It's only the middle of February, yet Spring is awakening in Las Cuevas.
(The following is not a complaint, mind you, but a description of an event. May no one take a fence.)
Last week, our landlords brought over an air compressor and a spray gun. Their youngest son then proceeded to paint our scruffy, pointy fence. Over two days, he painted the fence, some of the concrete base, the brick columns, some patches of grass (which, dry as it's been, needed some refreshment of color).
He also managed to paint himself in the back flow of spray. We sincerely hope that his health isn't impaired.
We are grateful. I hardly notice the stray spray. I'd been hoping for some time that they'd paint the fence. This came as a gift.
I just got back from a late morning walk. I saw the rancheros/campesinos fertilizing the plowed milpas, one costal at a time. There's no shortage of organic fertilizer here. We are in Cow Country.
Nearby, a grassy field is already bright green. The plant growth may be zacate, here, a tangle of low lying, vinous stuff used to feed cattle. Innuendo and out the other.
Serious planting of corn is still ahead. The seed must be in the ground just barely ahead of the June rains.
It's the never ending cycle of life in el campo.
3 comments:
Ah, spring. When a young man's fancy turns to puns. Well done, sir.
Munchas grassiass, Steves. The cows and I thank you.
I saw a couple of hours ago that the locals are torching the fields. Smoke time.
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