Remember when you were a teenager and your Aunt Mabel would give you a journal with lock and key, you swore that you would write everyday? And you would, for a couple weeks and then nothing for months. I kinda feel like that. The following is a bunch of unrelated commentary. Sorry. But this is like my journal - but with pictures.
It tastes like fall. The potted begonias and alpine strawberries have been replaced by garden mums. I don't particularly like mums, but they are better than bare dirt. This is my favorite time for the fire pit. The slight chill in the nighttime air makes the crackling sound more enticing. The neighbor's tree has starting dropping yellow leaves. It is the first to turn - all others are still bright green. But it is prolific and we rake at least 3 times a week - well hubby rakes.
Logan brought me 6 bales of straw - he has a truck. I greatly appreciated it - I have yet to clean the straw off my leather seats from the last haul. I have stacked it on one side of the coop in puncture resistant garbage bags. 2 birds 1 stone ya know.
The girls still refuse to roost themselves, preferring to crowd into the nesting boxes - there is always one left standing. So every night hubby or I move them to the roosts and there they will stay until morning.
Every day the girls find feathers around the yard. (These are Mina or Daffodil's) They put them in the nest boxes so the hens will have a "pretty house". Are they molting? Growing winter down? I have no idea. I've said it before, but I do wish I had paid more attention to what my parents were trying to show me as a child. I think we should be getting pullet eggs in October. We'll see.
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