48 Hours of Late May Stuff on the Farm

Wednesday, I planted two dozen flowers (where more than two dozen of my flowers have died) then sowed zinnia seeds (where my last ones never germinated) and black-eyed susan and daisy seeds (where my hollyhocks failed to sprout). (That last one is particularly sad, as those seeds were a parting gift from a sweet, elderly woman in Young Ward whose hollyhocks I'd often praised.)

I planted in hope of course, just like I did several weeks ago, but a hope that now drifted sadly and repeatedly towards a vague wondering what exactly others seem to know and do that allows all they plant to thrive and why I must forever exist outside of that knowledge.

After planting, I headed over by the barn and discovered that Mike had thoughtfully hooked a long hose up for me before leaving for work. (I'd asked him, earlier that morning, if there was one over there anywhere. He'd told me where to look, but must have decided, before heading off, to find and attach it for me himself. Bless him.) 

I tromped through tall weeds and grass to each of the four apple trees we'd planted last year, the evergreen from our last Christmas at the rental (still in its tub and looking like it might not survive its needed planting), and the raspberries that could scarcely be seen at all and gave them all a good watering. (Not a speedy process due to the low water pressure over there.)

Then I made my way over a stack of railroad ties near the cow trough to search through grass, weeds and rolled up barbed wire for fence posts to mark the nearly hidden spots where each of our surviving linden seedlings (planted last fall) are trying to grow.

I trudged four posts over to the strip of lindens--wondering, before I'd made it halfway to them and as the posts felt increasingly heavy in my arms, how I would manage three more trips. But then Daisy came out and started up the 4-wheeler. We piled the remaining posts across her lap and she drove them over. 

I made my way slowly through all the green growth searching carefully for trees to place posts by. Daisy followed behind--pounding the posts in with the post driver. (I took my turn for a spell, but Daisy was horrified--on her father's behalf--by how tall I left them and insisted on driving my posts in further.) While she continued that grueling task, I hauled a five-gallon bucket of water to each and every tree.

Mike arrived home around 7:00, and I followed him into the back field to watch how we are to go about shutting canal gates and setting tarps to flood irrigate. We stood together--as the wind blew through all the overgrown greenness that is currently everywhere--and watched where the water ran, then tromped over to the house--hmming and calculating--and deciding that probably the water wouldn't reach above the porch. Still, to be sure, Mike left lights on out back and set an alarm for 3:00 am to check on things. 

The next morning, early, the neighbor who at times rents the pasture to run his herd, came over and told Mike of another spot he liked to set a metal gate to send the water towards the further reaches of the field. Mike pointed the shining metal out to me through the big window so I would know where to go and lift it back out if things ran too close to the house while he was at work. And we watched as Holly and Rosie curiously stepped through wet pasture and reached their muzzles in to drink from new watering spots. 

My day was full of errands and kids, so I only glanced out to make sure nothing was reaching the house, but when Mike got home, we realized all the rising pasture water was completely gone. Someone must have switched a gate and cut our turn short. (And with a raised eyebrow and an odd little thrill [the same type of thrill that makes me want to hear any drama Mike might have to share from the waterboard meeting ... while still not wanting to actually be at the waterboard meeting] I wondered if we had entered into water sharing politics!) (We texted the water master. No response. More interesting still! :))

Today I decided that my linden-marking posts blended in a bit more than I'd hoped with the fence and posts just behind them, so Mike helped me search the barn for cans of paint before he left for work, and I spray-painted the tops white--and when, looking at them, I still doubted whether the kids would see them all once I start sending them with buckets of water this summer, I gave Jesse a can of red spray paint and told him to add stripes. In the end, I also numbered them (hoping to assign tree watering by numbers so none get missed).

Can you see the tiny linden to the left of the post? Luckily it should only take 20 to 50 years for it to reach maturity. I guess I'm watering them for my grandkids. :( The willows grow faster though. And I think I can move some of the cottonwood saplings growing near the big ones already here on the farm. Those are fast growing. And we've got our Christmas tree to plant. And, despite being told they won't do well, I still want to try a maple somewhere--mostly for its fall leaves. Aspens would be fun too. But ... how to water everything? I already fear we will weary of the bucket hauling to the lindens along the driveway all summer.

Jesse striping my posts like candy canes. They do stand out more now. We will have no excuse to miss carrying buckets to a single tree! (And won't it be nice to eventually just see trees--rather than houses--here? In ... 50 years. [Cross fingers for 20 everyone!])

A tiny cairn I made on the driveway across from a linden Mike found that I'd missed (so I would remember where to take a post the next day).

We planted about 20 lindens last year. (Maybe a few were willows? Whatever we got for practically nothing at the Bear River bare-root tree sale). I think I currently have 16 accounted for. Well, 19, I guess, I found 3 that appear to be dead. Maybe there's one more out there. Fingers crossed. 

Anyway, I'm liking these farm tasks. I even cleared weeds and grass and made a spot for pumpkins just outside the big window (since the pumpkin hill from last year is covered in weeds about five feet high), however, I've watched the spot throughout the day. It gets almost no sun to speak of, so my work there might have been for naught. 

We shall see. 

Lots of experimenting going on these days. (Remember all the sunflowers I planted last year? Why didn't those take? Is it ... do I ... have a black thumb? Despite all my willingness and industry?)

Well, as I've said before, I'm glad I'm not planting things in order to survive the winter--or we would be in a sad state, I fear. (Not only because nothing I plant will grow but also because I'm planting primarily ... flowers. Even grown they aren't too filling. ;)) We need Mike around more. Things he plants seem to grow. I guess because he just ... knows they will.