View from the North 40: As the Fates would have it

I don’t think I’ve been a particular target of the Fates or anything specifically paranoid like that, I’m just saying that they’ve been busy this month testing my human endurance, with casualties and costs still rising.

In no particular order, we have had bloodshed, breakage, wastefulness, unprovoked attacks, decay, disarray and pestilence.

I sharpened my kitchen knives, which means — contrary to that old adage that you cut yourself worse with a dull knife — I’ve cut myself open twice. But I still had bandages left so I rasped a chunk of hide from my a third finger while trimming the horses’ hooves. Three is a good round number.

Also, since I’ve started speaking ill of those four-legged freeloaders, I will add that the horses have managed to break three posts, pull several wire staples, knock down two corner braces and break a 2-by-10 inch board. They’ve been busy, though, to be fair, all but the last post and rail were old fencing.

A gate to their pen also broke, but I think I’ll blame the windstorm simply, and thankfully, because the horses didn’t realize the gate was hanging half off the hinges until I dragged a portable fence panel over to cover the opening and was finishing the gate removal that the wind started. Then they gave me more help than any person in a hurry to finish a project before the next storm hits really needs.

Fortunately, I’m not sweet enough to melt when I get wet.

On the other hand, I do burn from the heat.

The last broken post and board happened just before I headed out of town, so I drove a metal post in tight against the wooden post, tied the two together and scabbed a section of angle iron across the broken board to keep the fence upright until my return.

How does one manage to burn oneself with this mundane project?

The post driver — a fancy name for my tool made of a 3-foot section of heavy pipe with a thick plate welded over one end — was sitting out in the sun on that high-90s day. The metal was so hot that I blistered four fingers and one thumb. Obviously, I could feel the metal was hot, but I thought my brain was just being a drama queen until after the repair was done and my eyes confirmed my nervous-system’s initial threat and damage assessment.

Good thing I had more bandages.

Oh, and the July storms? They knocked major branches out of at least four trees, though no bystanders or buildings were hurt in the making of this mini-disaster.

One hot and sweaty day, in the process of getting muself tidied up quickly to make a run to town, I quickly scraped a brush through my hair — except the brush got stuck in a tangle of sweaty hair at the nape of my neck and I ripped out/broke off a good-sized lock of hair. From. My. Own. Head.

In case you need a moral to this cautionary tale: It hurts, and this is not recommended as a viable method for hair trimming or thinning, should you need either service.

I had five socks develop holes this month. Please note that it’s not four or six socks which equal an even two or three pairs respectively. Call me if you need a spare.

A feral cat showed up and beat up my pet cat. Also a moth peed on my face. The two incidents are not related, but the cat’s body and my psyche are recovering at an equal pace.

I think the way a cat gets beat up is pretty self-explanatory, but the moth thing that was weird.

While the Miller moths are plaguing the area I have to go on a nightly bug killing spree before bedtime or they wake us up repeatedly during the night, flapping spastically in our faces. While I was taking aim with the swatter at one on the ceiling, it peed on my face — my face — like an ace bomber pilot.

I am currently designing lightweight armor for both the cat and myself in our respective battles with nature.

My horse that hates needles needed an annual vaccination and her mini temper tantrum caused the syringe to unseat from the needle while I was quickly depressing the plunger, so I got a face full of back-spraying vaccine, thus I’ve found another use for my face armor.

And I can’t forget to mention that I got briefly stuck in the open car window while stretching, half-flopped out of the opening, to reach the mail in the mail box. This was funnier before the claustrophobic moment kicked in because at that point I thrashed around like a panicked seal in a circus-act-gone-bad until I made it back into the car, ribs mildly bruised.

With any luck the occupants of the two vehicles passing by were laughing with sympathy.

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To add insult to injury, I drove to a friend’s house for a weekend getaway — my windshield got cracked and my check engine light came on. Here’s to the hope that August breaks this cycle at http://www.facebook.com/viewfromthenorth40 .