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Thursday, September 17, 2009

Fall

Fall is here. We had our mid September rain. I woke up this morning to fog and a touch of drizzle. I'm thinking the Teff is pretty much ruined. I didn't have the heart to drive down and look at it. I just came back in for another cup of coffee after Sadie got on the bus. Wife fixed eggs and sausage so I had an excuse to sit down.
The ground I was farming is so dry I can probably start farming it right away. I am looking for a little sun to make the wild carrot residue a little dryer so it goes through the harrow. I need to go see a neighbor about a heavy roller.
I used the FarmerGPS program last night again. It works really well in daylight for laying out straight lands as I can use the GPS to get me lined up with the previous land and headed in a straight line. I still sight on a fence post or something at the end of the field and then keep one eye on the arrows to make sure I am straight.( You never want to use a cow for your line up mark as cows move. Sometimes it is hard to tell it is a cow, just looks like a little black dot.)
I find it hard to steer by an arrow in the dark. I am getting better. The GPS was a little hard to follow but it gets you close enough to tell that the mark in the field you are following is from your last pass and not just a random mark.
It also did not cost me $3500.

2 comments:

  1. And a brief refractive foray into not so much farming and more Amity Park...Isn't that where the famous pancake feed happens? Didn't the founding pioneers party under those trees? Did they plant them? We had a wonderful out of the way state park in the steep hills of eastern Iowa that were a glorious mix of boulders, glacial til and spectacular stands of white pine. These were the trees of whose sisters barns were built with one-by boards eighteen and twenty inches in width. Twenty inches by the ruler, not the nominal measurements of today. And often clear of knots. Some governmental bozo or commitee of bozos (bozoes? bozi?) decided they should be logged out to balance the state's books in some forgotten bookkeeping period in the eitghties. Took a friend to see them and found big rocks, hills, a lovely old WPA shelter house, and a lot of stumps. "The men in plaid pants have struck again", said I. Men In Plaid Pants will sell you used cars with bad transmissions, stuff you don't need on late night TV-"but wait! There's more!" and they will cut down all your finest trees for some rediculous short term advantage. Beware the tribe! Men In Plaid Pants! Do not vote for them, do not listen to them, keep your sense of humor in spite of them. Plant a damn tree.

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  2. The plaid pants fellows have been replaced by the short pants fellows in this neck of the woods.

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