Fuzzy Wuzzy was a Farm

In my last post, I mentioned how our mower had gone kaput and was in the shop while the farm was in the throes of dandelion season. 

Well, the mower came home shortly after that. It worked a couple of times for Husband Guy. So, yay. Mow away!

Then one day I hopped on and was blissfully cutting the meadow when I heard a loud: “Kachunk.” 

Not good.

A big, important-looking metal doo-dad sat in the grass. 

Turns out it was the clutch.

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So back to the shop went the mower. That was more than four weeks ago. Apparently, because of Covid, manufacturing and shipping of parts has drastically slowed. Added to that, the head mechanic guy told Husband Guy he’s short a couple of technicians.

We hired someone to finish the meadow and borrowed our neighbour Ian’s rig to do a pass around the barn and house.

But, being growing season, things are, well … growing. That means our place is getting pretty fuzzy again. 

Generally, the farm looks its best at this time of year. The trees are full and green and the daisies are out (I just love them, so pretty and perfect) as are many other wildflowers – orange, white, yellow, purple, pink.

The actual flower gardens are in full production too. We inherited the beds from the previous owners and Mom tends most of them, while I ignore look after the ones around the house. 

Even the horses are at peak prettiness. Their coats, not yet sun-bleached, shine like glitter.

So, although looking more feral than usual, the farm is still its beautiful self.

But a haircut wouldn’t be the worst thing.