by Pa Rock
Farmer in Winter
There is no snow on the ground, but that doesn't mean that the cold hammer of winter isn't already pounding down on us here in the Ozarks. The calendar says it's winter - and has been for over two weeks, and by golly the calendar is right. There's a cold wind blowing.
All of the poultry watering pans, both inside of buildings and outside, freeze over solid each night and require lots of attention to keep the ice broken and water available for the thirsty birds during the daylight hours. The chickens still go about their yard patrols scratching for bugs, but it would take a mighty stupid insect to be found above ground or out in the open on a day like this. The poor hens are forced by necessity to either stay in the coop where grain is readily available, or to gather out in the front yard beneath the bird feeder where they can eat and chat and feel as though they are being somewhat naughty.
But mostly the girls stay in or near their coop - and the farmer sits in the house with his little dog and occasionally rushes out into the harsh winter wind to check on feed and water.
Yesterday Rosie and I did venture to town a couple of times where I ran some errands and bought my first seeds of the year - a sure sign that spring is coming - eventually - probably. These particular seeds are for birdhouse gourds, something that I have successfully grown before. One of my goals next summer is to have a birdhouse in every tree - and there are lots of trees at Rock's Roost!
Today I may possibly go outside and walk the perimeter of this little farm picking up trash. (Drivers passing by seem to find my small patch of earth an especially pleasing place to pitch their beer cans, drink cups, and odd pieces of clothing. Last month as I was performing the trash call, I even came across a stuffed gingerbread-man! So far though, no money.
Spring is coming, spring is coming, spring is coming.
God, I hope spring is coming!
Farmer in Winter
There is no snow on the ground, but that doesn't mean that the cold hammer of winter isn't already pounding down on us here in the Ozarks. The calendar says it's winter - and has been for over two weeks, and by golly the calendar is right. There's a cold wind blowing.
All of the poultry watering pans, both inside of buildings and outside, freeze over solid each night and require lots of attention to keep the ice broken and water available for the thirsty birds during the daylight hours. The chickens still go about their yard patrols scratching for bugs, but it would take a mighty stupid insect to be found above ground or out in the open on a day like this. The poor hens are forced by necessity to either stay in the coop where grain is readily available, or to gather out in the front yard beneath the bird feeder where they can eat and chat and feel as though they are being somewhat naughty.
But mostly the girls stay in or near their coop - and the farmer sits in the house with his little dog and occasionally rushes out into the harsh winter wind to check on feed and water.
Yesterday Rosie and I did venture to town a couple of times where I ran some errands and bought my first seeds of the year - a sure sign that spring is coming - eventually - probably. These particular seeds are for birdhouse gourds, something that I have successfully grown before. One of my goals next summer is to have a birdhouse in every tree - and there are lots of trees at Rock's Roost!
Today I may possibly go outside and walk the perimeter of this little farm picking up trash. (Drivers passing by seem to find my small patch of earth an especially pleasing place to pitch their beer cans, drink cups, and odd pieces of clothing. Last month as I was performing the trash call, I even came across a stuffed gingerbread-man! So far though, no money.
Spring is coming, spring is coming, spring is coming.
God, I hope spring is coming!
1 comment:
Way back in time, when i was a kid, we had friends who lived in the southern part of Kansas City on Holmes Road. This was a long time before the area was built up. They were about a mile north of the little town of Martin City, known for a couple of restaurants, some taverns, and a liquor store. Well, the sides of the road in front of our friend's house was always littered with beer cans. Not just a few cans, but cans which would be the envy of a recycling center, although the current incarnation of those hadn't arisen yet.
The local police told our friends that the average distance to drink a beer was about the distance to Martin City from their house. Man, did they ever sell a lot of beer in Martin City!
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