“43”

Quite a few of my posts come from stories that occasionally surface from years ago.  This is one of them…

In 1977 we lived in Enid, OK.  I was stationed at Vance AFB.  In March 1977 we moved in to the first house we bought.  Soon after we decided we needed a fence.

Marty and Karen lived just around the block from us.  Marty was one of the IPs (instructor pilots) in our flight.  He also was wanting to install a fence.

The subsurface in Enid is exceptionally hard.  So Mart and I decided we would rent a gas-operated post hole digger and have at it one Saturday morning.  Our plan was to team up, and dig post holes for both our fences.  It was a sound plan…

As the morning wore on it began to get significantly warmer, spelled “hot.”  To combat the heat, we got into the beer.  By mid-afternoon we were hole-digging fools!

The auger we were using was a 2-man auger, and it took both of us to control it.  When we were just about finished, we paused for a moment, for Marty to take a swig.  Only I didn’t notice he had let go of the auger.  So, I cranked it up to begin digging.  Only without Mart, the auger began spinning instead of digging!  The damn thing hit me twice before the pain made it to my brain!  Left a helluva knot, and soon a bruise, on my calf.  Still hurts when I think about it.

With only a few holes to dig, I ‘compartmentalized’ the pain and continued on.  The beer seemed to help with this process also.  At day’s end, we had dug 43 holes!

Why do I remember this number?  Hell, I don’t know.  But yesterday I called Mart, and we both had a great laugh about it… maybe that’s why?

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