Grass time is here.
Some of those ole cows think it’s been this calendar date for the past three weeks. Winter stomping grounds are out of feed, other than what’s hauled in, but it sure has been luscious right through the fence. Once the old hay is licked up, or just scavenged for the best bits, mama and the kids head right to the barrier for the green on the other side.
Birthing is still the greatest of all miracles.
While it may be the most common and longest existing of all phenomena, the act of giving birth, whatever the species, is still incomprehensible to us. In our humble opinion, it can realistically and most simply only be considered a true act of God.
Smoke is in the air.
Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. The haze and smell we’re experiencing is the annual spring Flint Hills burn. Blazes started a month ago in the south and will continue for the next two weeks. Still a little controversy about merits of singeing grazing land, but
most admit firing pastures is a necessity.
Putting off until later what we could be doing now is a forever lost opportunity.
There are 1,440 minutes in a day, and 10,080 in a week. That may seem like a large number, but once they pass, those minutes are gone forever. We will never have the opportunity to do in that minute what we could have done. Of our jillions of faults,
procrastination has to be the worst. It’s always been that way, despite trying to improve.