Behind Infinity

Apparently I was for real when I said we were going to build a barn, because this week large trucks from Standard Lumber started coming out and dumping random building materials in the field.

First, the boom truck brought a bunch of trusses.

A couple of days later, a flatbed truck came with lumber, nails, sheeting, shingles, and concrete.

This truck decided to drive off the driveway and down into the field, which was a fatal mistake on his part. Our land, our neighbors’ land, and the surrounding farms have this amazing clay soil. During the wet season (3/4 of the year) you can step in it and sink up to your knees, and that’s not an exaggeration. Rachel is always saying how much she hates our clay. Well, when the truck left the safety of the driveway, he sunk in it up to his axle and was stuck for 3 hours. I wasn’t home, but I heard it was ridiculous. Eventually, Corky the farmer brought his big red tractor and pulled the guy out. There are now deep scorch marks on my neighbors’ driveway. My neighbors are justifiably a little upset.

Yesterday, as soon as Dad got home from work at 11am, we began work on the barn in earnest, setting posts in the holes we had been digging for the week before.

For the uninitiated, the procedure for setting posts is as follows: first, we had to scoop out the hole to make sure it was deep enough and wide enough. Then, we threw in a round flat concrete thingie that the post stands on, and tamped it down until it was level. Sometimes this took more than one try. Then we would prepare the necessary supplies, laying down 2 2×4’s and 2 80lb bags of concrete near the hole. Man, those suckers were heavy. After that, it was time to go get our 4×6 post. Those suckers were heavy too. We’d waddle it over and Dad would tip it up. After that, one of us would hold the post in place in the hole while the other measured and we adjusted its position accordingly. After that, nail on the 2×4’s as braces, pour in the concrete, fill it in with dirt, and on to the next.

That was definitely the hardest day’s work I have ever done in my entire life. When we were finished, I hurt all over and was so tired. It was cold. It was windy. I am crazy for doing this in winter. I am crazy for doing it at all. I have a huge newfound appreciation for construction workers. They have a hard job.

Admiring our last post, around 6:00 PM

These are my posts.

And so it begins. As a general announcement, I expect all of my friends of the male variety–especially but not limited those who intend to keep a horse on the property–to come out and help set trusses a couple weekends from now. Please. I’ll feed you pizza. It will be like an Amish barn raising. Should be fun.

Other news from this week:

The vet came out to the farm for his yearly visit. Large animal veterinarians are another part of the workforce that I have a huge respect for and no desire to emulate. Driving out to peoples’ farms and working in unheated barns a la James Herriot just isn’t very appealing to me. It was pretty exciting to have the vet out, though. I watched while he gelded Rachel’s pony-colt Bandit. He just slit the little guy open and popped ‘em right out, one after the other. I felt sorry for the little guy, but I do hope he’ll stop being so annoying now. The other horses just got routine shots and Coggins testing, and Jezebelle had two wolf teeth extracted. The vet sedated her with Demosadan, and she was so woozy and sleepy–just totally out of it. It was pretty funny.

On Friday Kim (a neighbor from down the road apiece), Rachel, and I rented out an indoor arena and trailered over to work our horses. It was quite an experience, from start to finish. First of all, I had a place in Grandville all picked out, but Kim suggested we go to “The Silver Dollar” instead because it was a heck of a lot cheaper. So, sure. We went there. But I guess when it comes to indoor arenas, just like everything else in the world, you get what you pay for because the “spacious arena” was actually more of a “run-down disaster hole”, in my opinion. The “footing” was more cowpies than footing, and there were rusted cattle panels leaning against the walls, and piled at one end of the arena. Made it a bit hard to work on the rail. I was very proud that on the way there, Jezzebelle loaded into Kim’s 4-horse slant-load step-up trailer without any hesitation or fussing. But wouldn’t you know it, when it came time to go home, she wouldn’t budge–just stood there with her ears back, leaning on her halter, calmly and stubbornly asserting that no, she wouldn’t, wouldn’t go back in there. Aaron patiently coaxed from inside the trailer. Rachel less patiently stood outside, wacking my reticent horse on the butt with a dressage crop. Kim and I stood by and shook our heads. It was a pretty absurd situation. About half an hour later, having proven her point, my horse sullenly hopped in. I wanted to kiss and kick her all at the same time.

“We’re going to have to work on that,” Rachel said as we climbed into the cab of the truck.
Yep.

Also, I went to my first annual congregational meeting tonight. I’ve been a communicant member of the church for several years now, but this is the first time I’ve been able to attend because I used to have orchestra rehearsal every Monday night, and that’s when meetings are traditionally held.

And so I sat there, with my knitting, and when I got bored with that, my Prose Comp homework (yes, I did Prose Comp homework in the middle of a congregational meeting), and listened to people talk and ask redundant questions and make motions and make substitution motions, always doing their utmost care to follow ROBERT’S ALMIGHTY RULES, and sometimes vehemently correcting one another over the precise way to follow those rules. And I said “Aye” or “Sine” when it was time to say it. Except I never said “Sine”. And as I sat there, I thought to myself that really, it wouldn’t be that bad at all to go to one of those churches where women don’t go to congregational meetings.

and a particularly apt one at that.

“Latin’s like life: you focus on one thing and you’re lost; you look at the context, you’ll be okay.”

As my lip has been healing, it’s gone from oversized and clumsy to normal size, and normal feel, but quite purple. It seems that everybody at school a) didn’t care enough, b) was too absorbed in their work, or c) was too tactful to say anything. But lest I begin to think that really, it wasn’t that bad, and actually, I’m just too appearance-conscious and it’s not a big deal, I got some great comments on it at church today.

Eric: “What happened to you?”
Me: “I was pushing a wheelbarrow…it was dark…ice…”
Eric: “Right. That’s a lip hickey.”
Me: “Eric, I hit it on the wheelbarrow.”
Eric: “Right. You got a lip hickey. That’s what happens when you’re mackin’ too hard on your boyfriend.”

and this gem:

Tony: “Speaking of boyfriends, it looks like yours has been abusing you.”
Me: (That’s absurd on a lot of levels, Tony.) “Wheelbarrow…ice…”
Tony: “That’s what they all say. It’s wheelbarrows and ice, and then they show up at the domestic abuse shelter downtown. I know how it is.”

Thanks, boys. I know I’m loved now.

After church I went to Lisa’s with Suzanne and we ate pasta and drank really good tea and talked about tea, movies, worship, superheroes, literature, tact, politics, and saving the world. Among other things. It was good times…I needed that.