Greetings Friends and Neighbors, The Meadow beyond the house window blushes to whites and yellows, purples and reds—Bedstraw, Daisy, Vetch, Buttercup, Red Clover, Milkweed. Rising above the rest, the whimsical flowers stalks of Reed’s Canary Grass bow and bend in step with a steady North breeze. This riot of life, cut and dried, baled and stacked in the hayloft of the old barn, will sustain the Cows and Sheep—and thereby the Humans—through the Winter. Miraculous. In the corner of the Meadow, above the house, grow the tentative beginnings of a garden. The first round of transplants struggled mightily in the depleted Soil there, so we’ve begun re-planting into holes filled with shovelfuls of compost from the fifty-year-old pile of cow manure behind the barn.
Wow, that last hay cutting was only about 15% of the first. That’s really eye opening. All that fertility exported elsewhere. And I’m trying to imagine what compost that old must look like, I’m thinking proper dark and beautifully crumbly?? So thankful to read through this.
Thanks so much for sharing your thoughts and words, the images have been planted into me this morning and I’ll carry with me the manure trolley and the hay fields throughout my day 💕 Who knows how that cross-fertilization of imaginings will manifest itself?
Wow, that last hay cutting was only about 15% of the first. That’s really eye opening. All that fertility exported elsewhere. And I’m trying to imagine what compost that old must look like, I’m thinking proper dark and beautifully crumbly?? So thankful to read through this.
Thanks so much for sharing your thoughts and words, the images have been planted into me this morning and I’ll carry with me the manure trolley and the hay fields throughout my day 💕 Who knows how that cross-fertilization of imaginings will manifest itself?