Citizen Wausau

In the ground.

by Billie on October 19th, 2008

When I sit still, I feel as though I am in the captain’s chair hurtling through space at warp speed.  

The past weeks have been a blur – with preparations for a first time visit from clients, preparing for and attending the season’s last horse show (where I was fortunate enough to win both Grand and Reserve Grand Champion awards with Solarwind and Boaz, respectively), building yet another loafing shed for one of the pastures, starting Solarwind under saddle, spending some stolen moments with the Lad when he is in need of a friendly ear, the list goes on longer than I care to even remember.

For the past week, I have been at my hay guy Ray’s home, in fact I just returned to my own home a few short minutes ago.  I am covered in a fine layer of dust with aching muscles and the strong desire to simply take a nap.

In exchange for Ray’s work to bale hay at my place, my father and I drove the backhoe over to his farm and began digging trenches for water lines.  Several days, and 350 feet of trenches cut through clay and rock ledges passed not without incident.  An hydraulic hose began leaking expensive English (I kid you not) hydraulic fluid at a fairly alarming rate.  The water pump is dying.   Cutting through chip rock caused an episode of overheating in both the machine and my father.  Fortunately, Thursday was the last day of digging, so my father is back at his own home.

The light at the end of this tunnel is my 5′5″, 70 year old hay guy.  This man is one of the most beautiful people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.  He very quickly became aware of the hyper-critical manner in which my father addresses me and confided that his relationship with his own father was very similar.  Because of this Ray, like myself, made the conscious decision not to have children of his own.  He is now the stepfather of a 45 year old woman due to his late life marriage (his first – at 57 years of age).  He is the adoring, patient and kind grandfather of two small children whom he cares for after school until their parents are home from work. 

Ray and I work easily and naturally together.  We talk in quiet, confidential tones about our nearly parallel lives growing up on Wisconsin farms, never being able to understand or live up to the expectations of our parents.  The way carefully chosen friends have helped us both to survive.  Leaning on one another literally as well as figuratively to get through the project and life.

Through countless days of climbing ladders far into the warm earth, shoveling rocks and clay until my hands are blistered, my muscles screaming for relief, and a wardrobe of clothing infused with red clay,  I have gained so much.