by Pa Rock
Farmer in Summer
I thought with today being the first day of summer, it might be a good time to catch my friends up on what's happening here at Rock's Roost. My decision to "retire" to a farm pretty much counteracted any plans that I might have had for extensive reading, writing for pleasure, long strolls down idyllic country lanes, or daily naps. Farms, even small ones like mine that don't produce anything, are busy places!
Quite a bit of my time is spent mowing. The Roost is ten acres, and I mow about half of that. Rex, the world's best neighbor, comes by on his tractor and bush-hogs the rest twice a year. Since arriving here four years ago, I had gradually expanded the amount of land that I mowed until last year it was taking between eight to ten hours to cut the grass. Near the end of the mowing season, on the occurrence of me tearing up my mower for the second time that summer by hitting rocks that protrude from the ground like vulgar stone mushrooms, I decided to invest in a tougher mower. I bought a zero-turn "Dixie Chopper" with a 52-inch swath that not only cut the grass and pulverized many of the rocks, but also cut my mowing time roughly in half. I once bought a new car that cost less than that mower, but, of the two, I love the mower best!
Rex came by and bush-hogged late last week, and I mowed the entire yard in two sessions this past Monday and Tuesday. The whole place looks like a picture postcard!
One corner of the farm is low and collects water when it rains. That water spills over the junction of two paved county roads two or three times a year. This week Howl County finally sent a crew out to address the situation. They tore up the roads, installed two big tin whistles for drainage, and then brought in some fill dirt to try and cure the situation.
That particular corner of land, the one that collects the rainwater, spawned an interesting Ozark tall tale. One of my son's friends, the one who was killed a couple of weeks ago in the Shannon County shootout (as mentioned previously in Pa Rock's Ramble) told the story, with a straight face, that on days when a small lake forms over that parcel of land, fish can be seen jumping in the water. A few gullible locals believed him and posited that the fish were probably living in some spring or water channel that ran beneath the land. While these goobers are (and were) nice people, they are also the geniuses who voted for and elected you-know-who.
But I digress.
Fiona had four kittens on March 31st, and one died the following week. I put a sign out in the front yard to give away the other three. A pair of young men from the neighboring community of Pomona stopped by and took the two smaller kittens, one black and one brindle - and probably both female - and left me with just the larger orange one - definitely a Tom. They were looking to raise the kittens as barn cats. A mother and daughter asked for the Tom, but he did not cotton to them and ran and hid. After a couple of discussions with the kitten-seekers, I decided that the little Tom was right - and I chose to keep him.
I have a black Tom from Fiona's litter last May and had named him Magoo. That name never seemed to fit, and the poor cat would not answer to it, so I sat all three down, Fiona, Big Tom, and Little Tom, and had a discussion on names. We finally chose to go with an alliterative assemblage. Fiona is proud of her name and will keep it. Magoo, who is all black with just a few white hairs, is now Felix, and the bouncy little fellow is Fargo - named in honor of noted physicist Dr. Douglas Fargo. They all seem pleased with their handles, and surprisingly, to me at least, the two males play together and get along quite well. Little Fargo is already almost as big as his mother, and he is closing in on Felix.
In an effort to become more mobile, I got rid of my five remaining peacocks (two cocks and three hens). They are now in residence with a neighbor in a very isolated location. I visited them last Sunday and was pleased with how well they appear to be getting along in their new digs. Plans are for the four geese to soon join them. I will miss the noise and confusion that those big birds generated, but it will be so much easier for me to close up and go on road trips if I don't have to worry about how to take care of the poultry. I still have four roosters and one hen - and will deliver to anyone, anywhere!
Rosie and Riley and fine. They go outside several times a day, but basically they like to lay around in the house and soak up the air-conditioning - as do I.
And the rocks? I started a rock pile and a brush pile when I moved here. The first brush pile is now the size of a native hut with an upstairs - and the second one is about half that size and growing. I have seen a few wild bunnies this year, and I suspect they reside in those brush piles.
The rock pile grew out of stones that I picked up as I expanded the area being mowed. It quickly grew to a pile covering about twelve square feet and reaching three feet in height. The original pile was just ordinary rocks as well as some smooth river rocks that my son dragged home and for which I had no earthly use. Then I started a second pile of field stones, those flat rocks that are common in Ozarks' fields and often used as siding on homes. Those accumulated even more quickly and that pile is about four feet high. I started a third pile that bridged the first two. It began as ordinary rocks, but for the past few weeks I have been digging boulders out of the ground in an effort to spare the mower. Some of those rugged beauties are fifty pounds or more, and that middle pile is quickly becoming as big as the other two. Taken in total, the three connecting piles of rocks are immense - and likely pose a threat to the tilt of the earth.
This afternoon I will be out and about with the wheelbarrow and pickaxe, pulling more big rocks out of the ground and carting them to the pile. I'm filling the holes with bagged top soil that I haul in from the local feed store.
Thankfully, I'm retired - so I have plenty of time to work!
