It ain’t book learning

There are some life lessons that seep into your brain or hover around, waiting for that light bulb to glow.

And then there are those that jump right up and bite you.

Like the lesson that Hadley hit on the other day: no matter what the temptation, do not thrust your arm through the neighbors’ high-gauge electrified livestock fence.

I don’t know what drew her to the wire strands — there weren’t any animals in reach — and Martin and I had our heads buried in a bush, picking blackberries. But with all of that shrieking and her close proximity to the fence, it was pretty easy to deduce what had happened.

Fortunately, barbarians are loathe to show weakness or pain, so she recovered quickly.

No doubt she stored that lesson on the lowest shelf in her cranium, right next to the volume entitled: “don’t grasp the door handle of a wood stove when you’re visiting your aunt and uncle in Florida in the wintertime.”