In which I meet neighbors, remove barbed wire, and get a little pink
One of the drawbacks to life in the Swamplands is that natives (like me) don't have skills for coping with sunshine.
When the gloomy clouds part for a few hours, we get all giddy and silly. We race outside without hats or sunscreen, and we stand out in the stuff as long as possible, squinting at the unfamiliar light in the sky, chattering happily with complete strangers who also lack sunshine coping skills.
That's how I met my new neighbors today. These are nice people who rarely venture outside before mid-June, as proven by the shark-belly pallor of their hands.
When the sun came out unexpectedly today, and warmed the air to an unheard-of 68 degrees (in April!) we all emerged from our insulated chrysalis enclosures and immediately banded together to talk about -- what else?-- the weather. From there, we progressed to introducing ourselves and talking about animals and fencelines and tractors and all sorts of other farmer-ish topics.
From our southern neighbors I gained permission to remove the wicked barbed wire running along our property line. Triumph!
I promptly called Jim to ask what kind of box in the shop probably contained an Implement of Destruction capable of destroying barbed wire, and (miracle) he directed me to exactly the right box.
Out I went, bolt cutters on my hip, ready to take down the wicked wire. Envision John Wayne but with wire cutters. Swagger, swagger. There's not enough room on this farm for both of us, barbed wire.
Wicked barbed wire. Imagine this, tangled around the fragile front leg of a horse....WICKED! WICKED! WICKED!
...and now: no more barbed wire. I got fewer pokes from the barbed wire today than I got from blackberry brambles yesterday...but the wire is still more evil.
Unfortunately, my ability to acquire a suntan has not improved. Folks from the Swampland don't tan--we rust. I am the poster girl for this. Pinkness is me.