by Max Akroyd
A ragged kind of day. The mini pigs somehow knocked over the supports of their electric fence and I spent too much time trying to reorganise it. This kind of transgression, this victory of porcine persistence, replaces any worrying about their fate with a blunt pondering of “what that bit will taste like”… By the time the goats were out to graze the morning had gone.
I’m getting a bit anxious that the sowing schedule is sagging somewhat. I tried to interest my youngest two in sowing sweet peas but they had other more important things to do, like throwing seed compost at the cats. I managed to get about fifty sweet peas sown. Not enough! At least, walking in the forest later, the pace of things was irrelevant.
I resumed the mowing afterwards, sharing the cuttings between the bottom of my potato trenches and the mini pigs. They start oinking and squealing in anticipation as soon as the old mower fires up…