Help At Thanksgiving

You know that sinking feeling.

The feeling you get when you realize you just said something to hurt someone, or cut off your nose to spite your face, or did something stupid.

Or felt the front end of the tractor sink out of sight.

Again.

My friend, Ginette, came to the ranch for the weekend.

Of course, I took advantage of the extra hands.

Ginette, my daughter, Abby, and I pounded almost three miles of electric fence posts before lunch. When I do it alone, that job usually takes a day and a half.

Ginette and Abby were tired of death-marching into the wind so I said we would relax for the rest of the afternoon.

But, as I had an extra driver, would they give me a ride to the tractor in the hay field? I’d bring it back to the house before the temperature dropped and made the tractor hard to start.

No problem. They would postpone Abby’s homework and a few fun activities to help more.

The tractor fired up.

I waved to some of my favorite people in the world.

Then promptly drove into a mud hole.

My texts – poor cell reception limits phone calls on the ranch – begged for shovels, blocks and more hands. While I waited, I gathered rocks from the field.

We would need all of them. And more.

The mud sucked the front wheels to the center of the earth.

I watched Ginette bend gingerly, hand on her back, to shovel and gather rocks.

I spied Abby laying on her back in the hay.

We shoveled and placed rocks under the front tires, splashing each other with potter’s slip.

Ginette didn’t laugh.

Abby took a picture of the sunset through the grass.

The front tires raised up while the back tires spun.

My normal mode of operation is to work on a project like digging out a tractor between my other responsibilities. It might take a few days, but I’ll get it done.

Yet, just like a great novel, a ticking clock increased the tension. The forecast predicted blizzard-like conditions within a couple of days.

It was time for reinforcements.

I disguised my phone call as an invitation to Thanksgiving dinner.

I’m not good at asking for help.

I said all I needed was a second driver to give the tractor a little tug with the skid steer. Ginette had to go back to work and Abby had school.

Zane took the bait. He would be there at noon.

He pulled up and shook his head, suddenly realizing I tend to minimize difficulties.

The skid steer tipped forward instead of lifting the tractor.

Zane’s tow rope broke.

I looked for more shovels.

Zane called the neighbor who owns a big tractor.

Colby showed up. His 400 horsepower tractor ought to be enough, at least better than a shovel.

Five minutes later, my tractor was on solid ground.

I shook Colby’s hand, thanked both men and thought about just how easy life is when I ask for help.

So why is it so hard to ask?

Pull your own weight.

Do your share.

Those mantras echo in my mind, relics of my time working on a ranch in Utah. As the least-experienced cowboy within more than 200 miles, I knew my boss evaluated my effort every day. Asking for help was not an option.

Fortunately for me, around here people help one another. 

They drop whatever is on their to-do list to pull the neighbor out of the mud.

If only I’ll ask.

Among all of the gifts I enjoy in my life, this Thanksgiving, I am grateful for my friends and neighbors and our culture of helping one another.

Happy holidays.