Wednesday, August 06, 2008, 06:14
Honey Bees
For the last couple of mornings, I have been sitting on Charlie's rock, drinking a cup of coffee and enjoying watching the honey bees coming to visit my morning glories and some late-blooming rugosa roses.
The morning glories and rugosa roses are only about a arm's length away, so I've got a good clasp view of the honey bees.
Of course, I am enjoying my rugosa roses, too. The roses bloom earlier in the summer, but I don't get to enjoy them then because the rose bugs chew them to pieces when they are still buds. But when the rugosa roses bloom later in the summer, then I get to enjoy them because the beetles are gone for the season by then.
So -- it's been a doubly good experience. The honey bees are fun to watch. They are such *happy* honey bees, tunneling into the morning glories and then flying over to the flatter roses, where they buzz and grumble and roll around in the rose pollen.
I tell the honey bees that I am glad to see them, that we need all of them we can get. The local university extension agent tells me that scientists think a virus is what has decimated the honey bees all over the world.
The other day, I found a honey bee floating in Isabelle's bucket. I picked a blade of grass and put it in the water beside him. He climbed up on the blade of grass and I put him down on the ground so he could dry off and go and do what honey bees do.
In other years when we have had pumpkins, the pumpkin blossoms have been alive with honey bees. They are attracted to the large, orange fragrant flowers. We don't have any pumpkins this year, though, because of the squash bugs last year. So far, I haven't detected any signs of squash bugs on my watermelon and muskmelon, and I hope I don't see any of them either.
It's kind of funny how I took the honey bees on the pumpkin blossoms for granted. Maybe someday when the threat of squash bugs is gone and it decides it will rain again in this part of the world, I will be able to enjoy seeing honey bees on the pumpkin blossoms again.
Drought
The drought continues in this part of Wisconsin. The dirt has turned to dry powder, and many of the corn fields I see are stressed from the heat and the lack of moisture. The corn leaves are spiky and rolled up into sharp points. It's interesting how corn has made that adaptation to roll up its leaves when it's hot and dry so the plants can conserve moisture.
It would be nice if we could get some rain in the not too distant future. If we don't, I'm afraid that our new seeding of alfalfa and timothy in the oats field is not going to survive.
Sick kitties
The momma kitties and the kittens in the barn are almost finished with this second course of antibiotic. I hope I have gotten rid of the respiratory illness for them this time around.
I went into the vet clinic on Monday for more antibiotic. Not only are the barn mommas and babies sick, but our little black kitty Juliette is sick, too, and so is Gabriel, the gray kitten from last summer we ended up keeping because I couldn't find a home for him. The vet tech at the clinic tells me they have been treating lots of sick animals over the past two weeks for respiratory illnesses. It is common at this time of year and is due to the hot, dry weather, the dust and all of the pollen in the air.
I think it would help around here if it would either rain or if they would pave the road past our house. The road has been dirt for two years now, and every time a car drives by, a cloud of dust hangs over the yard by the house and the barn. The road is on the east side of the property and then makes a 90-degree turn and runs along the south side of the property. We get a double dose of road dust here.
LeAnn R. Ralph
Saturday, August 02, 2008, 23:11
Cows and the Ragweed Express
When I crawled out of bed Saturday morning, I felt as if I had been run over by a train -- the Ragweed Express to be exact.
I poured a cup of coffee and went outside with Pixie. Randy was already outside with a cup of coffee, enjoying the cool morning air. It has been blistering hot this past week, but it's been fairly decent first thing in the morning.
" I've already had my exercise today," Randy said. "The neighbor's heifers were out. Kajun was having a fit. I called them, went up to the corner of the road, and they came over there. I think they went back in."
I looked down toward Kajun's pasture. The horse was standing bolt upright, ears perked, staring toward the other neighbor's hayfield.
"I'm not so sure they went back in," I said. "Look at Kajun."
A minute later, we looked down toward the oats field -- and there was a cow standing in the oats. A big red and white Holstein.
The last thing we needed right now was a bunch of cows trampling around in the oats that is ready to be combined at any time.
"You make sure they stay out of the oats. I'll go up to the road and call them," I said.
I hotfooted it up the hill, out the driveway and down the road and down the hill.
"Call them!" Randy yelled.
"Come boss!" I said.
I wanted to wait until I was out by the road to call them so they would come in the direction of my voice, and hopefully, end up closer to where we wanted them and not farther away.
The red-and-white Holstein came galloping down the field lane, the other two smaller ones, a Jersey and a small black bull with a ring in his nose, right behind.
"Come boss. Come bossy," I said.
The cows came trotting out to the road.
In the meantime, Randy had used his cell phone to call the neighbor to tell her the cows were out.
"Get up here," I yelled. "They're on the road."
Randy came trotting up the hill and out to the road.
"I hear a vehicle," I said. "We've got to get them out of the road."
The vehicle, as it turned out, was the other neighbor, who had also called the cows' owner to say they were out.
Now, I have to say, that when cows are out, they usually do not come on the run when someone calls "come boss." Except maybe to run in the OTHER direction. And certainly not when someone calls them who is unknown to them. But here they were, standing on the road.
The other neighbor got out of his truck and started clapping his hands.
"Don't get them riled up," I said in quiet voice. "They came nicely when I called 'come boss' and this is where we want them."
I slowly walked toward the cows, hoping to push them closer to the fence. It was difficult going in the ditch. The town patrolman has cut a bunch of trees out of the right-of-way and left all the brush in the ditch. If I was really lucky, I wouldn't catch my foot and end up face down in the brush.
Moments later, the other neighbor came on her four-wheeler. Between the four of us, we were able to convince the cows they should go over the fence, back into the pasture. The wire was broken in several spots, so it wasn't hard to tell where they might have gotten out.
The neighbor went back home for wire and a pliers. We went up the hill and back to the house. When we heard the four-wheeler again, we went back out to the pasture. As we discovered, the fence was down in a couple of places.
The neighbor had also concluded, by this time, that three other little Jerseys were missing. She couldn't see them anywhere on the place.
An hour later, we had the fence fixed and back up again. That was after two trips back to our house for the fencing tool and some staples.
When we were just about finished, we heard a noise in the woods to the east, looked, and there were the other three little Jerseys, staring at us, wondering what we were doing. They either had not gotten out, or had gotten back in before we saw that they were out.
The neighbor's heifers have pretty much been staying where they belong this summer. I think they were out once because I saw cow tracks in the dirt road one morning, but they must have gone back in by themselves. When it gets hot and dry, cows get uneasy. The cattle experts say cows are happiest when it's about 45 or 50 degrees Fahrenheit, so I'm sure they've been uncomfortable with temperatures up into the 90s this past week. So who knows why they decided to get out and go for a jaunt?
I'm just glad they were so willing to come on the run when I called "come boss." It made the job of getting them back in where they belonged a whole lot easier.
I have to say, though, that by the time we got the fence fixed, my arms and legs and neck were itching like crazy from the pollen. The Ragweed Express had struck again.
LeAnn R. Ralph