After Wednesday, I’m convinced there’s no better reality check than planting fence posts. A few upward lifts and downward blows of that iron driver will let you know if you’ve been spending too much time on your duff.
Loading and off-loading a few dozen metal gates will do it, too. So will stapling a few hundred drawings on a huge wall (which in and of itself is not bad, it’s the balancing act high above a cement floor on the top rung of a ladder, hoping to avoid a Humpty Dumpty situation, that’s the strenuous part).
In fact, I worked so hard setting up for Chenango County Dairy Day at the fairgrounds I didn’t even have a chance to take notes for this story. I’ll have to recall it from memory.
“Start at the beginning, Mike, and tell me what you remember.”
“I remember panting. With some intermittent fits of high-pitched wheezing. Hot, labored breaths. Then there was burning. Lots of burning. And I remember it was very messy. I started to get light-headed and ...”
“Let me interrupt you there, Mike. This sounds a lot like your repressed Ponderosa Steakhouse memories that we talked about last session. Are you sure this is what happened while you were setting up Dairy Day?”
Oh right, wrong traumatic experience.
Actually, setting up for the biggest celebration of the county’s biggest industry wasn’t traumatic at all. It was a workout. But it was actually fun. I’d forgotten how good some good old-fashioned hard labor felt. And once I blew out the cobwebs and primed the pump, it went pretty smoothly.
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