Tag Archives: farming

A visitor and a test drive.

 

As the husband was laying tar paper on the roof of the baby barn the other day, our farming neighbor dropped by to say hello on one of his toys.

 

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Clearly my husband is not the only one who likes old and rusty things.

 

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I have to laugh at how comfortable the husband looked up on the roof.

Give him a beer and a snack and he could happily watch the game from there.

 

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Neighbor’s 2 year old son is a cutie and loves going for a ride with dad.

That being said…

 

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You know husband had to take a ride himself.

 

 

 

And I can only hope our neighbor never wants to sell the damn thing…

 

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Because you know where it would probably end up.

 

Colors and critters.

 

Looking across the street to our neighbor’s organic vegetable farm is always interesting.

 

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But this time of year, it’s downright beautiful.

 

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Who knew artichokes could be so pretty?

And when our neighbor has wood chips delivered….

 

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HE HAS WOODCHIPS DELIVERED.

 

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When you’re a farmer’s child?

You don’t need no stinkin’ sandbox.

 

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On the critter front,

 

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We’re down to one lone woodchuck.

 

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He’s still fat…

 

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And still clumsy…

 

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And still hangs out on our deck once in a while. But it’s autumn, and all his brothers and sisters are finding dens and getting ready for winter. I doubt even this one will be here much longer.

Sigh…

 

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Autumn also means the deer are changing into their darker winter coats. One summer coated hold out is on the right for comparison.

 

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A murder of crows have now discovered our bird bath.

Why are they called a murder?

The Oxford English Dictionary suggests this is an allusion to the crow’s traditional association with violent death or its harsh and raucous cry.  If you’ve ever heard dozens of agitated crows in full cry, it really does sound as if they’re yelling bloody murder.

As long as they don’t murder me in my sleep, I don’t care what you call them.

 

 

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Uh oh.

 

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And finally, we have a new skunk in town.

 

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I admit I never really paid attention to skunk tails before, but we’ve had so many different families this year I’ve gotten to recognize them by their individual patterns.

This is Tippy.

 

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Brilliantly named for the white tip on her tail.

Is she really a she?

I neither know, nor care to get close enough to find out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I admit, it made me look.

 

I walked by my window the other day and had to do a double take.

Across the road on our neighbor’s organic vegetable farm, the seasonal workers were weeding a garden patch. Most summers there are Mexican field hands, but because of the new immigration policies of He Who Will Remain Nameless… this year the workers are Jamaican.

 

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Now, I’ve never been to Jamaica.

 

 

But I’m going to go out on a limb here…

 

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And say this isn’t their new fashion trend.

 

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Yes, that is what you think it is.

 

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Cardboard.

 

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With a hole in the middle for your head.

 

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I particularly like the fact that he flipped up the cut out hole section.. and left it there. Like a pot lid.

 

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Jamaican cardboard hats.

Coming to a mall near you?

 

 

Remember… you saw it here first.

The great goat escape.

 

Yes, we who live in the country are easily amused.

 

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A few weeks ago as I was doing dishes, I saw one of our neighbor’s goats on the run…. with their daughters hot on it’s heels.

 

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It was a grand chase.

 

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And went on long enough for me to photograph it.

 

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Don’t think goats can run?

Try chasing one.

 

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One daughter managed to steer it closer to the outbuildings…

And viola… the take down.

 

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Country goats.

Because city people don’t know what to do with them…

 

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Dragons on the other hand…

 

Bwaahaahaa!

I bought a book.

 

No, that isn’t news.

I’m an avid reader and am probably personally responsible for Jeff Bezos’s ranking on the Fortune 500.

 

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But this book was special.

 

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As you may know, I have a fondness for chickens.

It started years ago when our farming neighbor moved in across the street and asked us to baby chicken sit.

Matter of fact, here’s a picture of the husband trying to speak to those first chickens.

 

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As you can see, it didn’t go well. The chickens weren’t paying attention.

Were his conversational skills severely lacking…

Or did he just not speak their language?

The chickens might have been saying all kinds of fascinating things!

 

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Or not.

The point is we didn’t know.

And as the flocks grew larger…

 

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We made friends…

 

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But the language barrier was problematic.

My pathetic attempts at cooing were for naught.

 

 

Clearly the birds had something to say.

Possibly deep, philosophical things….

 

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But we couldn’t decipher it.

Until now.

 

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So join me on the journey.

 

 

And we’ll explore these topics.

 

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Admit it.

There have been times you’ve wanted to chat up a chicken too.

 

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It will be fun…

 

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Day 6, and we travel back in time.

 

 

Well, not really. We didn’t have a Tardis…

 

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But we did drive over to Connecticut so the husband could revisit his boyhood home.

 

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He was born in Maine, but the family ( 9 kids! He’s #2 ) moved when he was 8 years old.

 

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The town is very rural, and famous for it’s covered bridge.

 

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Which we always have to drive through, just because.

 

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Everything about the place is quaint, and quintessentially New England.

 

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This….

 

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Was quite literally my husband’s backyard growing up.

 

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Yes, all of it.

 

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He grew up on a farm which encompassed the entire valley, at the base of Coltsfoot Mountain.

 

 

I have no idea how many acres it was, but you can imagine when his mother told them to go outside and play…. she didn’t see them for a while.

The house and barn are at the end of this next video.

 

 

Back in the husband’s day there were 3 large barns, and many large cows. But being a dairy farm, you’d expect that.

 

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There were probably many large cow pies as well.

 

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No, not that kind.

 

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Reminiscing finished, we headed back into “town” to look for some lunch.

 

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Being the giant metropolis that it is, there was only choice… and it was shut up tighter than the proverbial drum.

Someone told us it went out of business, but that’s the husband peering anxiously through the windows.

I tend to get cranky when hungry and clearly he was desperate.