"Well, just look what the sun brought out!" Finishing the barn chores, I looked up yesterday to see Fence Guy and Number Three son (I sound like Charlie Chan) unloading tools from their truck. The still-wet ground was just right for setting the corner posts in concrete. I did mention to Fence Guy that the firewood on my porch was a rescue gift from my neighbor, and asked if there was a possibility he might get around to splitting the rest of the barn oak rounds soon. Leaving Son to set the posts, Fence Guy (putting on his Tree Guy hat) checked the splitter. Of course, in the way of all things mechanical, the splitter would not start. That's not technically correct...it would start, but would not thereafter run. I'll give Tree Guy credit for giving it the old college try; he checked everything that could be checked and pulled that starter rope until I (and he) thought his arm would fall off. Evidently Number Two son is the family mechanic, and the splitter will have to wait until he gets a day off from his day job. At least it's back on the To-Do list.
I am the official Fetch-It person for tools, etc., some of which are in the barn and some in the house. After the men left, I took a breather on the deck, and saw that the sun had also brought out a few bees, a good sign, and some wasps, not so welcome. The big ring-tail doves have joined the crowd under the feeding oak. Their call is much different than the mourning doves'. Quail are out in greater numbers, crying frantically for Rod-RI-go again. The time change was almost unnoticeable during the rainy days, and it was a surprise to find that sundown isn't until almost seven-thirty now. It's time to take down the barriers in the Taj and give the chicks some freedom. If chasing down one escapee was funny, trying to capture three of the speedy little boogers last night had me nearly hysterical. The nanny hens and Musashi were dithering around, getting in the way, and didn't settle down until I finally plopped the last chick into the house. The free-ranging hens have remembered the bedtime routine and come running up the slope or creeping out from under the barn when I rattle the grain bucket and they parade into their house for the night. Walking down to the goat pen, the evening was filled with the sound of the frog chorus tuning up for the symphony of spring. It isn't just the turkeys whose thoughts have turned to love in the sunshine.