Best of A Bit

Time for an update-- suits my fancy!

So me and the old man are okay. A few weeks pay may have disappeared somewhere I'll never find, but so it goes. At least I'm not getting taxed on those mystery dollars. I'm a sap, what can I say? Money is a lovely servant but a miserable master. And I try not serve nobody I don't choose... heh heh... I chose and I served. End the ranting.

Anyway, barring some eruption I'll be employed in the jet set circuit within the next week-- this time, hopefully, without fiscal-cliff-hiring-freezes. But I had a long, winter sit down with Ol' John. Told him where I was in life, what was happening and what that meant. I said it before and so now again, a farm is no place for the restless single man. And the old man agreed, he came back to the farm at 23 and married at 24-- he said he'd have swallowed bullets if not for his wife, given the work lifestyle. John also gave his blessing, saying I was a rare find and welcome to come back anytime. I expected a terrible row with the man, instead he gifted me a $500 pesticide book so I could take the licensing exam (on the off chance I want to swing on in the business). I'm hoping to do a little pick-up-farming some weekends this Spring and take it from there. Blessings counted.

I've been talked to on all sides for months now and I've finally given in. My neighbor, an English professor, read the blog from time to time and she's been pushing me to turn this thing into a coherent manuscript. On the other side, my buddy Scott has been flogging his young-adult novels around and has learned some things about the agent/publishing type of business. So now I'm whittling at the writing.

I think I'm gonna stick with that first solid year or two-- it's fresher and more consistent. I have 3/4ish of the mess all properly formatted-- just gotta process the rest. It's funny, Scott and I have been hanging around libraries a lot lately, trading books and talking stories. He had the finest criticism of this whole blog-- It's too damn serious all the time and that ain't you, put the humor and humanity back in it, otherwise it's a just a suffering list. Ha ha! That one did me in-- with that in mind, the whole project can make sense. There are months of work to do on that alone.

I've learned a sad self lesson: I got the discipline of granite, so long as someone else is calling the shots. Without the plan, I just turn into a little lost schoolboy without his teacher. That won't do anymore.


Time for humorous interlude (I am practicing)!
A Harvard boy went up to a construction site to get a summer job. The foreman said, alright, have you worked this gig before? Tell me, what's the difference between a joist and a girder? The boy said, easy! Joist wrote Ulysses and Girder wrote Faust. Hay-o! It takes all kinds in this world folks!

What's the only use for a Yale diploma? Parking in the handicap spaces! Hay-o!

What's the difference between jam and jelly?


Lots of life these days ain't peachy, most of this current predicament is admittedly grim, but who cares. Everything and all situations change-- and no peace is perfect. So I'm trying, again and something new. Finishing the book thing would let me breathe deep for a long time. I'd feel a lot more steady in the skin.

Blah blah, what a shitty sort of braggard am I! Off with it.

Adios for now and Lay Well!

End of Seasons

 
It's been a hell of a long time since I've written here.

I can't remember where I left off six months ago. No more silly names for people, as I can't remember who was who. It just feels necessary to tidy up around here and even off what loose ends I can.

My time as foreman of Olde Nourse Farm is just about over now. I spent today packing hay over dormant strawberry fields, chainsawing up storm-trees for firewood and sorting out turkeys in the cooler. Man alive its been a long year, I'll say that much.

All the fields were harrowed under months ago (by yours truly) and the rye cover crop we planted in October has grown thickly green. Everything is all packed up, pruned out and ready to weather the winter. Big mounds of scott's pine boughs fill up the greenhouse. We are polishing off a few longstanding wreath orders before the boss, John, goes in for double leg surgery two weeks from now. Everything has long since wound down and if I didn't know better I'd expect to be let go any day now. But the beat goes on.


It can be too easy getting down and blue this time of year. The fields are done and the store is an empty cemetery. Mike has taken over the kitchen, everyday he cranks out holiday jam and pies. I face up the remaining outdoor work alone. Meanwhile, John talks endlessly about next year, I haven't quite broached the subject of me leaving yet. And so it goes I guess. The sunsets have been fine the past few weeks and the last cold shower left a full arching double rainbow. Lucy, the dog, makes good company. Blessings are counted and codified.

