We finished planting the daffodil bulbs. (Lest you be overly impressed, in the end, we figure about 750 were not viable and we didn't bother planting those, so we didn't do a FULL 10,000.)
And then, because I had some spare time, I finally got around to mulching my garlic beds. That's 540 square feet of garlic, coming up well, and now sheltered from the coming winter cold.
The newly ploughed swales in the market garden area left me with a cool, moon-shaped garden bed. I planted the eight extra trees there that didn't have a clear place in the new layout of the peach orchard, and I hope to grow flower beds for bees in that space.
Phil brought all the cows to the dry lot, bringing the total there to fourteen cows and six sheep in that area. Snowman, separated from three of his harem for a month or so, quickly reacquainted himself with their smells. When they pee, he tastes in and puts his head out to focus well on what he is smelling.
He especially showed an interest in Fern, and though we didn't see any actual mounting, he put his head on her back hips, in preparation. We would be happy with a September baby.
In various magazine ads, I've certainly seen Angus bulls that are broader and thicker in every dimension. But we love Snowman.
And his little son Clover, born in July, is shaggy and scrumptious. (Every time I look at him I think, "Aww, he's so CUTE!") Phil read that if we only kept bulls from cows that were eight or older, the cattle industry in this country would be drastically different. After all, if a farmer has a cow for eight years, she is clearly a good cow, and her sons would also have productivity and longevity in their genetics. I think Clover's mom is only seven, but he might be a good herd bull.
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