We took a day “off” this weekend (Visited farmer’s markets and farms around Chimacum. And shopped for hay.) and headed up to Port Townsend. We perused an antique store and found a perfectly functional corn planter and a brightly painted Planet Junior-type wheel hoe. We’d been eyeing these tools [...]]]>

Our shiny new cultivator!

We took a day “off” this weekend (Visited farmer’s markets and farms around Chimacum. And shopped for hay.) and headed up to Port Townsend. We perused an antique store and found a perfectly functional corn planter and a brightly painted Planet Junior-type wheel hoe. We’d been eyeing these tools for years but could never justify the price for a new one. However, our valuable antique cultivator was priced at about a third the cost of a new one. A bargain!

The antique dealer, however, seemed a mite confused that we were evaluating his antique with an eye toward using it in our garden. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that his antique was, in point of fact, a thrifty and useful tool.

It wasn’t as awkward as the time Lauren had the following conversation about an antique egg scale:

“So how can it accurately weigh eggs with this sticker missing?”

“Well, you are just going to use it for decoration.”

“No, I need it to grade eggs for sale.”

“…”

This is what a baby robin looks like.

Note the more-than-superficial resemblance to a baby chicken, like one of the three that used to be able to get out of the coop.

Now, imagine that Oscar (Note to readers: Oscar is my dog) finds such a baby bird, partially feathered out, behind [...]]]>

PEEEEEEEEEP!

This is what a baby robin looks like.

Note the more-than-superficial resemblance to a baby chicken, like one of the three that used to be able to get out of the coop.

Now, imagine that Oscar (Note to readers: Oscar is my dog) finds such a baby bird, partially feathered out, behind the coop. Imagine how concerned both you and Oscar might be that such a critter has escaped both its housing and my notice. Terrifying.

And I had no idea what species the poor bird was. Turkey? Chicken? How old? Which of the seven flocks does this critter belong to? Very stressful.

Until, of course, after much chasing through blackberries, I manage to pick up the critter. At that point, the mouth gaping behavior presented a clue that this might not be a domesticated bird. The second, and more definitive, clue was when at least two robins began tripping their shit and dive-bombing me while emitting emergency bird distress calls.

I took their point and set the chick down and wished them all the best.

I haven’t been able to stop giggling since I ran across this ad. (Reproduced here in case the ad goes away)