I fully intended to mop today; in a couple of places, my shoes literally stick to the kitchen floor (ewwww, I know). But Cliff wanted to do some cleaning up in the hay fields, and he needed an extra pair of hands. Seeing none of the neighborhood boys anywhere, I volunteered. We moved electric fence back so Cliff could mow with his little John Deere and the brush hog. We put electric fence back that had been pulled out of the way for mowing hay. I removed some random piles of hay that would have smothered out portions of the field and killed alfalfa plants. By the time all that was done, it was lunchtime; I was tired and didn't want to cook, so we each had a salad.
I spent a little time inside, washing dishes and writing a poem. Going to the shop to check on Cliff, I saw him with grease gun in hand, obviously having problems getting his baler greased.
"Need some help?"
"Yeah, come here and take this grease gun, and pump it when I tell you."
Do you have any idea how many grease zerks there are on a hay-baler? Oh, and that's a new word I learned today: zerk. All my life I thought those things were called grease certs; Cliff said most people pronounce it "zert". Of course I had to google it, only to find out he was right. From Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, 10th
edition - "zerk n. [Oscar U. Zerk Am. (Austrian born) inventor] (1926): a grease
So no, I haven't mopped. Maybe tomorrow?
Oh, here's the silly poem I wrote today: