A Hurried Week

It's been a busy spring; an unusual spring. Until this week (May 13), the Big Guy has only had one week to do field work. Last year he had finished all the spring tilling and planting by the middle of April.
This is what I saw during that dry, warm week:

The sprayer coming toward the house (yes, it's blurry).

The sprayer heading out to the highway (still blurry, that's how fast David was moving)!

After chemicals were mixed and boxes were emptied, I loaded them in the back of the truck and took them to the burn pile in the pasture. Open the gate, unlatch the electric fence--and I was really glad it wasn't on because I tested it with my palm instead of the back of my hand! Cringe. City-slicker throwback.

 The equipment was out, lined up parade-style, ready to roll.

The sheep did little more than raise their heads and bawl. Mommas called and babies checked in, grabbed a drink, skipped, jumped and ran.

The path took me past the old Tarzan Tree / Mulberry snack station.





That same week, Rachael graciously agreed to make individual cheesecakes. Grace, ever the entrepreneur, had sold the eggs. There were a few in the fridge....

So I went looking for more.
In the downstairs granary, no eggs. In the lambing stalls, no eggs.

In the hay mow, from top to bottom, no eggs.

The view from the top of the hay bales (above the regulation-height basketball hoop).

 In the old granary upstairs, no eggs, but lots of smiles and memories.

Down the ladder, back to the house. 

"It's okay, Mom. I had enough." Life on the farm. It's good.