Blissful Ignorance

Everybody's got an opinion.  Ask them, they'll tell you.  Shoot, don't ask them and they'll often tell you.

But there I go.  Interviewing people.  Experts in ox-driving.  

It always comes back to haunt me.

In the "Polar Vortex" last week, I got a lot of writing and editing of interviews done, including spending a little time with this passage in Brandt Ainsworth's interview from last year:

I drive with a goad, but I like a lash and I respect people who are good with a lash.  It’s kind of like a head yoke to me: I’ve always had an interest in that and I’ve wanted to develop that skill.  The reason I started with a goad was that it was simpler, and I know it was Howie Van Ord that told me, traditionally people who work in the woods use a goad stick, . . . I can definitely see the advantages of a lash, but you have to develop that skill, too. I really believe in - whether it’s a goad or a lash - being very accurate with where you touch them. I think if you’re very accurate and well-timed, you need very little force.  

I don’t know if you saw today, but driving that team, they were turning, they were not behaving.  I think the near ox, Pollux, was being bad, and I got him at the perfect time right on the neck where I intended to, just a little rap, a flick of the wrist, but it got his attention at the perfect time and I hit him exactly where I wanted to - kind of behind the ears and the head of the yoke - and he turned and I had their attention.  I think whichever you use, you should kind of have that accuracy. I think if I switched to a lash it would take me months to develop that accuracy and I’d be pretty frustrated. . .

Last Saturday, Brutus, Cassius, and I were out moving barn manure to the pile, using a slip scraper. Lost of trips and lots of maneuvering around the yard with a team that hadn't been out much lately.

Long story short, my lash work wasn't getting it done. Thinking of that interview excerpt, I switched over to a goad, shut my mouth, and concentrated on being accurate with the commands.

Things improved.

The moral of the story: Never ask anyone anything. You'll never confront the moments where you're coming up short. You'll never be burdened with having to improve.

There's a reason they call it "blissful ignorance."

Or maybe. . .