Snakes: There is a snake in the garden, and its name is Reggie. It is just over six feet long (with special emphasis on long). It hangs out most days in the hoop-house or sometimes in the potato patch. Last year as I weeded a row of beans, I moved a drip hose out of my way. Only then did I find, much to mine and Reggie’s mutual surprise, that the snake was the drip hose. This is a fine-looking black rat snake who maintains its plump physique no doubt on an endless diet of mice, chipmunks, and rats. Stop by and I’ll introduce you.

A book update: My book manuscript is finally heading to the publisher to be typeset in a couple of weeks. It will be titled Kayaking With Lambs: Notes From an East Tennessee Farmer, and it should be available to order this fall. Please stay tuned for more shameless self-promotion. Castrating pigs is easier than getting a book to the publisher, I tell you in all candor.

Subdivisions: They come to all neighborhoods eventually. Fortunately the one I speak of is located in our outer corral. Last week we divided the space in half with a handsome fence and an eight-foot gate. We now have two dry lots for the sheep where before we had one. Magic. There is something so pleasing about a well-executed project that is also completed with a minimum of effort.

Gardens in the ‘hood: The pandemic trend of gardening seems not to have abated. If anything, it may be growing…. My best guess from a recent drive is that about 75 percent of the homes in our valley have some sort of vegetable garden. The other 25 will have buckets of over-size zucchini left on their doorstep as the summer progresses’ as a form of punishment.

Landscaping: Being the one who does most of our hand-mowing and weed-eating gives me the credential to tell you in confidence: flowering annuals are a blight on the land. Any plant that can’t survive the occasional whack of high-velocity string doesn’t deserve a place on this farm. (But don’t tell Cindy, lest I be on the receiving end of a high-velocity smack for running over an heirloom plant I mistook for a weed.)

Siesta: After 24 years on the farm, I am impressed how most neighbors, the UPS man, and all of our friends know not to call or visit between 1 and 3 p.m. That’s the sacred time when we take a siesta—our chance for a break with a nap or a little bit of reading and the afternoon cup of coffee to end it. Now if we could only inform the scam callers.

Antibiotics: The FDA ban on farmers’ being able to administer over-the-counter antibiotics to livestock is going into effect at the end of this month. Going forward, farmers will have to get a vet out to make a determination of need and (if the vet deems it appropriate) issue a prescription. I don’t have an issue with that … okay, maybe a small one. Good luck finding a vet who will come out to a farm anymore. Large-animal vets visiting small farms are quickly becoming a thing of the past, unless you have horses, whose vet bill typically carries a pricey tag. The few that remain are overworked and don’t have the time to make a hundred extra stops each day. A prediction: more pain, suffering, and untimely deaths of farm animals.

How long: How long does it take this farm to use a 50-pound box of fence staples and one large roll of No. 14 wire? Twenty-four years.

Chipmunks: Not sure of the reason, but the farm is now home to a growing population of chipmunks. They certainly are cuter than rats. And Reggie loves them—he thinks they are delicious.

Enjoy your week,

Brian

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