In my new robeFamous haiku writer Basho wrote that poem. I like the idea that every morning you get up and you're a little bit different than you were the next day. Every day, a new you.
this morning —
someone else.
A strong, warm wind blew all day, sometimes with little flurries of rain. It wasn't until dark fell that the torrents came down.
I spent my farm hours today weeding around trees. I started out trying to dig up grass patches in the comfrey, then considered weeding between trees in the rows, but that seemed ridiculous. So I did spot weeding right around the trees: one of these days, we'll bring peastone up and keep the ring around the trees clean.
Yesterday I went and checked my hives. The two swarms last year are doing great: they have two deeps still heavy with honey. The original hive, though (the one I didn't feed supplemental honey to), was very light. The super was empty, as was the bottom deep. I swapped the bottom deep and the top deep (not full of honey, but with some at least), and plan to start feeding that hive soon. Today would have been good, but I forgot.
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