Sidetracked Tackle

I "see" your "kitchen" challenge, Lexi, and I up the ante to a "FIX SOMETHING MECHANICAL."

Now, if we were playing poker, you might call my bluff. But I have proof. Just ask my neighbors who run a b&b -- I fixed the electric fence charger, and my horses are not now nor were they ever eating anyone's lavender hedge. I promise. Because I am such a farmchick that I can fix fencing and electrical thingamajigs when my EGE is at work even.

Today I was all about finishing up my laundry room. An L-shaped room with five doors to our downstairs bathroom, the kitchen, the outside, the water heater closet, and the stairs, it is impossible to place anything in our laundry room. And yet we have "placed" plenty in there: an antique icebox used as pantry storage with laundry supplies on top; a stacked front-load high-capacity washer and dryer set; my treadmill; four hampers for lights, darks, bleachy needs, and delicates; and finally, a dresser for linens because my ancient church of a house has no storage whatsoever. I started the laundry room tackle last week, and my local farmchicky friends can attest that I have been digging it out with gusto. I WILL walk on that treadmill. Especially since now the weather is finally nice. Hunh. I WILL NOT have 10 loads to wash in my spare weekend time over Mother's Day. We WILL walk straight to the bathroom instead of detouring around hamper overflow.

But I digress. Backing up to the horse fencing: If you could have seen me in December, 9-plus months pregnant, losing rubber boots in the thigh-high mud, resetting posts in my last pair of maternity pants that fitted well enough to wear to the doctor's office, well, it was not a pretty picture. It was likely amusing, but not pretty. I didn't "glow," I glowered. Anyhoo, I have been fixing the fence since December. At least I'm not pregnant anymore, because it's really ugly to see a pregnant woman shocked with low voltage when the charger comes back on inexplicably.

We had a brief respite from fence fixing when my father-in-law (the nicest man on the planet, really) took pity on my pregnant patheticness and gave us a "bull killer." Now, do not call PETA on us. This is merely a rancher/farmer description for a fence charger that will shock through something thicker than dandelion puffs. They should call it "weed burner." No, that would be bad for Smokey the Bear. Anyhoo, it is a charger strong enough to remind the livestock they need to stay put. Even when it is turned off, they remember for a really long time the last time they were reminded. It works for me.

Until this morning. Yes, this fateful morning the EGE mentioned casually on his way out the door that the charger might need new fuses... he'd pick some up on his way home... the fence is off.

OH DRAT... double, triple, lousy stinky asterisk and exclamation point. If the charger is not working, I have to watch the horses like a horse hawk. I cannot leave my kitchen window unless it is to chase them back in the paddocks. Two Spot will not challenge the fence, nor will Seven. But yesterday we brought the naughty pony home from leased pasture and she is a Horsey Houdini. Dolly is her name. (I can think of a horror movie about a Dolly, too.) She will break out of her paddock at the first possible opportunity and head straight for the horse-hating b&b property next door and immediately commence munching on their flowerbeds.

All plans of polishing off the laundry room project were abandoned. I determined to FINALLY FIX THE FENCE. I'll fix that fence, my pretties!

It involved a lot of lying on the ground (remember me fixing the washer? I do rock the fix-it scene, huh?) and then on the floor of the barn with wires wrapped dangerously around my head. It involved my brother (don't tell the EGE I had help, cuz I plan on milking this one) arriving from town with fuses. It involved me stringing new extension cords and testing currents. I tell you, it was both technical and mechanical. It was astounding. No, I was astounding.

The horses were amazed at my ability. They had counted on a day of escape and chase but were foiled by little old housewifely me. A farmchick at last.

And that, my friends, is why I didn't finish my tackle today.