Looking back, it was a good season. The weather was kind and everything grew. The strawberry crop failed-- all the high-tech plastic wrap broiled the roots alive. The blueberries exploded into the best harvest on record. The raspberries did about average, but then fruit flies (lingering over from last year's mild-winter) maggotted up the works. The summer tomatoes were gorgeous, but blight took the entirety of the fall heirloom crop. John's impending surgery hung over most of the season-- he's was in pain to the point of distraction. 3 different plantings of summer squash and zuke were killed by the old man before he stopped carpet spraying herbicide. 10 rows of beans were annihilated by deer (and I warned him!) because he forgot to buy a fence. But this stuff happens. For everything that went wrong, many things went right. It's just a shame, as so much of the wrong didn't need to happen.


But it's best to reinforce the positives, gotta ring the bell when it is due-- the pumpkins came out perfect, the onions/potatoes grew heavier than the stones, the peppers were just dandy-- the basil, herbs and melon came out top notch. And I nearly forgot about our the brassicas-- our broccoli/cauliflower grew 1' foot wide and rolled steady from June-October. Not too shabby at all.



It's hard looking back over the time and trying to pick out moments-- I can see why I used to write this daily. Too much gets lost in memory. But I sure as hell remember two days.


Old Rudolpho's last day: Maybe if you're reading this you remember the man. The 73 year old patriarch of the Guatemalan family that works with us each summer. He's a saint and killer by the same breath. The man got drunk on that morning, absolutely sideways-in-a-field. So at nine o'clock on a warm day early in October, we climbed the hill to pick greens. Admittedly, I am a naive man and didn't think much about any of it.

My name is Chris. But the Guatemalans call me Christian-- Rudolpho doesn't like the name, so he calls me Roldinyo. That day when he screamed Roldinyo I just looked up and waved, then went back to picking kale. But he kept yelling. It was only as I walked closer, maybe at fifty yards off, that I could see his hands were covered-dripping with blood. He'd cut long and deep through his hand, as though he got halfway and decided why not keep on going. I tied my bandana tight as a tourniquet around his wrist. But Rudolpho just stood there and grinned. We shook hands, and I was caked arm to arm in his blood. We fished through the empty vodka nips in his pocket and found one full-- Rudolpho bit off the stem and poured it onto the cut. Daniel, who has one blank eye, strolled over and we stood there together as the old man bled onto the beets. We just stood around, like idiots. Daniel speaks English and translated-- Rudolpho says you're a good man.
 
I sent Rudolpho to Mike in the kitchen, who cleaned and patched him up. The old man disappeared for the rest of the day. I hear he was found hours later, asleep on a hay bale in back of the barn. The next day he flew home to Guatemala.


John's Advice: I remember this day. For personal reasons, and that's all you get. Max the old foreman came to visit. He has moved down to live with his long time girlfriend in New York City, time was kind to him and he got a job with an experimental research farm in Westchester county. Max and I used to butt heads working together, but during my own time in New York we'd meet up weekly to share noon beers and swap rumors of employment. He came that day to visit and check up on things. It was late September and the CSA was booming. John and I sat around shooting wind with the guy as the afternoon wore on.

At sunset Max went to hike the fields and see all we'd done this year. I sat with John on two stools and there was a deep yellow-pink horizon-- we sat quiet-- he was turning things over heavily in his head. Finally John said, You know why he does all that in the city? (Nodding way off to Max's shadow in the peach orchard) Cause he loves this girl. And Chris. Love is rare. Real love is rare. Nail it down tight if you're ever lucky enough to find it. A lot of shit can happen in a life: affairs, mistakes, one night stands, lots of things. But none of that matters, not worth mentioning or getting into a mess over. But Chris, love is rare. Nail it down or you'll regret that long as you live. That was it, and John didn't say another word about it.

I left to the woods and had a heart stroke. I drank that night.


So this business goes on. It was a year, thick and certain. Over beers in the morning, a few fellows and I agreed-- it's been a thick year, may there be few like it. But there were beautiful things done, and damn it another of my "forty tries" has been knocked from the life bank. Another year less.

New work is coming, different work. I've sweated over this farm for three years now-- another year doing the same chores on the same land might snuff me out for good. I love the job, but I have started to do it for the wrong reasons. It's time to trudge on again.

Maybe I'll be back on sometime.

But either way-- Take it easy

Tense

I really need to figure out the farmblog rhythm for this year. I've been starting up a few new (and long) writing projects-- but there's only so much time. Things will all balance out soonly.

The past week has been mighty stressful. My buddy Jizzy has been having a rough road of it acting way down south. He drove a long ten plus hours up to call things off with his girlfriend face-to-face. Jizzy blew back into town around midnight. Tearfully and through many beers we sussed him back together. I could relate and the heart blood was all across the tracks... Jizzy slept to sober and lit out south in the early morning.

