I’m working down my lists doggedly, plotting my days hour by hour, but am still discouragingly behind. It feels as if I’ve been sweaty and bug-bitten and stinking of manure and gasoline forever — but still acres remain unmowed, stalls need to be mucked, and there is mess to be dealt with everywhere, at the farm and at home.
Meanwhile I pulled my back several days ago and am hobbling around as if I am ninety. I find myself groaning aloud when carrying water buckets. Still I push on. It was almost a relief last night when my lawnmower developed a flat tire and I had to quit.
I am aware that a lot of the pressure I am feeling is self-imposed, that someone more easy-going would simply say, “I’ll get to whatever it is when I can.” However I am sure no one has ever described me as easy-going.
Katika is bagging up and is due a week from tomorrow. I pray she doesn’t calve early. On Tuesday I drive Lucy to Vermont for a dentist appointment and I plan to buy more back-up meds then for milk fever. (Last year she might have died from this metabolic disorder.)
Add that to the list.