We went a little south to our woodland and field property last night. Just a little bit different thing to do on a Friday night. That's right we put a few hot dogs, macaroni salad, chips, and beer in an ice chest-climbed into the 4X4 ranger and went to burn a brushpile and cook hotdogs. We had cut and stacked some thorn apples at the side of a field last fall, my husband thought they were ready to burn and we needed to get equipment into the field.
I accepted this invitation from my husband -a little wary, but willing-(-always to go look for wildflowers and stuff); wary because sometimes these brush piles are not ready to burn, and sometimes these trips turn into all work and no play. Who wants to work on Friday night?
Well-the brush pile burned spectacularly, pretty much that is, and I wandered around the area taking pictures, looking for birds, and locating the poor little pines we planted on one of the slopes a couple of years ago. Eight of ten survived deer, drought, and weeds. Amazing.
I was back to sitting around the less exciting fire, smelling dairy farm from over the hill, whenI hear the familiar sound of a 4-wheeler coming up the road, turning into the lane, navigating the ruts, and coming around the corner. Now it is dark, and I didn't see it, I heard it.
Who has a 4-wheeler that has no lights, and goes riding on it after dark? Somebody who has to. That's right, it was my brother-in-law looking for his cattle. So...off he went, to ride a wooded fenceline in the dark, looking for longhorn rodeo bulls. Doesn't happen in the city.
Pretty soon, back down the other hill he comes, this time with my nephew riding on the back,and he talking on the cell-phone to my sister, who comes down the first hill in their jeep with their two dogs.
Just typical middle of the night in the country.