Dear Farm Journal,
Before I became a farmer, I didn’t have much occasion for handling power tools. Now, I fumble with them more than I care to. The weight of the steel wobbles in my unsure grip, and I fully feel as though a trip to the emergency room is imminent. I don’t trust myself, and that seems to be a key ingredient for things going well. Also, if I can feel Rufus watching me, I really fall apart. Today I repeatedly failed to penetrate the tin paneling for the cooler walls with “self-tapping” screws. I don’t have a “feel” for how much pressure to put on the trigger; too little and nothing happens, slightly more, and the screw goes flying and the drill bit leaves a blood blister on my empty hand. I try again and again, working my patience until persistence seems more irrational than admitting defeat. I don’t like to walk away from a project, but I did today.

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