The sky and my mood are about the same, cloudy; yet, there is no rain and that means I can muster the will to get out and do some low-impact tractoring.
All but the garden paddock lies fallow, leaving a lot of leverage for the thistles. Their little buds are showing a hint of purple, which means I either get out there with some toxicity or take the bush hog out to mine for forgotten soaker hoses. Found two.
I just mowed one paddock, maybe about a third of an acre, and just big enough for the dog to scamper about, get worn out and lose some weight in the process. Years of table scraps on top of a full bowl of kibbles will pack it on if the heart don’t get pumped good once in a while. Believe me, I know.
Oh yeah, the sky. Out of it came a couple crows. The grasshoppers were thick and abruptly exposed, so the birds nibbled at will. I know they were really hoping for a vole. Sorry guys, I only saw one, which means that either the winter was harsh or our owl family is working into the wee hours of the morning. Either way, I’m fine with it.
We also keep a path around the perimeter of the back six for longer walks. That was next, and gave me a chance to assess the amount of tansy and scotch broom that I will tint blue in the next few days. Has to be done, and while doing so I will defoliate much of the bordering pasture that belongs to the paralyzed drug addict, as the drift originates there.
Break is over. Back at it.