We're starting the long way to filling up the fields. A mess of cauliflower, kale (toscano and green leaf), cabbage (red and green), swiss chard and brussels sprout are in the ground up on the hilltop. The pea varieties are coming strong, the fava beans have broken surface, the spinach/beets/bok choi have sprouted. Things are coming along. We've had a few days of heavy rain and the cold frame has (barely) managed to survive.

I managed to mess up the tractor one rainy morning. When harrowing a small field along a row of blackberries I got stuck on a boulder while trying to turn around for another pass. Kicking the machine into reverse everything went haywire, the back wheel caught on a hydraulic line-- tearing the hydraulic system's connectors into a pretzel shape and busting a dagger sized hole in the tire. The boss was ready to strangle me.

 Ouch.

Tractor wheels don't typically have inner tubing anymore, so repairs are more simple-- but a highly caustic (and expensive) anti-freeze solution was jetting from the hole. Fortunately, the tire mechanic came on short notice-- patching up the tire for just a hundred dollars. The bent hydraulics are another matter-- next week's problem.

After a few days the boss eased off me. Running over a hydraulic line is a problem, but a relatively common one. The real issue was why the safety release didn't trigger and eject the line-- instead the coupler stayed attached and bent everything up. So the boss has relegated everything as mostly not my fault. He wouldn't even let me cover the repair bill...

It's been real busy these past days-- I'm forgetting almost everything that's happened. But the "pre-season" is almost over. Hard planting is about to begin, and Bah is due back next week.

I'm working this weekend-- on a special job. We're doing a little cattle drive tomorrow-- moving the heard across the town road up to new pasture. A lot of the boss's family is coming in to lend a hand and the town police are gonna be there to mind the traffic. It'll be a crazy day, most certainly.

Off and onward, we'll click into gear here soon enough.

Take it easy.

Fish Fluid

Light rain throughout the morning, it slowed down mid-afternoon into a cloudy brood. Temperature hung at the middle 50Fs.

It was a sloppy, wet morning. Snapped a few pictures of yesterday's masterwork:

There it is. On the left of the greenhouse. Haha, nothing fancy.

Here she lies. Tomorrow we're putting down a black plastic floor covering, rigging up the odd irrigation pipes as center-beams and covering over the top with extra greenhouse plastic. Can't wait to fill this up-- I've gone seed crazy. The more we start, the more to plant and be paid for. Sweet dollar bills-- I can hear 'em growing.


First thing I opened up the greenhouse and gave all the little-uns a thorough water. Then it was time to start harrowing. I headed uphill, hitched up and got grinding. The boss had some farm bureau event today-- he's still the county president-- so he dropped off thirty gallons of diesel and left us for the day.

I started in the old butternut field and had a hell of a time. The mud was thick and the tractor was getting swamped in muck at every turn. It was particularly terrifying to slide sideways downhill at a steep, tip-over-type-angle. I took a brief sit down and cigarette before going over the tractor, looking for some problem. Eventually I figured out that the boss had flipped the transmission into a 2-wheel drive setting-- I fixed that back to 4 wheel. The going was mercifully easier.

The light rain was perfect for the fertilizer spread yesterday (not so much for harrowing)-- for added effect I went over all the sweet corn fields (for the second and, I'm sure, not the last time). I spun those discs all day long-- everything on the hilltop has now been tilled once, and everything currently fertilized has been twice-tilled.

Here's a picture of the contraption. There are two rows of discs (the second is behind the wheels), angled for maximum turnover. The hydraulic lines (there on the right) power a wheel jack that raises and lowers the whole frame-- I pop that thing up and down all day to negotiate around the many sub-soil boulders and travel between fields. Behind the last row of discs is a split line of steel chain dragging a length of telephone pole-- it serves to even out the loosened dirt, smoothing the chaos into some semblance of a plantable field. The telephone pole is what cracked me in the hip earlier this Spring. Any long time readers might remember another harrow story from last year-- the solid steel cross beam that holds up the first row of discs: that's what I sledge hammered out of its fittings for welding-repairs, and those discs are what rolled over me and shredded the pants clear off my body. The harrow and I are on better terms these days.

