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Can’t you just hear this hen telling that strange black camera thingy not to come another step closer? It might seem from this photo that our new Buff Orpington chicks are staying pretty close to home.
It was a dark and stormy night …
Stormy? Well, not so much. Dark? Pitch dark.
<<<<< When, what should my wondering ears hear? Ü >>>>>
Hooves on gravel. (Rooftop, no.)
In farm-speak, hooves-on-gravel means trouble is afoot. Four of them. Four feet or pairs of four-footed critters on the LOOSE. Running. On the gravel roads that surround our farm. In other words, not pasture-fed, but free range, soon to be out-of-range cows (maybe horses) if something isn’t done quickly. Done and gone. Gone before dawn.
I threw on a robe, pulled on some boots, grabbed my derringer, scrounged a headlamp. Down several flights of stairs and into the dark, my searchlight searching for eyes. Whose?
Okay, this is going to be a glimpse of glamour, farm glamour, but first I have to comment on your comments over on my Glamping Giveaway. When the comments started rolling in late Friday and early Saturday morning (more than we’d ever seen before) and then the stats on Amazon pushed my book almost into the top 100 books (165 to be exact/an author starts out at something like 250,000), I wanted to …
So, you have the urge to garden but you have no plot of land to plant? No problem!
Grab your keys, fire up that old pickup truck, and get your own truck farm going.
Does King Corn ring a bell?