Brome Cover.
Saturday was the Worst Day of the Year. The day the babies are forcibly and vociferously removed from their mothers. The day the little bulls begin the slow decline to steerhood. The one day out of the year that Cow Jail is designed for. We hired help. It was going down. …and I slept in till noon.
My friend, an art director at a shop in Chicago, won a grant to write a book in the next year. It’s about developments. Sprawl, cookie-cutter houses, Levittowns, McMansions, suburbia, WalMart, bedroom communities. The format is interviews and photographs. I am said friend’s token farmer. Our schedules (her schedule) worked out best to come out this last weekend.
Friday night and I wanted to show her a good time. So I took her to Columbus to drink a beer and see a show and smoke some shi sha and drink some awful chai. And then we both got sick. Don’t smoke lemon-flavored tobbac before vomiting.
So, I missed the awful day. I still have yet to take anyone’s masculinity.
Today I sowed wheat. Sowing wheat is real easy. Setting up the wheat-sower (it’s called a drill for some reason?) took five times the mental effort and elbow grease. In front of the grain drill rides this thing called a cultipactor. It smushes dirt. Ours is old old old. The patent date pressed into it says 1921. I managed to bend the piss out of it’s tongue (the part you attach machinery to a tractor with). Here’s how I fixed that.
Tractors are neat-o.
My friend, an art director at a shop in Chicago, won a grant to write a book in the next year. It’s about developments. Sprawl, cookie-cutter houses, Levittowns, McMansions, suburbia, WalMart, bedroom communities. The format is interviews and photographs. I am said friend’s token farmer. Our schedules (her schedule) worked out best to come out this last weekend.
Friday night and I wanted to show her a good time. So I took her to Columbus to drink a beer and see a show and smoke some shi sha and drink some awful chai. And then we both got sick. Don’t smoke lemon-flavored tobbac before vomiting.
So, I missed the awful day. I still have yet to take anyone’s masculinity.
Today I sowed wheat. Sowing wheat is real easy. Setting up the wheat-sower (it’s called a drill for some reason?) took five times the mental effort and elbow grease. In front of the grain drill rides this thing called a cultipactor. It smushes dirt. Ours is old old old. The patent date pressed into it says 1921. I managed to bend the piss out of it’s tongue (the part you attach machinery to a tractor with). Here’s how I fixed that.
Tractors are neat-o.
posted by Lord of the Barnyard at 7:42 PM
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