Happy Anniversary to The Boss

I like to joke about him a lot on here as being The Boss or The Farmer, but today I just want to say Happy Anniversary to My Husband. I am really blessed to have such an amazing, crazy, happy, interesting marriage. We met when we were little because his step-dad and my uncle were in a band together called "Loose Gravel." I still have no idea why this man fell in love with me. All I know is that he says I was about nine years old, which our parents confirm. He said one day his step-dad took him to my uncles house for band practice, and when he saw me in the backyard he said he had tunnel vision and all her could see was me. He told me he has been a hopeless case since then. I honestly don't remember when I fell in love with him. It was probably at one of those band concerts. All I do remember was a dance when we were like 10 or 11 in Tekoa where I thought I would die because I couldn't talk to him, many visits to his mom's house where used an 8-ball to tell our futures, the band picnic where we had our first kiss out behind the barn, getting grounded from the phone as a teenager because we fell asleep talking to one another in the days before long distance was free. I remember waking up that morning, and waking him up too. I guess that was the first time we slept together, right? We went our separate ways because I was determined not to live in this podunk for the rest of my life. I told him that I didn't want to get pregnant and be stuck at home with a bunch of kids while he was at work and then with his friends at the bar. That was the end of it; I didn't even give him a chance. I married someone else when I was 21, and as a result, he did too. He found me again as he was driving down the road and saw me pumping gas at a quick stop. I had been trying to figure out how to tell my family and friends that I was getting a divorce. I hadn't told anyone. He pulled in to say hi and before he could say anything I told him that! Crazy! That is the short of a very long journey, but to end I will tell you that five months later he came to visit me after work. We were reminiscing about our interesting past and I asked him if he ever knew what happened to that 8-ball. That was when he reached under the seat and pulled it out and handed it to me. I asked it then if we would be together forever, and it said yes! Happy anniversary honey...forever won't be long enough. Until we are stars... Love, Amy

Coffee Cup Latrine

          I was not going to tell this story on my blog, but after I shared it with my grandmother today she said, with tears in her eyes, that I had to do it. Since it is Mother’s Day and I love my grandmother, I will go ahead and share what else happened during the day titled, “First Gear? There is a first Gear?”

          Let me start by telling you one thing about myself that only a few of you know. I am legendary for going potty anywhere, anytime and around anyone. I have peed behind a dumpster in Couer D’ Alene while my high school buddy Tim waited just around the other side, in the field of course, on back roads as cars drive by, on highways, behind a dumpster in Spokane while The Boss stood sentry, rarely in an outhouse, on just about every spot of land up in the St. Joe National Forest and frankly I don’t care who is up there, in my husband’s shop bathroom (YUCK), behind a tree in a park in Portland, on a busy street on Maui with toads hopping beneath my skirt, behind a dumpster in Anaheim….you get the idea here.

          If you know nothing eles of this farm wife, you will know that I am not a shy person and I figure that is how man has been doing it for years, so why not a woman. Are you with me here? It’s a protest thing. I say, “Drop trow!” any time you need to ladies, which might be why it has been medically verified by an ultrasound tech that I had the smallest bladder she had ever seen. I don’t hold it. Not for long.

          In order to help you understand how I ended up in a place where even I wouldn’t pee, I also need to introduce you to my tractor. I drive a Versitale. I don’t know the number, and honestly I don’t know if that is the correct spelling of the word or not, and I don’t care. It’s not even worth me looking it up. This thing is old. Really old, and it has issues.

          For this story I will tell you of the worst issue: it gets stuck in and out of gear a lot, and when it does this you cannot do anything about it until the only combine/tractor mechanic in the county has time to come out and help you. The Boss informed that that if you are patient with it and make sure that you are shifting smoothly from one gear to another it will never get stuck. He was right. It did work every time that I slowed down and took the time to shift it carefully. The only problem is that I am only 5’1” tall and the clutch is about 7’5” away from the seat. Being short for much of my life I had learned to adapt to this by scooting my butt forward in the sea, grabbing the gear shift for support, and then pushing my foot to the floor before pulling the lever out of 2nd gear (which is what I roll in) and down into neutral when I need to stop, or vice versa.

