Ghost flights above the farm
I walk with determination from the house, past the barn and chicken coop and into the hoop-house, with the sole goal of catching a rabbit munching on my tender cole crop transplants. Sunrise is still an hour or more away, and the light is just enough to see that while the rabbits had been having their way (again), none are visible and within blasting distance of my shotgun.
Come high summer I may take a live-and-let-live attitude toward the cute little rodents. At a time when we are deep in the largesse of a bountiful garden, I can afford a bit of noblesse oblige. But in these first days of spring, a sacrificial rabbit is the only deal on offer. There are only so many veggies to go around, and I’m not willing to share, unless the rabbits do the same.
Earlier in the week we spent a couple of hours castrating a dozen ram lambs. We left another two intact, both large singletons, that showed remarkable growth. We will graze them through the summer with Joey, the big boss ram, and see how they shape up for possible use in fall breeding. This morning, through the far open door of the hoop-house, past the nibbled kale, the ewes and their lambs lie at rest, scattered across the corral. Quiet for once, they seem at peace with the morning. I know this will change. For now though, I simply take enjoyment in watching them.
I turn after a few minutes to walk back to the house. Passing the barn, I glance inside to see how our neighbor’s project is coming. He is enclosing for us a 10 x 16 storage room with a low ramp to house equipment and tools. Anyone with experience around barns knows how dusty they quickly become. After 20 years with the need, we are finally moving forward with the construction. The flooring is down and the framed-in walls up. Standing on the floor, I give a jump and find it firm.
Back outside, I approach our three beehives. A steady thrum of activity is audible from a foot away. My recently mandated downtime allowed me the opportunity to act as Cindy’s beekeeping assistant a couple of times this past week. Two days ago she completed a split (a form of swarm intervention), creating a new hive, while I relaxed nearby and drank a beer with drop-in friends. Now, in the predawn, the newly split hive hums contentedly.
Before heading to the house I stop back by the barn and cast a nasty look at the lawnmower. Yesterday I gave it a start for its inaugural cutting. Only after pulling the cord and listening as it idled much too slowly did I realize that I had forgotten to replace the spring on the governor last fall. It was a simple enough fix, which begs the question, why wasn’t it taken care of six months ago? That is one of those eternal questions I ask myself. The answer is that it is all too easy to put aside a repair and move on to another task. The second best response is to fix it on the spot. So, yesterday, that is what I prepared to do. Without thinking, I released the throttle to stop the engine. I then reached down to turn the mower on its side to repair the missing spring. It was at that exact moment that my pain receptors notified my brain that the blade was still spinning.
Thirty minutes later, after bandaging my bruised and bleeding fingers (each mercifully still attached), Cindy went back to her small tractor and continued mowing around the barns and outbuildings — but not before sagely suggesting that I call it quits and instead self-isolate in the backyard with a beer. I did, vowing to maintain proper social distancing from the mower, at least until next week.
……………………………………………………..
Reading this weekend: A Place on Earth (W. Berry).
‘We can’t leave you alone
We can’t leave you alone no’
I’ve made two attempts now to remove one of my eyes with a bamboo stick in the garden.
We can but try.
Other than that it is as quiet here all day as on of your morning tours.
Everything is as it should be:
Peaceful, nearly empty; people politely stepping out if one’s way. Everyone can suddenly perform feats of concentration they looked incapable of a few weeks ago.
And for us, who don’t mind a bit of virus, the vast expanses of an interior frontier have us beaming with joy.
I hope this never ends.
Reminds me of my friend, Jim: “social distancing? Hell, I’ve been practicing social distancing my whole life!”
I have been unusually productive, so, I hear you loud and clear, Michael. However, do be careful when buying milk to stay within the posted guidelines. https://www.wvlt.tv/video?vid=569128312
skimmed
the beach pestled with
low-flying cartonnage
Ernst Jünger-moment
reconstituted rays of
a barcode gun
Nice! I had to look up E.J. (always with the obscure, to me, references). What annuals are you planting these days?
EJ’d probably have plenty to say about our present headless chicken-phase.
The new espaliers have taken up plenty of space in the garden, but some annuals are still being grown 🙂
The Carlin peas will probably go in on Monday; still haven’t got enough seed for multiple rows, so a dense single row it’ll be. Trellis is already up.
Seed potatoes haven’t been sent out yet, but the squashes and melons and cucumbers are being seeded in trays now; I just don’t like transplanting big plants.
And theeeen…a few Burpees Golden and some fennel, maize and tomatoes. Will be trialling field tomatoes this year, using blight-tolerant varieties and some regular ones.
And then maybe some huazontle.
I put our potatoes in two weeks ago: Kennebec and Norland Reds. I recently grazed the sheep in the hoophouse. They cleaned up the fall garden which prompted the Swiss Chard to come right back up. So, we can begin harvesting those greens by weekend. There are about 100 feet of cole crop transplants, fifty feet each of turnip, kale and more SC planted in seed. We will be good on those greens. There is also a fifty-foot row of red onions. Tomato starts should be ready in two weeks. And then we are off to the races!
My Rat Terrier dug out two raised beds in search of rodents. I wonder if I plant him up to his neck if he will germinate? Wondering in Tennessee.
Brian,
I read somewhere that 87% of farmers are introverts, so for us social distancing should come naturally. At church they have tried to convert me into a hugger these last few years and it still makes me feel all funny inside. LOL Be careful out there. Don
Yep, my dad and my brothers still do that awkward one arm hug; A hand shake and the other hand/arm does the hug. About the best we can manage.
Funny! Cindy’s & my dad was like yours, but he’d always manage to turn my full-body hugs into a lift clear off the floor🥰, even into his 80s and through my weight gains!😢❤️
Reminds me of my father, Jeanne. He tried to adapt to changing times and would high-five people. Beware, hitting his hand was like hitting a brick wall. That started back in the 70’s and he never wavered. Smack!
Oh, you men folk! What are we going to do with you, other than hauling y’all to the ER…
As I type this my husband is hanging plywood on the shop ceiling….in a stairwell…on some improvised scaffolding…
That sounds dangerous…and familiar.