My brother and his wife and daughter stopped by on their way from Thermopolis, Wyo., to Seattle. Nice folks, and we had a good time. I gave them the old-school tour, the roof tour, the pump-house tour, the ballfield tour. Em was here, too, and we talked about everything from gardening to chickens to yap dogs to whiskey. Jasmine alternated yapping with stink-eyeing. Earl adored my bro, but we couldn't convince him to take the big speckled jackass back to Wyoming. (Earl is the speckled jackass, not my brother. My brother used to be freckled, and I often considered him a jackass when we were kids, but he's grown into a good guy with a sneaky sense of humor. I like him. And I'm sorry I was so snotty to him when we were little.)
Now that my nephew is in Seattle we should see more of them.
C. dug spuds, and I packed them away to cure in milk crates (for air circulation) in Nadine's room. In a few weeks we'll move them to the boiler room for winter storage.
Today we hit the monthly book sale in Deer Park and found another five boxes of reading matter to help get us through the approaching winter. C. packed a batch of green beans into jars and I ran the pressure canner. She plans to spend the next several hours as slave to tomatoes.
The goats are going under the fence into the orchard. And when I tighten up the bottom of that stretch of fence, they go over. I'll go out later and move the line and tighten things up. I must remember that, with goats, fences are more guideline than laws. I'll try to leave a weak spot on the other side of the building away from the orchard, so that when they feel they must escape, the little tree stubs are safe.