tiller.

If you don’t get the reference, check out this commercial.

And yes, yesterday I did assemble my tiller. I am not remotely mechanically inclined so I am ridiculously proud of myself. I even assembled it all with the tools that live in the back of the four wheeler, because I’m awesome at farm stuff. Or it was just that easy to assemble. Whatever. It is held together with wing nuts, but I loaded it with gearbox lube all by myself and everything! I feel so bad ass!

Or, at least I felt bad ass until I noticed that the damn cord wrap was in the wrong spot.

So, I made a tiller!

Craptastic!

My craptastic weekend...was great!

So why do I call it craptastic? If you read my second to last post you saw my gigantic to do list. On that list was an entry called “dig out Moon’s pen.” What does that mean exactly? Well, overwintering animals in smaller pens closer to the house for monitoring and pasture management reasons has some drawbacks. Like an overabundance of manure. When the animals don’t have as much room to roam it builds up pretty quickly. So digging out the pens means removing the animal and attacking the ground with a tractor. Ideally this happens two or three times a year, realistically (I mean did you see the rest of the to do list?) it happens once or twice.

And I shall call it Mt. Horse Apple.

Well, we got Moon’s pen all cleaned out (about five hours of work all told. I started it out, but my dad stepped in and finished it after it hit a tree with the bucket (front end) of the tractor as I was backing up. I don’t think he trusted me near the edges after that for some reason. I don’t know why! I have skillz damnit. You can tell they’re legit because the have a “z.”

Well, I started on cleaning out the milk house of doom while he was finishing up on that. I had no clue what I was getting into there. There are things in that tiny building that have no place being there. Like porcelain bears, old boots, knitted something or anothers. As I was hauling fruit basket after fruit basket of junk out, because for some reason we had dilapidated fruit baskets in there. ‘Cause, hey why the hell not. They go with the glass bears. I got to thinking that there are probably even snakes in there. *shudder* The things I do to try and get a potting shed. So, it still isn’t done, but I took a few loads out.

Then dad and I moved hay, and dad decided to dig out the cow’s winter enclosure. We live pretty close to the Cahokia Mounds, and dad has decided to create the “Cowpoopia” Mounds. He seems to think it’ll make a great attraction. I’m not convinced. (Actually, I told him it was a shitty idea. Then cackled like a fifth grader. Geez. I am too witty sometimes!)

One day archaeolgists are going to have a field day with this one.

While he was working on the cow pasture I walked around and located six trees down over the fence. Yet another good reason to keep the livestock close to the house for the winter months. Ice and wind are hell on trees, and trees are hell on fences. So, dad and I loaded up the chainsaw and he cut and I dragged until the perimeter fence was at least up again. I am not going to count it as cleared yet, but at least it should hold the horses and cows. It will be another weekend or two before we have another chance to work on it, but at least it is serviceable right?

Yeah. I’m going to tell myself that. Just wait for the post about the livestock in the neighbors field. I sense it coming.

Sunday found me trying out my carpentry skills, which are, uh, nonexistent. The good news is I now have a dog house, the bad news? Well, I’m not sure I should be allowed near a saws-all again anytime soon, but that deserves its own little how to. Check out my post on DIY Dog House out of Pallets for more of that story! I also started in on making pots for starting seedlings, but I will wait and fill you in on that one in its own post as well.

Hope ya’ll are surviving the daylight savings shift!