I also researched ponies. Surprisingly, they were quite affordable. But then, according to Wikipedia, they need tack, six farrier visits annually, an annual dentist visit, proper fencing (which we probably don't quite have, with cattle panels), hay, daily grooming and exercise. I talked to the boys about all the requirements, and they quickly claimed they had lost all their desire for a horse and would stop praying about it, thank you anyway. (My Mom says that she never did any of that when they had their horses growing up. I'll keep thinking about it: it would be good for the boys to have something they enjoy.)
The heat index, apparently, hit 117 earlier this week. Even with shade, water, and belladonna, we had a few more chickens die. I was reading in the air conditioned trailer with Abraham, and noticed his nose was covered with sweat beads. Everything and everywhere was hot.
The boys went outside as little as possible. They built towers out of pattern blocks and rediscovered old toys.
After a week, Phil said, "I just don't think this AC is working right." He looked at it, figured out where a door opened to a filter, and pulled out a filter, covered with dust and dirt almost an inch thick. After thirteen months, it really was overdue for a cleaning. He also wiped down the caked fins, and the immediately grew cool. We were slightly disgusted that we hadn't figured that out earlier, but ever so thankful for the blast of cool air when we re-entered the house from outdoor efforts.
The heat made me feel a bit more feisty than usual. And not just me. Catherine has figured out how to plant her feet so she will not go. We've been tying her to the truck as our movable yet stable support, but getting her to the truck can be quite the job. We slap her rump, thwack her legs, poke her, tug her. Her head is too big for the halters we have; she figured out quickly that Phil's loud clapping behind her, and his crazy yipping don't mean anything.
So, with no more chance of tugging her to the truck than of tugging the truck to her, we tried putting a stake in the ground, tying her to that right where she stood, and milking her.
And that worked really well! I went to try it today, but she and the two baby bulls had exited the pen and taken refuge somewhere where I didn't look. So tomorrow I will try field milking again.
I had a bee fly up and sting my middle finger yesterday as I was feeding them. It was interesting to watch the swelling move down my finger and the back of my hand. I had no knuckles for a while.
And in another bad bug moment, I was emptying the trash under the sink when I realized my hand was inches from a black widow on the trash. "Most women don't have to deal with black widows as they empty the trash!" I fumed, but crushed it with the garbage bag without difficulty. We've had enough black widows around that we realize they aren't aggressive, but it still is uncomfortable to be in such close proximity with something so dangerous.
Phil downloaded all my photos onto a hard drive. Back in Colorado, I put them on discs, but I've not done that for a while. A long while, apparently: he downloaded over 8000 photos. My computer has a good bit more memory available now!
And, finally, some photos of the garden.
I had planted a row of marigolds to border what I hoped would be a nice flower bed in the center of the market garden. The marigolds look beautiful, only it's hard to look at them through the weeds. I love that marigolds are so dependable. I stuck seed heads, gathered from my Mom's garden probably three years ago, into the earth and did nothing else to them. Almost none of my flower seeds do that.
I cleaned out the bed with potatoes, and the celosia in the next bed shows off its beauty when I walk uphill from the bees. I appreciate the pink.
The one patch of corn we got planted is now tasseling. (None of the beans I planted around it are growing, and the squash I planted has shown no signs of producing, which is a bummer.)
I did manage to get a fairly good-sized watermelon, and a few little cantaloupes. I hoped they were muskmelons, since I do remember planting a melon with "green" in the name, but the green melons were awful. A little more time to ripen. The watermelon was watery but edible. Phil commented on how soft the rind was, fresh from the garden. Maybe I should try to pickle it. We'll see how much time I have.
The hens, bitter that I found their trove of eggs in the barn, decided to take revenge by laying eggs in the middle of my drying onions.
And my ground cherries gave up the ghost. It's okay. No one else liked them much except me.
Reading about gardening, I am struck how long-time gardeners can look at a plant and say, "This plant needs more food. The nutrients in the soil are too low." I don't have that ability yet, but maybe one day.
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