I Might Be A Redneck . . .

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You know, when we were all out in the hot sun moving sand around the yard to make the riding ring, I mentioned something to Norm’s sister:

“Look at all of us fools,” I said in a heavier-than-necessary Vermont accent.  “Out here in the sun, barefoot, listening to country music, shovelling dirt and drinking beer.  We oughtta videotape this and send it to Jeff Foxworthy.” 

I guess truth just might be truly stranger than fiction. 

This pic was taken a while before the (4 dumptrucks of) sand was delivered, but you need to see how badly we were entrenched in mud to understand why all that sand was necessary.  So here I am in all my redneck glory folks.  Muck boots, jeans, wife-beater shirt, baseball cap.  You can click the pic for a bigger view (if you must).  You can see why we needed so much sand to stablize the ground.  And this was far from the worst of it.  Just out of sight ahead of me on the other side of the barn with the tarped roof is a stream that wasn’t there when we bought the property.  During the thaw that mud went up over the tops of my boots and I almost lost them a couple of times.  Thank god for snow pants. 

The barns aren’t finished yet (although they’re already taxing me on them).  The horse in the pic is named Cinnamon.  She’s the gentlest one of all.  I swear to God that horse thinks she’s a dog.  Which, considering that we do have three dogs, isn’t so far fetched . . .

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