How did the bovine escape not only the electric wire but the physical wood barrier? Apparently there was one spot that wasn't electrified, and the animal got through right there, then couldn't get back.
We were relieved to find fourteen animals in the pen still. It was yearling bull Charlemagne, lying down right on the roadside, a foot or two from cars. While Phil went to get a line, I stood on the opposite side of the road, prepared to stop, or at least slow, cars as they came.
Only one car came. It came fast. Shadow the pup cavorted in the road, and I called to her. I think the car slowed a bit, but it also drove closer to the bull's side of the road. In this case, that consideration for dog and woman meant grave concern for escaped cow.
I don't think I shouted. That three seconds unfolds in my mind in slow motion: the driver glancing at me and smiling, and in that split second, the bull standing up, veering a bit into the road.
Collision averted. How could it be? From my perspective, it was a done deal, a dead cow, a damaged car.
But the car drove on, the bull casually walked back through the open gate. The entire time I was away from my desk was less than twenty minutes, and most of that was walking to the far end of the neighbor's field.
What else happened today? We tried out the new pump, to drain the puddle that yet persists on the northern corner of the underground excavation. As Phil said, "If we still had three inches of water, this would be great. But since it's intended to pump large quantities, it's not going to do much for us with these puddles." I'm sure we'll use the pump someday—we intended it to be multipurpose—but it felt a bit disappointing to have spent the money now, when it wasn't imminently necessary.
I transplanted a basil plant. Though the weather turned warmer again, I know the first frost date is not far from now, and I was disappointed last year that I didn't keep an indoor plant to flavor my cooking through the winter. I'm not sure where I'll keep this little beauty, but hopefully I'll figure it out.
Phil and I went to work in the muck. After researching online, he found a blog he enjoyed a few years ago, Sugar Mountain Farm. There he found a method of pouring a foundation when you aren't able to drive stakes into the rock. So after we measured and double measured, Phil took the sledgehammer and drove rebar a foot or two into the earth. Maybe the rain had softened the claystone; maybe it's just easier to drive in rebar than a bluntly pointed wooden stake. In either case, what a relief to have that task done.
After the four corner stakes were pounded, he got out his surveying equipment and we shot the corners to see how close to level they were. Then we made marks on the rebar to show where true level should be, and Phil tied an orange string all the way around the posts.
Apparently, when we build forms, the tops of the boards should touch these strings.
To check if the string was level, Phil has an adorable little device, called a line level. You hang it on the string, and it's so light it doesn't deflect, and tells how plumb your string is.
By midafternoon, the site looked like we'd made progress.
Now though the ground was firm, the top inch or two was quite mushy in many spots. I wore my klompen, which I now realize are at least an inch too long. There were several times throughout the day when I would literally be stuck in the mud. Klompen don't deflect, and by the end of the day, the tops of my feet were begging me to be done. Ouch.
The last task we did was to measure all the boards we had moved there. Heavy, water-logged, muddy, Phil calculated how to optimize the boards we have, and to determine how many more we might need to either scrounge or saw. When the calculations were done, we laid out in order the ones we have.
A few more bits from the last few days.
Okra flowers and hibiscus flowers: they look quite similar.
Abraham, still sporting a handsome chin bruise, has been practicing poi, a Maori skill often done with fire. Here we have, basically, a tennis ball in a sock (though this one is specific to the purpose).
He is pleased he can cross his body.
Isaiah ran errands with Phil yesterday. He came back covered in root beer. Generally Phil treats his companions; it may be bribery, but he gets good car time with them almost every time he goes out. On this occasion, Isaiah took a drink, put the cap back on, shook the bottle, and then opened it again. Of course, it exploded all over him.
"I didn't know it would do that," said Isaiah. I love his curiosity. In this case, he was quite sad about the loss of special drink (Phil shared though: no need to feel too much pity).
Today Phil had four young friends when he went to run errands. None returned wet and sticky, though there did seem to be some extra bottles around.
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