Pam and I spent most of yesterday hauling brush and logs. The guys will be coming soon to grade the land, and there's no point in burying perfectly good firewood. Bessie, the old 1954 Ferguson tractor, is performing flawlessly. The operator is not.
Bessie has a three point hitch on her stern. It can be raised and lowered with a control by my right knee. I was showing Earl how it worked, and didn't notice that it was stuck on "up". I was hauling a load of logs up to our log pile when I heard a huge crack. I turned around, thinking it was logs. Nope. It was a steel bracket breaking.
Thankfully, Earl has a machine/welding shop in his garage and can fix anything. Within an hour, he had it straightened and welded as good as new.
We worked from about 9 AM to 2 PM or so, and my back was telling me it was time to stop, so we did. Bessie can haul the logs up the road to our log pile, but I have to unchain them and toss them one by one. Only the very biggest logs that I can't lift get pushed to the pile by Bessie and her front end bucket.
Poor Pam went grocery shopping, while I sat in the side yard like an idiot, trying to get photos of hummingbirds coming to our feeder as Olivia was digging the world's biggest dog hole next to me. It was sort of like worm fishing where you just sit on the bank and do nothing. I just sat on a chair with my camera on its tripod.
Bessie has a three point hitch on her stern. It can be raised and lowered with a control by my right knee. I was showing Earl how it worked, and didn't notice that it was stuck on "up". I was hauling a load of logs up to our log pile when I heard a huge crack. I turned around, thinking it was logs. Nope. It was a steel bracket breaking.
Thankfully, Earl has a machine/welding shop in his garage and can fix anything. Within an hour, he had it straightened and welded as good as new.
We worked from about 9 AM to 2 PM or so, and my back was telling me it was time to stop, so we did. Bessie can haul the logs up the road to our log pile, but I have to unchain them and toss them one by one. Only the very biggest logs that I can't lift get pushed to the pile by Bessie and her front end bucket.
Poor Pam went grocery shopping, while I sat in the side yard like an idiot, trying to get photos of hummingbirds coming to our feeder as Olivia was digging the world's biggest dog hole next to me. It was sort of like worm fishing where you just sit on the bank and do nothing. I just sat on a chair with my camera on its tripod.
Eastern Phoebe.
Eastern Phoebe with a bug for its babies. The nest is under the eaves of our cabin. The parents wouldn't go to the nest with me sitting nearby.
Olivia's hole. I think that she was trying to hide because she was so embarrassed by me sitting out in the yard with my camera, for hours.
Pam asked if Friggin' Hummingbirds were going to take the place of the Friggin' Pelicans that I used to furtively attempt to photograph on Drift Away.
Today will be more of the same. Haul logs until about 2 PM, then chill. We may drive Pam's Miata to Malta to a classic car cruise-in. My daughter and son-in-law will probably have Dad's '56 Thunderbird there. We'll get to visit a bit, and then head to Saratoga to hear my old buddy Jeff Brisbin play at Maestro's on Broadway in Saratoga. Then again, we may decide to wait until the guys are grading the land and we have some down time. I'm a little achey.
I dunno Dave, "Friggin Hummingbirds" just doesn't seem to have the same casual, dismissive esprit as "Friggin Pelicans." Let's just hope that you don't arrive at "Friggin Bears."
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Tom
FYI - not sure the little guys need red dye #2. Four parts water to 1 part sugar brought to a boil is cheaper and better for them.
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