Cow Mowers

Last year on Mother's Day, the bull got out. This year on Father's Day, all the cows got out.

I was wiped out yesterday. After an hour nap, Phil came in to say that the cows were out. When I made no move to help, he said, "That's okay. I think I can handle it on my own." I lay in a stupor for a while longer, then roused myself to help my husband (on Father's Day no less!). But he had the situation under control.

Apparently, the cows had grown tired of their grazing area and gone hunting for a new place. Surprisingly, that new place was up near the homestead: the beautiful stand of rye grass, waiting for the blueberries to be planted. Phil had been saying for some time how badly the area needed mowing. The mowers had come to us.

The fifteen cows ate the thick grass for about twelve hours. Then Phil moved them to another section of green manure run amok. The growth was up to the cows' backs. Jadon said, "You think the cow is lying down, but then it moves, and you know it's not." I'm happy to have the cows graze!

Phil's present was long overdue: he got namebrand Muck Boots. After he's worn out three or four pairs of off brands (and dealt with wet feet for months before declaring the boots "worn out"), he heard that the name brand won't split and leak. We're hopeful.

Abraham today asked Phil to go with him to pick blackberries. They headed next door and spent a long time together, picking and eating. Abraham said to me, "The large berries that had slightly opened and were ripened by the sun tasted heavenly!"

I caught Socks starting to play tag with the Leghorns today. I said, "Puppy!" and he immediately sat down, and stayed there, looking contrite, for several minutes.

Phil has been backfilling the trench, getting ready for pouring. He's getting closer.