Ah! The Life of the Urban Farmer

  

Giles 'making a map' at Morningside Farm.  He liked the biscuits too.

Recently, at about 2 in the morning Cymande and I were woken up by a strange wailing sound. My initial reaction was to ignore it since night in the Duckpond brings a variety of mysterious sounds: owls that sound like monkeys, dogs that sound like children and a deep bass sound that no one hears with the exception of Cymande. The wailing was different, more desperation and less laughing-monkey.  I quickly got out of bed and realized that I had forgotten to close the chicken coop and sure enough that is where the wailing was coming from. In my sleep-deprived disoriented naked state I ran downstairs and into the backyard.  I grabbed a dishtowel to cover myself, sort of.  I was barefoot. I approached the small urban coop a bit frightened because there was obviously something bad happening inside.  The wailing continued and there was wrestling and snarling and jostling and I couldn't see anything. Just then a  wailing feathery ball that I recognized as a chicken rolled down the ramp from the roost. It was then that I felt the cold soft chicken poop between my toes. The wailing continued. It was 2AM. It was getting very loud and l was very naked armed with only a dishtowel and flashlight. I felt...exposed...to both the neighbors and to the unseen predator that was causing all this.  I ran into the house to put some clothes on and prepared myself to do battle.  When I returned I couldn't find a chicken or the chicken-eating beast. My feet were covered in poop that I had tracked though the house. I felt I had let the chickens down, and well, I had. I cleaned the floor and showered. I returned to bed and within 5 minutes the wailing started up again. I ran downstairs and located the chicken.  Its bloody wailing head poked out from underneath our shed where the predator had dragged it and was still attacking it. I took mercy upon the chicken and dispatched her with a technique I had mastered over the years on Old Wire Road. Then I washed the chicken blood off my hands and went to sleep. Ah yes, urban farming.            

Giles, Papa and Nana involved in some serious one-eyed truck drawing.

That was a grim way to start the second entry, but it did inspire me to write so I went with it.  Nana and Papa came for an extended visit, over four months I believe. They helped restore some sanity. They cooked and cleaned and did all kinds of projects. Their departure is best described as Freudian. We all miss them very much. No more late night drinks at The Top for now...   

To the bat house.

Yes, over 100,000 bats call the UF bat barn (left) and bat house (right) home. We went to bat night at the Natural History Museum and waited and waited for the bats to leave. It seemed like forever but the bats finally left after the sun went down (imagine that).  We got ourselves in the novice bat viewing spot known to seasoned bat watchers as the 'bat shit position'. It's exciting and a bit nauseating to be pooped on by thousands of bats. The boys loved it and if they love bat poop then we love bat poop too.  

House concert

We hosted a house concert for a local musician.  He played the ukelele and sang narrative tales. It was well attended by our neighbors and a couple of friends.  Ciati moved away to Woods Hole shortly after the performance. I like to think about Woods Hole for several reasons: 1. I have a picture of myself wearing a furry parka in Woods Hole (circa 1977) standing on the frozen Atlantic. 2. I found myself at the Woods Hole library at several times with Dave Dube trying to complete our ecology paper. That never really worked out too well, but we certainly had a good time. 3. After undergrad I tried to get a job at one of the research labs in Woods Hole.  That never really worked out too well either.  

Ciati

Grandma pulls the wagon at Kanapaha Botanical Gardens

Faye came from Okinawa for training and visited for a couple days. They boys were excited to have both Nana and Grandma take care of them for a day. I'm still trying to figure out why everyone lives so damn far away.

Moss hiding (he thinks this is hilarious)

Giles at the Thomas Center