This time, the task was to unbale hay and spread it over the garlic bulbs to keep them warm and toasty throughout the winter (Was that even why? Pay attention, woman). It doesn’t sound hard or look hard, and I swear I wasn’t tired while I was doing it, but now I’m EXHAUSTED. Like throw-the-kids-in-bed-at-five- o’clock-with-a-can-of-beans-for-dinner exhausted. Don’t worry, I tied a can-opener to the Toddler’s crib. Sink or swim, I said, then collapsed into a pile of unclean laundry.
Bless those farmers. How do they do it?
I’ll admit, it felt good to do an honest day’s work (does two hours count as an honest day?). I never feel this tired after blogging, even after writing poetry like this. Maybe, if I worked half as hard at blogging as I do at attempting to neutralize my black thumb while on farm property, I would have a much better blog. It’s food for thought. But can farmers type up a quality blog post like this while fast asleep in a pile of laundry? I think not.
Take that, Farmers.