A (Sort of) Quiet Afternoon

I got a phone call a little after 9:30 this morning from the school. "Joe isn't running a fever, but he says he feels like he's going to throw up," the voice on the other end of the line said. He had been complaining before school that he wasn't feeling well, but after eating some breakfast and using the rest room, I thought he would be okay. I was wrong. I walked through the front door of the school seconds after he had spewed a watery mess all over their new, clean floor. "Good timing," the lady behind the desk told me. How true. I walked out with a pale, miserable Joe, thankful that the custodian at the school was dealing with his vomit instead of me. And now Joe is nestled on the couch, trash can close at hand, watching Stampy play video games. ( I will never understand....)

In other kid news, Joe tried out for Melody Makers, the singing group at school, and made it. Finley is learning to play the flute and is excited to march in the homecoming parade tomorrow.

 Zivah has learned to tie her shoes. To have your youngest master this last skill of basic self-sufficiency feels epic.

Out on the farm, Daisy has miraculously stayed in her yard for the past three days. After discovering that she could climb a section of fence last weel, I tried for days to alter the fence so that she couldn't climb out. The fence had been pushed over by years of livestock, and the angle was just enough that she could scale the corner. First, I tried to string barbed-wire over the corner, but she wiggled through, ignoring the scratches to her belly. Next, I used the tractor to pull the t-post upright, but somehow, she still was able to climb the wrinkled fence. Finally, I straightened things up a bit more and cut out a sapling that was growing in the fence. I don't know if the sapling was some sort of psychological support for Daisy, but she gave up climbing and has redirected her energies to digging holes.

 I cleaned the coop out today. Chris's decision to lay laminate flooring in there was a stroke of genius. After using the manure fork to get the big bits, the rest is easily cleaned up with a square point shovel. The chickens will thank me tonight when they breathe in that clean, fresh-hay air.

 The fifteen chicks one hen hatched out early last month are gone. We suspect a hawk and a weasel teamed up to annihilate them all, and in a matter of three or four day, they all disappeared. Well, all except for the three I found in various stages of manglement in the little coop.

At least Isadora still lives on. Though her head-feathers could use a good shampooing.