My goodness, it has been a long time since I've posted. I'll blame it on Old English, and the translating thereof.


Today, I'm writing because of what might have been a tragedy, but it wasn't. Last night, I woke up about 1 a.m. to the sound of a what seemed to be a massive car crash on the road in front of the house. I got up, peared out and saw headlites in the ditch. Mike called the sheriff, while I dressed and drove my car down the lane. When I saw the car, I thought on it's side, I thought for sure someone was injured.

Turns out it was a neighbor who has swerved to avoid a deer, but he ended up hitting it anyhow. He had climbed out of the car and already called his girlfriend to come. He seemed OK, and he was prepared to go and bring back a tractor and pull his truck out of the ditch. Mike came down, too, and helped. The sheriff wasn't too happy to learn he'd already left, but he came back with his tractor, and indeed, righted the truck, using the fork they use to move round bails of straw. I couldn't see the entire operation, but it looked like he had perhaps poked the tine into the window, or perhaps on the top of the cab. He ended up driving the truck home, and coming back for the tractor right away.


I thought to myself.... no stinking tow truck for this guy. Just take charge and move on. It's sort of the "farmer way"... do it yourself.


When we first moved here, Paul made a comment to me that if you wanted to win a war, all you'd need would be a bunch of old farmers... they'd never give up, and work forever. And, they'd do it all themselves.