Today I put out a round bale of hay. For reasons that are still unclear. I think it is more a result of misguided energy than a sense of sympathy for my husband’s currently overwhelming workload.
Regardless, it is likely a mistake I will regret for the rest of my life.
You see, my husband believes that I no longer possess the intellect to drive a tractor, load a bale of hay, cinch it to the truck, drive at highway speed down dirt roads and over potholes to subsequently deliver the round bale some 25 miles away by heaving it off the back end of the truck without causing serious damage to myself or some other innocent being.
Since I went on maternity leave a few days before my 3rd child was born some 4 years ago… right about the time we bought our new tractor… I somehow forgot everything I ever learned about tractors. Meaning I couldn’t grasp the fundamentals of operating the shiny New Holland. Sure, I could drive the old John Deere with my eyes closed and both hands tied behind my back, but this new tractor was just too much for my postpartum mind to comprehend.
So I had everyone believing.
And it has been wonderful. It really has. I figured out that the less I know how to do, the less I have to do.
But I may have just ruined everything as I delivered the bale of hay to the penned up yearlings that need to be worked. Just me and my toe-headed half-pint sidekick.
Maybe my husband won’t notice.
Maybe he will think a nice neighbor drove some 25 miles out of his way down the world’s bumpiest road, through the locked gate to put out a fresh bale of hay. Just because he was driving by the dead-end-road.
And maybe he won’t notice the fresh tractor tire impressions I made on the gravel road back at the farm, which has recently been softened up by several inches of fallen rain.
And maybe my 4-year-old will keep all of this under his hat like I’ve asked.