Foxtail weeds must be good for something; some bird or beast must feed on the darned things because they're everywhere. If there were a market for them, I'd be rolling in money. As it is, the breezes blow through the three-feet-tall growth and it does look like "America the Beautiful" if I look at it just right; a lot of work if I don't. The last couple of days have been spent bent over, pulling weeds and pulling weeds and pulling weeds and I've barely made a dent. At least it's a start. About the time I was ready to pack it in yesterday anyhow, Camille called and invited me down for a cool libation. Perfect timing. I did pause long enough to wash my hands before making a dust trail down the road!
Tobias, the big tom turkey who seems to have moved in, has appointed himself the town crier. "Five o'clock and all's well!" Every morning at five on the dot, he circles the house again and again and makes his announcement for all to hear. Having done his job, he waits for me to throw out his breakfast under the oak. Tobias is huge and it's almost intimidating when he runs toward me, stopping only a few feet away. His beard, that tuft of hair-like feathers on his chest, is the longest I've seen; probably ten inches. The neighbors and I might wish he'd sleep in a little longer.