The Buns And The Bees

Obviously I am a little photo happy this morning, but I had to go out and play with my new camera before the temperatures get into the triple digits today.



this bee print is in the Little Farm Shop, our online store featuring our handmade goods

this bee print is in the Little Farm Shop, our online store featuring our handmade goods

this cabbage print is in the Little Farm Shop, our online store featuring our handmade goods

G’day Folks!

I’m not really sure why I have given my quail an Australian accent. Is that Australian? I don’t know. But these coturnix quail are so obviously Japanese. They even speak Japanese. I’m not even sure that they speak English because no matter how many times I say, “Give me eggs you freeloaders!” in my nicest voice, they do not reply. They do peck my fingers though. Pecking one’s digits is probably considered a universal bird language.

Thank you for discussing bird language theory with me. It makes me look a little less crazy when there’s someone on the other side of a ridiculous conversation.

In any case, they are finally full grown! So I should be getting those eggs I’ve been asking so nicely for any day now. I suspect the breeder had estimated the wrong hatch date on them and they were more like 3-weeks old when we bought them instead of 5-weeks old. It’s alright though. I can understand having to give it a good guess when you have so many birds at any given time. That’s why good record keeping is so important –with any species.



Evening Mist


It had been raining all day, but when the drops let up around the time for evening chores, I decided to get all my outside time in at once. After feeding the animals and refilling the fodder trays, I sauntered down to the garden making my way –in my boots instead of sandals for a change– down the muddy and eroded slope.

There is something almost magical feeling about a cloudy, misty evening. The air smelled moist and I could feel the electrical charge of the garden and its leafy inhabitants. I surveyed which bare spots needed attention and set to work. Quite a few tomato plants I had started from seed were becoming well established and needed to be thinned and replanted into individual squares. When the dirt is dry, the natural granite dust and sand present in the soil cuts up and dries out my hands. But tonight the dirt was moist. Moist, dark, fluffy, and absolutely divine.

Nothing will make you a believer in something bigger than you like working in the soil. Dirt is my religion.

I carefully dug up the seedlings that were grouped together and gently teased their roots apart. Once they were free from each other, I replanted the seedlings singly this time. Part of the magic of gardening is hoping for the best yet not knowing the outcome. We can always expect that a seedling will live if given the right conditions, but we don’t really know until the day we harvest that beautiful tomato, or cabbage, or pepper. Experiment and wishful thinking are all an integral part of the experience. Smelling the rain in the air. Hands in the soil. Dirt under your nails. Tiny, living plants in your care. Wet garden paths. Evening mist.