Backroads of Morrow County Update:
The
wheat has been harvested. It leaves a golden field. The stubble that
will be made into hay is sitting their drying. That should have taken
about five minutes. "Make hay while the sun shines" indeed.
The
corn has fulfilled its obligation to its cliche: "Knee high by the
Fourth of July." Even if you were using Goliath's knees, mission
accomplished. I don't know what the
cliche is for soy beans, but even with just one rain in three weeks they
seem to be doing okay. Not that they both couldn't use a good rain.
The lilies have slipped into third place. There are still orange
islands in the ditches here and there, but the white of Queen Anne's
Lace and the yellow of black-eyed Susans have outpaced them in number.
Are there any flowers named after men or are we just too ugly? One farm
has gone to the "trouble" of planting yellow lilies in front of their
house. Beautiful trouble. I wonder where I could find some . . .
"Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery," so "they" say.
I see
the doe and her fawn at least once a week now. He (or she) is growing
up quickly. They love the thicket behind my favorite tall windowed
housed, deep red barned, farm on the way to lunch. The "kid" is a
little too curious for mom's comfort. She hurries him out of the road
or out of the field and into the thicket whenever I show up in my little
red wagon. He goes--but reluctantly--head turned back over his
shoulder. "Curiosity killed the . . . Oh, wait. That won't work.
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