The Old Goat is sick. He spent ten days at the University of Alabama-Birmingham hospital. They finally installed a shunt in his head to treat hydrochephelus but I doubt if it will make much difference. He may not fall as often as before but the real issue is that he is aging. Tinker and I secured the services of a very nice lady to sit with him. Mrs. Phillips. She cleans and cooks. Generally, she watches him to make sure he does not hurt himself. Lately, he has taken to forgetting to turn off water faucets, close refrigerators, turn off his electric razor. So far, nothing he has forgotten to do has been a threat to his health. Mrs. Phillips will help prevent dangerous situations.
On other fronts, I got my onions and cabbage in during the one day I had of dry weather. The night I planted it rained over an inch here. The lake that looked as if it would dry up last summer is now brimming full. The ground is saturated and it will be a week before it is dry enough to sustain any real work. Not only did I get my cabbage and onions in, I was also able to put in the same for the parish garden, albeit on a smaller scale. In a week or so, I will go back and plant English peas, lettuces, beets and spinach. I have an attraction to the cool weather crops. Naturally, I love tomatoes and okra and corn – all hot weather characters – but the freshness of the cool weather guys is rewarding. In six weeks we will be enjoying all sorts of spring vegetables. The taste differential between what is grown in the garden and what comes out of a can is remarkable. Unless you have done the taste test, you would not believe the difference.
I could spend the rest of this commentary talking about the work of the Alabama Sustainable Ag Network but I will refrain. They are such good people, working hard every day to bring the best to the tables of Alabama folks. It is honorable work.
I put Sassafrass and her five kittens out in the greenhouse today. I enjoyed watching them scamper all over the house but they were getting a bit messy. I am hopeful that two will find homes soon. I have no prospects for the other three. I might keep one, maybe two. Somebody will lose in the end. It is such a shame because they are beautiful little creatures.
The new chickens are just now beginning to lay eggs. The older bunch has essentially quit which means I am feeding them to entertain themselves. I am so gutless that I won’t chop off a few heads and put the old girls in the freezer. I know that if I intend to live this life, that is part of it. I am avoiding the inevitable. A friend of mine suggested that I follow his example – he has modified his chopping block with Velcro strips to affix the chicken to the block in order that the chop can be administered quickly, efficiently and humanely. I have not taken it to that level, yet. It is, however, just a matter of time. Can it be that a killer’s heart lurks in every farmer?
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