Smokey Mountain Breakdown

For Friday Ark at the Modulator


Well...it's that time of year again. Time to plant de seed taters.

Actually, it's a bit past time, but I'm still awaiting tractor man to come and plough and disk the quarter acre I call the garden. This year my neighbors Jeff and Phyllis are going in with me so I won't be killing myself like I did last year. Or the year before. Or the year before that.

Jeff has already built a martin house to put up and I'm pulling my seed stock out of the freezer to go through. The crow problem has gotten really bad since the goats arrived.

The dogs go a little crazy when I pull that 50 pound bag of seed potatoes out. I plant Yukon Golds, though I'm thinking about doing Inca Blues this year. Dogs love seed potatoes. If you don't like to eat them...they are evidently ball-shaped enough to play with.

That is Babe in the photo. He's going to be 18 this summer. I took Babe in as a hospice case in the rescue. He didn't have long to live since he has a stage 5 heart murmur. That was almost three years ago. He's happily senile and appears determined to live longer than any of us...if only so he can pee on more of my stuff. Friend Scott says he looks like an old "stoner".

There is a really funny story in the archives called "Who the Heck is Joe?" on this same dog and potato theme if you'd like to read more.