Sign Of the Times

The best indicator of our changeable weather of late is the clothesline with the week's array of tank tops, T-shirts, and turtleneck, with a work shirt thrown in for good measure.  (Yes, that is one of my Clint Bowyer T-shirts, worn on race day.)  The laundry went on the line just after daybreak; it's in direct sun the rest of the day.

Watering deck plants is now a daily chore before going to the barn.   It's a pleasant enough task in the early morning light.  Yesterday, the turkey mama brought her little choo-choo train of turklets (poults) through the back yard, hurrying them into the underbrush when she realized I was watching.  The other day a huge jackrabbit went bounding by.  One never knows what or who will show up.

My temper had cooled enough that I was able to call Joe, the Tractor Repair Guy, in the afternoon about the now unreliable lawn tractor.  I had turned my back on it and didn't want to face that problem last week.  He was going to be in the area after he closed his shop yesterday and was going to come over to put in the shutoff valve on the gas line anyway.  It seems the latest problem might have been vapor lock from a plugged gas tank cap, an easy (free) fix.  After he left, there was plenty of daylight left and it seemed prudent to finish mowing down the west field.  The darned star thistle was rearing its ugly head again.  The foxtails are bad enough; star thistle is worse.

The WWOOFers are due this morning and there are things to do before they arrive.