During that last snowstorm, my school bus got wedged tight in a drift. Spring usually brings unexpected storms and snow. However, most times I’ve been stuck have involved manure, when Dave Wasyliw would fire up his trucks in spring, and our crew would head out for another year of work for Bulldog Corral Cleaning.
I regularly found myself in sticky situations at that job. Once the tires of a truck get slicked up with cow muck, there isn't much you can do to get free. Each farm held a challenge, and I experienced my fair share. Nonetheless, it wasn't me who ended up stuck in this particular story.
It was on a day when our fleet of trucks waited in a farmyard built along the banks of the Battle River and a new driver appeared. This fellow was no stranger to trucks, having driven them much of his life, but he was a loudmouth of the most irritating kind. On the way to work that morning, we were treated to his view and opinion on innumerable subjects. Then, to culminate the miserable trip, he'd asked me if my reason for "tagging along" that day was to provide lunch for the men.
What!
I spun in my seat to correct him with a frown.
Once there, we readied the trucks, and Dave issued a few instructions before mopping his brow and clanking off across the yard in the CAT. It appeared easy enough to back through the gate and up to where he waited near the shed, but it was deceptively tricky. The new guy, let's call him Johnny, laughed as he swaggered toward his vehicle.
He flicked a cigarette from his mouth with a dismissive glance toward me and said, "I'll go first and show the little lady how it's done." He was overflowing with confidence; I'll give him that. However, not too bright since if there's one sure way to aggravate a woman, it's to condescending call her a little lady. I watched the scene unfold.
Dave's CAT was perched on a crest at the far end of the corral with a brimming bucket of slop held high in the air. It was our job to back under that bucket, so all he'd have to do was dump it. There was only one possible angle to enter the gate, which meant turning the wheel at just the right moment to climb the knoll and maintain momentum. Conversely, too much speed could send us sliding over the other side. It was a long way down to where the river gurgled below.
Also, it's pretty near impossible to drive straight up a mound of muck, let alone back up one. It would be necessary to get on this hill at the low end where there was a bit of dry ground and then back along it lengthwise.
Johnny rumbled off across the yard, ignoring Dave’s directives as he steered through the opening and attempted to power directly up to the peak. Naturally, he knew best. Dave's eyes widened at this sudden insanity. Then, his mouth opened in a soundless torrent of profanity as the truck came to a squelchy halt and slid back down. Johnny managed to pull out but then tried again on the same track!
He finished up in a swamp, sunk to the axels and needing a tow. Once Johnny was clear of the area, Dave hollered over the radio. "Helen, you get in here just the way I told you. Show this joker some real drivin'!"
Without a word, I pulled forward enough to give myself space to take a run at it. Then, releasing the clutch, I roared confidently through, swung the truck around, turned it to find the dirt, and kept the vast vehicle on the ridge until I pulled slowly in beside the CAT. My employer said nothing further as he busily got to work, but peering out my window, I could see him grinning broadly.
Getting stuck in snow, mud or manure is part of life on the prairies, but it was a poor start to Johnny's first day. He sulked that afternoon and didn't stay with us long. As you can imagine, everyone was really sorry to see him go – particularly the little lady.
Helen lives on the family farm near Marshall, Sask., where she works as an author, columnist, and in education. Find her online at helentoews.com. There, you can learn more about her humorous Prairie Wool Books, or newly released fantasy series, Runestaff Chronicles
