“Skeletons ain’t got nowhere to stick their money, nobody makes britches that size.  And besides, you’re a ghost to most before they notice that you ever had a hair or a hide.” – Drive-By Truckers “A Ghost to Most”

 

Well, there’s nothing like a song about death, or at least the problems that come with being a skeleton, to get you thinking about the passage of time and growing older.

 

At least that’s what I found myself doing the morning of New Year’s Eve as I listened to “A Ghost to Most” by the Drive-By Truckers while making a lumber run for a long overdue project at the farm.

 

The short version is that the “quack shacks” that I designed and built (with Dan’s help) earlier this year for our ducks and geese had a small problem.  When it rained, they flooded.  Following a rain, our birds would come out of their respective coops each morning looking as if they had just been to a mud spa.

 

It’s a more noticeable issue for the geese than the ducks; however, to be quite honest, the coops have both become something more like fowl wallows.  It was past time for some needed modifications and renovations.

 

While driving home Tuesday morning from Bennett’s Do it Center with the necessary treated plywood, treated 2-by-4s and screws, the song popped up on my playlist.  I’ve heard it hundreds of times, but the significance of the day—New Year’s Eve—coupled with the lyrics started me thinking about time.

 

What had I resolved to do this year?  Did I accomplish everything that I set out to do?  Where the heck did 2024 go, and what do I want to accomplish in 2025?

 

Tuesday evening, after I finished the work on the “quack shacks” by placing floors in each, I sat down on a heating pad with a glass of bourbon (AKA back medicine) and looked over some of the past resolutions that I’ve made in this column.

In 2020, I resolved in my article “New Year’s Memories and Lucky Black-eyed Peas” to remember that each day is a gift and to make the most of the time I am given.  Fortunately, I can say that I’ve lived that out each year.

 

I pointed out in 2023 in “Looking Back and Looking Forward” that it was the ancient Babylonians who are credited with the New Year’s tradition of making resolutions.  Most often, it seems that their resolutions involved returning borrowed farm equipment.

 

As it turns out, I need to resolve to do the same this New Year’s Day.  The heavy rains from the storms last weekend did a number on our gravel drive, washing it out and creating ruts.  I need to borrow our neighbor’s box blade and grade our drive tomorrow, and I’ll be sure to return it better than I found it.

 

Honestly, I thought that I had resolved to do more in my New Year’s columns over the years, but, if I’m honest, it’s hard to top the 2020 resolution.  Time is precious and it is fleeting.  In the words of poet Robert Herrick:

 

“Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,

Old time is still a-flying:

And this same flower that smiles today

Tomorrow will be dying.”

 

Ah death, the ultimate measure of time, and from the pen of a 17th-century British poet long passed, what a fitting segue back to the Drive-by Truckers and those skeletons without pockets.  The message of both, at least to me, is loud and clear—make the most of your time in 2025.

 

I have a long list of things that I would like to accomplish this year.  I would like to get a barn raised at the farm.  I would like to become a more proficient and accurate fly caster.  I would like to travel more.  I would like to write more.  I would like to read more.  But what do I plan to resolve this year?

 

All those goals seem to fit well into the neat little package that I resolved to do back in 2020.  If I make it a point to remember that each day is a gift and to make the most of the time that I am given, then I can easily accomplish each of these resolutions and many more.

 

Thanks to the Truckers and Robert Herrick for the reminder that nobody makes britches small enough for skeletons and that flowers are only beautiful for a few fleeting moments.  Both were, at least for me, great reminders of our greatest commodity.

 

For 2025, I resolve to make the most of each day that I am given.  Whether those days are spent working, spent in the woods or on the water, or spent working on the farm, I pray that each is filled with family and friends.  Until next year, here’s to making the most of our time, and here’s to seeing you out there in our great outdoors.