Which is what I’ve been saying to myself for three weeks. I was running sound for West Side Story at Civic Theatre for three weeks, which effectively took up all of my free time. But I’ve been theatre free for a week and racing to fit farmstead chores in.
We had a gorgeous March, which has been followed by a (so far) rainy, cold, blustery April. A few days with the Spotts crew have called for long underwear, two pairs of wool socks, and about six layers of clothes, but mostly we’ve been fine. I’m planting lots of vegetable gardens for customers this year, which naturally makes me think of my own garden…
Peas and potatoes are in the ground. I’m forgoing lettuce crops this year, mostly because Gin and I get such great salad greens from Farm Fresh Delivery, and theirs are all clean and stuff. I’ll make up for my skimpy spring garden by planting in midsummer for a fall harvest–I’ve read that spinach, carrots, and beets are all actually sweeter if you leave them in the ground for a few frosts, so I’d like to try that this year.
The front garden expansion is making slow progress. I’ve planted two dwarf apple trees and a dwarf cherry. Right now they look more like fruit sticks than fruit trees; they are unbranched whips, and the stakes I used are taller than they are. My new blueberry is in, as is the Nero Aronia. I still need to plant the goumi.
In an embarrassing twist, the lovely large shrub that I thought was a blueberry revealed itself to be a thrice-damned honeysuckle. So I cut it to the ground and grubbed the roots out. I will replace it with a potted Northland blueberry as soon as the weather warms up a bit.
My giant load of compost is due to come in next week. I’m hitting up all my friends and relations for their stacks of newspaper so I can prepare the front yard vegetable bed the lazy way: I’ll dump a thick layer of wet newspaper on the grass to smother it, then put compost on top. I’ll plant transplants by shoving the compost aside, cutting a hole in the paper, digging a hole in the ground, and filling with compost.
On the chicken front, Mr. Dan and Mr. Roy are scouting for additional recycled materials for the house and brainstorming engineering designs. So far I have a very nice coop door I found on the side of the road, a bunch of pine panelling Amy F and her husband Kirk donated to the cause, and the disassembled pieces of the Christy and Tim’s girls’ playset. Thanks to their generosity, my chickens will be the only ones in America with a pop-hole gangplank made out of a climbing wall.
Right now, Gabby is glaring at Ginny for daring to bathe her, Ace is attempting to launch stealth attacks on my bedroom to harrass Miss Kitty, I have the squirt bottle handy to remind Ace he’s not allowed in my bedroom, and dinner is in the oven. Yep, it’s just another evening at the Fraudulent Farmstead.
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