The Peach Business

 And other fuzzy occupations

       Every year, the Goodwife has a one day peach business, delivering peaches to our neighbors in Kansas. It used to be that we would meet the orchard’s van in Limon, transfer the peaches to our pickup, and haul to Atwood. 

    The business outgrew our vehicle, so now the grower delivers all the way to Kansas.  The Goodwife also has a partner, Sylvia, who takes care of the advertising and taking orders at her Garden Center.  So now, we show up to unload and distribute the fruit, collect the money, and beat the check she wrote for the peaches to the bank.

    Some of the boxes got soaked as the deliverers ran into the only rain in the country near Burlington.  Normally, that wouldn’t matter because they use a van.  But this year

    Oh well, all ended well, except the three boxes we ordered had to be used to fill late orders.  So we picked up our allotment in Limon at Heritage Days, where the orchard manned a stand.

     Meanwhile, back to the ranch.  Still waiting for rain, time to do some watering and rearranging.

     The trees are in the tires—wind protection.

      The piano that couldn’t get through the March snowdrifts got moved. 

       Here it comes out of the garage. 

        And into the shop.

 

      The poor old thing spent 30 years in WM's basement waiting to be restored.  No bets on how long it has to stay here.  The farmhand came off the tractor and the tractor back into the shop where it will have to be retimed.  That can wait.  On to other priorities.
     

      The grain drill needs a lot of work, new tires first off.

     This must be the McDonald’s hamburger of the pocket gopher world.  One other tire was chewed off completely except for the bead, which is full of wires.  Of the four tires, two were undamaged and aired up just fine.

      They are rather old-fashioned size, 6.00—16.  They are still available for implements.  Idea!  The Ford tractor has the same size tires and could use new ones.  The old ones on the Ford would work just fine on the drill.

    The Denver Boot comes to the farm?  No.  Just cheap blocks,

 while the Ford rims visit the tire-changing machine.  Did I mention it was about 100 degrees while I was doing this?  Just grab one of those bars in the right foreground. 

     An hour of files, grinders, and wire brushes, a spray paint can, and we're ready for new tires.     The job is still in progress. 

      Time to drop everything and go to the county fair to shave ice.

     

WindpowerUpdate

      What did we do for entertainment before the wind generators moved in?  What will we do when the job is done and the workers move on?  When the traffic on the local roads reverts to a dozen vehicles a day instead of a dozen every five minutes?

    Better make hay while the sun shines.

     Six blades came and went—delivered to the wrong address.  Some giant pocket gophers went to work in the summer fallow.

      A crane crept across the fields unloading stuff—the main generator?

    A really big crane appeared and began erecting tower bases.

 

      It first hooked up to the top of the base.

     And up it comes.

  

 

       Almost home, and then it is there. 

     Notice the guy at the top unhooking the crane from the base.

     To truly appreciate this, you have to know that this

         has to line up those holes around the rim with these little fellows:

     And of course, remember that it’s this big.

 

       Don't miss the human in the foreground.  And the animal that raised the tube left its tracks, er sort of.  It still has its tracks.  It won't take much of an outdoorsman to track it.

The paw that left the imprint is in the foreground.

A bigger crane lurks somewhere near.  There has to be a bigger one.  This one can't reach the top. 

A Trip to the Landfill

Or How to Make a Mountain out of a Moldhill

    We don’t have trash pickup, so whenever the trash reaches the tolerance threshold, off we go to the local landfill.  Recycle bins get more frequent visits.

    New tractor tires plus garage door replacements and new barbecue assembly left quite a bit of residue, so time for a trip to the landfill.

     Step one, change forks on Farmhand.  That is a bit of a challenge with the tractor not running that well, but it got done.

     Put the tire on the fork, raise tire to pickup level, roll tire from fork to pickup bed, repeat three more times and Voila!

     The time-consumer was separating the metal frame from the fiberglass garage door panels. Add the door tracks and a few other items, and off we go.

     The landfill site is quite well kept, really.  Those hills in the background are all manmade.

      Check in and pay the fee, about $50.  Three stops:  tire pile, trashpit, and metal pile.

Do you have new respect for manmade mountains now that you see what they are made from?

     See what you miss by having trash pickup?  I tell you life on the farm is sometimes terribly exciting.

      Anyway, my trash is somebody else’s problem now, so off  I go, checking out the newest wind generator sites as I head for home.  The final leg of my journey is blocked by a white pickup—a crane is coming down the road.  Certainly not an endangered species in this neighborhood right now.

      I explain I’m only going a half mile to my driveway and I can beat the crane hands down.  Besides, it wasn’t coming as far as the driveway.  It meandered onto our place.

Moosefest

      No lack of variety this weekend.  Friday began with a funeral where we ran into several neighbors and acquaintenances.  Of course we had to catch up with as many as possible.

    On to Fort Collins where we went to a musical “Hairspray” at a dinner theatre. 

      Fortunately, the song and dance was quite lively.  Otherwise, a certain early-to-bed person might have gone to sleep after the dinner.  Sorry, no pictures during the show.  The Goodwife survived a sobriety checkpoint on our way out of town.

     Saturday found us going separate ways.  Mother and daughter traveled east for “cures”—pedi and mani.  I went west and joined a band--of outlaws in the forest.

     Actually, the band was the family band.  We met at the upper unit to rehearse an hour or two for our afternoon appearance at the Moosefest.

