Hay- on the 4th of July

So its already the Fourth of July.  My Mother used to remind us that meant the summer was half over. So yesterday, I took time for a quick look back at the first half.

That is, after taking care of the picking and washing of produce, as we held the Farmers Market in spite of the Holiday. Mid wash, Don announced that if I was ready, he would put up my washing station. So we did. Pictures and more on that later.

Our celebration was pretty common day. We went to Market, and a few customers showed up, so it wasn't a total bust. Then we got a sandwich, and drove around town to check out the activity. There wasn't any. At least outside of a few garage-grilling groups of friends and family. So we resigned ourselves to an ice cream cone treat, and went home. There we watched 2 fireworks shows on TV, (much quieter than live), and then a smaller live show courtesy of several neighbors from the front porch.

The significant entertainment came from the hay. The season of grass this year has been quiet opposite of last, thankfully. The grass was tall from all the timely rains.

Yes, it was 5 foot high and rising. So tall and thick in places it was difficult to mow, and harder to get to dry.

So it was raked into windrows, and some turned once, some twice.

How good it is to see how well it has taken hold, considering the drought of last year.

In the early afternoon, we walked out to check on the drying windrows.




It was, indeed, heavy and still slightly wet underneath, especially in the sheltered spots. We rolled some of it over, glancing again at the sky. We escaped the serious rain of earlier this week, and were not looking to welcome more.

While Don continued rolling over the grass, I was checking out the Mulberries.  There are several trees along the north fork of the creek, but the winds have not been kind to the 'berry lover. There were some left, and of course I sampled them all, but found none good enough to inspire me to retrieve the buckets and stained sheets.  Sigh. Maybe next year.

Today, the baler came back, and now 12 more rolls dot the hillside.

With 8 from the smaller field, and the 20 bought en ones in the yard, and a possible 2 yet to dry, that makes a total of 42, plus the 100 small squares of alfalfa in the barn, even the prospect of an early frost doesn't seem threatening.

Just to be sure, I checked last Julys posts before I started this one. How bleak it seemed, compared to now.  Still rain chances for the days ahead. But, then, the garden has begun to beg for water. Only time will tell. The days of July and August have proved to be cruel.

But other things are progressing. The older ewes have been sorted off, and may soon be looking for a new home, and possibly a few more productive years in other folds. Today, we sorted the lambs, now divided into Keepers and Feeders. I winced when I counted the Keepers. Can we really support that many sheep?  Well, we'll figure it out as we go. We made it through the last year.

The old timers had a saying they used to apply to the aged, weak, or run down livestock during the cold last of winter. "Gotta be tough, and hang in there. You'll be ok if you can make it to grass."

It's been a tough year on all of us. But here in the hollow surrounded by fields of corn ever taller, I hold on to the hope that we've made it to grass.

Keep thinking green everyone. And make hay while the sun shines - even on the Fourth of July.

Garden update - it's in decline

There are signs of change everywhere. The predictable sequence of blooms and fruits are running their course once again. Wether more influenced by the suddenly cool of the mornings or the shortening of the days, the plant life here on the farm is signaling a seasonal change in wardrobe is soon to come.

The hydrangea continues to bloom, and the tiny butterflies continue their fluttery swarming as the blossoms are equally persistently emerge, now showing more pink and salmon, and with a fragrance that permeates the yard on a still evening.


The Broccoli is still alive and making a valiant effort. But not much yet. The Peppers show signs of blight, but are coming out of it a bit, and we will have some of all 5 kinds. Too bad they just don't seem to sell, but the daughters in law don't mind that. The eggplant is also coming around, and we have hopes of at least a few lasagnas.



The cucumbers have held up very well in this years heat, and have been our cash crop for sure. They have produced countless pounds of long green fruits, so we can't be critical of the yellow and brown spots that are beginning to dot their leaves, and even a few that have withered. The tomatoes, however, are pathetic. They are producing a few finally, but only a few, and the quality is poor at best. I have consoled myself with the facts that others have faced the same challenges of weather and blight, and willingly accepted the task of disposing of the less than perfect produce personally. The bacon is in the fridge.

The Green beans also failed this year. They seem to believe they are flowers - they bloom and bloom, but no beans. I replanted twice, and there is a bit of hope, but no promises.


The single row of zinnias stand guard in a cheery row as they have for many years. They even beat out most of the foxtail this year.

Oh - and the Ground Cherries. Our experiment of the season. The seed came as a bonus in our seed order. And the description was so promising - 'highly productive', 'drought tolerant', and 'papery skinned fruits with a strawberry flavor' made them sound like a sure market attraction. I always had heard of ground cherries, growing up in the sand hills, and had even thought those cute little lantern things that grew among the puncture vine at the cemetery could have been cherries, though I was told repeatedly to never eat them because they were poisonous. (and being a member of the nightshade family, who knows). We were told stories from those who should know about childhood memories of the wonderful fruits, and the pies and jam they produced. So we planted them along with the other seeds, and set them out when the frosts had past.


The plants, though slow growing, thrived. At least some of them. We carefully watched as the predicted blooms transformed into tiny green buds, which became papery covered fruits which looked much like their cousins tomatillos. And finally, they began to turn yellow. And we tried them. Too soon. Still green, they tasted more like really bad peas. So we watched and waited until at last they were papery dry, and pale tan. I carefully pealed back the delicate skin, and a golden yellow berry with a faint pink blush seemed promising...... and failed. I kept trying them, hoping as with many crops, the produce would improve. It didn't. Of all I sampled, (though most of the fruits were already inhabited with tiny worms - eeeew!) in only one did I detect a faint hint of strawberry. Don gave up sooner, declaring them a disgusting disappointment long before I. We took samples to our Farmers market vendor neighbors, who validated his judgment.



The papery 'lanterns' are cute all right. We finally realized that when they were truly ripe, they picked themselves, falling into neat little nests below the snakey vines. (Yes, the tangle of vines are striped in green, resembling a tangle of garter snakes. That took a little getting used to) And we sampled them again, just in case. Nope. Still nasty, but the worms seemed to love them even more. They will not be taking up garden space next year.



And so the season is beginning to show its age. Even the flowers color is bolder. The zinnias and Black eyed Susans herald the sunflowers and goldenrod and sumac soon to come into their own. The vibrant colors of fall emerge loudly, demanding their place in the sun be noticed in the fields of green fast fading to tan and brown. So goes the cycle. It's all good. And though with the passing of each year I find myself just a bit further along in the cycle myself, I have no regrets. The best of the harvest is yet to come.