Dry Well

Phil got up to find a dead chicken in the hen house. The predator has followed the hens to the homestead, and, I expect will pick them off, one by one. (Brilliant, in a way: take what you need for the day, and leave the rest for another day.) We bought a spotlight and shotgun shells, and Phil has been in wait for two hours out in the dark. I know he loves being a farmer, but the times like this make me glad he has the roles he does. I don't have the patience.

This morning Phil also went to move the cows, until he noticed that they hadn't eaten much of their paddock (since their move yesterday took all day, rather than the hour or two he was expecting). Somehow he must not have hooked the water line back up correctly.

We had an early church meeting, and by the time we made it home, late in the afternoon, our well was dry.

By night, Phil was able to get a weak flow, so we have hope that the pump is not burned out, that the pump simply needs to recharge for some time.

But a dry well is not a pleasant thing to find. Ugh.