This thing was a real bastard. Hardware cloth’s just about the worst material there is. Combine that with not really having much of an idea of how to work with 2x4s, and trying to do as much as I can with scraps of plywood, and this chicken tractor came together...not so bad, actually.
It wasn’t easy, I got pretty damn frustrated when I realized I had forgotten to put a door on the thing and had to remove all the pokey wire mesh I had pain stakingly nailed onto it.
I got my hands pretty good on the stuff and I took out some aggression on the ground.
I hope my neighbors didn’t see me, but they might’ve.
Like I wrote about yesterday there were days of my life where that frustration might’ve anchored me to sunken stillness for a few days; this time I managed to finish the chicken tractor. Ugly as it may be.
It wasn’t easy, I got pretty damn frustrated when I realized I had forgotten to put a door on the thing and had to remove all the pokey wire mesh I had pain stakingly nailed onto it.
I got my hands pretty good on the stuff and I took out some aggression on the ground.
I hope my neighbors didn’t see me, but they might’ve.
Like I wrote about yesterday there were days of my life where that frustration might’ve anchored me to sunken stillness for a few days; this time I managed to finish the chicken tractor. Ugly as it may be.
Is there a correlation between people who don’t go in much for travel, and those who benefit most from being in the right place?
Maybe.
Wherever you go, there you are, that’s the conventional wisdom, and I think mostly it’s pretty wise. But I gotta say...the grumpy me is still there, but I don’t gotta make up the guest room for him much these days.
The lesson that place is important to me, more important than it is to some people, more important than it oughta be, started when I moved to Baltimore for school. I hated it there. I was depressed and perhaps my worst self. I was competitive, anti social, pretentious: not someone I recall fondly.
The gulf between Bolton Hill in Baltimore circa 2009 and Plainfield in Vermont circa 2023 makes for strangers. The me of then and the me of now could fight, and I’d win. We could argue, and I’d also win.