|These are a few of my favorite things|
The lovely and gracious Rogue is planning to replace the current hens with a batch of barred rocks that arrived yesterday by mail. But I'm not telling the ladies this time. Last time they learned they were being replaced, they "helpfully" dug out the area around the chicks' cage, freeing them to become coyote poop. This batch is staying in the other barn until they are much, much bigger.
I am officially tired of Trump's Twitter account. And I'm not even on Twitter.
I am also officially tired of women in politics complaining about how hard it is to be a woman in politics*. No one is forcing you to be in politics. If your job is too hard, go do something else.
I pulled the first bed of garlic last night and replanted it in cukes. While I had pulled a few of the smaller, deader-looking garlic last week, I was looking forward to seeing what a full-term head of Duganski hardneck would look like. I was quite pleased, as fully a third of them were store-sized or better. So they are acclamating to the aforementioned dirt quite nicely. With garlic, the larger cloves you plant, the larger bulbs you get, all things being equal. So assuming I get the same ratio of big bulbs from the bigger bed, I'll have enough planting garlic to double or triple production again next year with enough left over to scare away every vampire from here to Dodge City.
Shredded paper mulch works great on garlic**. The ground beneath is soft enough to pull the bulbs with a minimum of fuss and is filled with tons of earthworms. But it does not seem to work as well for onions. Since onions grow above the ground, the paper tends to smother them. Good old-fashioned weeding is necessary in that bed.
Speaking of shred, after about two years of abuse, my 12-sheet shredder finally gave up the ghost. I have replaced that with a monstrous, 20-sheet shredder that will easily handle newsprint, cardboard, even small barnyard animals I suspect. With the change, Mr. Charisma is no longer interested in shredding things. This is much to my surprise - ramming stuff into the shredder was one of his favorite pastimes. But his little brother, Dino Baggins, seems ready to step up to the challenge. It's a good thing there are no cats in the house.
* This is known as Female Privilege. Women get to complain about being a woman-in-whatever and all the men are expected to go, Aww, you're so brave and strong. When a man complains that it's hard to be a man-in-whatever, he's rightly called a whiner.
** That's the white, snow-looking stuff you see in the pic. This half-rotted paper will go on the compost pile, to be replaced with a new batch as soon as the cuke leaves are high enough for me to pile more beneath them.