I'm not much for daily plans. With four young kids, a more times than not absent husband and a vast menagerie of livestock to tend, it seems only a recipe for disappointment. But today I had a plan, beginning with feeding up and having molasses delivered to two breeder paddocks all before smoko. In hindsight, what was I thinking? The plan began to unravel rather early in proceedings, when the pipe from the molasses tank to the trailer came away, leaving in it's wake a voluminous stream of thick dark treacle, which before I could scramble from the trailer, up the steep incline to the tap, had already headed for the Bruce Highway at alarming pace. I was envisaging a 'Road Runner' like scene, with B-doubles stopped in their tracks, their wheels spinning in molasses.
But we got the trailer filled and mixed and had very nearly reached the gate of the first paddock, when BANG, no not an ambush, just a blown tyre on the trailer. With no means of un-hitching the trailer (where else would the jockey-wheel be, but next to where the trailer was parked at home), we started the 3k walk home. Not the mind-clearing jaunt you might hope, with the littlest helper most perplexed by the situation. We ventured back after lunch and retrieved the ute at least.
Not to be outdone the four-wheeler declared enough enough, after shifting irrigation pipes, and now sits proudly in the midst of the lucerne paddock, sprinklers whirring overhead, and the cause of another walk home (only 2 k this time), but very near dark. As Jess ever-the-optimist exclaimed, well mum you did want to get back into your walking.