#27 Life's Comedies...

Life can be a comedy.

As our business grew and more and more people kept horses with us, we needed a more controlled environment for them to ride. Most were novices and an arena seemed the way to go. It gave everyone the opportunity to master the basics before riding into the desert wilds.

It would also allow me to start a riding school.

It should have been a simple affair. Clearing brush, grading and then putting up fencing. It should have been simple but as it turned out, it was not.

We had at that time a wrangler who dressed the part beautifully but who was not known for his smarts. He and My Cowboy began the task of creating our arena. The clearing and grading were easily done with a tractor but the fencing became an exercise in both patience and the comedic arts.

A mechanical post hole digger was rented which was fastened to the back of a tractor. My Cowboy had a childish delight in all things mechanical and was delighted with this toy. Tape measure in hand, the two men began the task of setting posts. 

The first hole was dug and an upright post placed in it. They set the post, filling around it, tampering the ground firmly and then they moved on. The wrangler measured the distance needed between the first pole and the second. My Cowboy did the digging. Operating the tractor placed a childlike look of glee upon his face. Once a hole was dug, a pole was placed in it and then the whole process was repeated.

The twosome worked all afternoon and most of the next day. Carefully digging and placing the poles which would hold the arena fencing. Finished they began the task of adding the side and top rails.

Our little ranch was a rustic place, a place which showcased our western heritage. The arena was designed to match and was to be completely made from wood. All the needed pieces had been pre-ordered and the round wooden poles had been cut to our specifications and were stacked awaiting installation.

My Cowboy and the wrangler took the first capping log and tried to attach it to the poles. It didn't fit... it was almost a foot too short. They scratched their heads and went on to the second. Same thing. It was almost a foot short.

Checking the rest of the poles they discovered that each was off by the same amount. Since it was impossible to lengthen the capping poles, it was necessary to reset the upright posts. Blaming each other for the failure, they spent the rest of the day ripping out the just placed, upright posts.

Next morning they began again. Measuring, digging and placing new upright poles. It took another day and a half to complete.Then capping began once more and once more... it didn't fit. This time it was off by about 6 inches.

Furious and frustrated, curse words filled the air. Again the upright posts were ripped out.

Once more they started over. But the job became considerably harder.

Now the job of digging was by done by hand. The leased tractor with the post hole digger's rental time had expired and couldn't be renewed. Now each hole was painstakingly dug by hand.

I don't know if they doubled checked their work but each assured the other that this time everything was right. A few days later they finally finished up and the job of capping began once again.

It was off once more.

The upright posts were now much too close. The capping logs which had been designed to fit from the middle of each upright post to the middle of the next, were now extending well beyond.

My Cowboy lost all patience. Actually it amazed me that he lasted so long.

He took out his chain saw and proceed to cut each capping log to fit creating a mound of foot to foot  long pieces. He and the wrangler finally finished the capping of the arena fence but refused to go one pole further.

Embarrassment, frustration or exhaustion, the exact reason why he quit I'll never know. This comedy of errors was a testament to something but I was smart enough not to point that out. 

As it was, the arena was not usable and in fact, it was dangerous. The open space beneath the capping logs could allow a horse underneath but not the rider. It became a disaster waiting to happen.

My Cowboy did finally finish the project but not the way it was planned. The side panels changed from wood to thick wire cable, something which didn't need precise measuring to install. The uneven cutoff pieces eventually became a garden planter and a sometimes bed for the dogs.

The arena, in all it's misshapen glory, became the lifeblood of our ranch and the foundation of many fondly told stories as well. Depending upon who told them, the stories were often dark dramas or... comedic plays.

 

The Arena on a stormy day