Steadily becoming more rural.

Now we have chainsaw. We have a chainsaw because we had a dead tree and there was a risk of it falling on one of the cars. Urban people call a tree surgeon and the tree surgeon gets a permit from the city and, if they agree to plant another tree of the same species, then the tree surgeon removes it. Rural people just have at it:

Not bad. About 5 degrees off where I was aiming. Bigger trees tomorrow.

Honeybunny?

It's hard to tell. They don't answer to their name and they're all a lot bigger and more feathery now.


This could be Honeybunny.

NDACT is a little nimby but

there's a slight ridge between the 3rd and 4th lines, this is the view to the east, typical countryside for around here, some ploughed fields, some grazing land. Not beautiful perhaps but pleasant.

This is the view to the west, a huge hole in the ground. The house on the other side of the hole is at about the same elevation as we were standing, the amount of material that's been removed is astonishing.

This is how the gravel companies leave the land, wasted. Since it's a hole it's not even suitable for windmills. It's not obvious how this is a benefit to anyone but the owners of the gravel company and their lawyers; a big ugly hole in place of farmland and a collapse in propery values would seem to be to the detriment of everyone else. Perhaps it would be an acceptable use if the pit companies were obliged to fill the hole and paid enough property tax to eliminate everyone else's tax bill.

Anyway, NDACT is here: http://www.ndact.com/NDACT/North_Dufferin_Agricultural_%26_Community_Taskforce.html I think it cute beyond compare that they should be having a golf tournament. Pot, kettle and all that. There can hardly be a less environmentally sound pastime than golf; farmland despoiled, vast quanties of chemicals dumped into the land, water wasted on converting deserts. And then there's the clothing, an offence to the environment in itself and, beyond that, the horror of people insisting on trying to move golf clubs around airports. People who's coordination and common sense has been destroyed by their hobby, polyester clad people who invariably put their clubs across the luggage cart and then try repeatedly to ram it through a door wide enough only for a person or an unemcumbered cart. If only we could put the golfers and their Cadillacs in the gravel pit, perhaps immediately prior to the owners filling it in.

May 2 4 they call it.

The Victoria Day long weekend, traditionally the start of the camping season. ( 2 4 is the unit by which beer is sold here, though that's bottles and we usually get cans). We didn't camp. We expanded the chicken coop and cleaned out the tack room; chickens had been in the tack room so everything needed scrubbing. These hats are drying:

Maybe this was the last cold snap and last frost of the season, betting on that Charlie got a haircut and the tomato plants got left out overnight.

Brigid got introduced to open topped motoring.

And she got tto see her sister

This was at a dog show, I expect I'll have vitriolic comments on dog shows, the breeding of mutant dogs and the like but, for now, I'm just aghast at the clothing. Dog handlers go into the ring wearing garments that seem to have fished out of the "Unsaleable - Dispose" bin at Goodwill. They look like members of a polka band at an event involving Tennessee Walking Horses.

The puppies were happy though, they don't care if your suit is made of brocade curtains.

Ok, now this is intrusive

it was cute when the chickens left the barn, cute when they were near the house, but now they want in and that's too much.

What we need is to turn the tide of them chickens:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7KbGJcxenDc

The pampered show dog

after a good splashing in the gravel pit puddles.

Smelly too.

The pampered show dog

after a good splashing in the gravel pit puddles.

Smelly too.

Honeybunny.

That's the name of this chick.

Maybe the visitors should have taken her home.

I say, it's windier here than one needs.

Just like sailing.

Chick time again.

The house smells faintly of Creolin. That's a disinfectant for poultry equipment and it has a distinctive smell. We've recently discovered that it discolours bathtubs.

This is eighty odd assorted chicks, some of routine breeds, some of "Heritage" breeds. I fetched the latter from Trenton, a round trip of some 450 miles.

We can't tell which are what but that should become clearer as they develop.