     It was quite pleasant with temperatures in the 70’s and a light shower, instead of the dry 90’s we’ve been having on the plains.

     A couple of hours of practice, a light lunch and off to the Moosefest.

     The Moosefest is a private Woodstock where musicians perform mostly for each other.  It is a beautiful setting not too far from the upper unit where we rehearsed. Host John maintains a summer home and a natural amphitheatre with a performing stage.

      Talent runs a gamut from young to old, bluegrass to jazz, and includes one of the best guitar pickers in the land.  Performances begin early in the afternoon and go on into the night (don’t ask me how long—I can never last till the end).  (Sorry, I couldn't get my "flash" pictures to turn out.)

     Thanks for including us John.

     Back to the farm.  Looks like the monsoon may give it another try.

      

Farm Rec, or the Simple Pleasures of the Poor

    There’s always work to be done on the farm.  It’s possible to work all the time, but we all know that all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.  So, a rule for the past few years, quit at six.

    Other cultures don’t pay so much attention to the clock.  So a 9 a. m. meeting may be 10 or 11 or maybe even tomorrow.  You might have noticed, though, that those cultures adhere strictly to the clock for one thing—quitting time.

     And so we try to honor quitting time here.  Watch Jeopardy! at 6, at 6:30, hit the golf course!

      Golf course! Real cow pasture pool. You only need one club, like a 9-iron. No putting, no driving, only approaching.  All holes are par 3, par 27 for the round.

So here we go. Hole 1 tees off in front of the garage and goes south.

  

    Ignore the old tire in the right foreground and focus on the one in the right-center, to the right of the spruce sapling.  That’s goal one.  Object: hit the tire with the ball.  You don’t have to get it into the tire, just hit the tire.  If you should get the ball in the tire, you don’t count that stroke.  So, it’s possible to get a hole-in-zero.  It has happened once or twice, but quite rare.

     Hole 2   There are no penalties EXCEPT for going into the garden on the left.  Throw out the ball and take a one stroke penalty if you land in the garden.  Otherwise, you may take the ball out of any rough or any hazard without a penalty.  No penalty for a lost ball. No penalty for going into the neighbor's field on the right.

      Winter rules prevail all year around (improve your lie with the club, within a club’s length of the original lie.)

  Hole 3   Hazards from left to right, machine shed with current bushes, tumblebug, and ’57 Chevrolet pickup.

   Hole 4   Wide open spaces with tall (sometimes) grass rough.  No penalty for throwing out of the rough.  The real penalty is looking for your ball.

    Hole 5   Head north, north towards Alaska.  Really rough grass on the right.

  Hole 6    Still going north.  Hazards:  machinery row on the right and behind the hole.

 

    Hole 7  Hazards:  Ponderosa pines on the left, tall grass on the right.  Mosquito alley in the wet times.  (The usual stiff south breeze keeps the buggers at bay until you get out of the wind on the north side of the pines.)  And the relaxed snow fence in the background.

    Hole 8   Hazards:   Still the pines on the left with tall grass on the right, the sage bush center left.

    Hole 9  Back to where you come from.  Hazards:  All over the place, pines cedars and elms on the left, not to mention house and garage (pretty well protected by trees) behind and left of hole with tall grass on the right.

    And here we are again, back in front of the garage where we started.  You can see the forest better in this shot, the one that protects garage and house from errant golf balls on Hole 9.

     We can make two or three rounds before sunset.  It’s not always relaxing (frustrating at times) but guaranteed to take your mind off the daily cares and woes.  It provides exercise for those who need it, and often it is a pretty time of day when the wind subsides and the temperature cools.

     Green fees are inordinately inexpensive.

Waiting for the Rain

     Tillage operations are on hold until it rains.  We are, of course, in very dry times.  Temporary neighbors, some guys working on the wind towers, report their corn crops in Minnesota and Iowa are gone.  Some of the corn here still looks ok, but rain is needed soon.

     There’s never any lack of stuff to do, however.  Monday, a year-long project came out of the shop, backfiring.

     Time to finish the haying business.

 

    Not horses or cows shall dine on this hay.  Instead, it will serve to conserve moisture and suppress weeds.  Lazy man’s gardening.  From this,

                           to this.

   Tuesday morning was nice and cool, a good time to pitch hay.  It even tried to rain—at 8 in the morning, unheard of!

      A rainbow struggled in the west—also unheard of.  Rainbows are always in the easet here.

     Total moisture, .03”.  Helpful only to the nasal passagess--it smelled great.

     On Monday, business in the city had to be taken care of.  A trip to the county clerk in Hugo relieved me of a few hundred as I licensed two trucks and the 4 X 4 pickup.  Collector plates, which last for five years, went on two of the three vehicles, thus the high price.  On to Limon for 30 gallons of motor oil and a bottle of propane.  Expensive sort of day.

      The big disappointment was the tractor, a John Deere G, I have been working on for a year. It had to have its crankshaft refurbished.  As mentioned earlier, it kept backfiring, sending exhaust through the carburetor and the air intake.  Some diagnostic work revealed that somehow I got the thing out of time when replacing the crankshaft.  That means another several hours in the shop.  Oh Deere.

   On to one final project, assembling a birthday present, a new barbecue. 

     After unpacking that, and the garage doors, I think all packing material should be recyclable.  A trip to the landfill is in the near future. 

    Stay tuned for the next exciting adventure—fun on the farm.