The propane tank is full, firewood has been stacked, and we've made one of our infrequent trips to Sam's Club in Topeka, stocking up on everything from Kleenex to canned soup. We are cozily ready for winter.
This morning the temperature on John's temperamental but usually accurate wireless indoor/outdoor gauge read 22 degrees. We plugged in Annie's heat mat (Annie is our dog), and dug out the two heated water bowls for the cats (front porch) and for Annie (back yard). At the shop today in between welding projects, John plans to use a large plastic barrel to create a warmer sleeping spot for our five outdoor cats. I'll be interested to see his finished design, because I can't quite picture how that's going to work.
As I pulled on my brand new insulated coveralls this morning I thought, "Now I'll find out what all those dire warnings have been about." I've been getting a lot of knowing looks and doubtful smiles from farming veterans who rightly believe I'm not, shall we say, the hale and hearty outdoor type. I do love spending time outdoors, but I've never had a lot of stamina. It's probably kind of late to start, but I am suffering the delusion that it is possible to become accustomed to a little more strenuous level of physical labor than I've attempted in the past.
I drove, and "stabbed" 3 bales with the hay fork, picked 'em up (ok, I pushed the button that caused the hydraulic fork to raise), and set 'em down.
Now, as I've shared here, I really am a farm girl at heart. When I was young I used to roam the woods back of my Grandpa's farmhouse with my cousins, and I learned at an early age not to eat a green persimmon. But this one looked ripe.
I attempted and failed to force feed Farmer John the remainder of the persimmon.
All in all, it was a pleasant morning back on the farm!