It’s looking to be quite the farmy week, folks. Join me vicariously, won’t you?
Welcome back to The Vicarious Farmer. It’s a bite-size serving of farmdom, featuring a fresh photo from the Acres and a pocket full of words to ruminate on.
The Vicarious Farmer is you. Imagine yourself perched on my shoulder for a snapshot of the day-to-day goings-on of this little farmette – the idyllic and the banal.
About this time of year, the lifeless bales of hay begin to take on the same tedious feel as the last bunch of root vegetables in the people-larder. After a winter of eating nothing but pale, dried grass (or an endless parade of squash) any blade of green poking through the mat of last year’s growth is nibbled up in a heartbeat. If you’re an ungulate, right about now is when you’ve reached your limit of boring dried hay, and right about now, any new grass peeking through is inhaled much faster than it’s able to grow. Enough. You’ll do anything to get at that lush greenery just outside of your confined area. Now’s a good time to find a breach in the fence and bust outta there. The yahoo shepherdess in charge will likely reward you with some dried corn, too, just to lure you back in. Seems like the perfect way to spend the better part of a Sunday. And Sunday night. And Monday morning.
Maybe you vicarious farmers will more quickly see the urgency of moving the flock to fresh greens, and thus save yourself the hassle of rounding up the marauding flock again and again. It’s the route I’d recommend.