The fence broke. That is why we were out here in the first place. Fixing a barbed wire fence could be tricky, but it had to be done. We had to make sure the cows didn’t get out and get lost in the deep forest surrounding the house from all directions. That wouldn’t be good. Halfway done and we still weren’t even near where the fencing attached to the back of our property. Mac was probably off somewhere, playing in the muddy stream or digging up something dead. Mom, sitting on the hard ground, was winding the new fencing in with the old when it happened. “Ouch!” The hammer had fallen and struck her toe. You would think that it would be the wire cutting her, but no. It was the hammer. As blood started to rise to the wound, I realized something had to be done. “Run and get the Band-Aids.” So I did. The cool spring breeze carrying my little legs to the house that seemed to be getting farther and farther away with each step. The only time I slow to a swift walk is when I get the old bridge; don’t want to take any chances falling through. Reaching the house is a feat, but I eventually get there.
Band-Aids, Neosporin, and some drinking water fill my tiny arms as I begin the long trudge back up the hill to where my mother lay withering in anguish. Now it seems trivial, but than it was serious. With all wounds attended to, we proceed with the painstaking work ahead of us.