One thing you discover on even a small farm is that come winter, everything weighs fifty pounds and you’re always carrying it someplace: bales of hay to the feeders, bales of straw to the stalls, five-gallon buckets from the creek to the frozen water trough, chunks of logs from the woods for splitting, split firewood into the house for heating, and those eight-foot fence posts still piled in the yard, which, I suddenly remembered, absolutely had to be hand-dug and pounded in place right away before the ground froze.
