War Wounds

Last night I had a fight with a barbed wire fence. I lost.

Living in the prairie has its challenges. We get only a bit more water than the desert most years and even though this year we were blessed with a lot of rain, it has now stopped. Days of 30+'C mean that things dry out here really quickly. Having a way to water things is absolutely vital.

There has been no water in our dugout for a few weeks. Not completely true, I guess. There's been enough for the muskrats to live in but not enough to ensure the pump that feeds the sprinklers doesn't run dry. The neighbours have been working hard to get a ditch from their place to ours to deliver water to our dugout.

They tried three times to get water flowing and it just wouldn't run. Another backhoe, trackhoe, ditch digger and we would attempt again. Last night, K had to run into town to help out with the set construction for our theatre company so I was left to check the water. J and I went out and were happy to find water in the ditch almost to the dugout. The problem was, it was running out of our land and into a low spot next door. J ran to get the shovel and I set about kneeling in the clay trying build a dam.

Water up to our ankles and the kind of clay that goes 'schloop' when you try to step out of it makes for tiring work. At one point, I hoisted myself out of the mud and ran my arm into a barbed wire off the fence.



We thought we were successful - until a piece broke lose and there was once again a lovely waterfall underneath the fence into the neighbour's pasture. As I stood up to grab another rock, my head came up on the barbed wire fence and punctured the top of my head. I put a muddy hand up because it hurt and when I brought it down again, it was covered in blood. Head wounds bleed a lot.

My dear son took his shirt off and I kept it pressed against my head as I directed him to put just another shovelful of dirt and maybe grab one more rock. Between the mosquitoes and the blood I finally said - enough. It'll have to do.

We clambered up the ditch and through the field to head back inside where my sweet girls washed me up while I held my head and tried to reassure them that the blood all over my arms didn't mean much.


This morning the dugout is nearly full. The barbed wire fence may have won the battle - but I will win the war!