Welcome Wall Street Journal readers! I am really glad you found me out here in the hinterlands. (For the rest of you regular folk, Blog Watch mentioned this little blog, and Phelan and the ubiquitous Susan for a bit about novice farming.)
In my quest to live to a ripe old age, or at least to spend the next 50-odd years still pushing dirt around, I have taken on a new task. You already know about my compost-turning fixation. Pond-digging, ditch-digging and woodchip-slinging are also quasi-regular activities. So here it is:
Post-hole digging. Have I gone on and on about our clay soil lately? And how digging it up is nearly impossible, like digging rock-hard ice cream out of its carton with a too-flexy spoon? Well. Here I am, the day before yesterday. It took me the better part of an hour to dig down 24". I have another foot down to go, and...another 12 post holes for the new/improved chicken run.
This is not a task I relish.