Possum for Breakfast

 No, I didn't eat possum for breakfast. The possum came for breakfast. And he brought a friend. 

As we were finishing breakfast in the den, my husband and I saw a possum looking at the cats' empty bowl on the deck . Then another possum appeared. When I went to the sliding glass door for a better look, the possums scurried away. I went to the study to check my email.

Then, in the study window, the first possum appeared. Earlier, I'd put out the cat buffet, so the possum probably couldn't believe his good luck. Grover jumped onto the bookcase to get a better look. I picked up my camera, which was conveniently on my desk.

 

 

 

Grover was soon joined by Charlotte and Claudine. (Yes, Claudine is sort of upside down.)

 

 

The possum didn't care who was watching,

 

 

Soon Orville joined the other three cats. Nothing like a little possum-watching to start the day.

 

 

I went onto the front porch to get a better look. This surprised possum #1 while possum #2 lurked at the corner of the house

 

 

Possum #1 decided I was no threat and went back to chowing down. I think Possum #2 really wanted to leave.

 

 

Possum #1 pondered: Is it better to stay or to go?

 

 

Finally Possum #1 decided that he didn't like being watched and decided to go with his buddy. Orville watched him depart.

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Mystery Scratches

Last week we noticed that one of the round hay bales on our farm down the road had been pulled apart. It looked as if something big had made a nest in it, albeit temporarily. Yesterday, we noticed that the outer layer of wood on our power pole had been peeled.

 That's quite a bit of peeled wood. Obviously, it wasn't a small critter.

 

The scratch marks in the pole don't indicate a small critter either. 

 

They're way bigger scratches than what a housecat would leave.

 

What critter could it be? Mountain lion? Bear? Bigfoot? 

Ah, the mysteries of rural living!

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Smith Farm Hay

Hay was cut yesterday on Smith Farm. It was raked and baled today.

The tractor is in place and ready to start raking the front field.

Unraked hay in front field.

Hay partially raked.

Close-up of raked hay

Same field, different view.

Finishing a row.

Hay raked in side field.

Smith cabin behind the side field.

Close-up of hay rake in back field

Raked hay in back field.
The edge f the trees leads downhill to a spring.

Baled hay in front field.

Close-up of a fresh bale.

While clouds piled up during the day, no rain fell. Part of the hay is baled on the Brown Place, but some was too wet to rake. Maybe tomorrow. . . .

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Little Snapper

While mowing the lawn yesterday, my husband thought he ran over a rock where a rock shouldn't be. He stopped the mower and picked up the rock. When he washed it, the rock turned out to be a young snapping turtle. Fortunately, the turtle had sustained no injuries from its ordeal.

You can't keep a turtle in a bucket forever, so the turtle had to be relocated. Here's the underside of the turtle. .  . 

. . . and the top side.

The little snapper was returned to the bucket and then went on a the turtle equivalent of a field trip.

We chauffeured the turtle down to the farm near Dinner Creek where our horse trail begins . . .

. . . and my husband carried it to the creek . . . 

. . . and released it. What looks like a rock to the left is the turtle:

Here's another view. Apparently the turtle liked his new home, or maybe it liked the view of the minnows that swam past.

I liked the view of all the green, even the multiflora roses, an invasive species that has taken over of lot of rural land since being planted in the 1930s to help control erosion.

The horse trail begins near the creek . . . 

. . . and goes under the power lines and up the hill.

Ferns abound near the creek.

This should be a good habitat for the little snapper. But if you're riding my horse trail and you water your horse at the creek, you might want to check for turtles first. That little snapper isn't going to stay little for long.

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Eggs-actly

I'm no fan of grocery store eggs. They look exactly alike and are thin and runny. I won't even speculate on the factory-farm chickens that produce these inferior eggs. Instead, I buy locally produced eggs that look like this:

Or this:

They're not all the same color or size, though many of them are very large. Instead of pale yellow, the yolks are a rich orange.

These eggs taste wonderful.

To get these eggs, we drive about three miles from home to a farm where the chickens live. It's a self-serve operation. A cooler by the back door contains eggs that were gathered that morning. We return any empty egg cartons we have, select however many dozen eggs we want, and drop the money in a cup. Usually a cat—or even a herd of cats—watches us.

After getting our eggs, we drive out past the henhouses. One flock is turned out during the day.

There's another coop to the left along the driveway. Usually those hens stay in the a, but sometimes they're out, too. Sometimes we have to stop for a chicken to cross the driveway. A few times, we've had to wait for the cat herd to cross the driveway.

So—this is where we get our eggs. After eating these eggs, I don't think I could go back to eating store eggs on a regular basis. 

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Saturday at the Farm

Saturday was so wonderfully clear and springlike that I wanted to walk in our woods. The problem: I can't walk very far. The solution: I can ride our Polaris 500 ATV.

Here are some pictures I took as I rode around Polecat Creek Farm (and walked for just a little bit in the woods).

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