I don't think summer is ever going to arrive in Minnesota.
In fact, I don't think warmer temperatures are ever going to come and stay.
I have not been saying nice things to Mother Nature.
You should have heard me grumbling Wednesday morning as I walked up to the compost barn, into the wind.
In fact, you should have heard me walking back from the compost barn to the milking parlor, into the wind!
I should have known better than to dedicate that one warm day we experienced to washing and putting away all my winter chores clothes. My long, butt-covering chores coat; my three favorite Mycogen Seeds stocking caps and all 27 pairs of wool socks were freshly laundered and put away in the proper places.
OK, I don't have 27 pairs of wool socks. I have 12.
I'm addicted to wool socks.
In fact, I am addicted to a lot of things.
Like hugs from my youngest son, when I least expect it. Most of the time I have to force him for a squeeze that somewhat feels like a hug.
I am also addicted to ice cream. Any kind of ice cream.
Am I getting way off base here?
Back to the cold weather.
Steve doesn't the winter season either, unless he has activities planned that are best accomplished in the cold: ice fishing, snowball fights, and his favorite, hauling manure.
This past week, it worked out great.
Saturday, the weather was nice and balmy. Perfect for hauling manure to the field and creating big, compost piles. We knew the colder weather was coming, which makes for a perfect day for spreading it on the field - no mud.
I remember Saturday well. I was supposed to help with this task, but Russell's plans changed and he was available.
I spent my day, outside, in a T-shirt, doing other miscellaneous farm jobs.
Our long, white silage bag is full of chew holes ranging in size from a quarter to a dinner plate. These holes are created by nothing other than those disgusting things called rats. Imagine the size of the rat that chewed the dinner-plate sized hole.
It's a frightening job.
It took me most of the day to cover all those holes with special tape. My back was killing me. Steve said, "You looked like an old lady when I saw you get up off the ground."
I think I need medical marijuana for sore muscles.
Earlier that lovely morning, I spent time setting my pocket gopher traps. They, the gophers, are out in full force this year.
I set four traps in different locations, on two separate fields, and started waiting for time to pass, by patching those darn rat holes. After I finished the rat holes, I told Steve I was going to go check my gopher traps.
"Do you think it's been long enough?" he asked. "I doubt you're going to catch one."
Ha! I caught one on my first trap! It was still alive, and sorry PETA, I had to find a way to put it out of its misery. All I had was Joey's amazingly-long machete. It took me a long time to convince myself it was the best tool available. I closed my eyes and managed to miss it. It took three tries. Sorry, Mr. Gopher.
The dogs were going nuts, but the gopher was hissing and sticking those gnarly claws in the air.
There was no way in Hades I was putting these manicured nails near those sharp, jagged gopher teeth and very dirty, chipped claws.
But hey, I bet it's warm there! Nope, I am not going to reconsider.
Eventually the weather will have to cooperate and warm to a temperature greater than 27-degrees Fahrenheit and remain there.
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