Well, our tractor is in the driveway. We got it out of Boise, Idaho. Luckily, the seller met Dennis halfway in Utah. I am not a bumper sticker person. Have never had one on the back of a car, truck, or trailer. Check out the stickers our pretty new tractor came plastered with. Don't Mess with Texas. Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation. National Rifle Association.
Now we are listening to Dennis' old Johnny Cash vinyls this morning. Drinking hot black coffee, waiting for last night's snowstorm to melt (here in the Pecos we had snowflakes the size of silver dollars) so we can get out there and do some tractoring. We're going to work on the horse pasture and dig some stumps.
And Johnny's Folsom Prison Blues is rambling around my brain. I'll be humming all morning long.
I hear the train a comin'
It's rollin' 'round the bend,
And I ain't seen the sunshine,
Since, I don't know when,
I'm stuck in Folsom Prison,
And time keeps draggin' on,
But that train keeps a-rollin',
On down to San Antone.
But, regardless of any of the above, I would never have stuck those stickers on anything. Dennis is stomping around the kitchen in his cowboy boots, making breakfast, and gritching about how he can't understand how anyone would put stickers all over a $$$ thousand-dollar tractor. We're not going to hold it against The Digger, however.
I bet there's rich folks eatin',
In a fancy dining car,
They're probably drinkin' coffee,
And smokin' big cigars,
But I know I had it comin',
I know I can't be free,
But those people keep a-movin',
And that's what tortures me.
