They fixed each other’s wagons, and built each other’s barns. They traded milk for corn and eggs for flour. They bought a farm with a prize bull, and made supper from the dove they killed with the shotgun they got when they turned nine.
They kicked the can down the road because it was their only toy and never had trouble getting their arms around anything, even a feisty steer or a freshly branded calf.
They spoke little but said a lot, and the only thing they ever walked back was a stray heifer.
They didn’t get their motivation from a seminar, website, CD, workshop, you-tube, tape or tweet. From a preacher, maybe. From some homegrown sensibility, likely.
They suffered a will and an intellect born of the vagaries of man and nature. They would all have been on the same page, if they’d had the time to read or knew how.
At the end of the day…they went to bed.