The trench saga has finally come to an end.

The original idea was to have Oldest Son use the tractor to fill in the trench when we finished the line, but the dirt was too close to the barbed wire fence to use the heavy machinery. Which led to us using rakes to hand-fill the 700-foot long-hole.

We rationalized the effort as much needed exercise and completed half the distance the same day that we ran the line. Then we spent the next evening at Six Flags waiting in line for one thrill ride after another with the other two million people that attended that night.

Until we got a weather alert at 10:30 pm warning of impending rain.

Rain and loose dirt in your pasture don’t mix well. So we did what any other farmer would have done. We loaded a tripod light, rakes, and a generator onto the trailer, hitched it to the tractor and headed for the back pasture…at midnight.

Oh yeah, this really happened.

I heard the unmistakable sound of more than one plane fly over our position. I know that they were looking for the bodies, because no one in their right mind fills in a trench at 1:30 in the morning.

No pain no gain.

But we were desperate. The ridiculous action seemed far better than trying to re-dig and re-fill the line after the rain. The only problem? It. Never. Rained.

That weatherman should be fired.

Wait for me! The camerawoman is like the straggler in an antelope herd: the most likely to be eaten.