And I wasn't getting just ANY goats—they were milking goats. I knew that goat’s milk could be really healthy for kids who had compromised immune systems and my adopted son, Dakota, fit that description.

He got sick at the drop of a hat—he had already had strep throat four times in the last 12 months—and I was willing to do just about anything to help him.

So, I told Tim to handle the younger kids that night while me and my oldest—Ezra—spent the evening in the barn building an enclosure for the goats that were to be delivered the next day.

Tim, being a fantastic IT guy but not much of a farmer, gladly took on the role of super dad and trundled 7 and 8 year old Dakota and Billie into the house and Ezra and I began what would end up being more of an adventure than I had bargained for.

The night was getting colder and sleet and snow had started to fall when, around 9pm, I told 11 year old Ezra to head inside while I did my best to finish driving the T-posts and unroll the fencing.

Boy, I was NOT smart that night. I should have cancelled the delivery and waited until I got help but in my typical stubborn fashion I was determined that I could put up that fence.

Ezra went inside and all but the living room light went out as the house headed to their warm beds and I struggled alone in the barn (my own choice!) working by the light of the headlights on our van. I had gotten just 3 of the 10 t-posts driven successfully—one on each of the corners not bordered by a wall, when I thought I would try moving the roll of fencing over closer to the t-posts.

Mind you, the sleet was falling and the temps were dropping. By this time it was past 10pm and I was nowhere near done. I knew everyone inside was asleep-including Tim, and there was no chance of getting his help without going inside, stripping down out of my Carhartts and waking him out of his warm bed.

That was not going to happen. So I soldiered on.

About that time, as I was dragging the fencing across the floor of our pole barn, my fingers got stuck inside the roll of wires. At first I just yanked my hand to pull it out but, like a Chinese finger trap, my finger got more and more entangled the more I pulled.

About two minutes into this I realized I wasn’t getting out of this predicament without some serious wire cutters. Problem was, I was unable to pull the big roll of fencing across the floor without possibly breaking my finger.

With the wind picking up outside and blowing tiny pieces of ice through the wide open sliding doors of the barn and the threat of below zero temperatures quickly bearing down on me, I struggled to untangle my cell phone from the inside pocket of my coat.

I finally managed to pull it out and I called Tim. The thing is, Tim has always slept very hard.

Once, after he had worked third shift and had been in bed about two hours, a car ran through the fence outside our bedroom window, almost colliding with the side of our apartment. It was SO LOUD, but he didn’t budge. 

I couldn’t wake him up then, in spite of the crash and then the sound of sirens and I knew I wouldn’t be able to wake him now. But, I did try. To no avail.
Finally, I decided I had no choice but to call 911.