After
plowing twice yesterday, I went out with the tractor this morning (a little
hard starting at 10 degrees, I had starting fluid, ether [spell check?]).
Myrtle, the tractor, got hot (she was low on coolant) and I got cold
(wind chill is real, and people, if your boots are tight, you are not improving
the insulation factor - I know, I did it with my gloves inside of gloves today.
I can't remember when my fingers have been colder). But we are in
great shape, the County even plowed the road and the mail came too. No
wind here either (this is what spell check kept giving me for ether).
Wednesday is our
hearty breakfast day, eggs and grits and lots of toast. It helps to put fuel in the belly on a cold day. I have had to put
a little extra wood in the shop stove too, I didn't drain the "plumbing"
and I've got some Jerusalem artichokes in there... But I melted some lard
from my disastrous attempt to make cracklin's at the store the other day, and
I've made some high fat cakes for the poor little birds out there in those single digit
temperatures. Man! How do they do that? Those little tiny
fluff balls.
Plus I've spent some
highly inappropriate time on some American chestnut staffs (with silver soldered
reinforcement rings, aluminum spikes in the bases, hand checking, and melted bee's wax wood finishes). My wife, Chris, writes books that will be
around for centuries (if the human race survives) and I try to make a few
thingies that someone will want to keep a hundred years from now (if the human
race survives) because they might appreciate the time, trouble, materials, and
attention to detail, that I put into them.
Now, considering the
fact that I believe that when I die, the “me” will be as ephemeral as the
bacterium that you obliterated with some soap and water when you washed your
arm pit this morning… Why am I still
trying? Why does anybody still try?
