Happy New Year :)
I decided to ring in 2008 -- a year that's sure to be filled with crazy excitement for me -- by savoring the last bit of my quiet life here at home. I did more binge eating than drinking, played board games and laughed a lot with friends who feel more like family. Naturally, horses were involved. They all busted out of the gates at exactly 11:45 PM and proceeded to gallop around the barnyard. Rightly so! But perhaps I'm slightly more amused than the three poor souls who went down to chase them all back into the paddock.
The following day, I had a curious afternoon hanging a new gate with my riding instructor. She's turning 70 this year. Although we wear the same sizes in practically everything (I know this because I borrow her stuff all the time), she could probably still arm wrestle me to the ground. I figured she had fixed gates a million times, and went along more for the learning experience.
First we had to remove, and I don't know the correct terminology here, two very large screws from the old fencepost. They had apparently been rusted into a tough old cedar post since the farm was founded some 40 years ago. She got the top one started, and I stood on the other side so we could alternate turns, using our best leverage points.
Afterward, she headed out for a drill to do new holes. I tackled the bottom screw. It was a beast. I grunted, I swore. It didn't move. I repositioned the pliers. I stood up and pushed down, I went to the other side and pulled toward me to no avail. I couldn't help but wish for a boy. This here, this, me sitting in the snow, cold, surrounded by strange tools exhausting all my strategies to get this retarded screw out. Either a boy, I thought, or a new screw. How much could these really cost?
But I persevered because, well, she got the top one! I couldn't have her come back and see that I'd failed. Every quarter turn I could muster came with a rush of hope. Just ... a little ... ugrh!!!! ... bit ... farther. And finally I was able to twist it out with my hands. Who needs boys! I thought. Hear me roar! I can fix a damn fence! When she came back, I was satisfied but honest. "That was hard," I said. "Really hard."
She just smiled. Together we sunk the new fence post. Together we sat in the snow. Cold seeped into our butts and our knees. I held the gate for her to mark the new holes. I pushed curious horsey noses out of the way. I watched her drill in, up and all around because the drill bit was too small. The top screw went in all right; the bottom one we had to try again and again, finally with a hammer, to get it to go into the rock solid heart of the post. It was much more trial and error than I anticipated, and I felt sort of helpless. Even though I had some ideas, I felt like one does not tell a 70-year-old farm veteran how to set a gate. So I got us some saddle pads to sit on. I sat on mine. For a long time.
When we were finally finished, I helped string the electric wire and pack up as quickly as possible. Finally, something to do! My fingers were ice cold by then, since I'd stopped using them. If she hadn't been there working so hard, I would have given up long ago. If I hadn't offered to take out that one pesky screw for her, I wouldn't have even gotten that far.
As we walked up the snowy path toward the house, without looking at me she said, "Thanks for staying. I would have lost heart without you."
The following day, I had a curious afternoon hanging a new gate with my riding instructor. She's turning 70 this year. Although we wear the same sizes in practically everything (I know this because I borrow her stuff all the time), she could probably still arm wrestle me to the ground. I figured she had fixed gates a million times, and went along more for the learning experience.
First we had to remove, and I don't know the correct terminology here, two very large screws from the old fencepost. They had apparently been rusted into a tough old cedar post since the farm was founded some 40 years ago. She got the top one started, and I stood on the other side so we could alternate turns, using our best leverage points.
Afterward, she headed out for a drill to do new holes. I tackled the bottom screw. It was a beast. I grunted, I swore. It didn't move. I repositioned the pliers. I stood up and pushed down, I went to the other side and pulled toward me to no avail. I couldn't help but wish for a boy. This here, this, me sitting in the snow, cold, surrounded by strange tools exhausting all my strategies to get this retarded screw out. Either a boy, I thought, or a new screw. How much could these really cost?
But I persevered because, well, she got the top one! I couldn't have her come back and see that I'd failed. Every quarter turn I could muster came with a rush of hope. Just ... a little ... ugrh!!!! ... bit ... farther. And finally I was able to twist it out with my hands. Who needs boys! I thought. Hear me roar! I can fix a damn fence! When she came back, I was satisfied but honest. "That was hard," I said. "Really hard."
She just smiled. Together we sunk the new fence post. Together we sat in the snow. Cold seeped into our butts and our knees. I held the gate for her to mark the new holes. I pushed curious horsey noses out of the way. I watched her drill in, up and all around because the drill bit was too small. The top screw went in all right; the bottom one we had to try again and again, finally with a hammer, to get it to go into the rock solid heart of the post. It was much more trial and error than I anticipated, and I felt sort of helpless. Even though I had some ideas, I felt like one does not tell a 70-year-old farm veteran how to set a gate. So I got us some saddle pads to sit on. I sat on mine. For a long time.
When we were finally finished, I helped string the electric wire and pack up as quickly as possible. Finally, something to do! My fingers were ice cold by then, since I'd stopped using them. If she hadn't been there working so hard, I would have given up long ago. If I hadn't offered to take out that one pesky screw for her, I wouldn't have even gotten that far.
As we walked up the snowy path toward the house, without looking at me she said, "Thanks for staying. I would have lost heart without you."