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Nevermind I’d never strapped on snowshoes or wasn’t physically in shape for the trek. Nevermind I didn’t have ski gear. A spectacular opportunity presented itself – a chance to go with a hydrology team on snowshoes in the mountains as they performed their snowpack survey report at Mores Creek.

If someone were to ask what kind of farm I live on, after maybe a moment’s hesitation, I would have to answer a mud farm. I live on a mud farm.

These are catchphrases used at different companies that became game-changers:

The summer I turned 10, Dad sold the farm, bought a small motel, and I became a city kid. Accustomed to dealing with milk cows morning and night, tractors, hay balers, combines and irrigation ditches, I was out of my element.

Methods and machines used to bale hay have certainly changed through the years, and I’m sure that almost every major farm equipment company has produced a small square hay baler at some point.

I wish I had just a dime or two for every gallon of fuel I’ve used on wasted or superfluous trips to town. If I did, my healthy retirement fund might actually exist somewhere besides that spot in my consciousness which houses all my wildest dreams.