Possibly the highlight of my country vacation. Rachelle's Uncle Bill was giving us a tour of the farm, answering my stupid city-boy questions (fyi, combines don't get "miles per gallon"; something about "not driving miles"), when he asked if I wanted to go for a ride. I said, "Do pigs crap in the hog barn?" (yes, but it falls through gaps in the floor to a retaining tank and the pigs don't have to wallow in it) and off we went. Riding in a combine is like taking a two story house for a ride in the park. I'm pretty sure this particular combine was bigger than my first apartment, and the engine compartment is big enough to walk around in. Standing up. If I didn't get spooked by small towns, and if I had a "work ethic", I think I'd enjoy being a farmer. At least the harvesting part. The rest seems kind of hard and complicated. That and the fact that the only plants I've managed to keep alive in my yard are, technically, weeds. Oh, well. I'll always have the memories.
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