Idle Down

I'd be slightly remiss if I didn't post occasionally about cattle. And farming. Since I'm a legit farm wife (with no legit farm wife skills). And the title of my blog does allude to cattle. And should include some farm-ish topics.

We (we being not me but all the other we's of my family) loaded cattle yesterday. I took pictures. So I guess I'm that part of the we. 

I'm slowly at least becoming familiar with the process. I won't be taking over anytime soon, but the kids are well on their way so I feel somewhat puffed up about that.

I'm not against being involved. Or learning how to help. Well, yes, yes I am. Brad is incapable of being patient or calmly explaining anything to anyone, especially me. A person is just supposed to be born knowing how to work cattle, drive a tractor, and farm in general.

Yesterday I was out for my routine walk/run (with Reese and Bobby) down the gravel alleys and driveways of the home place and Brad called me when he saw me walking by.

"IDLE DOWN THAT TRACTOR WHEN I WAVE AT YOU WOULD YA!?"

...

 So, there were two tractors running things. Grinders or belts or augers or something dumping corn into the bunker that he was pushing/packing it in. I think. So it was noisy. There was also mention of a PTO shaft but I don't entirely know much about that except to stay away from it, so I kind of disregarded that part. 

"Which tractor? Idle what? And how?", I think to myself. But these are not questions one asks Brad. It's best to, slowly enough so as to give him time to offer more direction, but quickly enough so he doesn't get impatient, guess what he means and hop to it. So I, in this fashion left Reese in the stroller off to the side (I'm fairly certain she felt sorry for me) and instructed Bob to stay where he was and not touch the PTO shaft (see look at me being all farm wife/mom like I know what I'm doing), and climbed up the tractor. 

Brad is yelling at me (in the phone),

"PULL UP THE ORANGE LEVER!"

There are 3 orange levers.

....

I reach for...

"NOT THAT ONE!"

...

I move to the....

"NOT THAT ONE! YOU SAY YOU WANT TO HELP BUT YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO IDLE DOWN!"

Okay, sidebar here. In fairness, come on, seriously. If you've never driven a tractor, or anything besides a car, and not even a manual transmission, how would you know.

If there is ever an emergency and someone isn't breathing and he asks me how he can help, I'm going to scream at him, "YOU SAY YOU WANT TO HELP BUT YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO DO CPR!?!?" even though he's never learned and never done it before. They're very specific about the order you do things, but maybe I could scream it in between breaths, or while I'm doing chest compressions at a rate of 100/min? I feel like I could scream a lot of things at him at that rate as well. I dunno, I haven't worked out all the logistics, but I think I could handle both effectively. I mean I probably wouldn't, because, you know, someone is dying, but hypothetically, it would be very gratifying. 

That was the very satisfying conversation I grumbled to myself after I did successfully (eventually) idle down the tractor and continued on my walk.

Okay, so back to that fucking tractor. 

"TO THE RIGHT OF THE STEERING COLUMN!"

I moved to the remaining orange fucking (there's a lot of fucks left, I was really annoyed by this point, but I'll try to censor from here out) lever and pushed it up and blessedly, it idled down. It was a lot less noisy at this point too, but not surprisingly Brad's volume didn't idle down with the tractor. What. A. Butt.

"NOW, PUSH IN THAT YELLOW KNOB BETWEEN YOUR LEGS...BELOW THE STEERING WHEEL!"

Thankfully, there was only one yellow button.

Done and done.

"THERE! WAS THAT SO HARD?"

Climbed off that tractor, flipped him the bird, and Reese, Bob, and I went on our merry way.

No. And neither was that. Real easy in fact.

Signs would indicate maybe we're not meant to work together. Or that we need a mediator or counselor before we do. 

And again, in all fairness, I've heard him yell similar snappy, irritated instructions at other people he's worked with over the years, so it's not just me. If I were a feminist, I'd be appreciative of his progressive equality, I suppose.

So call me a masochist, but I'll probably keep answering the phone when he calls. Cause he's my husband, for one, but two, because I want to help, and as my mom likes to remind me, 

"You knew that when you married him."

Sigh. I did. 

I'll likely hold off on learning the ropes for working cattle for awhile, though. A pissed off husband and a 1400 lb steer likely wouldn't end well for me.

Or him, if I was the one tagging, branding, injecting, or castrating, that day.

(He's reading this and judging me. 😒🤦 

I'm kidding, Brad. I know we don't do branding or castrating.)