We Need a Mechanic

The gloomy morning turned to snow by evening. My gloomy mood turned to frivolity, though—I am not, and never have been a morning person. (I asked my Mom in high school why she didn't get up to talk to me before I left for school. "The conversation's not good enough," she replied.)

Phil finished his annual major engineering report. He drove his truck to a mechanic, and I followed behind. Coming home from his grafting workshop on Saturday, the truck began to make a horrible noise, and his attempts at diagnosis were ineffective. If he went over 30mph, the truck started to shake, and though the sound was not as bad as it had been, what should have been a 30 minute drive took about an hour.

Before we left, we realized that one of my tires was low, so we refilled it. Halfway to the mechanic, my "deflated tire" light came on again, so I pulled over and put my new-found ability with an air compressor to good use. Thankfully the leak was not on the sidewall, but I could hear its hiss as I filled the tire. And, sure enough, a minute from the mechanic, the light came on again.

The mechanic told Phil that the truck issue was not immediately obvious, which encouraged Phil in that he hadn't made a diagnosis, but discouraged him in that, well, we still don't know what the issue is. They did something to my tire so it's not leaking anymore, and then we drove into Charlottesville. Phil printed off and mailed his report. "Now I can get back to farming!" he said.

Our hope is that, as soon as the truck is fixed, we can buy a livestock trailer. Then, as soon as we have truck and trailer, Phil will head up to Vermont on his own to buy some cows. Other people strongly desire those cows, too, and we are hoping to get to Vermont before all the best ones are sold out. It feels a bit like the Gold Rush to me: hurry, hurry, hurry!