The smell of the rendering plant marks that we will soon be arriving at the farm. Luckily because of the road location from where we can smell the rotting, decomposing animals, it means the farm won't be stinking today.
As soon as the goats hear us pull up they start bleating to be fed. I hunt down the ax, chop down enough foliage to quiet them for an hour or two and then plan out the the rest of the morning.
While hundreds (literally) of broccoli and cauliflower plants have already been planted, there are still lots to go. Not to mention the lettuce that also need to go in. There aren't any fields completely ready to go yet, so Chris will spend the morning plowing and prepping more space.
Before he can go over the corn fields, the remaining corn needs to harvested and the drip lines and sprinklers pulled out. Looks like that's what I'll be up to.
While wandering through the corn I disturb field mice and sparrows who have been happily feasting. How can things so cute be so destructive? Ear after ear of corn I open has been nibbled bare. I hear the rustle of dried corn stalks blowing in the wind and crunching beneath my feet. I open an ear I've just tugged off the stalk. In it, and others like it, I find kernels colors I didn't know corn came in: brilliant reds and burgundies, iridescent blues, bright oranges streaked with reds and yellows.
If it's not the color of the corn surprising me, it's the extreme heat of a chili, the sweetness of a melon or the tomatoes that continue to be prolific well after their supposed season. Nature and all her bounty is incredible!
By midday the autumn sun is beating down on us. The corn's been harvested, the field stripped of its water lines and the tractor's over-heated. Time to call it a day.