How much has it rained?

So much that we have a mushroom crop:

It's been a disaster for sanding and for hay making, we were lucky to get our bales first as now the hay is only good for cows. Even then, Glen, the farmer, is using some sort of machine to squish it a bit, somehow making it more palatable.

The dogs don't care, they march dutifully to the pasture

and frolic on command

then, when properly covered in mud, they trek back up to the house and flop on the furniture.

An everyday miracle.

I wandered down to feed the chickens, I scattered the scraps as always and was startled by the donkey's passion for curried eggs. Then I looked around and there was this:

a black sex link hen with five chicks. Chicks of at least three parents. They were way out in the middle of the field, threading between various hooves.

Pleasingly Brigid ignored them. If only we could have confidence that the latest skunks to arrive in the barn would show similar indifference.

It's not that blogging stopped,

rather that lots of things had to be done that no longer seem worthy of photographing; the rest of the hay was stacked, the pastures mowed, the dirty dogs were cleaned and got dirty again.

Anna made lunch for 42 using only traditional local recipes from the museum's collection. I helped with the unskilled tasks, chopping, shredding, beating meat. It was fortunate to have an indoor project, nothing is getting done with the deck and house sanding as the only time it's not raining is 9 to 5 on week days.

Adventure Kitty continues to push his luck:

Walking the dogs in the bayou.

Or so it seemed, this is a very muddy park near us.

We trudged around for a couple of hours getting ourselves two filthy and not very tired dogs for our trouble.

Desecration

It was the Canadian 4th of July. Some friends of ours have rented a place to use as a cottage for the Summer in a village that has a fireworks display. They had a barbecue in afternoon and so we threw something on, and off we went.

It's not your regular cottage:


but, being an old church, it's convenient for guests who bring dogs, or horses, or, I suppose, giraffes. The walls of the courtyard have rings at shoulder height all the way around.

Inside, the upper floor is, for the moment, still in the format of a church with frescoes and pews and all the associated paraphenalia. No hymn books though. We could help with that.

"Bless you child for we shall sin".

No belfry either though plenty of bats. Lots of space for those guests who felt the need to cavort:

And then, across the road, a really impressive fireworks show, the village's second claim to fame.

I've no doubt we'll be seeing the primary one, the rodeo.