Grassfed And Beefier Than Ever

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“What a great year!” says the grass farmer raising cattle.  “When will summer begin?!”  says the lovely residents of Country France.  Wow.  We’ve been here over five years on the farm and I’ve not seen this combination of sun/rain/sun/rain/no freeze deal.

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The grass is so tall ( how tall is it? ) so tall that a photo at tit level, you can’t see the top of the seed heads.  … and I am a tall lady.

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The chickens seem to be establishing camp well.  Though, for the next lot, we’ll mow it down.  Every good chicken loves freshly mowed grass.

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And I cooked up the last sample from our BBQ box.  We’re trying out another type of steak box to see how it scores on flavor and tenderness.  We have tried every piece of meat that we raise.  Scrutinising it.  Adjusting our farming methods.  Then, sampling again.  It’s a slow process.

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Parental Paparazzi

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Preemptive shots of my dragon.  She’s melting down because I took a photo of her on Daddy’s tractor.  I saw her having fun, thought I’d grab a moment.  and this is what I got.

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Sure, she looks cute here and there, but the absolute howl at those horrible parents , okay mamaparazzi … ferget about it.  I say, ” look, lady you go be cute and we’ll have nothing to do with it.”

peer review of this blog post:

z: uuuuuh.  don’t put a photo when I’m angry … put a photo when I’m happy

 

 

 

Ha Ha Watercooler

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Grass is crazy.  We, I, have worries of cows not seeing the fence because the grass is too long.  So far, so good.  Calves loving drinking water, eating pasture and milking mom … a perfect selection of kids old enough to get a job and young enough to still live at home as though getting a job is something you do after college.

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Iced latte season.  Man, I love the iced latte.  It sounds so pretentious at first.  Give me a hot afternoon, some ice cubes and a fancy espresso machine … your resistance becomes blissful.

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The hay is going along quite well until it rained. Swooped in quicker than a surprise Kanye concert.  Leaving our hay wet, but not lost.
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