          This particular fabulous day (as you know if you read the other story) I had to stop because someone was calling me and I couldn’t see my harrow line over the dust being blown about the cab. So I stopped, grabbed the gear shift and then moved into the butt-scoot foot-slamming when the damn chair swiveled about 30 degrees and my foot almost slipped off the clutch. Since I was still holding the gear shift for leverage, of course I pulled it forward and bam! The darn thing was stuck. NO! I cried out, trying to patiently jimmy it back into gear, or out of gear, since I had no idea where in the world it was. That baby wasn’t moving.

          Have I told you all how late this Spring Work is? Have a told you that every minute is as precious as honey dripping from a beehive? Well, it is, and now I know that I am going to be the one delaying it. By this time I had readjusted my foot on the clutch and slowly…every so slowly…inched it backward. Surprisingly, the tractor started moving. I slammed my foot back to the floor and called the Boss.

          “It’s going still,” I said.
         
          “Then go,” he said. “Don’t turn it off. If it kicks out of gear, and puts you in neutral, we will deal with it then. And, if you absolutely have to stop; stop. Okay?”

           So, I went. I was happy not to delay anyone; at least, I was happy until about an hour later when the two cups of coffee I had drank that morning had hit my bladder. On top of that, the dust was making me very thirsty. For the next hour I took little sips of my water and did my best to keep my mind off of the balloon building in my stomach. I loosened my belt. I sang songs, which got louder and more crackly as the time passed. I wiggled in my chair. I took deep breaths. I stopped drinking water, but I was NOT going to stop that tractor.

          Finally, at about 11:00, something had to give; either the tractor moving or my bladder. I put the clutch to the floor and the tractor stopped. There I sat, in a dusty old tractor seat that swiveled, with my leg out stretched, the tractor stopped, and still no way to get down to the ground to relieve myself. I think some form of delirium set in. You know, like when people are dehydrated and walking through a desert and they see a mirage of water? At some point they start running and begin to laugh with glee at the thought that what they want – what they need – is finally within reach. That was me.

          So, I leaned over and opened the door to the tractor and looked down. I could see what I needed. It was only three steps down, and it wasn’t a mirage; but still, there was no way to get to it. It started to laugh, but my diaphragm apparently put too much pressure on my bladder because after the first giggle I realized that laughing could be my worst mistake. I stopped doing that right away, and then looked ahead out the window to keep my eye on all things dry. Well, clearly you can understand that at this point, I only had two choices; stop and pee, or keep going…and pee. The boss said, “Don’t stop,” and I did not want to hear the cute little chiding that I would get from him – and the mechanic - if I stopped the tractor and advised them of the reason why. No way. No how. I was not going to let being a female with a medically proven small bladder be the joke of Spring Work.

          So, there I sat, with a full bladder, a running tractor, the ground within reach and…and idea that made me laugh despite the pain. I looked around to be sure that no one else was in my field. Yeah, right, like that’s ever happened. Unless, someone with a pair of high-powered binoculars is bird watching on the top of Steptoe Butte and just happened to fall upon me, I’m safe here. So, I look around for something to pee in. My lunch box would have been a great target. Please keep in mind that my left leg is fully outstretched to the floor and in order not to swivel I have to hold onto the gear shift that is up above the right side of the dash with my hand. But no, I was not going to pee in my lunch box. Even I cannot stoop to that level. After all, I only had one!

          So, I looked behind the seat, careful not to swivel, hoping that someone had left an empty pop bottle (hey, if I guy can aim at that, so can I) a small bucket, a cup, something. Wait! No way! I couldn’t! The hell I couldn’t. That sucker is what got me into this in the first place, and unlike my lunch box, I had more than one of them at home! So, I picked up my travel coffee mug, pulled the lid off, and then proceeded to wiggle very carefully out of my pants. I’m not going to go into too much detail here, because I think this is one of those subjects most people in America still shy away from, but I will say that I was way better at aiming at that cup that I was aiming at my harrow mark on that field. And why not, I am an expert at peeing.

