Sticky niece and nephew on a sunshiny day
Now that I’m in my second trimester, my midwife recommends that I consume 100 grams of protein per day (protein-rich diets during pregnancy are linked with lower occurences of pre-eclampsia, gestational diabetes, and low birth weight). That’s a lot of meat and milk, y’all. This was my record a few weeks ago. I’ve since hit 104.
What would a picture post be without at least one of our Geoff?
Michael Ryan’s closet is filling up.
Finally, we’re getting our
mud hole pond somewhere close to presentable. The hollyhock and hostas I dug from our ditch.
“Hey Cody. I think there’s a crawfish in the pond.” I poke a stick into a hole in the rocks. “I see whiskers!” Giant catfish darts out from hole. Cody stands in awe of his super-duper wife who found a mystery catfish in his koi pond.
Seriously though. We have no idea how this got in. The only people who might have tossed it in as a joke were just as surprised as we were (and probably wouldn’t have done it anyways for fear that it would eat our expensive koi). The other possibility is that a catfish egg got transplanted via bird back in the fall and grew to enormous proportions over the winter. Nevertheless, he got relocated to a nearby pond and no koi or goldfish were lost. Any ideas?
This is what my precious husband has been doing every evening this week. Notice the taped-up, blistered hands.
We’ve planted: nine tomato plants, fourteen pepper plants, six mounds of squashes, five rows of beans, five mounds of cucumbers, one row of sunflowers, one row of marigolds (supposedly they dispel pests), and two rows of okra. Another row of okra and five rows of corn and we will be finished with planting for now.
Heirloom Beefsteak, Early Girl, Better Boy
Sweet Banana, Cayenne, Green Bell, Red Bell
So far, it looks quite neat and very Martha Stewart-ish
Yesterday, our sweet neighbor brought over her “leftovers,” which was basically Thanksgiving dinner. With peach cobbler.
The McNuggets have moved up to the big pen. Thirty-two remain, with one perpetually injured because of his lack of social skills and so confined to a box on the deck where he has forgotten that he is a chicken. They’re now about nine weeks old and really putting down the feed. The White Leghorns have outgrown all of the assorted heavies and will likely be ready for butchering much sooner.
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