You would think Apple would have a bush hog clause, at least for Carolinians.
Seriously.
Last weekend, because I am an obsessive-compulsive when it comes down to the symmetry of the fields, I simply could not bear that the larger field, which lies on one side of our drive, was freshly mown and immaculate while the smaller field, lying directly opposite, was knee deep in fescue, with shoots of wild cherry trees popping up, along with assorted brambles. Our tractor had needed a new radiator and so we were behind in our mowing by a good two weeks. Repaired and ready to go, Sunday was the only day in the foreseeable future where I would have the time to tackle the task.
The only problem was, I noted, leaving church, it was beginning to rain.
Well, who cares? I thought. Did the pioneer or slave women let a little rain stop them when they were plowing behind a team of oxen, baby on their hips, hands gnarled and rough from the reins? Heck no, they got on with the job in hand. And so would I!
Donning my broad brimmed hat, gloves and muck boots, I leapt upon ‘Chester,’ and away we started in the drizzle.
And then, within minutes, it poured.
With Paul out of town, I always carry my cell phone when on a tractor or a horse. I doubt it would come in all that handy if I rolled the tractor, as I’d probably be crushed immediately, or knocked unconscious should a horse launch me out of the saddle, but I feel safer with it and, mindful that it was probably getting wet in the front pocket of my jeans, I pushed my gloved hand against it to try and tuck it further inside. At that moment, I hit a bump and the cellphone — last year’s newest I-phone as I always inherit Paul’s old one when he upgrades — bounced straight up in the air.