Before all the boys were even up, Phil and I went to get two of neighbor Butch’s tractors. Phil continued to think of better strategies to get these minerals spread. He loaded up the first tote before I had even finished breakfast.
Right after breakfast, while we were reading the Bible, one of our (still escaped) pigs started screaming. My thought was that someone with better farming instincts had caught the pig, or maybe that it was caught in a trap on the neighbor’s land.
Phil had a better idea of what the issue was Phil went to find the pig, and, on the neighbor’s land, found it under attack by a Rottweiler and some other dogs. Phil threw stones until the dogs dispersed. The pig had sustained lacerations, and when the pigs trotted back to our land, the pink pig had some blood smears, but did not appear to be in too bad of shape. We managed to coral them both into their pen! I lunged to turn the electric fence on, and the lunge spooked them and they once again escaped the electric fence.
Argh! It makes me so mad I could spit! If the pigs would just go into their pen, they would have organic feed and clean water and all the rooting and safety their hearts could desire. But no, they want their “freedom.”
That was the last time we’ve seen them. We all had to get water around midday, so we went to the Bessettes and it took maybe a half hour. It could be that the dogs came and finished them off at that time. As often happens, we also heard gunshots (rural Virginia—gunshots are a part of life, and we contribute our own); it could be that the owner of the land where the pigs wander got hungry. Time will tell if the pigs yet live.
But back to the spreading of minerals. Towing the hopper behind the truck meant that we had a very large turning radius. Phil decided to tow behind one of the tractors in order to keep it all tighter. He also wanted to hit our upper field again—we shortchanged it the first time, and since it is supposed to be our orchard, that’s no good.
Unfortunately, he got stuck again. This time, I had to drive the truck, which was connected to the tractor via the sling. Phil drove the tractor, which was still pulling the hopper. We were a large-machinery train. I felt a bit stressed because my biggest fear is failure, and I was trying to do something really out of my element, with the possibility of a great deal of damage (or so I believed). Thankfully, all went well, and Phil was soon unstuck. Much better than the previous day’s fiasco. But still—stuck twice! What else could possibly go wrong?
For five wonderful minutes, nothing went wrong. Then one of the two spinning discs on the back fell off. Unfortunately, it was the one connected to the gear shaft, so without its spin, the other disc wouldn’t spin. The machine was useless. With about 2500 pounds of minerals inside. And we are responsible for any breakage.
Based on our experiences, I highly doubt that we will ever succumb to heavy metal sickness—a common malady of farmers, who continue to buy ever larger and heavier machinery. I cannot imagine anything more frustrating than trying to accomplish a task on a given day and having it break. Yuck! And, as it was now 11:38 and the store, a half hour away, closed at noon, we were stuck for the weekend with the broken hopper. (For the record, when Phil examined the machine later, three of the four bolt holes were corroded, showing that they had been broken for some time.)
In order to empty the hopper, first I drove the tractor, with Phil shouting directions and watching the hopper drop a steady stream of minerals off the back, rather than fling them. Then he drove the tractor (too stressful for me), and I ran behind, baby on the back, spinning the whirly so it would actually spread a bit. It was a run of about a half hour, I would guess, and I was pretty beat by the time it was done.
But hooray for biologically correct minerals! No problem to get covered in the dust, to breathe it and eat it. Our escaped pigs had even licked the minerals off the ground—I think it’s good stuff.
So now we were done with three totes.
For the fourth tote, we brought back one tractor, and hitched Butch’s little spreader to the back of our John Deere riding mower. Phil shoveled about 50 pounds of minerals in, and drove off. The little spreader hardly spread. The ride was bumpy. He did that only long enough to get the tote empty enough so that the bobcat could raise it into the back of our truck.
Then Phil stood in the back of the truck and I tried driving slowly so he could shovel the minerals out the back. Even in first gear, I couldn’t go slow enough, and, as I was driving over uneven ground, I was not the smoothest driver, either. Then I drove forward, and Phil flung minerals out with the shovel in great arcs. It was beautiful to watch, as the dust spread high and the larger pellets sank to the ground. Then I would drive another truck length or two forward, and Phil would do it again.
By the time he had shovel-flung the ton of minerals off the back of the truck, he was pretty beat. But that was the end of four totes.
Phil then skimmed the tops of the three remaining totes so we could move them with the bobcat away from the road and down behind our trailer. Another 2000 or 3000 pounds into the back of the truck. I took that little break and planted nine little goldenseal roots, in hopes that, in four or five years, I will have a little harvest of that good herb.
Then we did the truck-fling thing on the lower pasture, and our long day was finally done.
We were totally, totally filthy, covered in salt. The boys, too, were dusty. We drove to the Bessettes again for a quick bath, and we were all happy. Ahh. Warm running water—what a great thing!
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