The view from the tractor roof (I smoke sitting up there) at the day's end. It's an abnormally bright look at the day-- all the dark patches are freshly harrowed. The sloping butternut fields are just out of the frame on the left. I saw three bull-sized tom turkeys at the far wood's edge this morning-- they were bucking around trying to entice a mate. I tried to nab a picture, but couldn't get close enough-- the testosterone was pumping and they chased me back into the cab. I wasn't about to mix with a gang of raging turkeys.

Saw Newport for the first time at the end. He'd been in the barn all day, sanding and staining all the produce wagons-- opening is Memorial day (May 28th) and we're almost ready. His finger was bandaged up tight-- he'd slipped with the power drill and it skidded in under his fingernail, biting him good. Newport really needs to take it easier.

Another surprise-- when closing up the greenhouse, I had to double back and hold in my gut. The whole place reeked of well cured fish parts. The boss finally sprayed the seedlings with his new fish-fertilizer-- it's great for young plants, giving them a shot of nutrients without the killing strength of the regular commercial sprays/pellets. Apparently the boss lost his sense of smell over the years, but I surely still have mine-- and that greenhouse smells like hell.

On to tomorrow.

"Nothing Grows for Free" -- the Boss

May already-- feeling stronger and a little easier of the mind. But on to the work.

It's been a haggard week-- Monday started in the back of the boss's house. His water heater died, so we cut the pipes free, dragged the rusty tub outside and went hunting for a new one. The boss and I make a motley crew, our dirty slouch versus the pristine order of retail, sauntering about in public had an acutely surreal quality. I drove him around to a few box stores before we found a price he could agreed with-- we stopped for a fine time at the dump-- and then returned to the farm in order to meet the plumber. The pipe-man was a secret architect-geek and was fascinated by the boss's house. I left to harrow, while they debated green building and eventually installed the heater.

The weekend frosts passed, all blueberry and strawberry buds survived, but the pepper seedlings in the greenhouse didn't fair as well. A third of the trays caught a killing freeze-- I culled out the lifeless and consolidated the living into order. There was a big empty chunk left over-- a matter for Tuesday. The weather was pretty calm Monday afternoon, so we phoned in a fire permit and burned (burn season is now officially over). I had my own small fire on a hill overlooking the cow pasture. Popped the radio, smoked a few and dozed the day away.


Tuesday was rain. A shower turned into a day long down pour. I hid away in the greenhouse and seeded up a storm: 5 more trays of swiss chard (400 plants) , 6 trays of mixed lettuce (1500 plants) and 3 more basil (750 plants)-- these filled the pepper gaps. But there was a lot of day remaining, so I dry seeded a slew of broccoli to preempt the completion of the cold frame: 4 trays of 75 day (450 plants), 6 trays of 76 day (500ish plants), now I lost track of my tray numbers-- 2000 plants of 86 day, 3000 plants of 88 day and 3000 plants of 96 day. A little under 9000 broccoli plants-- god damn what a mess of work is ahead.

Then there was today.


Cloudy all day through-- temperature in the mid 50Fs.

I headed over to the berry fields with the tractor and four 4x4 wood beams-- last week we augured deep holes through the black-raspberry field, so it was finally time to sink in the head-posts for a new trellis system. After pounding everything down and tamping home the dirt I headed back to meet the delivery man. 5,000 lbs worth of fertilizers was delivered and laid out on palates-- signed all the paper work and rung up the boss for the check.

Once everything was straightened out, I hitched up the spreader and got the boss fertilizing the blueberries. These bushes thrive in tough soil-- acidic pH and low nutrients-- so we loaded up 500lbs of 7-7-7 (potassium, nitrogen and phosphorus). While the boss was off I put on shoulder length haz-mat gloves, grabbed a grub hoe and headed to the black raspberries to tear up 50ft x 3ft worth of thick poison ivy. It was my personal hell-- despite the gloves, I look forward to many new rashes. In between hoeing and refilling the spreader, I cleaned up the mess of spilled soil I left in the greenhouse during my seeding marathon (filled a trash bag).

It took a few hours for the boss to cover all the tractor-accessible areas of the three blueberry fields. In the last minutes before lunch we measured/staked out the cold-frame. We then worked long into lunchtime, chaining/hauling telephone poles into position, but it was all finally done/ready for hammers and nail.


Newport was back after lunch, and boy, time off did him no favors. Bill collectors had been hounding him and inaction had led him to the door of insanity. So it was a cold reunion. We gathered up buckets and cups, then hitched a ride with the boss to the far-off blueberry fields along the cow pasture. The terrain gets pretty shaky in these less-kept fields, but we hand fertilized 1lb per bush. It took around 700lb worth to finish the two fields.

