Poison Oak

I woke at six or so on Saturday, with every intention of making it out
to help with tie replacement, only to find it dumping big rain all over
the property. Also considering I did not get to sleep quite as early
as I had meant to the night before, I stayed home. Of course, just
about two hours later, the rain had stopped completely and the day
turned out beautiful. Instead of covering myself in railroad filth, I
donned my overalls and covered myself in yard filth. I fired my dads
old chainsaw up and finally got around to sawing up all the old
over-sized peices of firewood. Beyond that, I figured I ought to do
something about the half acre or so of volunteer grass that nature
decided to chuck in my general direction. The only tool I could locate
to deal with the situation was a push-mower. The job was always done
with goats in the past. I also discovered that grass growing on what
was not long ago a goat pen grows very healthy and fast. The oil in my
car changed itself with only a little help from me, and I added a bit
of antifreeze to the mostly water contents of the radiator. Throughout
that very productive day I kept looking up and feeling guilty. The day
was very productive and very needed, but I still wanted to be out
shoveling ballast. It makes no sense. I hate being dirty, but I miss
the opportunity to get that way.

There was an email in the box last night from Steve. It appears that just about everyone who was out tossing wood babies with us that day came down with poison oak. Fun, fun, fun.