In the mornings, we don’t hear highway noise of people rushing to get to work on time. Our sunrise sounds belong to nature.
We’ve been particularly busy lately here. Rob’s remodeling the bathroom. We thought it might be a weekend project, just a new coat of paint and put up some trim.
Ha. Well, it’s almost three weeks later now and we have had a bit of stress over the bathroom. Ended up needing a new shower door, too. It looks great, even if the cost was the vanity top we left behind busted up in the parking lot at Home Depot.
We finally got our garden started yesterday.
Yesterday Rob said “We need to get those onions planted before the rains come.”
Translated: “You should go out there and plant those onions while I’m in here working on the shower door.”
It was already on my list of things to do anyway. Grandgirl Chloe was over and I thought she’d like to help. She loves to plant things. So we gathered our tools and seeds and head down there.
Then when I started to make the first row, the hoe just “plinked” when it hit the ground. It was hard as a rock. I knew right then we had a problem.
And so I scratched a line in the dirt and gave the rake to Chloe and said “here, why don’t you rake that way (waves hand toward other end of garden) while I go get the shovel?”
Poor thing, she’s so eager. When I came back from getting the shovel I could barely see where she’d been raking, lol, and she was huffing and puffing. I didn’t think she’d keep going once I’d gotten out of sight.
So I started digging with the shovel, to turn over the row since the hoe wasn’t working. Plink! The shovel wouldn’t even go in.
The dirt was like baked clay and all I managed to get done was a pathetic scratch on the surface.
By the time Rob got out there to see what I’d gotten done I was so mad that if he would have commented on how little progress I’d made I would have given him the shovel and hoe and dared him to make the rows.
But he didn’t say that! He asked if I wanted him to get the tractor out to break it up, hahahahahahaha, and so that’s what he did and then he helped me get them planted.
I was hurting so bad by the time we got to bed last night but it felt good to get started.
We’d like to grow all the things we normally like to eat, but that’s going to take some time.
After yesterday’s efforts we only have onions planted.
At least when we’re toiling, we’re getting to hear sunrise sounds and other noises mostly originating in nature while we’re doing it.
Predator and Prey, or the hunter and the hunted is a common theme throughout my fiction writing. No Qualms, one of my short stories (free at most retailers) is about about a predator/prey relationship. Symbiosis, my first finished novel, not published yet, deals with predator/prey relationships and the balance of energy among life on earth, sometimes symbolic and often outright. Many of my flash fiction stories (I have twitterfiction and 100-word flash stories) are also dealing with this same dynamic. This is a strong theme that runs through most of my fiction and is strongly influenced by life in the wild Ozarks where we live. My first published novel, First Hunt, also has a predator and prey theme to it. I guess it's just part of my nature.
Wild Ozark is 160 acres of beautiful wild Ozark mountains. I call what I do "nature farming" because the land produces, all by itself, the shagbark hickory trees, ferns, moss, ground-fall botanicals, and the perfect habitats for growing and stewarding American ginseng. I'm co-creating with Nature - all of the things I use to make the Fairy Gardens and Forest Folk, the bark we harvest for Burnt Kettle's shagbark hickory syrup, are produced by nature without my input. This land is my muse for inspiration when it comes to my writing, drawing, and photography. It's truly a Nature Farm.
About the voice behind this blog, Madison Woods
I'm a creative old soul living way off the beaten path with my husband in the wild Ozark Mountains. Besides homesteading, growing plants & making crafty things and newsletters, I write books and stories. My rural fantasy fiction, written under the pen name, Ima Erthwitch, usually takes place in a much altered Ozarks.