My Boy Oscar

Here's a baby picture of Oscar, shortly after he got here in mid April. One half Milking Shorthorn, one quarter Brown Swiss, one eighth Jersey, one eighth Holstein, all pretty boy bull calf.

I couldn't say if that feeling welling up inside me was due to his gorgeous dark eyes, or the thought that finally, I was beholding a way of farming that would not give me that sick little feeling every time it ran out of fuel.

More to come.

In the thick of things

O, Dear Reader,

Spring came upon me and had to be lived rather than blogged. Here it is mid-June and I never found time to write about the crazy burbling of the Bobolinks, or the mossy blooming of the oaks, or the goldfinches and the Harris Sparrows and the Cowbirds and the Tree Swallows showing up all at once; I didn't write about the poplar leaves the size of nickels and the potatoes in the ground; about the surge of life and the blue of sky and the gold of finches, dandelions and marsh marigolds; about the mind-clearing balm of Gilead in my nose and the exuberant orange of Orioles in my eye.

God, the world is beautiful and busy in the spring. What an adolescent season. All of life clamoring and competing to happen and to be noticed and to reproduce and suddenly it's June and all those baby plants you started need to be weeded, row upon mundane row.

Anyway, just wanted to say hi.

By the way, Matthew and I did buy a pair of bull calves, Oscar and Ben. I love them. I promise I will tell you all about them when I get a chance.