The clover and rye grass have been planted and I have the bruises to prove it.
The day before Mr. W came home those in the weather know predicted 100% chance of rain in our very parched state. Though the seeds had been scheduled to be sown earlier, we never got any rain and I didn't want to cast them to hope as many in our area did. Seeds are expensive and I wanted at least some assurance that they would have a chance to germinate.
The morning of the 100% chance of precipitation, I dragged K and Princess out of bed when I opened the chicken hutch. It looked and felt like rain, so I decided to plant. I had borrowed my dad's four-wheeler, just in case, the day before. We attached the seeder, which was a test in and of itself plus two trips to the hardware (thank goodness they open before seven).
Once attached and loaded we started spreading seeds. K drove. Princess rode in the middle and I sat on the metal cargo bars. I know, I know. This is not recommended usage of a four-wheeler. Even though I adjusted the spreader to the smallest seed setting, I felt we were using too many seeds per acre. I told K to go faster. He did. We got better coverage, but my 45 year old derrière was not designed for that speed on that rough terrain and hills.
Yesterday morning, when my feet touched the floor I had a difficult time finding the will to pull myself into an erect position. I learned an important farming lesson - eleven year old male drivers, over 100 acres to seed, and forty-five year old derrières don't mix.