Early To Rise

The beastie boys seem to do their best hunting just before dawn.  They yip and howl as they run the Gray Rock corridor, waking Bess and me.  Sometimes I turn over and go back to sleep (she always does), but in the summer it behooves me to get up and get started on the day.  The wet winter and late rains caused the weeds and underbrush to shoot up.  Then the sunshine, heat, and winds dried everything so there is high fire danger in the hills.  The dreaded star thistle is everywhere, not yet sending out spiny seeds.  As they say, timing is everything.  Mowing has to be done in the early morning while there is still some moisture in the air.  I'll be darned if I would go out in the middle of the day; I'd fall off the mower with a heat stroke.  Late in the afternoon and there is the possibility of striking a spark and causing a fire.  I got a good portion of the west point mowed down yesterday before it was time to milk.  I'd have started sooner, but had to put gas in the little tractor.  I remember a time when a gas can didn't need instructions.  Just getting the cap off the spout nearly stymied me, and I had to get a pair of vise grips to "squeeze here and push down."  That accomplished, getting the gas to flow past the safety valve thingy and into the tank required some coordination.  Technology having saved me from myself, gasoline spurting everywhere, I finally filled the tank and got the job done.  Or nearly done; there's still a lot of yard(s) to mow.