We started off the morning with what looked like another day off for the WWOOFers. Ominous gray skies, steady, heavy rain and not a break in the clouds in site.
A text from Jamie suggested a “shit storm” of bad weather, but luckily (or unluckily for some) it appears Camp Hill is in a sweet spot – an anomalous geography where the winds blowing down the two canyons that converge on Camp Hill have nowhere else to go but up, so they often punch through the cloud layer exposing, you’ve got it, clear blue sky! The rain let up within thirty minutes and it turned into one of the most beautiful, warm days we’ve seen. Jamie must have had images of WWOOFers in bikinis and gumboots playing through his mind while he sat in torrential rain. Poor lad.
So we ended up back on the new planting site, digging holes, laying irrigation, all in preparation for the epic number of plantings to come in the next month.
We’re making some serious progress on the lateral, with 400-odd holes dug in the past two days. The new WWOOFers are getting into a rhythm – shovel, drill, cover, lay, pin, repeat. It turned into a dance this afternoon, and with the beautiful weather, the process couldn’t have gone any smoother. But when we say “dance” we’d like to avoid any and all images playing in your mind to hippies dancing through the trees. Any association to a commune is entirely on you, the reader (and of course, Mikey – the local builder and Commune Master Extraordinaire).
The day wasn’t without adventure though. Hares are everywhere this time of year and apparently they think they can get past us. With three people riding the ATV around the property, that makes six highly trained eyeballs, all highly capable of spotting the buggers from a range of angles. We saw two this morning, both within murdering distance. Of course, Rob didn’t have his gun. Eve kindly braved the mud and steep incline of the new planting site to bring said gun, but, as is Murphy’s Law, once we were prepared for HareAssassination, none graced us with their presence.
Sandra also had her own personal wildlife experience at 2am this morning. After being awoken from sleep with what sounded like heavy footsteps, she turned on her porch light to find a possum playing with her shoes.
“I had a visit from my lover last night” she told us this morning, “but he only loves me for my Crocs.” Poor girl, it seems her nightly possum visits are entirely one-sided and with distressing undertones. “He comes and then he leaves after having a play with my shoes” she told us sadly, “he never stays for a chat after he’s finished.” Too bad she didn’t have Rob’s gun.