Of course I had my camera so while I was waiting, I went looking for pictures . . .stripey tomatoes . . .
Silverbell eating a stripey tomato . . .
Chicory blooming. . .
A black swallowtail on a pear tree leaf. . .
Marigold . . .
Clover . . .
The obligatory basketball hoop on the barn (I think it's the law in North Carolina . . .)
Rusty old plow points from a Vulcan Number 10 hillside turning plow, reminders of when John plowed with mules . . . the perfect size for our conditions. unlike the smaller, lighter Number 8 which, according to our late neighbor Cleophas, would 'choke on a horse turd.. .'
Light at play
. . . and then it was time to move to the business at hand. I don't mind doing this now and then but couldn't help thinking of the folks who work at the giant chicken processing plants, day in and day out. As cheap as commercially grown chicken is, I shudder to think what the workers are paid and the shortcuts they probably are forced to take.
Butchering chickens isn't romantic . . . but it's a part of farm life.