Tree Nursery Beds Begun

With the lovely rain yesterday, and the overcast sky today, I figured I should start planting out the 300 trees (about 270 are grafted and the other 30 I'll play with bud grafting later this year).

Before I did that, though, I needed to clear the nursery. We planted a cover crop, then mulched with hay, and though the cover crop seems to be growing well despite the lack of water, I wonder how much Johnson grass is actually ready to poke up through the mulch.

So I dug out blades of Johnson grass, usually connected with a thick, foot-long root. I rolled back the mulch, weeded a bit, and then planted one third of the grafted trees. Not bad, to get 100 trees in the ground today!

It was marvelous to play in the soil. The hard-packed clay of three years ago is now, for the most part, well incorporated with organic matter, with good crumb texture and good texture. It's a joy to dig in and press around baby roots.

As I worked, I heard the hum of the bees. They aren't happy in damp, cloudy weather, and when I fed them, they were more aggressive than I've seen. The original swarm especially amazes me. Most wax flakes, exuded from their abdomens, are thin and translucent. These wax flakes are almost as thick and fat as grains of rice. What rich comb building!

And, finally, a reminder that pride goes before the fall. Last Saturday, Phil and I were talking with some friends. The women of the group laughed at how they can turn off the lights and walk to bed in the dark, while the men all need a cell phone, flashlight, or some other beam to light their way.

In the night, Joe needed a drink. As I got up, I thought, "Maybe I should grab Phil's flashlight here by my head. No, that would be too like a man. I can get the water in the dark."

And I could. Except that on my return, my foot connected with something wet and sticky that should not have been there. I woke Phil and asked him to toss me a flashlight, to find that I had stepped in cat vomit. (Which was better than my first guess, the stuff out the other end.)

The poor cats' digestions are having a hard time, and the air quality in the trailer is not the best. One of the boys left the door cracked open, and when I noticed it, outdoor cat Mr. Bigglesworth had gone missing.

Happily, Phil found him quickly in the barn, which is where we would have hoped he'd go. How pleasant, that he didn't run away from us!