This and that

Finally, spring is here to stay.  No more frost or freeze is expected.  It's been an excellent morel mushroom year; the grandson ended up with a bushel or so of them yesterday, although the season is about over.  He's had his best morel year yet, and Cliff and I, and several others, have enjoyed his efforts.  

I was experimenting with raised-bed gardening this year, but I think I've seen all I need to.  The topsoil and compost I bought for the thing are going to get scooped up and thrown in my little garden out back.  It required too much watering to suit me.  Knowing me, I probably was doing something wrong, but I'm going back to what I know.  I have the tomato plants and pepper plants out back across the fence, and I planted a few green beans.  

I'm enjoying my walk a lot more now, since I can go barefoot.  I love feeling my feet touch the earth, and swish through the tall grass.  I love going barefoot in tilled soil, but these days I'd rather not blacken my feet the way I've done for years.  My mom used to scrub my feet with Comet of something (she called all the brands "scouring powder").  Even then, they stayed pretty black.  One thing about it, I know how to clean the bottoms of black feet:  Walk around in the early morning dew barefoot:  that makes my feet almost as clean as a newborn baby's.  

In current coronavirus news, Missouri's governor has more or less turned everyone loose to work, go to church, and go to work, except for the big-city dwellers.  Cliff and I will still take precautions.  I would, however, go to church here in town, for the simple reason that there's often no more than twenty people at either place I attend, and I have no problem with being in a room with people as long as we sit six feet or more apart.  The only time I get to sing with other people is when I'm in church, and I've missed that.

It's harder to think of material for a blog entry when we're really not doing much worth talking about.  Let's see, I just finished reading "The Museum of Desire" by Jonathan Kellerman.  It was a who-done-it type story, which I always enjoy.  Cliff asked me to pick a library book for him to read; I happened to see a book by a familiar author that was ready to borrow, and apparently I picked a winner.  When he reads while he peddles his exercise bike, I hear him chuckling frequently; I tell myself, "My job here is done."  If you're curious, the book is "The Lost Continent" by Bill Bryson.  I intend to read it myself when I get a chance; as I understand it, the guy just travels around the country to small towns and talks about them in a humorous way.  My friend Margeret, in Washington state, reads my blog and likes to know what I'm reading.  She and I like similar books; I've gotten some of my best reads off her list.

The hummingbirds are showing up now, and the ants have already discovered their feeders.  Some things never change.

I moved the chicks into a larger space.  The wire fence is on top because they can fly out now.  They really don't seem to need the light for warmth any more; I think I'll take it away and throw a blanket over the top of their little home at night.  I've moved them to the back porch now; when they're too big for the box they're in, I'm going to have to figure something out, because I'm not sure where I'll put them.  They are all the same breed, Buff Orpington.  It's a gentle breed, which is why I chose these.  I've shown no favoritism to any of them; in fact, I can't tell them apart.  But there is one chick who is much tamer than the others.  When I hold my hand in front of her, the other two run away, but she climbs right on my hand.  I guess even chickens are born hatched with differing personalities.  But wait, since I can't tell them apart, how do I know it's the same chick?  Well, I just do.  Call it women's intuition.

That's all I've got, folks!  Be safe out there!  

Peace!