Farmer in Summer
I thought with today being the first day of summer, it might be a good time to catch my friends up on what's happening here at Rock's Roost. My decision to "retire" to a farm pretty much counteracted any plans that I might have had for extensive reading, writing for pleasure, long strolls down idyllic country lanes, or daily naps. Farms, even small ones like mine that don't produce anything, are busy places!
Quite a bit of my time is spent mowing. The Roost is ten acres, and I mow about half of that. Rex, the world's best neighbor, comes by on his tractor and bush-hogs the rest twice a year. Since arriving here four years ago, I had gradually expanded the amount of land that I mowed until last year it was taking between eight to ten hours to cut the grass. Near the end of the mowing season, on the occurrence of me tearing up my mower for the second time that summer by hitting rocks that protrude from the ground like vulgar stone mushrooms, I decided to invest in a tougher mower. I bought a zero-turn "Dixie Chopper" with a 52-inch swath that not only cut the grass and pulverized many of the rocks, but also cut my mowing time roughly in half. I once bought a new car that cost less than that mower, but, of the two, I love the mower best!
Rex came by and bush-hogged late last week, and I mowed the entire yard in two sessions this past Monday and Tuesday. The whole place looks like a picture postcard!
One corner of the farm is low and collects water when it rains. That water spills over the junction of two paved county roads two or three times a year. This week Howl County finally sent a crew out to address the situation. They tore up the roads, installed two big tin whistles for drainage, and then brought in some fill dirt to try and cure the situation.
That particular corner of land, the one that collects the rainwater, spawned an interesting Ozark tall tale. One of my son's friends, the one who was killed a couple of weeks ago in the Shannon County shootout (as mentioned previously in Pa Rock's Ramble) told the story, with a straight face, that on days when a small lake forms over that parcel of land, fish can be seen jumping in the water. A few gullible locals believed him and posited that the fish were probably living in some spring or water channel that ran beneath the land. While these goobers are (and were) nice people, they are also the geniuses who voted for and elected you-know-who.
But I digress.
Fiona had four kittens on March 31st, and one died the following week. I put a sign out in the front yard to give away the other three. A pair of young men from the neighboring community of Pomona stopped by and took the two smaller kittens, one black and one brindle - and probably both female - and left me with just the larger orange one - definitely a Tom. They were looking to raise the kittens as barn cats. A mother and daughter asked for the Tom, but he did not cotton to them and ran and hid. After a couple of discussions with the kitten-seekers, I decided that the little Tom was right - and I chose to keep him.
I have a black Tom from Fiona's litter last May and had named him Magoo. That name never seemed to fit, and the poor cat would not answer to it, so I sat all three down, Fiona, Big Tom, and Little Tom, and had a discussion on names. We finally chose to go with an alliterative assemblage. Fiona is proud of her name and will keep it. Magoo, who is all black with just a few white hairs, is now Felix, and the bouncy little fellow is Fargo - named in honor of noted physicist Dr. Douglas Fargo. They all seem pleased with their handles, and surprisingly, to me at least, the two males play together and get along quite well. Little Fargo is already almost as big as his mother, and he is closing in on Felix.
In an effort to become more mobile, I got rid of my five remaining peacocks (two cocks and three hens). They are now in residence with a neighbor in a very isolated location. I visited them last Sunday and was pleased with how well they appear to be getting along in their new digs. Plans are for the four geese to soon join them. I will miss the noise and confusion that those big birds generated, but it will be so much easier for me to close up and go on road trips if I don't have to worry about how to take care of the poultry. I still have four roosters and one hen - and will deliver to anyone, anywhere!
Rosie and Riley and fine. They go outside several times a day, but basically they like to lay around in the house and soak up the air-conditioning - as do I.
And the rocks? I started a rock pile and a brush pile when I moved here. The first brush pile is now the size of a native hut with an upstairs - and the second one is about half that size and growing. I have seen a few wild bunnies this year, and I suspect they reside in those brush piles.
The rock pile grew out of stones that I picked up as I expanded the area being mowed. It quickly grew to a pile covering about twelve square feet and reaching three feet in height. The original pile was just ordinary rocks as well as some smooth river rocks that my son dragged home and for which I had no earthly use. Then I started a second pile of field stones, those flat rocks that are common in Ozarks' fields and often used as siding on homes. Those accumulated even more quickly and that pile is about four feet high. I started a third pile that bridged the first two. It began as ordinary rocks, but for the past few weeks I have been digging boulders out of the ground in an effort to spare the mower. Some of those rugged beauties are fifty pounds or more, and that middle pile is quickly becoming as big as the other two. Taken in total, the three connecting piles of rocks are immense - and likely pose a threat to the tilt of the earth.
This afternoon I will be out and about with the wheelbarrow and pickaxe, pulling more big rocks out of the ground and carting them to the pile. I'm filling the holes with bagged top soil that I haul in from the local feed store.
Thankfully, I'm retired - so I have plenty of time to work!
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