Zinnias! Tons of them - they're in full swing these days.
The cockscomb and celosia rows are taking off too - these have wreaths in their future.
Random flower rows. You might notice from this picture that I am not as johnny-on-the-spot with a hoe as I could be. To which I reply - sue me. Not that I'm defensive or anything. But yes, if I'm really telling the truth I'd admit that a weedeater has occasionally made its way down my rows between the flowers to restore order. The thing is, usually the decision goes something like this: I *could* be OCD about weed control. Or I could go run. And here you have pictorial proof that the run usually wins. Balance is good, right? Right??
The castor bean plants that are considering eating Oakley. Seriously, look how high those things are. This is definitive proof that chemical fertilizers are not required to grow things. And that having a few horses on the property really helps in that department.
The goats that ran away from the circus and met up at the barn. These goats are *supposed* to be living in the overgrown paddock with Max and Charlie - but these wily goats, who arrived in two separate pairs within a day or two of each other, all immediately found the one tiny hole in the woven wire fence and took off for the barn. And they are so entertaining up there that my dad and I haven't had the heart to corral them and take them back to the paddock. We refer to them as our tiny herd of tiny goats, and they have a fabulous time running and snorting and knocking horns with each other all over the pasture. So poor Max and Charlie are fending for themselves in the weeds that are way taller than they are, while Bonnie, Clyde, Thelma and Louise are living it up. Life is not fair.
Dexter, king of the barn cats. He had an encounter with Thelma (Supreme Commander of the Renegade Goats) that convinced him goats are NOT SUPPOSED TO LIVE IN THE BARN. He wandered straight up to Thelma to introduce himself, and she took one look, backed up a few steps and scooped him up on her horns and sent him flying. He was hissing as he flew through the air, and I confess my dad and I could not stop laughing. He landed with a thump (you'll notice he's well padded) and stalked off to nurse his wounded pride. It was the only thing wounded, but he was highly offended.
Extreme electric fence building to combat the tiny herd of tiny goats. Goats like to get on anything high - like, for example, the hood of your towing vehicle or the wheel wells of the horse trailer. Four strands of electric tape have now convinced them otherwise.
Most ridiculous shoes in history. And they're on *my* feet. After investing untold $$ in plantar fasciitis treatments (orthotics for bike shoes, orthotics for run shoes, special arch supports for other shoes, god knows how much athletic tape for arch tape...) I have now gone the other direction. All of that worked for a week and then it hurt again. So I'm beginning to give more credence to the cult of barefoot runners. I'm not running barefoot, but I do think there's some sense to the argument that my arches need to figure out how to support themselves again. So I've been walking around barefoot at the farm. But sometimes I'm walking around places where barefoot just isn't the best plan - enter the Vibram Five Fingers. They totally look like muppet shoes, but I swear the plantar fasciitis is feeling better. And even if it's just because I'm distracted by these ridiculous shoes, that's fine with me.
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