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Feels like spring outside

About two months or so and it is supposed to be spring, say about 60 days. Makes one wonder if the weather clock needs to be adjusted. With all the shifting to warmer weather lately and coupled with hotter summers, longer droughts, adverse weather with the hurricanes and all, Greenhouse effect or not but best just leave things as they are because if Uncle Sam gets involved, Oh Lordy.
Spring gardening season is like the start of the NASCAR season with the end the race being the crop benefit. No benefit means you did not win the race.
Would love to plant the back yard full of corn or at least several dozen stalks. If a few ears of corn are gathered then there is a benefit for someone to enjoy as we do like fresh corn.
With a glare on my glasses as I sat here earlier facing the monitor, I heard: “Charlie….Charlie, come look we have two squirrels.”
Oh great, here I am a tomato grower or suppose to be, and she praises the potential poachers to the little garden on Goose Creek.
Gardeners take things like that seriously. For instance I’d love to have some chickens in the back yard but deed restrictions forbid hoof and fowl animals. Anyway, one friend finally got himself some guineas because he had wanted some for sometime.
Guineas are good guard dogs so to speak because they raise a ruckus when anyone approaches. He got the guineas and raised them in the coop out back inside a pen.
One fine fellow happy with his little brood and things went on for a while.
You know that guineas clean your yard of grasshoppers, and almost everything else that climbs, crawls, flies, scoots, toots and jumps in the back yard, and did it they did.
This old sodbuster was as proud of his soon to be garden with benefit as he was of the new brood of guineas he was raising.
He made himself seen around the chicks so they would get used to him being around them and not be skittish when he came around the coop or where they were.
Guineas they were and dig in the potato patch they did; got every potato he had.
The guineas were soon shipped off to relatives up around Huntsville.
So much for my chickens because I would do the same thing if I ever had any and they got in my tomatoes. Only we’d eat fried chicken.