Country Surfing

Although I think Isaiah came up with the idea first, Abraham was very proud of his surfing. He rode two pieces of insulation in the stock tank, and appeared to be having a great time.

Phil worked on getting the trench for the metal building completely ready. Butch had dug most of it, but Phil needed to clean it up. At one point, I went up to find Phil digging by hand. When I asked why, he said that as long as the tractor was in the future building space, it could excavate around the perimeter. But he needed to leave some perimeter more or less intact to get the tractor out, and that section needed hand excavation, using pick and shovel. (It reminded me of the classic children's book Mike Mulligan and the Steam Shovel. An exit is very important!)

Straight, narrow, and long, the building is getting ready for pouring.

I spent my outdoor time digging daffodil bulbs. I was amazed at how much more dry the soil was, how much more challenging to find the bulbs. So much of their foliage has dried up and vanished in the last week. I hope I can get enough dug for the fall before the tops disappear completely. It was not nearly as fun, doing both digging and lifting: before, my sister dug and stayed upright, and I lifted and stayed crouched. All the bending probably wouldn't have bothered me, except I knew how much easier it could be. Perhaps I should have asked a son to join me. In that case, I shouldn't have started at 3pm, as it was still very hot and sunny.

The first of my favorite Music garlic scapes went upright today, with the rest nearly unfurled. Only a few more weeks until garlic harvest!

In the cover crop area, there is rye heading out.

I don't particularly like walking through the knee high cover crop: even if there were no ticks, there may be snakes, and it's hard to see where I'm stepping. But it is lush growth!

A less than pleasant thing: a lapse in judgment that resulted in a bird's death. I heard a chick peeping as if it had escaped the trailer-brooder but wanted back in. I had just sat down for a snack after three hours of hot, sweaty digging, and figured I would finish the last few bites before I went and tried to round up the escaped chick. The idea of going back into nature, where both bugs and grasses make my legs itch, was more than I could bear.

So Bitsy got to the chick before I did. Though he was still living, his neck was broken, and he soon died.

Was I greedy and selfish for eating? Or just justifiably tired, unwilling to try to round up a fleet footed chick from under a cattle trailer? In either case, the chick died. Boo.

What other occupation penalizes you so severely?