Doing major coop repairs (worst thing you can do to a building is let it sit empty) in preparation for a new generation of layers. Checked my weather app at 11 p.m. last night and decided based on all the sunny little emojis to leave things lying out down there where I was working. Woke to the sound of drip-drop on the rooftop, began the day running around in the rain stowing things I shoulda stowed out of caution. I got yer weather app, right here.
Mornings like this reinforce that I am not a farmer, I am a dabbler. A discussion this week with a relative who farms full time and a few pages of Leslie Lytle’s Chicken Stock have recently refreshed me on just how tough it is to make a living from the earth if you go it small-time and solo. This is why you should never hear me complain about signing books or sleep-busting deadlines. We all have our work to do. Some of us are flat-out fortunate to do it.
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