Temp: 72 degrees.
State Wheat Harvest: About 55% done. Average weight: About 58.5 pounds per bushel. Protein running around 12.8%. We seem to be running under average for per acre bushel, not seem to be, are.
Tried the on-line virtual poker site again. I’ve developed a habit of losing at Carbon Poker, and the PA (which for some odd reason tends to resonate in my mind as real money – which it isn’t, of course) I tend to play fairly well. I managed to earn a few invisible dollars (Uh, they don’t tell you whether or not it is Canadian Dollars they’re counting in or American).
Which demonstrates the virtual trap, I believe. The obviously not real seems to become real; as a matter of fact, the virtual becomes more real than actuality – which is itself a head scratcher, because if . . . yeah, it all gets intertwined as part of a life and is therefore, all real.
Don’t go there! Trying to separate it would only drive one insane. Insan(er)?
Insane seems to be the theme today.
I went to the Co-Op and checked about hydraulic lines for the tractor. Two guys working, twenty tires waiting – it is harvest time. Three tractors lined up outside the door. I told them I’d go else where for the lines.
Drove sixty miles to the manufactures outlet. They seemed to be a great deal less busy – but they’d done a thing. They’d separated the parts department from the show room, by at least a mile. That didn’t seem to make sense until I’d gotten to the parts department and began actually trying to separate the various pages on the computer.
They are all bound up with too few computers containing parts manuals for the cars (they’re also a Government Motors Dealership, as well as the Tractor dealership). The situation is resolvable if they’ll opt for a new server or several computers.
Next it was back to the Co-Op. A different part of it. The Co-Op is separated by a mile and a half also. The service repair out by the Highway, the farm stuff down town by the elevator. I needed some stays – stays are twined metal rods (wire). One piece bent in half and twisted. That allows one to screw the twisted wire down vertically across the horizontally stretched wires of the fencing.
The stays are generally placed mid-way between fence posts to keep the cattle from poking their heads through the wires, which is pretty flexible.
In my case I’m having trouble with the meth-heads going through the fencing in the gully area. They’ve broken down the fencing and the holes are getting big enough for the calves to begin getting ideas. Other ranchers/farmers have similar problems with hunters or fisherman coming onto the property. Mine seems to be the isolation they seek. That and the idea of throwing sticks on the lawn.
While at the Co-Op, one of the guys informed me the new building wasn’t finished yet, and they were not going to bring in gas. The new building was going to be just tires, oil changes and filters. A wag, overhearing the conversation, opined they’d have a coffee house on the other end.
I won’t go into why he said that, but rest assured there is tension between the thirty/forty year old set and the gray beards and blue hairs. Mostly over who runs the village. The Seniors from the comfort of the retired chair, or the Juniors, from the sweat of the fields and the income producers (mostly it’s between those directly connected with the farms, not the truckers or service providers).
From the reaches,