We were hundreds of miles from home, riding in the car and heading west when I had nothing better to do than inspect my wedding ring for cleanliness and flaws.

I was sure my husband would prefer that to my examining him for the same things.

And I was glad he was driving so he couldn’t do the same with me. At this stage of life, I’m sure there are far more of both of those categories to entertain than there were in our earlier years of marriage — and that’s even after having lived and worked on our hog farm.

As we drove along, I noticed something peculiar.

And it wasn’t sitting in the driver’s seat, either.

My wedding ring — given to me by that same peculiarity in the driver’s seat — had a wonky prong.

It leaned away from the stone, like it was gasping for fresh air.

I smoothed it back into place and made the proclamation of its condition, well ahead of our “State of the Union” address. I was sure my husband would be just as concerned about the state of my wedding ring, since he had to pay for that, too.

I babied it along until I finally had the chance to take it to the jeweler, where they examined it under microscopic conditions.

The life I live may have led them to find a small family of wildebeests living in there, so the fact that they did not was already quite a relief.

What they did find, though, was one prong that was broken, one that was nearly broken, and one that was flat.

“What have you been DOING, girl?” the woman asked me.

There was not enough time in her work day — nor in the ability of my back to hold out long enough — for me to tell her that if you’re involved in any kind of work-a-day farm life, you’re lucky if it’s your wedding ring that takes the brunt of the damage and not either one of the two involved in it … though my husband’s body has been abused by his work since I’ve known him.

If we examined him under a microscope, they would find a few things wonky and broken, too.

Their examination determined that, being cost-prohibitive to repair and replace each prong, my wedding ring needed a new head and set, which cost almost as much as the whole ring did 40 years ago.

I nearly had kittens right on the spot.

Luckily, we had no money to speak of when we got married, so we didn’t get carried away with an expensive wedding set. But it’s been a binding set of metal and stone.

That ring has been with us through both some great and gut-wrenching times. It’s been both blessed and baptized by fire, so I told her to go ahead and make the repairs.

That ring is worth more now, which seems to trend opposite of what traditionally happens to markets over time. If the ring had decreased in value, I may have been forced to sell, just before the market for it crashed altogether. Isn’t that when we usually sell?

The jeweler described the condition of my wedding ring as “worn.”

Oh, the irony in that diagnosis … it was poetic of the life I’ve lived out here, because I’ve worn that ring.

A wedding ring’s circular shape, they say at weddings, symbolizes and imitates God’s love — with no beginning and no end.

On the farm, it seems more like the life we live — just chasing our tails in circles sometimes with no end in sight. Except — there’s usually some kind of beginning to all those livestock safaris. It isn’t just our wedding rings that seem tired and worn.

I’m pretty sure this is why no one has hired me to write wedding vows.

Karen Schwaller writes from her grain and livestock farm near Milford. She can be reached at kjschwaller@outlook.com. Note new address.