We hiked back to the farm and loaded up the tractor with 500lbs worth of 9-19-9 (i think that was it, all the damn numbers run together now) and headed up to the peach orchard. The boss was out carpet fertilizing all the fields marked for early sweet corn, using that same 9-19-whatever it was. All the 1-3 year saplings got a light 1/2 lb sprinkle around the base, the older trees received the full lb. Aim is important with all hand fertilizing-- the granules themselves are pretty caustic (due to the concentration), so you never want to hit the plant. A few stray beads here and there can burn the root bulbs and cause some long term damage. So we sprinkle everything wide and loose over where the roots reach. That way, once it rains, everything will be diluted and seep downward where it's needed.


It wasn't long before the orchard was done, so Newport and I headed down to start bringing together the cold-frame. I took out the grind-wheel wand sawed off the old iron-telephone-ladder-pegs, while Newport hammered on the end-boards. The iron pegs were no joke-- sparks exploded and it took a solid minute of sawing per nail to hack 'em off. Newport started loosing up and tried to light dead grass on fire off my sparks. That was a bad choice. He caught a hunk of orange-hot steel filament to the eyeball. Through some miracle he managed to pluck it out before his eyelids dragged it all over the place-- which would have been very bad. He handed me the chunk and said-- feel it, rub it between your fingers (I did). Goddamn it! That was in my eye! He kept his distance as I finished off the pegs.

Next we measured everything up, took out the circular saw and built a middle partition. I could try to explain this construction project, but it's a tragic combination of genius/half-assed supplies/impatience. I'll take some pictures tomorrow morning so you can see how things develop. But anyway, we built the middle partition and then sawed up a series of notched posts-- we'll rest old irrigation pipes along the grooves to form a little tee-pee roof over the monstrosity. The end of the day was long passed when I looked over the whole thing-- we really should have leveled the ground more before building.

We met the boss-- I got my orders for tomorrow, and Newport left with a direly needed check.

Rain ahead, rain behind, this sunny sort of notion just crossed my mind.

Take it easy.



Because I can:

Fire, Fire on the Hillside

It's been a week-- how ya doing?

The rains last weekend set us up for some light days . Between the water and the boss's bank troubles, the money and work had run thin. Newport was coerced into a mandatory unpaid vacation week, while the boss and I fussed around with the store. The board of health was coming for their inspection on Thursday, so we gave the kitchen/store/bathrooms a deep double clean. I played the part of maintenance man, disassembling the condensers in the berry/soda coolers-- cleaned out the motor filters and generally poked about. We scrubbed our knuckles pink-- shinning up the ice cream implements and cleaning all the corrosion from the pipe work. The board of health only has so much jurisdiction over us-- they gauge the general cleanliness of our kitchen/bathrooms but they have no say over our produce/harvest infrastructure/methodology. Small agriculture exists under a magic pseudo-bureaucracy where no one really gums about in your business.

We passed the inspection, but couldn't escape a small list of recommended improvements-- so, they'll be back for a follow up-- much to the boss's frustration.

I'm a bit embarrassed, but we had a few problems in the greenhouse this week. I've been a tad heavy-- carpet watering all the seedlings. As the boss now repeats-- too much water is more dangerous than too little. 4-5trays worth of the swiss chard developed root rot-- instead of growing up and out, they slowly closed up and their color paled. Over the week half of the trays perked up-- we let them get bone dry and the rot died off. I say 5 bad trays out of hundreds isn't bad, but so it goes. The rest of the greenhouse is humming along, they'll be moved outside (once we finish the cold frame) to make room for the next wave. I grabbed a can of wasp spray and went on a killing spree-- 30 some nests wiped out in the greenhouse rafters alone.

The week was mostly spent on small pain tasks-- the tractor's front right tire went flat, so we hauled it off for repairs, spent hours trimming more blueberry bushes, harrowed more rows up on the hill and tinkered about with some of the seeders.

Thursday was clear and calm, so we burned off the few remaining brush piles. The boss had a little dinner event-at-sea to attend so I minded the blazes alone.

Fire days are good lazy days.


Lucy the dog has fallen a little worse for wear. The boss let her out one night and she had a run in with a bear sized coyote-- a big ol' bite was tore right along her back leg and rear. Now she's wearing a plastic cone and 700 dollars worth of stitches.

