Fin.
First cutting hay two thousand six is in the books barn.
I’m on someone’s good list, as everything that broke waited until the very last bale to do so.
Big Johnny cut through her battery wire and shorted out a pair of mind-bogglingly expensive batteries. And her starter kicked it.
The baler snapped it’s PTO shaft and I’m not too certain if it’s going to be possible to weld it back together.
Little Johnny has been running exceedingly hot and I need to find out why. I usually have a water bottle with me on the tractors and the only place available to store stuff on LJ is in the battery compartment. If you combine a hot day with running LJ hard your water comes close to boiling. Quaffing unflavored hot tea does not quench one’s thirst. Yesterday morning as I was tedding the last field I could smell rubber burning, but I couldn’t see any neighbor’s burning their tires. A minute later a giant plume of white smoke came pouring from the battery compartment. I killed the tractor and threw open the cover to see that the grease gun that I had stuck in had passed it’s combustion point.
But nothing real exciting in farming has happened. Just a small grease fire. So here’s a rant.
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Anger issues run in my genes. Mostly I just simmer. Recently I’ve discerned one particular thing that rankles me to no end. It’s insincere commiseration. Or maybe not even insincere, but more when the person can’t, whether they’d like to or not, understand.
My mom likes to know how my day went. I don’t like to tell her. She wants to know if thing went as planned, or if I broke down. My answers are as monosyllabic as I can manage. If it did go well, I don’t need her small noises of happiness to cheer me on. If it didn’t go well, there is no way she could understand what that means, and there’s no way to explain it to her. She cares, but not enough to pay attention to that. It would be easier if it was just me getting frustrated with problems or being thrilled when I get something fixed or finished.
The other night my mom told the rest of the fam that I had successfully gone through two heavy hay days with zero problems. Everyone made little murmurs of congratulations(?). Not that I outwardly reacted, but it burned me.
Maybe it’s wrong of me to feel this way. But I don’t think it’s to be helped.
<>
I’m on someone’s good list, as everything that broke waited until the very last bale to do so.
Big Johnny cut through her battery wire and shorted out a pair of mind-bogglingly expensive batteries. And her starter kicked it.
The baler snapped it’s PTO shaft and I’m not too certain if it’s going to be possible to weld it back together.
Little Johnny has been running exceedingly hot and I need to find out why. I usually have a water bottle with me on the tractors and the only place available to store stuff on LJ is in the battery compartment. If you combine a hot day with running LJ hard your water comes close to boiling. Quaffing unflavored hot tea does not quench one’s thirst. Yesterday morning as I was tedding the last field I could smell rubber burning, but I couldn’t see any neighbor’s burning their tires. A minute later a giant plume of white smoke came pouring from the battery compartment. I killed the tractor and threw open the cover to see that the grease gun that I had stuck in had passed it’s combustion point.
But nothing real exciting in farming has happened. Just a small grease fire. So here’s a rant.
<>
Anger issues run in my genes. Mostly I just simmer. Recently I’ve discerned one particular thing that rankles me to no end. It’s insincere commiseration. Or maybe not even insincere, but more when the person can’t, whether they’d like to or not, understand.
My mom likes to know how my day went. I don’t like to tell her. She wants to know if thing went as planned, or if I broke down. My answers are as monosyllabic as I can manage. If it did go well, I don’t need her small noises of happiness to cheer me on. If it didn’t go well, there is no way she could understand what that means, and there’s no way to explain it to her. She cares, but not enough to pay attention to that. It would be easier if it was just me getting frustrated with problems or being thrilled when I get something fixed or finished.
The other night my mom told the rest of the fam that I had successfully gone through two heavy hay days with zero problems. Everyone made little murmurs of congratulations(?). Not that I outwardly reacted, but it burned me.
Maybe it’s wrong of me to feel this way. But I don’t think it’s to be helped.
<>
posted by Lord of the Barnyard at 12:47 PM
4 Comments:
Does she also tell you that everything will work out without actually listening or understanding the severity of whatever has gone awry? And assume that by saying that she has calmed every nerve and there should be no further worry or discussion.....
It's like your up to something sneaky or your mom is trying to talk to you about girls. Maybe just start another blog and title it Poo Flingin' Updates for Mom. I've found my blog allows me to end otherwise annoyingly long phone conversations with my mother by saying, "I put pictures on my blog" or just "look at my blog." Anyway, way to go on the hay (followed by a GO DREW fist pump in the air).
there's simply no substitute for a person who understands your perspective on an issue and/or is present in the moment. people like moms always get compared to best friends, but they're inherently more distant. yet they yearn to be involved. relatives are one step worse. strangers are better because you know they have no obligation to react to you. (and likely you chose to talk to them for a better reason than a blood relationship). i think its one of many social burdens for which there is no escape.
As a mom with a sullen 16 yo who speaks in monosyllables, I read this with interest.
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