|Misty enjoying the sunshine.|
We are really enjoying the nice weather! It's so nice to have weather around 60's in the daytime because it's the perfect weather for working outside.
|I cleaned out Echo's pen. I moved 2-3 wheelbarrows full of manure every day.|
A little bit every day really adds up!
|The weather this fall has been wonderful! I was able to clean out the|
flower bed in the front yard, plant some daffodils and tulips that will
bloom in the spring, and cover the whole flower bed with mulch.
Its dirt that used to be manure, leaves, bark, and chipped trees. It covers the ground keeping the weeds from growing, and it is good 'nutrition' for the soil. It's like fertilizer that helps the plants to grow next year.
|The chickens are getting ready for winter, too.|
They lost all their old, summer feathers and have
grown new feathers that will keep them warm for the winter.
|Lucy is the little chicken with the curly feathers.|
She's so pretty when all her feathers grow back.
It doesn't make sense to have a person take a dust bath, but the fine dirt helps keep the chickens' feathers clean, and it keeps the mites (small bugs) from living in their feathers.
|Sometimes the ducks are resting inside the stall,|
sometimes they rest outside in the sunshine.
Mishka will not behave. She won't leave her cast alone. She needs to wear a cone. She likes this soft cone much better than the big, plastic one she was wearing last week.
I won't let her go out to the barn with me, either. She still runs too much for a puppy with a cast. She expresses her frustration by whining and making funny noises at the back gate when I head out to do the chores.
|River expresses how much she loves me!|
Every morning she gives me little goat kisses after I finish milking her!
I love autumn. It's my favorite time of year. I love the weather, I love the outside work, I love the smell outside, I love watching the leaves change colors, I love getting ready for winter and Christmas.
I love this poem about autumn.
A Child's Calendar: November
by John Updike
The stripped and shapely
The ghosts of her
The ground is hard,
As hard as stone.
The year is old,
The birds are flown.
And yet the world,
In its distress,
Displays a certain