8 AM: It’s raining. I’ve been working since 5. My heart is starting to race at my apparent inability to get on top of the workload, between the house, the farm, and the job.
Yesterday I was on the road most of the day to Vermont to pick up flooring. When I finally got home, after unloading 500 pounds of tile I discovered at evening chores that one of my Buff Orpington hens was missing. I searched without success, but hoped against hope she was hiding somewhere in the barn. This morning she is still missing. I am worried that the coyote who came boldly to the door of the barn last summer — killing four of my chickens — may be back. This thought is especially anxiety-provoking with the new goslings now outside during the day.
Clearly I need to spend a couple of hours mending fence and getting a charge in my perimeter lines. Though these fences won’t stop a coyote, they will teach him caution. However, after work today I will be spending two hours with Damon ferrying the truck to a neighboring town for its repair appointment tomorrow (the first I could get). Meanwhile all the rest of the chores on my list are piling up.
I don’t have time to worry about it. I have to get ready to teach Bloody Sunday at Selma.
* * *
PM: Hectic day but at nearly 8 PM the sun is now out for the first time in ten days. Damon and I got the truck delivered to the dealer, despite setbacks. After work I drove to town and picked him up, waiting through road construction in the rain. Back at the truck, we discovered the battery was dead. What? I jumped it with my car. Damon got in the truck and the wheels locked up. He reversed, drove it back and forth, got it rolling down the driveway, began to pull out into the highway and — the wheels locked again. He was directly in the path of 55 mph traffic. He is missing one leg. He threw it into 4WD and hit the gas. With a terrible screech the truck shuddered forward, leaving rubber on the road from the locked tire. But he was safe on the far shoulder.
From my car I watched him play with the problem. The truck would roll free and then seize up again with a lurch. The tire smoked. Oh my goodness, I thought. He took a test drive down a side road. I watched his lights disappear, then return. “Let’s try it,” he called to me. “I ain’t gonna go fast!”
I followed him slowly down the mountain. We stopped for gas. He grinned at me with his old naughtiness. “You’d a had a heart attack!”
We drove 25 miles to drop the truck without further incident (except that the dealership had no record of all the repairs to be made) and I drove Damon home. Then back to school work for an hour, then to barn chores for 45 minutes, then to cook dinner. I am now working on my list.
Damon mentioned that my car’s rear tires are bald and need replacing.
I need more time.