I backed under the gooseneck of the trailer and jumped out of the cab to crank the jack up. I plugged the lights in, even though I knew there were clearance lights only on the left side and the right blinker didn’t work.

The first week in August can be hot in Mud Lake, Idaho. It’s not Arizona or Mississippi hot, but it’s a hot that can wear you down, especially if you’re 9 years old and showing your first hog at the county fair.

She got home later than she’d wanted to. She’d been out on a breeding project over by the Nebraska line. It had been a windy, miserable day by most folks’ standards, but a little rain had come with the never-ending east Wyoming wind, so she knew better than to complain.

Way back when I was in grade school, one of the biggest events of the year was the science fair for the fifth- and sixth-graders.

The newest tractor on the place is 40 years old. We call the 2003 Ford the “new pickup.” The closest thing we have to a side-by-side ATV is the ’93 Chevy 3/4-ton with a modified flatbed we use to feed the cows.

I grew up on a diversified little outfit. Along with my uncle’s family, we ran a couple hundred range cows, a mink operation and a little dairy where we milked 30 or so cows.

I opened one eye and rolled my head to one side so I could get a glimpse of the bright red digital numbers silently screaming at me from the clock on the nightstand. 2:37 a.m., it read. Somehow, I’ve never needed an alarm to prod me from my intermittent periods of fitful slumber during calving season.