While we were at the farm in North Dakota, we decided to clean up some junk that had accumulated at the farmstead over the last 100+ years.
About 90 years ago someone had the bright idea that there just might be oil around the Devils Lake area. HA! So, a drilling rig was brought in. No luck AND the damn thing broke. Why fix it? Just drag it into the trees (Don't go in the woods) and no one will care. Well, I cared. The stupid thing was an eyesore and a pain in the ass to me. For 10+/- years I've wanted to get rid of it.
The night before the excitement, we started a fire in the garbage pit. It burned all night and smoldered all the next day.
I decided to do some clean up on my own (bad idea) and started to dump some of the downed trees into the pit. After some small stuff went in the fire flared up again. I was on a roll.
Aha! The drilling rig!
I'm in the Bobcat.........I can do anything. I am woman, hear me roar!
Well, a solid cast iron axle is heavy. As a matter of fact (which I caught on to a little too late) is HEAVIER than the Bobcat. So, I was very careful and maneuvered it slowly to the fire. I was SO proud! No one had been able to do it. I was SO pleased with myself!
Then reality hit. As I was getting ready to place it in the fire, the edge of the pit gave way and gravity won. A Bobcat + cast iron axle + blond moment + the stars all in the wrong alignment...........you guessed it, in I went. I did manage to keep from flipping over or going head first into the fire but, the Bobcat gracefully(?) slid into the pit and landed on a tree that I had previously proudly put in the fire.
Between tree, axle and an old motor from a 1932 ford truck, fate kept me in good enough shape to scramble out of the fire. Gary (my hubby, pictured above) checked on me and then ran 300 yds back to the house and got a hose. We knocked down the fire, kept the Bobcat from getting burnt (or blown up, for that matter) and called a farmer friend of ours to see if he could pull the Bobcat out. Guess what, he was 20+ miles away harvesting corn. First he asked if anyone was hurt (Gary's reply was, "Only Lori's pride".) and then said that he would come over when he could.
I stayed there for 5 hrs hosing the flames and smoldering wood. All the time thinking to myself that I was, and am, one lucky idiot. Even after the fire was out, I sat there WILLING the damn thing out of the damn hole.
Our friend showed up about an hour before sundown to see what the situation was. I'm sitting next to the pit, hose ready, pride bruised and mad and scared. He comes walking up and starts laughing. I knew this was going to get around town. I started laughing, too.
He went home, about 3 miles away, and came back with his backhoe.
After digging a trench, Gary hooked a chain to the 'Cat and it was unceremoniously hauled out.
The next day I screwed my courage up and started in on trees again. Needless to say, I ain't gonna haul anything really heavy close to the pit in a LONG time.
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