Well that was a much needed break. I wish I could say that I treated myself to spa-like activities, lounging around while painting my nails but...... no such luck.

Ed has worked every night on replacing our "livestock safe" (HA! yeah right - they lied) field fencing with smart looking 4 wire for the feeding paddock. As is always the case, what seems like a couple hours of work drags into weeks of evening devotion. First we had to dig out a post that was over FOUR FEET in the ground. After much banging with a car, digging, cursing, sweating, and kicking we finally just carried the old swingset over to the hole to serve as a hoist and yanked the sucker out with a come-along. Then we had to rehash the "gate" discussion. Remember my lovely arial view of the farm where I plotted out the new pasture fencing and gate system leading to the feeding paddock? Yeah well apparently Ed didn't either. Now, more than ever, I'm convinced that I must keep a tight handle on my man whenever he starts a project lest a disaster be the result. Whatever part of "Honey, the back part of the fence should be done first because then I can contain or separate the horses in the corral - the sides can wait" he didn't understand is beyond me. As I'm mowing the back pasture (mowed right through two of Midnight's halters - bad horse) he proudly tells me that he's just about done with the first side of the 4-wire fence on the paddock. Silly me, didn't even think about asking him if he meant the back side. I'm envisioning much needed corraling space for my convenience and when I arrived several hours later I see him on the front side finishing up. I know, I know, you're asking "why did he start there?" just like I did. His answer? This is rich. This is from the man who arranged boxes in our moving van all facing the same way because it looked better. "Well, this way the side you see as you approach is already done. So it looks better." Never mind. He just doesn't get it.

Then he tells me the next side he's going to do which is into the newly planted pasture and I innocently ask where the gate will be. He looks shocked and tells me there won't be a gate. He points towards the main gate and tells me there's a perfectly fine gate already there. Keep in mind the feeding paddock is adjacent to the pasture and the main gate for the pasture is about halfway down our driveway.

"Well yes honey, there surely is. However, with anywhere from 6-13 horses needing to get into that pasture, which is 2 inches from where we're standing, I'll have to individually lead them out of the paddock, across the house field, down the driveway, open the gate, put them in, close and lock the gate, walk back to rinse and repeat. Not only that, but we have no water access in the pasture so I expect I'll need to bring them back every hour for water."

And he just stands there looking at me going, "Well...... yeah."

I continued, "As opposed, just as a suggestion, that perhaps I walk into the paddock where you and I are and......... just open a gate?" I was this close, this close, to my head exploding. I was as delicate as I could be but after about 45 minutes he changed his mind.

The manure pile outside the barn has been moved. Don't ask. You don't want to know. Seriously, you don't want to.

Remember the something getting into the barn and killing my chickens? Yeah, well that something appears able to move a 50 lb container full of catfood, drag it across the entire barn, open it, and eat half the contents. I'm afraid to even go there wondering what this thing is. Obviously I need to move the container into the locked grain room.

We had a new boarder horse arrive via transportation truck last Friday and the poor guy is covered in bumps from an allergic reaction to either fly bites or the fly spray. I feel so awful for him. He's a mustang and it's really interesting how differently he's built than the quarterhorses on the property.

Moo and Sparky are just doing great. Sparky runs around each evening trying to get away from mom and inspect everything, loves chasing chickens, but Moo calls her back. Moo is back to her normal spoiled diva self and follows me around looking for scratches when I'm trying to work. That's one spoiled cow.

Burn piles are huge, trash piles are huger, and the scrap metal found on the property pile is getting hugest. The wheat harvest has started and all the farmers are working late into the evening. We fall asleep by the hum of their combines. There's nothing prettier than a field getting cut - well actually there is, a field of HAY getting cut. Seeing all the beautiful round bales of hay in the field is really and awesome site. I just get discouraged because very little of it is for sale and what is has maintained the highest rates in record. We're currently paying about $125-150/ton here in the center of hay country. That's just unbelievable! And every poor guy putting "good hay for sale, $50 for large bale" in the paper tells me not only is he sold out but his phone's ringing of the hook. I've resorted to stopping by and asking farmers if they're selling. They're not. So we were smart to plant our own along with the oats right? You'd think! And you'd be wrong.

We walked the field yesterday to check the oats and it's just beautiful. So I do some talking and searching wondering when we can just "open the gate" and turn the horses out for an afternoon. "Oh nooooooo, young lady (I did like being called young though since I'm 40 now). You've got yourself a lush pasture now and you don't want those horses out there more than about 30 minutes a day until they acclimate to it." Oh. My. God. So now, because the gate isn't installed yet, I really WILL be catching them one by one and yada yada yada as I walk beside them to hand graze each one in 30 minute intervals.

Ed just laughed.

I wanted to bop him upside the head.