This is not the greatest post in the world, this is just a tribute.

I’ve been incredibly busy lately, what with the building move, grape maintenance, soybean planting, two separate hay crops, ventures into rotational grazing, and oh yeah, a little thing called wheat harvest. Which should be going by now, but a disastrous late freeze coupled with wet weather has had everyone in limbo for a couple of weeks. So this afternoon after dealing with some independent minded cows, and trying yet again to finish planting beans, I was inevitably rained out. (Again)
Deciding to make the least of my sudden blessing of free time, I opted to catch up on the Internets. I had just started to take in Trey Garrison’s excellent treatise on life’s late trend of imitating art when the wind hit me unawares. Let me preface this by explaining the missus and I just had an old one room school house moved ten miles, placed upon a bluff overlooking the vineyard. (and of course, the cattle) This was supposed to take place in April, but I hired an unmotivated mover, and it happened last week. All of this means that I have had no chance to lay the brick foundation, and get the building safely secured. I was able to get some cables in place that should hold the structure in place until the inevitable tornado.
Anyways back to the wind. Ya know how Forrest Gump has 100 descriptions for rain? That’s how Okies regard the wind. This was a sudden 70 mph gust, which to me meant, “Wind’s kickin up a little”. After looking outside and seeing large branches down, this was upgraded to “I’d better hold on to my hat…”. All of this soon translated into, “You sat on your ass for ten minutes and now the building is rubble, the dream is dead, YOU FAIL.” So hat in hand I ran to the pre bailout GMC truck and headed for the school house, five miles into the driving wind and rain. And the thought occurred to me, why? The building was upwind, if the cables had not held, then there was nothing for me to do but begin the cleanup. And while going down with the ship while giving that turnbuckle an extra quarter turn holds a certain romantic appeal, that ship had already sailed while I was reading pixels on a screen.
But because Trey’s words were the last thing I had read before running out the door, it was those thoughts that kept permeating my inner dialogue as I pushed the truck through the driving rain. I had not finished his post, so I was unsure of exactly how he would end it. I had a good gut feeling, I know how the man thinks, (and he’s a better thinker than he is a bowler) and I share his observations on the absurd, almost dreamlike quality the news has taken lately. It is a real phenomenon, I mean how does one process daily headlines that range from Cheerio regulation to Government Motors? How do we keep going against a driving rain of meddling, intervention and outright nationalization?
I had always thought that I’d be Francisco, or maybe even Ellis Wyatt, but as the sight of the future Vines and Cattle Inc. came into view, standing on it’s perch above the prairie, I realized that at least for now I remain Hank Rearden.

* …and since I’m cutting wheat anytime soon, it’s time to start laying bricks.