Outdoor delights of the farm tub
I did a right crazy thing the other day, .
Although the more I think about it, the more I wonder was it crazy at all.
On many farms in the land, there surely resides at least one bathtub positioned somewhere in the corner of a field. An old cast iron bathtub that once upon a time belonged to your grandfather, the bath he used to wash himself in before heading off to Mass.
It could be considered a family heirloom, and should perhaps be preserved in some class of a museum.
But of course that’s not the way we do things on the farm.
If it can be converted into a water trough for the livestock, that is what will be done.
In many cases, it would be hard to find a better water trough.
A sturdy old bath perched on four solid legs that puts the modern day plastic imitations to shame. Your grandfather’s bathtub could well be 100 years old, but works today just as good as it did in his time.
Anyhow, one afternoon at the beginning of this week, feeling fatigued from the heat, and parched as a result of a few pints I had downed the previous night, didn’t I fling myself into the devil of a thing. Obviously, I stripped off first, for not to strip off would have been the action of a lunatic.
With nobody about, what harm was I doing?
The bathtub in the corner of my field was my own.
I was endangering no lives.
No eyes needed averting.
Well, I’ll tell you something, a more refreshing dip it would be hard to find.
Mark my words, there are fellows on the Costa del Sol right now who would give their hind teeth to feel the same level of satisfaction as I got from the old tub.
The water in the trough was perfect for bathing.
It wasn’t too warm, nor too cold. There was no downside to the thing.
In no time at all, I was refreshed and raring for whatever the farm would throw at me.
Of course, some might feel such behaviour was a sign of madness.
But how mad was I? I guarantee you, in the annals of all the mad things farmers have done down through the years, my quick dip wouldn’t register at all.
Sure, at this time of the year aren’t people all over the world leaping into pools, springs and tubs of every description. I was doing nothing different, the only difference being, I didn’t have to fly half way across the world to experience the sport. Who needs Barbados, when you have an old cast iron water trough just idling in the field?
On that day, I stayed submerged for a good half hour.
It was only when the cattle arrived, and one bullock attempted to make off with my underpants, that I felt the need to emerge.
I would now encourage more farmers to do the same.
Go on, take a dip yourself.
If you live in an isolated spot, there’s nothing to fear.
The only danger to would-be bathers comes in the form of nettles and briars which tend to hang around such tubs.
Hack them back before making an assault on the tank.
Don’t rush blindly in.
There would be nothing worse to dampen the whole experience of summer bathing on the farm than to receive a sting in a delicate spot before ever partaking in the novel activity.
Yes, we must think safety on the farm at all times.
