We have 250 acres baled with 100 left to go. We'll probably get those knocked out over the next two days inbetween bouts of rain that have been threatening for the past two weeks.
Despite the fact that I promised myself I would never be a farmer, truck driver, or cattleman, I can't think of a better place to lay low than in the middle of goddamn nowhere. Learning a new trade isn't a bad deal anyway.
No one bothers me out here, and I feel at home. This place is high desert, very similiar to where I grew up. All desert and hay fields, no paved roads or buildings, rattle-snakes and sagebrush, no cops or taxi cabs.
It is nice to be back to a place where things are what they seem and the only things to worry about are stepping in dog shit and wondering how long a human male can survive without sexual intercourse.
Free room and board and all the .22 magnum rounds I want, $250 a week payed cash and internet access in exchange for doing a repetitious and tedious job, I figure, is just about as good as anything I could get in the city with my limited job skills.
The days start early and don't end till dark, but there is always dinner and a cold beer waiting when we get back to the ranch house.
I am doing alright and think that I will be fine.