A couple of months ago, brother Chuck opined that a cold winter might suddenly turn into a warm spring. Well, these warm afternoons in the 70s had me wondering if this might be the case, but it looks like temps will drop again mid-week. Perhaps it’s too soon to tell.
Mike and I went to the farm on Sunday (March 17). We loaded the back of the Jeep with things we’ve collected for the farmhouse, and we trailered the 4-wheeler. We store both the 4-wheeler and the lawnmower in town to prevent mouse damage.
It was a lovely day – sunny in the mid-60s. It’s early, though. The daffodils have yet to open, and of course, it’s still too early for the fruit trees to blossom. Though not in bloom, the fritillaria are up, and their pungent aroma already fills the air.
Our main purpose in visiting the farm was to turn on the water. Mike did that, and with a few minor exceptions, all was well. The kitchen faucet and one toilet need repair. It sounds easy, but we made many trips up and down the stairs.
Mike had feared that we would have a lot of limbs to clean up in the yard, but there were only a few. The gopher problem has exploded, but we are out of bait, so that’s a chore for the next trip. I had wanted to plant spinach, and while it would have been possible, I didn’t have time.
As for house rodents (mice), the war is on. Mike emptied and rebaited traps.
I helped Mike hang the big wind chimes in the maple tree, and then he hung some chimes given to us in memory of Milo on the kitchen porch.
My main chore was to clean the fridge, which I tackled after lunch. It’s never easy to wash a fridge, and it was even more difficult since the kitchen faucet wasn’t working properly. And suddenly I was so tired that I allowed myself a brief sit down. As I went back to work, Mike appeared at the kitchen door and asked, “Are you tired?”
“I’m beat,” I said, and he admitted that he was, too. With his help, I finished cleaning the fridge, and we loaded up and left.
We stopped at the Gilbert Cemetery to look over our plot, which sits right next to Julian and Ina (my Dobson grandparents). We looked at monuments and we considered the type we would like for Milo.
We were home about 4:00. Son Murray had left a loaf of his freshly-baked rye bread for us, a welcome treat.
We didn’t forget our Irish roots. I had baked a lime Jello poke cake on Saturday. KW
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