It seems to me that country folks who live way out in the boonies are generally quite relaxed in character. And I think I know why.
It’s the road.
There is no “hurry” in six-mile-long-curvy-gravel-road. It’s just not physically possible… if you look at the physics of it.
Now that I think of it, I never was very good at physics. Maybe that’s my problem.
-I can’t go over 25 miles/hr. on this road.
-I can’t text on this road.
-I can’t even apply lip gloss on this road.
All thanks to the pot holes, curves and cattle guards.
But this road isn’t the worst road on the ranch.
The worst road leads down to the bottom pasture. It is quite possibly the world’s bumpiest gravel road in history. No speed limit posted here. Anything over three miles per hour and you run the risk of getting the snot knocked out of ya. As much as I’d like to avoid this road altogether, I can’t.
At the end of this road lies the only corral on the ranch. It is the only place that we can corral the cows long enough to work them. Therefore, it is a really good place to feed them.
Sometimes I catch up on my texting.
Once the cows are all up, I saddle myself into the driver’s seat while my cowboy hops on the back and prays that I won’t have any phone service while I’m driving and snapping pictures. I proceed to creep along at a whopping .5 mile/hr. dodging cow patties, hoping I don’t throw my husband off the back.
Wouldn’t want the cows to pick their cake out of cow patties.
If we were fancy and highfalutin, we would have one of them high-tech trip hoppers to distribute the feed. But we don’t. We’ve got 5 gallon buckets.
Once the final bucket is emptied, we start taking attendance. If we’re short, we know someone is out sick or calving.