I can't drive a silage chopper.
Or a gigantical tractor.
Or a truck.
Or anything more than a Gator or a lawn mower really.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoDcP61FnUcl13yP-aMaWxM0rFNSa847R6Pp34xBFdQgQ8eRGmbytfuGnAeehaZpQ3GzAOykpve0OQbmMCV5Gaq6iL3pOohjZ_RARIf7-I0UBUgDeaxGhm_ZKFFHRo4KFsYNXyKMN_1Wk/s1600/saws2.jpg)
But I can, and I do, have huge amounts of respect for the guys who are up and at 'em at 6:00 a.m. and are still going at 9:00 p.m., chopping silage and packing it down.
Cookies don't say "thank you" quite well enough, but to the guys I know who work in acres and seasons and not always in hours and work weeks,
ADORABLE. I mean, as adorable as hammers, wrenches and saws can be...
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