Canning Beans and Blessing the Rain

I have been busier than a one-legged man in a butt-kicking contest, if you’ll excuse the language. Only sometimes I think I’ve been the kickee instead of the kicker.  I surely can’t complain about the garden this year.  We got corn and okra coming on and I can’t keep ahead of the tomatoes.

I don’t know if Zell told you about the new puppies but we got two little blue tick hounds from our neighbor Little Bill and we’ve been enjoying the heck out of those fellers.  One of them snuck past me into the hen yard last week and went straight to the water and slopped it all over. The hens didn’t pay him no mind but the rooster took an instant liking to him.  Now when the hens are out eating bugs them two boys–one pup and one mean old rooster–strut through the yard like they own the place. Which they do, pretty much.

Politics is hurting my heart and I had to step back for a bit while getting the garden in and fixing the fence line.  I have slowly started listening to the news again and am trying to be clear-minded about what I hear.  I’m starting local, right here in my home county and I’m going to branch out to the rest of the western part of the state and I may get as far as the jackasses in Raleigh.

But I may not.  Because they are jackasses and I am not the jackass whisperer. (One of the young uns told me that–Aunt Nell–you ain’t the jackass whisperer, she said. ) But I am the chief gardener and bean canner and I’m doing pickled beans today.  And listening to the news on the radio.

 

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