Tuesday, November 4, 2014
Mr. November strolled through the yard with a couple of ladies in the morning. I spotted the 3-point buck (that would be a 6-point in Texas, but that's not an accusation that Texans exaggerate) and two does while I was switching out girls in the milking room. Hunting season ended a couple of days ago and the rut is about to begin, so it wasn't a surprise to see a buck roaming around.
Like the goats and chickens, come sundown and I'm ready to go to bed. The long evening stretches out, seemingly forever. It's been chilly, but not so cold after dark that I want to burn up precious firewood, so it's the recliner and lap robe, supplemented with a warm cat or two. Changing the clocks has an effect; they slow down to a crawl. Bedtime? No, it's only 7:30. Bedtime yet? Grownups can't go to bed at 8:00. How about now? It's 8:30 and I close my eyes for just a minute. We all wake up from our nap about 11 and go to bed. Four-thirty a.m. and we're all wide awake. I do much better with gradual, natural change.