Rusty Nails and Yellow Twine

For some reason, this year every time I walk to the barn I spot rusty nails scattered in the dirt, waiting and hoping for a tire to drive over them.

By the time I get back to the house, I usually have a pocketful of sharp nails in all sizes.

I’ve lived on this ranch longer than I’ve lived anywhere else.

I’ve been finding nails all along, but not this many over such a sustained period of time.

All spring, I berated myself about the slovenliness of all these nails on the ground.

What a mess!

I dragged a magnet around to collect them.

Twice.

Then I talked to a neighbor who said he has been finding far more nails than ever before.

When I took a horse to a friend, I picked up nails in her yard while I waited.

Her entire place is immaculate and she still had nails in her gravel.

Either I am not the only lazy rancher or something else is causing nails to appear.

My nails tell stories that intrigue me.

The mysteries beg to be solved.

Who first hammered this nail?

What was the purpose of the structure it held together?

Why was this the perfect location?

What happened here?

I make up stories for myself to answer those questions, knowing those who stood here before me were far wiser and more capable.

If I solve the mystery of the nails, I gain a bit of their wisdom, glimpse their vision.

And I save a few tires.

I find yellow twine on the ground sometimes, too.

I’m not sure how the yellow twine lands on the ground.

It is too valuable to waste.

Each time I cut a small square bale, I match the ends and loop the yellow twine over a designated fence panel.

I’ll use that yellow twine later.

Besides, loops of yellow twine kill.

In fact, statistics reveal at least one death-by-twine each year or so around here.

A month ago, a young lamb played with a loop of twine until he got tired and laid down, his head still through the loop. Eight hours later, the scene showed no sign of struggle.

Calves like to play with yellow twine, too.

I find chewed ends that scream their story to the world.

I can’t stand to watch someone else wad it into a writhing bundle.

In fact, I’ve been known to snatch it from helping hands and just fix it myself.

My OCD is no mystery at that moment.

Yellow twine keeps my neighbors happy, too.

Yellow twine is the most effective tool I have to keep my sheep from roaming when the grass is dry and crunchy.

I weave it between the woven wire on the bottom of the fence and the barbed wire at the top.

Yellow is the only color that sheep and cows can see so my twine barricade looks foreboding to my flock.

And makes my neighbors giggle.

We all need a laugh sometimes.

Picking up nails and stringing twine in neat rows might be baby steps, hardly worth the time and effort along the paths of immense decisions and issues we all face.

Yet, each baby step makes a difference.

As I bend to pick up yet another nail or tie up another piece of twine, I remember wise words from my brother-in-law.

He says every action is a reflection of pride or the lack thereof.

I say every action is a reflection of respect or the lack thereof.

I might not control the weather or the economy or human nature, but I can prevent a flat tire, save a dollar and show respect for those who came here before me.