Woke this morning to a familiar mid-spring sound: a young male robin who has claimed the cedar tree outside my kitchen window repeatedly jousting at his reflection therein.
For some reason the repeated knocking failed to wake anyone else in the house, and although it has been a year since I’ve heard that sound, I knew pretty much exactly what it was as soon as I gained consciousness.
Yesterday’s farm work day was fairly productive in retrospect, though it didn’t feel like it at the time. Part of feeling that it was a bust was that I had entirely too much on my to-do list, and I failed to recognize that fact at the time.
We had a little help from a friend, and managed to get the northcentral garden mostly cleaned up of larger perennial weeds and grasses. I worked up one row I’d planned to get at for over a week, transplanted 18 cabbages, and row-covered them. That didn’t feel great considering I had over 50 to go in, but it’s something.
I also managed to sterilize all the coolers and containers for harvesting green onions and nettles for this afternoon’s winery event. Nevermind that I’d also planned to actually do that harvesting. That’ll have to be this morning–which is really a better time to do it anyhow.
Before our help arrived, I pulled out, stacked, and moved all the sheets of tin roofing that have been sitting by the side of the northcentral garden since before it actually was a garden at all. It’s amazing how quickly and easily that project went considering how long I’d put it off.
This morning I’m trying to get all my tools and supplies ready to head out and do that harvesting. The biggest problem I face in not living at the farm at present is that I almost always forget to bring something I need from the house in town–making certain tasks more difficult or impossible (for instance, it’s hard to transplant if you forget to bring the plants).
Yesterday I spent about two hours slowly and methodically thinking about and gathering together supplies for the projects I wanted to accomplish (I was also doing housework–I find washing dishes a good time to thought-process).
I did a pretty thorough job of remembering everything, but when I stepped out of the truck at the farm, I realized I wasn’t wearing my work boots; I was still wearing my nice leather clogs–not really the best footgear for moving sheets of metal–at least not if I want to continue calling them “nice.”
And yes, I know I should just leave a pair of heavy duty footwear out there. It’s just that I keep forgetting to bring them.