Bring It.

Well, this weekend made up for last. Metaphorically, at least. If last weekend felt like a continuation of the cold of winter, this weekend felt like new life.

Thursday night I drove to George's folks' place in Gurley, hoping that the weather would be good enough on Friday morning to plant trees. But, Friday morning dawned cold and snowy, and George was short of a couple species, which he couldn't pick up until later that afternoon. So we spent Friday cleaning up limbs and bark and tumbleweeds around a windrow George had cut down for a neighbor, and then we lit them up. Fire is hot.

Friday afternoon picked up the rest of the trees. The sun on Saturday came up in a cloudless sky, cool and a little breezy, but a good day that felt like spring. The new neighbor came over, and George's brother helped out, and between the four of us we planted a couple hundred trees in about four hours. Sloppy joes for lunch, and chips and Mt. Dew and cake, and then back on the road to Laramie. God bless America. It felt great to plant a tree, especially after reducing the old ones to ash. Like new life rising up. My kind of weekend.

On the way back I passed a semi truck, with his mud flaps flapping a new slogan for the American Truckers Association:

This slogan really cracks me up. But it's also something to think about. It doesn't take long to count 100 semis if you're traveling on I-80. What's in all of those trucks? Good stuff. Cake mixes, baby trees, magazines, shampoo, stereos, furniture, car parts, shoes, light bulbs, sloppy joe fixins. God bless America.