|Stripes of cut hay, waiting to be baled|
Lately, I've been working my ass off in the garden, often until I can no longer see - which is past 10 p.m. In these hours, the mosquitoes are out in full force. The other night, the bugs finally figured out the once place where I do not apply repellent - my lips:
|Take that, Nicole Kidman!|
|I'm now a snack food.|
|Hay baling in my front yard|
Could I really be that out of shape? Am I becoming delicate in my advancing years? What if I broke myself? I don't have time for that!
|Garden progress - Western half|
|Garden progress - Eastern half|
|Layne and Levi, with Grandpa Brent|
Brent looked at me, terrified at the prospect, and stammered, "Well, um, I, don't have any idea how... my hands are dirty... I don't know..."
I shuffled in front of him, shoved the elastic in his massive paw and gave him no option to refuse.
"Time to learn something new, Brent. Now, just gather up all the hair into a tube, kinda, then wrap the elastic thingy around it and..."
Lordy, I wish I'd had a video of Brent, with his big always-dirty hands, fumbling with a head of female hair and a tiny yellow piece of elastic. The man is known as a mechanical genius in these parts - he can assemble and reassemble any John Deere around - but had never before faced the complicated design of hair control.
|Grandpa Brent, with Levi, at the Pembina Fair|
"No, grandpa. Like THIS. See, you take the ponytail and split it so the band goes up."
Impressed, I asked Levi where he'd learned that trick. "I have friends with long hair," he said, like the worldly being he is quickly becoming.
With my battered mop secured for the day, I left the men to their machines. Brent, still stunned by the morning's unexpected lesson in hairdo creation, went back to the world that he knows, one without pesky, one-armed, puffy-lipped females with and their silly hair needs.