         So, I did it. The only problem was that I had drunk TWO cups of coffee and not one. So, I had to – as crude men say – pinch it off. Sorry, I know that wasn’t very Puritan of me! My Irish and German roots are showing again. Anyway, full coffee cup in hand I had to open the window with one hand, hold the steering wheel with the other, and keep the clutch in all without spilling a drop or having the chair swivel and killing the tractor.

          Long story short (again, sorry) I did it. I was proud of myself and I was laughing all day trying to decide whether to tell the Boss. In the end, of course I was going to tell him. I tell him every thing about my bladder because it makes him laugh – and this Spring Work he needs a laugh. So, that night I brought the coffee cup in, threw it away and told him that we wouldn’t want that one anymore. 

         “Why?” he asked.
       
         “Because I peed in it.”
       
         “You what?” he laughed.  
         
         “I couldn’t stop the tractor, so I had to improvise.”

         Frankly, I thought he would pat me on the back like a guy and say, “Way to go!” Instead he asked a stupid question: “Why didn’t you stop the tractor?”

         “Because you said not to,” I advised, turning a little red in the face.

         “I didn’t say not to,” he said.

         “Yes, you did,” I say. “You said, keep going. Don’t stop unless I absolutely had to, so I kept going.”

         “But peeing is absolutely having to,” he said.
   
         “But I would have killed the tractor.”
     
         “Why didn’t you just put it in neutral?”

         Now, keep in mind that he has a lot on his mind and the last thing I want to do is remind him of the fact that I still need the mechanic, but how could he forget what he said after all of the trouble I went through to keep rolling today.

         “Remember?” I said. “I got it stuck in gear when the chair swiveled.”

          “So?” he said, still looking at me ridiculously. “You still could have put it in neutral.”

          Hello, people? My man has lost his mind. Stuck gear shifts won’t go in neutral!

          “How?”

         “The gear shift up above the throttle,” he says.

         “What gear shift?” I say.

         “The other one,” he says. “I showed it to you when you started. The one you put in 4th gear.”

         “It has a neutral?” I said.

         At this point, he just started laughing and like many other times in my life I made him swear not to tell anyone. Boss or not, I will kick his ass if he does.

First Gear? There Is A First Gear?

