Sore Beans

At least they make me sore. They make my equipment sore. Not to mention the soil according to ISU research. Along with my own observations over the last thirty years. I wasn’t searching I simply observed. In a mono culture farm field they do the earth no good. China’s revenge. Tofu you, Yank. They got revenge ahead of time for what the west would do in the 19th and 20th centuries. The long game. Play exquisite.

The sore beans are planted. Sort of. What few acres of ’em I still plant. All buried except for the last maybe ten acres where they are (were) building terraces. When they’re done I’ll be done soon thereafter. It’s rained the last three nights. Sort of. Two tenths the first, one tenth the second, and nearly five tenths last night. The forecasters are calling for a week of rain. At this rate we’ll take a week to get an inch. Monsooner or later?

The grass is about to pollinate. First blue. Then brome, rye, wheat, and oats in their turn. Closely followed by the corn and beans. Sad really, to see the season move so fast. The longest days will soon be upon us then it’s back to shrinking light and growing night. Shivers me timbres just to think about it. So I won’t. I’ll think of all the things to do before then. Makes me sweat just thinking about ’em.

Then, there.



Had To Start Sometime

I cut mulberry trees out of the terraces here on the home place Friday afternoon/evening. I had burned the pit in the rain the other day so there was room. Barely. Not only is the pit filled back up I have a day’s worth of heat once I cut up the larger branches into fire wood. I treated the stumps with Tordon RTU to keep them from turning into bushes as they try to regrow from the stumps. That’s something I’ve been wanting to do for the last few years but never seemed to get around to. The trees grow fast in this part of the world. Just like the corn. They are ahead of me before I know it. Last year I started on the trees in the new fences. If I had Tordoned them when I put the fence in instead of thinking that regular low vol 2-4-D  would knock em back that job wouldn’t have needed doing. That reminds me, I have to get those branches gathered up out of the road ditch before they’re rotted away. Waste not want not.

Yesterday I was able to get started planting corn here at home on those very same terraces. By dark I was half way across the bottom nearly to the windmill. By half past midnight the whole farm was planted and I was back inside the house. Thirsty, hungry and tired. But done planting corn on the first farm this planting season. So I can call First Farm. Thirteen hours done. Sixty some hours to go. Planting corn. If everything works flawless. Not counting the moves between farms and running after seed. But I’m going to have to start carrying water to drink at least. Thirteen hours strait through with neither sip nor sup is about all this old man can take. Around four thirty or five yesterday afternoon I found an old 7-UP bottle with two good swigs of stale pop in the 1466’s cab. Leftovers from last fall during the harvest run sometime. Just in time. It felt like coming upon an oasis in the desert. It made for a nice half time. After midnight when I was snarfing and slurping at my desk trying to recharge a little too late I looked up at the bottle of rye and decided I deserved a stiff shot. Since I was so stiff. Sore and shot. Here’s to the first farm.

Now that it’s raining this Sunday morning I’m glad I suffered for the cause yesterday. The thunder is my siren song. And that siren’s singing taps. I hear the bed a calling. Maybe a little food first. Work all night ……. sleep all day. Tornado please stay away.

Good night cruel world.