Remarkably enough, the thick stand of oats and barley we cut down in the pumpkin patch recently had dried enough by late yesterday morning to till it under.
The northwest corner of this patch is just full of rocks. (I think they grow there.) One that hubby encountered was so big he had to break it apart with the humongous maul before being able to move it. (If you don't think banging on that for a while jars every fiber in your body . . . !)
"No problem. I think (grunt) I can (groan) move it (grit, grit) now."
Once again, the job of getting it all tilled in took longer than we expected.
Now all we have to do is move the rocks and rake it smooth so we can plant some buckwheat.
Hubby asked me at dinner last night which job I wanted to do: Move the rocks or rake the soil smooth. I thought about it and replied, "Neither."
the quotidian (10.23.17)
10 hours ago