So I huffed and I puffed and I ROLLED the two half-eaten bales just inside the open gate. The cows went where they were supposed to go, and most of the sheep did, too. I was interested to see Red staring hungrily at the pigs as they ate their slop: none of the girls have shown the slightest interest, but I could imagine Red thinking, "Could I just step over this little foot high electric line and get some of that nicely fermented grain myself?"
Thankfully, he hasn't tried it yet.
When I went to plant this week's broccoli, I looked at last week's tray and figured they were about ready to go outside. I have no idea why I thought that, other than that rootlets had emerged out the bottom and the weather seems fairly mild (though it may reach freezing again once or twice). But I planted my first little seedling pots, and as I placed the first little mustard greens, a huge night crawler emerged from my bed in greeting.
I stared at him. I don't think I've seen a night crawler on the land before. It has been devoid of much soil life, so I snapped a photo of this underground blessing.
I did mulch the cabbages, broccoli, and greens, and it is possible that they will not survive. The soil felt warm to my touch, though, so I am cautiously hopeful. And the mostly orderly planting of the emergent seedlings was very beautiful to me.
In closing, a photo that warms my heart.
Growing up in southern California, we lived through a minor earthquake or two. After being awakened by an earthquake, my siblings and I no longer wanted to sleep in separate bunks, so instead of four of us evenly split between two bunk beds, all four of us shared the lower bed of one bunk bed: two heads at the head of the bed, and two heads at the feet. We pretended we were on a cruise ship, for some odd reason (perhaps more in line with refugees coming to America than the opulent pleasure cruises of today).
In the photo above, Abraham, Isaiah, and Joe carry on the glorious tradition of sibling comfort in repose.
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