I think all men on tractors are happy. Or so it seems. They are also happy to talk to other men (or women) about tractors . . . to compare them, to fantasize about other tractors, and all of the attachments they own, or need. It is a whole new world, the world of tractors and men.
It’s my first garden, ever. It is growing. Everyone has well intentioned advice about soil, stakes, fertilizer and fences to coyote blood and human pee barriers. And Mr. woodchuck? The solutions vary from have-a-heart traps and releasing 50 miles away, guns, fire, fumigation to calling the local guy who trains attack falcons. And then we must contend with worms, bugs, storms, lack of rain, animals … the list is long. Will it be possible to actually grow food to fruition? I’m cautiously optimistic . . . and very determined. And, I have set aside a lot of time to weed.
Last weekend we were off to our first round of Maine yard sales. We ended up at the rummage sale of a lovely school in Round Pond raising money for restoration of the school. The bathroom had a composting toilet and was made of old reclaimed bard boards.
This is the tank that is right under the bathroom for gathering and making the compost. Love it. Want one. Just like this!