bombs in bottles
Snow on April 9 isn't unusual at this latitude, but I am tired of snow. I'm ready for spring.
My parents would be out there tilling the garden to drive the snow into the soil, on the theory that doing so incorporates additional nitrogen into said soil. I've opted for a no-till approach wherever possible, so I'm going to let whatever nitrogen is in the snow get there the old-fashioned way: by melting. (I am reasonably confident in my crop rotation methods anyway.)
It's also testing season, so my day job was much slower than usual. I spent a chunk of it revamping my "professional" website. I'm not thrilled to be doing it, but it needs to be done, especially if the economy is about to go sideways. Though I suppose if it goes sideways far enough, money will cease to be relevant and my life will depend on my gardening and/or sharpshooting skills. Maybe I'll be glad my parents spent so much time dragging me into the woods after various plants.
I will not be returning to social media. The mere thought feels like self-harm at this point.
I also checked out a book on raising chickens. I haven't decided I want chickens, but I also haven't decided I don't. I know the township will let me have at least a dozen, since one of my neighbors has that many. I don't think I want twelve, but if having two or three wouldn't be much more work than having any other pets, I might consider it. Though honestly I could go the rest of my life without having to butcher out a chicken again.
I am continuing to re-watch The X-Files at absurd speeds; you can follow that saga here:
rewatching The X-Files, rankings edition
yay?
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