C. started tomato seeds today and yesterday. She's always convinced that it's too late and I always say there's plenty of time. Somehow the planting date never gets recorded – until now. So if we have a poor showing in tomatoes, we'll know who was right. And that's what it's all about, isn't it? (Not really. Maybe a little.)
She's been digging up quack grass and hauling manure for some new potato beds. Our two pounds of Yukon Gold seed potatoes arrived this week, but none of the other varieties came. Apparently C.'s evil twin, Skippy, took them off the order form. Or something. I don't think I did it. Anyway, we'll pick up some Kennebecs and Red Lasotas at Northwest Seed next week, after payday. And maybe some random others to try. All the seed places are stocking "fingerlings" at five times the price of regular round seed spuds. I think we'll pass – apparently they are no different in taste and texture than ordinary spuds, just smaller. And trendier. Smaller spuds are more work to dig and wash. Trends are stupid. (Who sounds like an old person?)
C. planted six pounds of seed potatoes last year, and we didn't get that many and they stored poorly. So we probably need to plant 10-20 pounds of some that store well. Well, we kept them in the pantry with the canned goods and a small electric heater, so we can do better on our end, too. I'm thinking the boiler room, or the coal room in the deep-deep basement. We need to check the temperatures and humidity levels down there. We do know it's too damn cold here to leave them in the beds over winter.
We were planning to shear the sheep and comb out the goats this weekend, but it's rainy. My Weather Bug computer widget has a big splash over the next several days. So maybe we can do the goats and wait on the sheep. I'm happy to postpone trying to wrestle those two wily ewes with their sharp feet and hard heads. They've knocked me on my ass before. Maybe I can rig an ass protector.
C. made rum-tum-diddy for dinner. It's kind of like goulash – noodles and canned tomatoes and corn and onions and mushrooms and such. Delicious. It's either her mom's recipe (shout-out to Betty Lou on the other side!) or from the girl scouts. I can never remember.
I'm off to feed the dogs – except for Jasmine. She got rum-tum-diddy, with the onions removed. She is the Yeti princess. I'll stir in a little for the other guys, so they won't hate her for being beautiful and delicate.