The moon is full, and the swallows are back! A pair came zipping by me on the south porch yesterday, making loops in the yard, then just over my head. Must be how a swallow says "howdy." They live in the boarded-up north-classroom window, between the plywood on the outside and the sheetrock on the inside. Beautiful birds.
I have now grafted seven? nine? apple trees. Feeling pretty accomplished. Though we won't know if any of the grafts "took" for a month or so. Jim from the garden club set up his grafting-class equipment on his porch, showed me what to do, then let me practice on his trees since my rootstock hadn't come yet. And when my trees arrived a week later, he set me up again and supervised as I cut and banded and planted. Thanks, Jim. That was awesome!
I've been working on fencing all weekend. In slo-mo, of course, which is how I roll. I borrowed a come-along, drug out some chain, and pulled tight a stretch of no-climb fencing I got at the scrap yard. Then I popped the clips on, using a screwdriver like all the cool old guys on YouTube. In the olden days, about a month ago, I used to painfully wrap the clips with pliers. And my wire was too loose. The internet has made me a better farmer.
Em and Richard started putting up the old white picket fence we got from a guy on Shady Slope Road. I like it – it's kinda snuggle-toothed, and already looks like it's always been here. It's going up at the bottom of the garden, and will be one side of the goat moat that will (I hope) keep the deer out of the green beans. And the goats out of the beans, as well. You can see the remnants of my plastic orange deer-attracting flags behind the fence. Foolish me, I thought they would repel the deer.
We have bad news on the dog front. One-Eyed Jack and Earl had a brief altercation, and Jack is now None-Eyed. He's always been a pugnacious little butthead. Now he's a blind pugnacious little butthead. He's adjusting pretty well, bobbling around the rooms like a little Roomba vacuum. It was a horrible, horrible experience and I will spare you the story and photos. C. says Earl will have to find a new home, but I'm hoping things blow over. Earl is a big doofus, and not mean. He's my farm dog.