February, ahh yes, the mentally darkest month of the year. And who first spelled it anyway? Thank God for red lines, always thought it was "Feb ewe airy". Have you ever met anyone walking this rain pelted, ice growing, snow covered earth, that actually pronouns the "r"? Well, I sure haven't.
So this blog post doesn't really concern the weather but brings to light a daily phenomena that exists as a byproduct of Mother Nature's rank attitude.
For those of you whom I haven't had the pleasure of meeting, my family and I live on a small horse farm in the Southeast corner of Ohio. Absolutely beautiful area with rolling hills, meandering creeks, real Norman Rockwell stuff. Just gorgeous. In order to keep this little parcel of land and its inhabitants moving right along, I also have a full time job about 20 minutes up the road. Love the company and will stay there as long as they'll have me.
Each night I make the trek home knowing that my loving spouse has beaten me to our humble abode and is diligently chopping, boiling, and prepping a fantastic dinner. Which means, that yours truly, gets to head out to our "Equine Facility" and feed our four hay burning, muffin making, mud wearing, retirement devouring horses. Much like my beloved, I prep their hay, scoop the grain and then get the hose out to fill up their 100 gallon stock tank. And here, my friends, is where the phenomena makes itself know. Every night, its unfailing and every present. I slowly uncoil the hose from it's keeper, you know, the one I diligently placed the hose on just 24 hours ago and run it the 75 feet out to the thirsty tub.
Quick pause for a bit of background... I grew up on a small farm, bailed hay as a kid till my skin wore off, raised steers, hogs and sheep. Tied and untied knots for halters, gates, and siblings who were out of hand. Then, to manifest my need to work my bones into the dirt, did a 21 year stint in the U.S. Army. Had the pleasure of jumping out of planes, rappelling from helicopters and attending the US Army Ranger School. I mention these experiences not to beat my chest, but because I was taught, untaught and retaught how to tie 1,323 different type of knots. At some points, the man in the Smokey bear hat said my life could depend on this skill.
But for the life of me, how on this blessed earth, can an inanimate object, like the heavy duty farm hose, neatly stored and unstored every night, tie itself in a perfect square knot within 75 feet? Honest to God, I have never witnessed anything, I mean ANYTHING, like it. One night the Soma da Bitch even had two half hitches on either side of the perfectly dimensional square knot. Took me years to perfect that simple configuration! Its never a granny knot that'll come undone, but an unflawed piece of art, just laying there choking the water away from the vessel that needs it most. There are times I believe a well camouflaged Ranger Instructor sprints out from under the horse trailer and ties that thing himself. Simply amazing.
Now I know that each one of you who works in the elements can relate to this daily miracle. And if by chance, you know what incantation I can place on this water carrying apparatus, or have extra chicken bones and blood about the house to break this spell, I would LOVE to hear from you!
Time to go water the horses...