Monday, November 10, 2014

R.I.P. Mrs. Davis

Well, she didn't make it. Our home stitching job proved inadequate, she developed massive infections and I had the local vet give her the big shot.

I know, pretty wussy for a farmer. But that's how we roll. Wussy style.

She was a good, brave bird.

Been raining in the bathroom. Now it's getting clear but cold. Supposed to be 17 tonight. I'm not crazy about the cold, but at least it won't be fucking raining.

Em and Richard came up Saturday and got wood, then cut it up and stacked it in the hallway. Pretty awesome. I made mediocre apple crumble from the box of granny smiths that Fred the whizzer brought, and we ate mass quantities warm from the oven with vanilla ice cream on top. Mmmm. Sunday I crawled around in the crawl space (the place to crawl, don't you know) and got the outside water off and the lines drained. C. and I dug sun chokes and packed them into buckets for storage in the boiler room. That's miserable work, grubbing the things out of the mud. But everyone from rabbits to dogs to people to Azul can eat them, and they store well, so it's a smart crop. Dead easy to grow, too.

The buckets are three-gallon plastic frosting containers from the Safeway bakery. Imagine that: three gallons of frosting. That's what I would have spent my allowance on, when I was a sugar-junkie kid. Three gallons of frosting. Of course, it's that commercial crap frosting that you have to scrape off before you can eat the cake. Imagine, though, if it were decent frosting. Chocolate, or cream cheese. Made with buttah, not gross shortening. Three gallons of buttah frosting. In a bucket.

Today I took C. to the doctor in town, and Mrs. Davis to the vet. Weekend over. Back to work.

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