The road to growing your own food is fraught with peril. About a week and a half ago, our dogs got out and extinguished the vital spark that animated our teenaged flock of laying hens. I came home to find 15 Barred Rocks wilted on the grass in great puddles of downy gray feathers. I just went in the house, sat down, and cried. Nathaniel dealt with the dogs and the bodies of the murder victims.
My grief came from the depressing prospect of starting over again with day-old chicks but also from the loss of atmosphere. I'm amazed that a flock of laying hens is not the number one wedding gift. Nothing else gives that homey feeling quite so well.
Despite the loss of the hens, we continue. We got some meat rabbits--two does and a buck. I bought the book afterwards only to read that you should always start with two does and two bucks.
Nathaniel and his friend, Ryan, prepared two new raised beds for me.
Herb got some time off and decided that two more raised beds would not be enough.
He and Nathaniel would build a raised bed subdivision.
Emma took a turn, too.
We finally got the tomatoes staked up. Yes, it requires heavy equipment to transport the fence posts. . .
and to push them into the ground.
Tying the strings requires handwork, though.
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