Mow is Me

Got up at 0530 for no good reason. I just felt like it. Therefore had to make my own coffee. Keith often does this for me but he was sleeping off yesterday's 16 hr day. Stumbled around the house doing mindless things like drinking coffee, sniffing soap bars and ignoring the cat while he ignores me ignoring him. Keith woke. Farm meeting was had.

No. "Farm meeting" is not code for anything . It means we sat down with notebooks and talked about the farm activities for the day. No. "Activities" is not code for anything either. Can we just get through this blog one time without all the distractions ?

Intern Aaron arrived and morning milking commenced. Sun continues to rise blaring out happiness ,good will and hope for a glorious day.

I miss the night shift.

After milking (Keith was) and returning phone calls, emails, checking meat pickup and delivery schedule  for this week (me was) the morning was spent fighting the hag that is mother nature. Trees growing out of bricks that should be holding up our house and not giving life to trees. Trees swinging their dead limbs at me threatening to poke my eyes out when I am mowing. Trees in garden spaces where we did not plant any trees.

Youngest son Kyle came with his chain saw while Keith and Aaron used shovels and brute force to remove all these...these...these...TREES. When we were done tree remains were fed to goats and/or  put on the burn pile. When we went in for lunch The Arbor Foundation called and asked us to return our membership cards. We told them we were pretty sure we burned them but we sure did like those free address labels. Could they send more ?

Even innocent children have been plagued with trees
spouting randomly out of their heads.

The afternoon was filled with relentless mowing . This mowing thing would be a lot more fun if Keith could just look the other way but no. If the mower runs out of gas, he fills it. If a tire on the mower goes flat he fixes it. Blades bent ? He manhandles them back into shape. I can't get a break.

They are going to find me dead on that blasted mower. Stone cold dead with blades of green grass in my teeth and between my toes, making Celtic crop circles in the front yard.