By the time I went outside, the rain had tapered off. But much of the dirt slope next to our barn slid down over our gravel driveway. A hose lying along the drive contained the dirt—barely. The dirt came up to the top of the hose. (Thus, almost an inch of topsoil slid down in those few hours.)
The sawdust around the tree roots washed away in spots. The 80 tree holes were all filled almost to the brim.
Michelle Bessette called to say that she could not believe the amount of rain.
Thankfully, our good hay stayed dry under the tarp. The sheep and goats continue to waste a ridiculous amount of hay, so Phil tied together a few pallets, like the prow of a ship, on the side of the chicken house. Now we have a temporary feeder. (While Phil was getting twine, a pallet fell on little B.B., but he scampered off unscathed once Phil lifted it. That was a bad moment, though.)
With everything saturated, Phil figured he could move the pigs into the newly cleared land. A pile of poles stood in the path of the new electric line. (Poles: saplings too big to chip but too small for firewood, set aside for small construction projects.) He brought the truck over the basically level ground to load the poles.
And skidded dozens of feet as he drove out, finally getting completely stuck. And frustrated.
Worse, on exiting the cab, he heard “sssss.” Yup. Sidewall of the front tire punctured; irreparable.
Wet, muddy, frustrated, stuck; he went back and finished the pig pen. I was so proud of him.
And I think the pigs grew overnight; all of a sudden they look big to me. Maybe not big enough to EAT, but they are getting close. They’re seven months old now; the Bessettes killed theirs at eight months. We haven’t fed ours as consistently as they did, but ours also haven’t had to contend with the stress of the summer. Maybe ours aren’t the world’s slowest growing pigs after all!
While Phil dealt with difficult circumstances, I was in IPod euphoria in the barn. Before we put our house on the market in Colorado, I had a CD player that let me listen to agricultural lectures and sermons, so I felt like my mind expanded. During the stressful house-on-the-market and living-in-a-tent phases of my life over the last year, I didn’t miss the lectures. My brain was full.
But yesterday I realized I could listen to lectures on the IPod. I didn’t need to unplug my computer and gingerly carry it between house and barn, balancing it as I maneuver the step-stool stairs! And, better yet, I had the brain capacity and desire to do so.
I hadn’t done dishes since before the family got sick; most of us didn’t eat a whole lot last week. So while I caught up by doing just about every dish, pot, and utensil I own, I listened to a couple hours’ worth of lectures, and LOVED it. Grow high brix food! Take your vitamins! Agriculture and nutrients determine sickness and health more than genetics! So encouraging. So uplifting. So heady. Ahh. (Acres USA, perhaps the Economist of the agriculture world, publishes a monthly magazine and puts on an annual conference. I buy the back conferences and listen to 40 or so hours of lectures for about $3 per hour lecture. An incredible deal.)
While Phil succumbed to temporary and unusual sorrow, I became the cheery voice of hope. Role reversal! But how good of God, too, to not let us both hit a bad spot at the same time. How distressing that would be.
Totally different note: Isaiah and I tried to pollenize the lemon tree today, using a Q-tip to move the pollen between the stamen and the pistil. That was fun!
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