The dogs barked on and off all night. We've had continued predation at night, but though Phil and I both got up multiple times to light up the chicken pen, we saw nothing.
Phil had researched predators yesterday, mostly to see what kind of animal we are dealing with. Based on the entire disappearance of the carcass, he figured it was a fox.
Despite the fact that the fox carried off multiple birds in the night, Phil felt strangely energized in the morning: "I figured out how it's getting in, I tracked where it crossed the fence line, and I know about what time it came to the farm, sometime between 2 and 3am."
Time for a stakeout. I'm glad it's Phil and not me, protecting our 27 remaining chicks. Yes. Twenty-seven out of 100. And only 11 are hens. We've had no new eggs in two weeks. The entire chicken situation depresses me.
Phil and I went to let the cows into another part of the lower pasture. The greenery has filled in dramatically from when we first moved here: much of the area is covered with such a thick sward that I can't see any bits of ground.
The cows were moving off of the pasture to the north, with the swales and chestnuts. Phil has mowed the slope as he's moved the cows down, ensuring that the brambles don't take over. The slope as a whole looks nicely groomed.
And the former road, now grazed and mown, shines green in the sun. The grass doesn't cover the ground entirely yet, but it gets better.
Fern and Beatrice hadn't joined their companions in the move to the new pasture. Of course not: they had ducked under the wire and had been happily munching on the brand new growth. The rascals. While I stood strategically, preventing them from heading upslope, Phil and Shadow nudged them from behind. Fern wasn't terribly interested in moving, despite Phil's pushes and taps. Then Shadow got into the action.
With the dog barking at their heels, both cows ran where they were supposed to go.
The temperature has been reaching 84 or so as a high. The powerful punch of summer has passed; in the last few days, we've noticed the first of the fall red leaves.
As we walked along Hog Creek, I saw some purple flowers. "I bet those are elderberry blossoms!" I plucked some to check: sure enough. What a rich smell; how fun to find them growing wild.
I spent some time admiring my few flowers. While there, I noticed something that looked like a cross between a hummingbird and a big bee. The wings were a shimmering blur, the body mostly upright in its erratic flight.
An internet search showed that it was a hummingbird moth (which was exactly what it looked like!), a Snowberry Clearwing (Hemaris diffinis).
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Wow, Amy! Those are amazing photos of the flowers!
ReplyDeleteAnd your story about the ground cover reminds me of something that hit me this weekend. I harvested more grapes than we have ever produced--by at least double; and I picked a couple of gallons worth of apples. And thinned (for a second time) just one peach tree and the thinnings came to over 6 gallons (of small, very green peaches). . . . And we still have a bunch more fruit on its way.
It struck me: We have lived in our house for 21 years. And in all those years, we have "just" done SOMETHING to the yard, SOMETHING to the soil, SOMETHING to "improve the environment." It's a little bit each year. But/and/now, finally, it's really beginning to pay off.
I thought, "How sad for people who move every four or five years. People who PLAN to move on a regular basis DON'T tend to invest in their property. They DON'T tend to buy fruit trees in anticipation of crops that won't come for four or five years (and even then be relatively small). It TAKES TIME to see a real 'return on investment.'" . . . And yet . . . and yet . . . how sweet the return when it finally comes! How richer our culture would be if more homeowners "simply" made the decision to invest in their land . . . perhaps not for their own pleasure (perhaps). But at least for the pleasure and blessing to those who will follow. . . .
Anyway.
Seeing how your soil is improving: That's quite a testament to your investment for the future.
I can hardly wait to see what a Google Maps photo will look like when they finally rephotograph your area from space. . . . WOW! What a difference a few years should make!
Wow! Good fruit growing!
DeleteAnd good reminder to just be patient. I remember when we moved, that I would pull the clay off the bottom of the aerated plugs and make beads out of them. I don't remember what happened to those painstakingly hand-painted beads, but, yes, you weren't starting from decent soil.
Although I sometimes grow frustrated with our poor soil, I wonder if that's pretty much just life anywhere. Maine: sandy. Midwest: rich, but contaminated with GM seeds and sprays. California: good growing seasons and soil but crazy politics and prices.
You know Amy, you've done the thing that may seem at first, the least important , but really is the most. You've made space for beauty. Those flowers are like a balm to the soul...yours I'm sure , as well as mine. Like your Dad says, land improvements take time, always more than you want. Learning all the ropes in animal husbandry takes even longer, as they always throw up new problems. But taking the time to plant for beauty can make all the difference. I have few flowers, but I love them and the cheer they bring. And I also agree with your Dad, the pastures are beginning to look quite nice. No more red clay visible. That's a feat in itself. Think of Miss Rumphius..."do something to make the world more beautiful" Amen.
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