Been a while since I started ol’ Gulchy up. Engine’s fine, but the battery seems to have died. I have an old marine battery I use for such occasions, it seems pretty much immortal. But it’s too tall and the last time I used it on the tractor it shorted on the engine hood. So I left the hood off for this trip.
I guess everybody’s got his bugaboo. With me, it’s chimney fires so I clean mine with neurotic frequency. With J, it’s lightning strikes but he has reason to worry, being up on his high ridge. He gets them all the time and they freak him out. His house bristles with lightning rods but last last summer this storage unit took one and managed to cause some electrical problems. So he wants it farther from his house.
Way over here between the hay container and the round pen. I have serious questions as to whether this is going to work, but there’s only one way to find out. Ian’s got the biggest, baddest tractor in the neighborhood, so I get a certain amount of social pressure to keep it running.
Ready or not, here we go. Neighbor D came over to lend some chains and adult supervision. The very first thing that happened was that we broke one of his chains. The very second thing that happened was that we pulled the container out far enough to be a total pain in the ass, then lost all traction.
Couldn’t turn! Instead of pulling the container at an angle, the container kept straightening out the tractor. So we unhooked and moved a lot, but slowly we got the thing oriented in the right direction. Then once we got out of the gravel and onto harder ground, with a little momentum ol’ Gulchy dragged the container like it was on wheels. Always wondered why he has two reverse gears; now I know.
Then turn some more, and slide it into its new slot. We got smart and took the round pen apart for this bit.
Outstanding.
Home again home again, jiggedy jig.


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They say that Louis XIV had the inscription Ultima Ratio Regum cast into all the cannon of the French Army. It means “The Ultimate Argument of Kings,” and that always struck me as one of the most honest and up-front things any ruler or would-be ruler ever said. “We can dress it up prettier than this, but when it comes down to the unvarnished truth this is what it’s about: You’ll do as I say or I’ll send my goons to kill you.”
I thought about that for a long time. If there’s an ultimate argument, it seems only logical that there must be an ultimate answer. For years I thought the ultimate answer must be the bullets in my rifle, but it never seemed quite right. I’ve got bullets – he’s got frigging Cannon Balls. I mean, if there were three hundred million rifles throwing bullets at him, then maybe. But we all know that’s not going to happen. So if there’s an ultimate answer to his ultimate argument, it sure as hell ain’t bullets.
It finally came to me – and that’s when I abandoned the city and most of my stuff, and gave all that was behind me a good stiff Randian Shrug.
The ultimate answer to kings is not a bullet, but a belly laugh.
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Those bushes are as tall as your shed.
oh dear gawds… that last picture just sent me whimpering for my own isolated corner…*sighs wistfully*
Did you have the back actor arm in or out? it’s surprising the additional traction you can get with it out straight.
Dick: Out here we call those “trees.”
Keith: You mean the backhoe arm? Oh, I tried that once. Can’t keep the front wheels on the ground. Gulchy is ‘way too back-heavy even with the backhoe curled up tight.