Farm Friday: Farm-ily Planning

It's that time of year again.

T minus twelve days till the vernal equinox.

Time to let my overactive gardening and farming ambitions get the better of me.

Let the delusional planning begin.



Where I had my pumpkins last year? I want to put in cucumbers.

The kids eat 'em like candy as soon as they come in, and we never seem to have enough.


All along the whole long stone wall? I want to try pumpkins again. They'll get more sunlight there, and I'm hoping that will mean the difference.







As in, maybe we'll actually get a few.



And I'll put sweet potatoes in the secret garden.


Termaters and peppers and herbs and scallions and assorted yumminies in the actual vegetable garden.



And I haven't even gotten started on the animals.


I'm gonna get 50 cornish-rock chickens to split with my friend Theresa.






Since I'm ordering poultry anyway, I'll probably throw in a few more layers. And I've always wanted a few ducks, maybe I'll get me some runners. Should I get a turkey or two?


And there's the building projects.

I want to make a hay feeder to keep in the upper field, and maybe a chicken tractor for the meat birds, and I want to build a little pen to keep a few hens in the garden to till it up some before I plant stuff.

And do I maybe want to get a pig?

Or a cow?

If I do, I'll need to make a few updates to my fencing and gates.

On a smaller scale, maybe I'll get a buck for my Alice and start breeding Flemish Giants.  They're so cool.







Buzz...buzz.....buzz.......buzz....




Time to wake up.

Wake up to reality. 

Chicken coop?  Not finished.  Not even clean.

The barn is a wreck.  A tangle of wood scraps and cobwebby chicken wire and knotted baling twine and busted palates and empty feed bags.

You could say just about the same for my house.

Finding time for more projects? Two of my three horse aren't even broke to ride.

My dog's claws look like something out of Guinness.

And I just started back to work!

The only talk of vegetables should be what's on sale at the store.

The only talk of critters should be whose turn it is to clean up the dog poop and bring in the eggs.




Someone please hit me over the head with a shovel.

Just not one of my shovels from the barn.



I've been meaning to clean that.....




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