Walto Haggerty was working his field. He strained away under the hot sun, trying to attach a plow to the rear of his tractor.
He paused momentarily to look questioningly at the sun and wipe his brow with an old handkerchief.
“Damn it all,” he muttered.
It was one of the hottest springs in state history. On this particular day, it had reached 96° by noontime.
During a season that was usually cool and rainy, it remained hot and dry, leaving the soil dusty and hard, hard to work for planting, and making it unlikely any crop could be successfully grown.
Walto finished dabbing at his face and neck and set back to work hitching the plow to the tractor. He was having a hard time, much more so than usual. This day wasn’t going well for him.
His sweaty, oily hands struggled to get the hitch attached until, finally, the bar attaching the plow to the tractor crashed down onto his foot.
Walto screamed and hopped on one foot for several minutes, cursing loudly, before finally limping toward his small while house.
The screen door screeched open on rusted hinges and slammed shut behind him as he hobbled into the kitchen.
His wife Doris turned from the stove to look at him as he collapsed into a chair.
“Something wrong, Walt?”