My son, the one married to my second born daughter, brought me some geese today. As he backed into the Margaret Garden to unload them, he looked around and then asked, “How much time to you put into this.”
He caught me off guard so of course my reply was silly.
“Not enough.” Pause. “I sit around way too much”
Truth is, I don’t have a clue. And I should.
Today for instance, here it is 6 o’clock in the evening and all I can remember….
I washed eggs first thing for a half hour at 5:30 a.m.. sent 4? dozen with Dirt.
Ate breakfast, entertained Henry for a bit, by 8 I had done the chick chores including washing wate buckets and adding corrid for their final coccidiosis treatment, and was out moving water on the beds I intend to seed.
Then I began to prepare to bring geese home while, putting some wash in the laundry, moving baby quail out of the house, setting flea foggers upstairs.
Arranged to borrow a truck, headed to get it but found I didn’t need to, so instead visited with my friend who is convalesing from back surgery two days ago.
1 p.m. Came home, dealt with the gate opener that wouldn’t open the dang gate. Started making pens for the geese.
3 ish. Geese delivered and distributed to pens, waterer set up, shade set up.
4:00 ish evening chicken chores. Collect eggs. Kick 3 broodies off nest, devise a plan while I walk back to farmyard to do the chick house afternoon chores. Strip upstairs bed, notice the smell of the foggers, perfume. Move laundry for weekend guests. Get a beer from well house fridge, clean up accumulated milk jugs from orphan lamb project.
6pm took a bath to get green goddess goose doo off my face. Move laundry, strip sheets on my bed. Wrote down what I did… Not much.
There are a few more hours. Dirt is baling hay in town, Bet and Lucas are shearing all day and home late so no need to do dinner. Just tidy up the slum, so guests don’t feel creepy.
Addition: so I left off at about 7:10 after spending some time talking to a dear friend who is struggling. I talked about something I know better than gardening, depression and suicide, or at least extreme suicidal thoughts.
I picked up thises and thats, did a load of dishes (we do not have a automatic dishwasher, it is all done by hand). Moved laundry, moved quail back to the living room. Did more dishes. But then realised I did not have a scrap bucket. Off to Margaret Garden. I took some egg baskets back down with me.
Moved water one last time, in the morning I’ll move it again and then 5 – 90′ beds will ne good and soaked ready for seeding.
I checked on all the birds and yup, the broodies were back on the nests. Grabbed up two more eggs, 28 total.
Back to the farm yard to get a nest box top big enough to hold broodies. Stopped off at the chick house to tuck everyone in for the night. Some little ones had escaped, thank you scratching hens, put a board in to block hole. Set up a light for some I moved over to an empty pen earlier.
Headed back to the Margaret Garden with nest top, made a nest bottom from a market garden basket missing a side rail. I’ll set the girls up completely tomorrow, with eggs.
Turned around and our two lone African ganders that had never left the farm had come to see their friends, I hustled them into a vacant pen, got them set up with water. And now for heading back to the house, move laundry, make my bed, rewash my feet, make a phone call to see where Dirt is, make dinner for myself… a cheese sandwich