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 |    My random thoughts and reactions to my everyday life. The voices like a forum. |
| I do not know quite what happened or when , but my hubby and I now qualify for seniors' discounts at some venues. This creates a quandary; in order to save money, but not face, we have to admit to our age. HMMMM..... We definitely do not consider ourselves to be old. In this day and age ,when people as a whole are living longer and healthier lives why are 'young seniors', those in their fifties, like moi, considered 'old'?? It's so true that age is just a perception! "Maturity" is very objective/subjective, and I object! Whew, a few years have skittered by since I composed this biography block. Those "fifties" are in the rear view mirror and they are distant, fond memories. Oh, I do not plan to stop writing any time soon. |
| PROMPT November 10th Your neighbor’s hay crop is ready to harvest. Everyone in their family is sick and their Combine is broken. How do you respond to this situation? Combine? I'm only familiar with combine as a verb for bakers; combine the flour and sugar. I'm thinking of the act of mixing, stirring. Wait, am I being called to a different type of action? Am I expected to leap into help mode? Should I stir and rouse myself from my comfy easy chair? Even if the piece of farm machinery mentioned above was fully operational, it would be rendered useless by my lack of experience. How do I control it? Do I point and steer? I suppose it doesn't have voice control? Does Siri, or Google, or Alexa assist when summoned? This is where I mention that I hail from a long line of immigrant farmers. Of course, I never had the pleasure of meeting them, or visiting their spreads. A span of at least a hundred years made that impossible. Could it possibly be a genetics thing? Maybe I inherited the farming ability? Could the skill of handling heavy machinery be pulsating through my veins? Should I hope the knowing voices of my long past kin guide me? I must confess that I mix up hay and straw. One is for bedding and one is for eating. I've always wondered why some growers bundle their grain into varying shapes. I've driven by fields that hold large, round bales that I've dubbed Muffets after the cereal and other acreages that prefer square bales. Some farmers store their grain in barns and others wrap their harvest in white plastic that they then leave outside. I took a wee, brief Google break to learn a bit more. Okay, the hay is considered fodder and the straw is for bedding. Wowzers, those large, round rolls of hay could possibly weigh 1,500 pounds. I'm fairly certain I would not be of any help whatsoever to lift that. I do not own a tractor, but I do own a pick-up truck I drive. I realize it cannot harvest the hay, but it sure could carry a few bales for transport. I believe I'd need to rally the troops if I intend to help my neighbour. Just up the road, a community of Mennonites have purchased several farms. I admire their work ethic and family values. They are experienced farmers and they succeed because they toil together. I shall ask them to assist with the hay harvest. In return, I will offer to aid them in kind, a you-pat-my -back- I'll-pat-your-back. When they are feeling better, my neighbours will be grateful to return the favour, too. I will provide a lunch for this army of harvesters. That is something I can manage. If I ask nicely, perhaps one of them will teach me how to drive a combine. It could be a valuable skill in the future. |
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