I Only Checked Off One Thing
And it was enough
“Hand me that tape measure, please.”
I peered skeptically into the post hole I was digging.
THUNK… THUNK… THUNK…
I scraped more dirt and rocks from the bottom as my helper checked the depth.
“Thirty-six inches. That’ll do.”
By this point I was on my knees in soggy mud and fresh cow manure. Digging post holes from my knees keeps my back from hurting when they get this deep. Just one more post to go.
The first day of spring inspires so much hope—so many ideas of new projects, neglected repairs, and long-overdue chores around the farm. It’s one of my favorite times of year. That morning, during my routine, I practically filled a page with a to-do list. Knowing full well I couldn’t get it all done, I circled three.
Surely, I can get these three done.
My helper was coming that day. I figured I’d have him fix the broken gate posts out back—the ones the cows had been pushing over—while I finished up a project in the shop… and then later I could drive to Woodstock and install a piece of ironwork I had just finished. So much hope for the day.
A couple years ago, I thought it would be a good idea to set a new gate with untreated oak posts. It wasn’t. Wood lice had built nests at the base of two of them, and now the gate was wobbly. The boards nailed to the posts were the only thing holding the fence up. Posts are supposed to hold up the boards—not the other way around.
I knew Levi was coming for a couple of hours, so I got up early and headed to Rockingham Cooperative. I picked out two sturdy pressure-treated posts and figured fixing the gate posts would be a good job for him to handle while I started my project in the shop. It didn’t take long to realize that wasn’t going to happen. Levi was more than capable, but given the condition of things, it was a two-man job if we were going to get it done in a reasonable amount of time. So I rolled up my sleeves and jumped in. The shop work would have to wait.
When I lifted the gate off the pintles, I saw another problem immediately. The bottom hinge on the pipe gate had nearly broken off. Not worth patching. I decided to fabricate a new hinge from flat bar in the shop. I left Levi pulling nails and removing boards while I fired up the forge.
What started as a one-man, two-hour project turned into a half-day, two-man job. My shop project didn’t get started until much later than expected—and it didn’t get finished. The installation in town had to be postponed. That wasn’t how I had planned the day. I sharpened my pencil with my pocketknife and carefully placed a neat little checkmark next to the first item on the day’s to-do list. One down. Nineteen more to go—and counting.
That evening, I sat by the fire pit, feeding it sticks left over from the ice storm in January. “I don’t deserve to sit down.” The thought came quick—and familiar. But it didn’t stay long.
My kids were bouncing on the trampoline, laughing in that way that only comes after a long winter indoors. Beth and I sat on the swing, holding hands, watching them. We finally had our yard back. I even climbed on the trampoline for a couple jumps—until it rattled my head enough to remind me I’m not a kid anymore.
Later, I walked barefoot out to check on the cows. I looked over the new gate posts. Solid. I checked the hinge I had made. I pushed on the posts. They didn’t budge. “That ain’t goin’ anywhere.”
It’s easy to get frustrated. Easy to feel overwhelmed. Easy to stare at a long to-do list and measure your day by what did or didn’t get done.
Posts are supposed to hold up the boards—not the other way around.
I don’t always get that right.
Some days I let the list carry more weight than it should.
I looked back toward the house. Beth was still feeding sticks into the fire pit from the swing. The kids were still laughing on the trampoline.
The gate stood solid.
One thing checked off.
That was enough for today.