To explain being out in a dirt clod field all alone for a whole Spring day, I would have to start with deer. The deer that a person sees when they are driving a tractor are something that ardent hunters only dream about. In the early morning mist, with the smell of grease on your hands, a barely warm cup of what is left of your coffee in hand, and the first country hits of the day playing in the speakers overhead while your kidneys are jostled awake by the plow marks you are crossing, the deer are truly the best part of the day. They are usually eating grass in the CRP fields that boarder your own, seemingly oblivious to even the thought that anyone, or anything else, might disturb them. Once you crest the hill, lifting your coffee cup high to be sure not to spill the precious amount left, they lift their heads, still chewing their cud, and stare at you as you deadhead toward them. And, shockingly, they never stop chewing, they never stop watching you, and they never leave. It’s like something to do with the color red, instead of hunter orange, coming over the hill lets them know straight away that they are safe. That was the best part of my day. The worst: well, where to begin. First, as all of you know, I have not been out to the field for over a week. Here on the Palouse, it has rained, hailed, and rained some more. So much so that farmers were actually laughing instead of scowling, leaving the rest of us to want the run for cover even after the torrents eased up. During the delay, the Boss thought that we should use the time wisely and Amy-proof the tractor and the harrow. This was done in a kind way of course. It was like a gift, right? But, I knew what it meant: she’s a danger. Not only to herself, but to the equipment. I tried not to be insulted! No seriously, I was thankful, because today I went out there with a new harrow and a new cable to pull the harrow with. I looked fancy! I was so excited to get going and finish the field in record time, there by securing my unpaid employment on the farm. There were only two problems; one, the field was WAY wetter, more more wet, (Is wetter even a word??) than it had been before increasing my chances of getting stuck, and two, I couldn’t find the mark where I left off harrowing the week before. With every minute of time precious this Spring, I decided to go around the outside of the field to find it. I went once, twice, and then finally, I just had to take a stab at it and go. I went that way for a while, happy to be helping. Happy to be making progress. I avoided almost all of the plowed ground, even though that is what needed harrowing the most. For those of you who have not harrowed, let the expert tell you why you do this. (Yeah, right!) Harrowing is basically pulling lines of spikes over the ground that was plowed, or chiseled, last fall, in a crossways direction, in order to smooth it out for the next tractor to fertilize. My field had chiseled ground on the hilltops and plowed ground in the valley’s. Now, due to the rain, plowed ground was a major problem in the field I was working today. Picture what happens to a plowed garden after a series of torrential rainfalls. That is what we in the business call muck! I did my best to avoid muck – even though it needed harrowing really bad. Today, I was going for quantity, not quality, and frankly, it showed. I just wanted it done! To do this, I had to cross-harrow a hill top which consisted of crossing over the top, turning around at the base (or valley),driving back up, and cresting back down the other side. In doing this, I had to pull a monster-hill, which the Boss, and another helper, assured me was safe – and that the tractor would not stall. Well guess what? It stalled, going up the hill! Causing the tractor to free-wheel backward right into the new Amy-proof plow! (FYI: I was informed by a reader that it seemed a little confusing to them that I backed over a plow while harrowing. He said he was a critic and a novice and therefore that might have been why he was confused. Well, it felt like a plow! It dug in and held my in place on that ever-loving hillside like a plow would!) I call the Boss panicking until he kindly tells me to shut up! And listen, and thankfully after all of his years of experience he guides me through the process of starting it again and gunning it up to the top of that hill with instructions NOT to cross-harrow UP a hill. Cross-harrow across a hill. I texted my girlfriend with shaky hands and she said, Well, now you’ve crossed that off your list. Get going again! But that was not the worst of my day. I get going, as instructed, still shaking, straight down the other side and right into the plowed ground I was trying to avoid. I feel it lugging before I can even do anything to change it. I remember the boss saying that if you feel it getting sucked down, turn the wheel and head for higher ground, which I did. That only caused me to get a jack-knifed tractor stuck deeper in the field. Two hours later, and many miles of pacing up and down our road mentally abusing myself for my stupidity when the guys from the local fertilizer company brought a tractor out to pull me out. They were laughing, probably enjoying pulling the blonde newbie-chick out of the mud, and one of the guys said to me: “You know what we say about tractor drivers, right?” “No?” I said. “There are two kinds of tractor drivers. Those who have been stuck and those who are going to get stuck. Welcome to the club!” That made me feel so much better that after I finished, I delivered two cases of beer to the fertilizer company! Thanks guys for not making me feel like a dumb blonde! P.S. And thanks for showing me how to put it in first gear! Addendum: Just thought you all would like to know that I have been removed from harrowing for a while and placed on something "easier." Hmmm? Wonder why?

Forecast: Sunny and Scary

My last blog was April 24. Today is May 5. In that time I have only been on the tractor for one day. One day. The rest I have spent at home with the Boss staring hopefully, longingly, dejectedly out the window at the rain. And boy howdy has it rained. It has rained so hard every day that there were sometimes that even I was leery about going outside. There were sheets of rain, torrential downpours, thunder that went on and on as if the sky had an empty stomach all night long. Lightening that struck so close that it left me dodging from out building to out building in order to get the the shop. In that time I have written 1/3 of a book that I was not even supposed to start until the kids returned to school next fall, I've fixed the harrow, weeded everything I could find, I've gone out to lunch with the boss a number of times, hunted mushrooms in the mountains, and of course cleaned, cleaned, cleaned. Why does this blog sound boring to you - because it is! I am ready to get back out there and finish this harrowing business. But...be careful what you wish for. I can only presume that I will have more interesting stories to write you next week...