Friday was a mad scramble. In another twist of weather, a large front is blowing down out of the north-- bringing 30F night time frosts. Bad news. The wind gusted heavy, 40mph at times, as the boss and I scrambled to set up all the irrigation guns and arrange the water pump. I was soaked to the icy bone after unclogging the fields worth of guns, but everything was running smoothly before nightfall. We filled the tractor to the brim with diesel and let her run all night-- the constant water keeps the plants and buds a few precious degrees above freezing. I talked to the boss Saturday morning and everything survived the night fine, just a few more days of frost warnings to go... But the strawberries will be fine, it's the blueberries I worry about. They can handle the 30Fs well enough, but if we get a maverick night plunging into the low 20Fs-- their baby berry buds are doomed. Fingers crossed.


Hmmm. Looking back I guess I forgot to mention it, but strange thing happened the other week. A scrapper friend of the boss swung by in his rig looking for any odd metal he could pick up. We could hardly move with all the old metal piling up so the boss gave it all away free. Newport and I helped the guy load up a few tons worth of sheet metal/rusted tractor attachments and odd copper piping. I have my theories on how the boss met this fella, but he was a rare breed of crazy. When I told the man about where I lived he laughed his head off. He knew the area well. Back ten years ago the scapper used to be a manager for strippers. He would book them gigs and shuffled them between different dance halls. But he laughed because there was an old diner nearby, which would close down into a "sex-show-extravaganza" at night. He would shuttle his girls over there ever week. He was certainly a shady piece of work.

May is slipping up quick and I've plans a-million in the brain cooker. We'll see how next week goes.


Take it easy.

Stormed Out

My travel plans received a scramble this weekend. After weeks of drought a heavy storm rained from Sunday through to this afternoon. The boss begged me in Saturday to help get things situated for the weather-- so much for reunion getaways.  I slumped in and harrowed from dawn to dusk-- the amount of work I polished off was mind-numbing. Almost the entire 20 acres of the hilltop are churned under and ready to plant, including the span we rocked through last week. That day alone was a masterclass in tractor finesse-- unlike the smooth tomato/forest fields I worked over before, and despite the days of hauling-- enormous rocks still hid beneath the soil's surface. Managing the harrow depth was enough to give me a heart attack, I burned through two packs of cigarettes.

(Notes for me: I'm shifting a lot more smoothly these days, but gotta remember the engine can handle more stress than I'm willing to allow. The shaking/shuddering I noticed these past weeks was due to feather foot/throttle. Under 100,000rpm is too low, 100,000-150,000 is optimal driving (12-13 the sweet spot). During operation, with the PTO chugging and all, 150,000 is the lock in ( not much higher, definitely no lower). Gear ranges: B-2 is a nice fast clip for most work (spreading/fertilizing/dragging/ harrowing smooth fields), but when the going is rocky and the muscle needs to bear toss down to B-1. A is for overkill-- save this gear range for carving through mountains. Old remembrances: last year when hitching on the water pump (running the tractor stationary) 20-250,000rpms was pretty standard. All the irrigation arteries travel a long ways/ up some serious hills, so go high but try not to blow out the water system. No one needs that.)

My tractor paranoia served me well enough, but I still managed to shatter one of the 3ft disks on a troublesome stone shelf. The boss didn't seem to mind. Red-tailed hawks were out nesting, but the pleasure of the day was bittersweet. Empty farms breed a long dagger of lonesomeness. A place needs people: Newport, Bah, the Guatemalans and the summer kids can't come soon enough.

But the rains hit hard and weekends are a small sacrifice for a good season. The fields are looking beautifully, if we keep up the pace and stay atop the workload everything will be just fine.

It was dark this morning and the rain was still coming down, so the boss called us all to stay home. I filled the day with little errands, mostly trying to get my truck outfitted for the season ahead. With a fat fresh paycheck in the bank, I went on a spending spree: bought rubber mats for the truck's cab, air fresheners (for the cigarettes), a tarp ( to cover over the seats on the working-rain days), jumbo box of band-aids/polysporin, new boots/laces/leather sealant, a flashlight (for late nights at the greenhouse), picked up my new glasses (old man) and grabbed a new pocket knife (the old one's probably at the bottom of a field somewhere). After running out of excuses to spend money I was just left a bit aimless. A day off is the working man's enemy. Didn't know what to do with myself, but on the advice of a friend I started teaching myself Spanish.

I'm soaking up the vocabulary fast, but I have yet to touch the grammar bits. Tasks for another day.

Hasta Luego!