Saturday, May 1st, 2010 was super fun in the Memphis area while we all did the Tornado Tango awash in 5-14 inches of rain, depending on location. Those are numbers I've seen before, however, it was May 1995 in New Orleans where we were the lucky recipients of 16.5" of rain in a half a day or so. Casualties included my Mazda, my boyfriend's Mustang, the entire first floor of the apartment complex, my co-worker's sanity (his dog developed diarrhea when there was no longer ground to go on), and anything in New Orleans lower than the interstate, which was pretty much the whole city.
What was a new twist was the frequency of tornado sirens sounding starting at 4AM Saturday morning ending around 2AM on Sunday morning. We've heard those before of course, but we didn't have quite as many animals back then, and we hadn't been subjected to so many tornadoes actually aiming at us 4 separate times in 24 hours. Fat Pony Farms is less than a mile from the state line, so we get Mississippi sirens too for variety.
Between checking the TV weather radar and rounding up cats (five), I googled around to see what else I should be doing for Mr. Dublin (horse), since he didn't fit in the pantry as well as the two large dogs did. He was loose out attending to the organic mobile weed eating service he founded, as one look at the inside of our barn indicates that he would be nothing but a pincushion if a tornado touched it.
Al Gore's famous internet revealed just how far horses might bolt during a tornado (a few miles), and that we should have had a fancy brass tag on his halter, which he should also be wearing with contact numbers, and possibly even microchipped. So much for pre-planning. (We normally don't turn out in halters, in case they get caught on something--we prefer our horses nekkid.)
By the third round of tornadoes, we managed to get a labeled leather halter (breaks in emergency) on him, and Old Man wrote our phone numbers, also including Mom's out-of-the-disaster-area number on his back with Sharpie marker where the saddle goes, and "Sarah Hadskey" down his spine. Dublin said it tickled. Tornado missed us all: 5 cats, 2 large dogs, 10 new mosquito fish, and Mr. Dublin safe and sound. Score: Hadskey's 20, mother nature zero.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Friday's Note to Self
When mowing a field full of buttercup, do what your health teacher always told you: use protection. It sounds like overkill for such pretty small yellow flowers on 2' stems slightly mixed with grass, but I was crying so hard I couldn't steer the mower with my eyes open. Good thing I was in the middle of the field--the trees might have seen me coming, but I sure couldn't see to avoid hitting one.
Turns out to be fairly easy to hit a tree on acreage with driveable objects. One of the first noises the neighbor next door made shook the ground like the sonic boom of the shuttle landing when he started using an old tractor. Smack into a tree while clearing brush, er, privet. He was OK; it took a while for the tractor to come out of its coma.
Buttercup is mentioned in some internet plant guides as toxic to horses. Some in this region refer to it as yellow top. The Ag extension vociferously recommends spraying 2-4D in early March or around Thanksgiving as the pastime of choice to control it before it controls the whole pasture. Very few sources say why the horse considers it a fodder of last resort, however.
When the buttercup is physically maligned in some way, it releases a skin irritant. If you're a horse, not only does it taste bad, but also your mouth is now blistering from the contact sport of chewing. Sort of like really bitter habaneros. So unless there really is NOTHING else to eat-- they won't bother it. I seem to be a slow learner.
I pull buttercup by hand fairly routinely and usually without gloves. Sometimes I noticed a slight sting. I figured ran into a splinter, stinger, bug, whatever. My Mom sure never said to stay away from the deadly toxic buttercup avenger. Why worry?
Next, time, I will spray the area better, till it out, or mow earlier (we've had so much rain, that hasn't always worked out this year). And I will definitely, absolutely, resolutely wear my onion goggles next time I have to do anything regarding severing large quantities of buttercup. If you want onion goggles for your own land and/or chopping onions, just find the pair of safety goggles you had from 10th grade chemistry. Put on a new ribbon to replace the dry rotted strap, and you're all set.
Remember this above all: Don't do buttercup unprotected. You'll go blind.
Turns out to be fairly easy to hit a tree on acreage with driveable objects. One of the first noises the neighbor next door made shook the ground like the sonic boom of the shuttle landing when he started using an old tractor. Smack into a tree while clearing brush, er, privet. He was OK; it took a while for the tractor to come out of its coma.
Buttercup is mentioned in some internet plant guides as toxic to horses. Some in this region refer to it as yellow top. The Ag extension vociferously recommends spraying 2-4D in early March or around Thanksgiving as the pastime of choice to control it before it controls the whole pasture. Very few sources say why the horse considers it a fodder of last resort, however.
When the buttercup is physically maligned in some way, it releases a skin irritant. If you're a horse, not only does it taste bad, but also your mouth is now blistering from the contact sport of chewing. Sort of like really bitter habaneros. So unless there really is NOTHING else to eat-- they won't bother it. I seem to be a slow learner.
I pull buttercup by hand fairly routinely and usually without gloves. Sometimes I noticed a slight sting. I figured ran into a splinter, stinger, bug, whatever. My Mom sure never said to stay away from the deadly toxic buttercup avenger. Why worry?
Next, time, I will spray the area better, till it out, or mow earlier (we've had so much rain, that hasn't always worked out this year). And I will definitely, absolutely, resolutely wear my onion goggles next time I have to do anything regarding severing large quantities of buttercup. If you want onion goggles for your own land and/or chopping onions, just find the pair of safety goggles you had from 10th grade chemistry. Put on a new ribbon to replace the dry rotted strap, and you're all set.
Remember this above all: Don't do buttercup unprotected. You'll go blind.
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