Aging on a feller does not automatically add wisdom

The sunshine has been a little sparse this spring and yet we had better not complain as the rain is sensitive to insults and we'd like to keep it around for the rest of the summer.

I like going into the summer with full ponds and lots of grass. My boots have been wet so much that the leather is beginning to draw up and crinkle. I could but I can't wear rubber boots all day and be comfortable. I have some and they live in the closet in the utility room. They look good there and don't bother anyone.

There are a few old fence posts on the place and when the ground gets real wet, soaked to the bone so to speak, the old posts lean. I have been intending to replace them as required and so I loaded up some T-posts and started out. Old Dog loaded, too, and we took off to get the job done.

I took the old hay truck and all my tools to get the staples out of the old ones and put the new stuff on the iron posts and for some reason I forgot my leather gloves in the pickup. I didn't want to go back to the house to get gloves so I drove on to the first post. I got the old one out and the new one driven in, the wire on it and had only seven punctures to my hide. Very little of my life-giving blood seeped out of the holes.

I could see the deep track we were leaving in the pasture as I glanced in the mirror. I sure hate to rut up a place, but what to do about it is to stop and take the truck back to headquarters. I could do that and the dried ground would leave no ruts next time, but the posts would be hard to pull and even more difficult to drive in the new ones -- another dilemma for the poor old cattleman. Therefore, I carried on, me and my trusty dog who was asleep on the floor of the truck.

I know what it feels like to be sitting in a truck and have the rear wheels sink to the axle in soft mud. I know because that is exactly what happened. I gave it the gas in reverse, in drive, in reverse and finally gave up. I dug out the mud behind the tires and placed the old post for traction, piled all the old hay I could scrape off the bed behind the other wheel and tried again to gain some ground. I only gained deeper as the bog grew more menacing.

It is my opinion, and everyone has one, getting some age on a feller does not automatically add wisdom. I have the age and look of ancient sages, can stand around with my arms folded over my chest and click my tongue at stupid acts, but that does not mean I have wisdom. Dog and I walked home in the squishy grass, stopped to consider saying the truck had been stolen and decided not, but dreaded even more with each step.

I awaited the harsh laughter and the looks of pure astonishment from my close relative and her offspring as I explained the incident. It came as expected. I was ridiculed, but now my advice is not to be taken lightly. Be careful where you put trucks and heavy equipment until the ground dries up.

Bill is the pen name of the Gravette area author of this weekly column. Opinions expressed are those of the author.

Editorial on 04/15/2015