Brent is in the tractor with his disc harrows hitched up. We have many, many hectares of grass for the cows ( google says: 1 hectare == 2.47105381 acres). We also have many, many hectares of old vineyard and old crop fields. The soil is pretty soil-like despite years and years of fertilizers, vine spraying and mono-crops. Brent is out there getting them “online” for future grass and hay. Our cows are a bit spoiled. This disc-ing business is touchy. Brent knows WAY more on this, but it seems you can’t disc when it’s too wet or a bit wet or a bit wet followed by lots of sun (you can make bricks that way). While talking through the disc plan, I can’t help but think of the Farmers’ Almanac. I used to read it as a child. My mom kept a copy in the bathroom. I’ve never been a bathroom reader, I suppose I’m efficient that way, but the Farmers’ Almanac gave such incredible data on weather and other things, I could sit there and thumb through it for many minutes. As a Southern California native where it’s 72F and breezy at all times, I loved reading about weather. Apparently, it fluctuates between cold, hot, windy and rainy and not always the same from year to year. Who knew? We have rain approaching this weekend. All the farmers are out working the fields to get seed in the ground and start germinating. Each day things need to run smoothly. The weather is checked daily. Sometimes the rain starts this Friday, another time it’s pushed out to Sunday. The farmers need to keep on tractoring and hope nothing breaks down. Or in Brent’s case, lose a bolt on your disc harrow. He did a quick look around when he noticed and couldn’t find it. Then, he went to plan B.
Plan B is: “if the discs work, keep on disc-ing.” The discs work, but he can no longer lift them with his fancy hydraulics. So everywhere he drives, he discs fields. He decided to plan a route to the back of the farm that would give us most bang for the disc while I searched the field for the bolt. Along the way, we now have lovely disced grass that should grow some interesting foliage as seed blows around.
I popped Zélie on my back and walked the freshly worked field searching for a large beige bolt. The field was brown. The bolt was beige. I must admit, I was pessimistic. Z and I kept it up. Of course I wore the wrong shoes. My urban Campers were no match for the freshly worked soil of France. With each step I was reminded of walking in the hot sun on Coronado beach looking for a spot to place my towel, crank up 91X and start working on my Spring tan. “Lulu POP! Lucy POP!” would bring me back to reality. The reality was, there was no way I was going to find that bolt. We did the entire field. It wasn’t there.
In other news, yesterday another calf was born successfully. A little girl. I think we’re calling her “hooptie.”