I pulled the red and white notice off the door of my Heights house with a sigh. We would be fined within days if the lawn continued un-mowed, if the landscaping wasn’t trimmed back. The Ex and I (mostly the Ex) had been in a slow war with the code enforcement officer in the Heights most of the time that we lived there. Our fence was the first infraction–built on a corner lot and requiring signatures of all the neighbors and a hearing at city hall to build–but from then on the inspector took every opportunity to cite us, and the Ex took every opportunity to provoke him. We learned after the fence incident that bribes were the usual way of dealing with his red and white citations, and it seemed that forcing the issue with the city had been something of an embarrassment to him when all the council members immediately approved our “beautiful fence.”
Don’t let him fool you. This is a guilty face. This is the face of a culprit. (Admittedly, a very cute culprit…)
Gabby and I had just finished up evening chores, and I decided, probably against my own better judgment, to check on my garden. (You see, no one was weeding it while we were gone in Orlando, so, while I’ve made a valiant effort to beat back the weeds from the veggies, there are unplanted sections with weeds that are waist high.) I think I was about halfway out when I realized something was amiss.
To get to my garden, you have to walk through several pastures. (It actually used to be a pasture itself, but has since been converted.) At first, I just thought that llamas were in the pasture next to my garden. Turns out, they were actually making a pasture out of my garden. I tried to run. Several awkward, clomping strides later, I remembered that one does not run in welllies (rubber boots? I started wearing such footwear while working at an internationally staffed sleep-away camp, and everyone used the British term…In America, I think we just call them rubber boots…). So I stopped running and starting power walking (or something), and I briefly thought about stopping to take pictures–because I’m a blogger, I guess–but then I decided my squash and cucumbers and everything else were more important than photographic evidence.
So Gabby and I chased the llamas out of the garden. (The llamas were not happy.) Then I took pictures.
They ate several onions. (I can’t imagine why…) Knocked over a tomato cage. Generally ran a muck.
…Actually, they didn’t do too much damage. In fact, if I let them back in, I think they’d mostly eat the weeds…
Once we were done chasing llamas out, we set about to beat back some more weeds and look over the plants.
Everything, including the weeds, seems to be doing quite well.
Nearly every vining plant I have is riddled with blooms. We should be rolling in cucumbers, zucchini, spaghetti squash, watermelon, acorn squash, pumpkin…and the other stuff I can’t really remember. (Don’t blame me! All the rain has washed off most of the garden markers. Either way, lots of food.)
The tomatillos are loaded! I cannot wait!
More tomatoes than I can imagine what to do with.
We found this cuteness in the raspberry thicket. I imagine there may have been an unhappy bird around when we took this photo. Other than the picture, we left it completely undisturbed.
Oh, and my chickens are laying! They’ve been living in a stall since their coop isn’t done.
Can anyone tell me what kind of chickens I have? I’m completely clueless.
I know, not great photos. You will see more once they move into the palace, but that won’t be for a week or so.
Anyone know what this is? She (possibly he?) is my favorite. Hatched this Spring, I cannot tell if it’s a roo or a hen. (Please be a hen. Please be a hen. Please be a hen…)
If I’m being completely honest, I have no idea when we will actually manage to move out to the farm 100%. I do know that Jeremiah said “two weeks” about a week ago, but then he spent nearly a week at his conference, and four days out of the next seven are chock full of shoeing. I also know that there is still no water to the guest house, and the bathroom isn’t finished even if there were. I’m beginning to have suspicions that we will finish things up just in time for Katie to move in and for us to start this all over again with the big house. But who knows for sure. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the four years that Jeremiah and I have been together? Don’t bet against him. Not ever. Somehow he almost always manages to accomplish more in a day than most can do in seven. He may surprise me yet.
In the meantime, I’ve been alternately stressed about moving and excited about this new chapter for us. (By the way, I packed one box while my guy was gone. One. Box.) I specifically remember a day when I was younger (probably 15), wandering up the drive to the llama barn and thinking that I would really like to own a place just like that one day. Of course, I mostly dismissed the idea, unable to come up with a future where I’d be able to afford such an amazing place anytime before my retirement. Now that’s it’s happening, I keep waiting for someone to pinch me awake.
Even so, if you’re no familiar with running a ranch or renovating a house (in our case two), you should know this: the work is infinite. You can always find something that needs to be done or purchased, and the size of the “To-Do” list is longer than the “Done” list, no matter how many things you check off. And, of course, this is on top of everything that needs to be done everyday. (Clean water buckets, feed animals, clean stalls, sweep barn…sleep, eat, work, etc)
And, on top of both of these lists, you can add mine. I have plans to add chickens to the menagerie (laying hens…in my world, broilers would invariably become useless pets…at least the laying variety will be useful pets). I plan to have a big, giant vegetable garden. I plan to add a strawberry patch. (Side Note: There is LITERALLY nothing on the planet that tastes as good as a homegrown strawberry. If you don’t have the privilege of growing some yourself, do yourself a favor and buy some from a local farmers’ market. Trust me. Your taste buds will thank you.) I have been getting super excited about composting. I have no idea why.
I keep wondering what it would look like to flash forward about 6 weeks into the future. By then, we should be living on the ranch. I will be done teaching. (Huzzah!) The chicks I plan to order at the end of this month should be in, still little fluffs living in the garage. The garden will be tilled, possibly sown. And my sweet, dear husband should be losing his mind over a whole new house full of renovations to start.