So, we had a big weekend of planting. BIG.
It was nice. It was sunny. Great guns, folks, we were going great guns.
The intent of hitting it hard was not just to get closer to done that we already were, but to beat the big, heavy rains that were being predicted Saturday night into all day Sunday. We quit at dusk in time for Joe and I to head to town for a friend's birthday party ( a fellow farmer ), and the guys kept checking the radar, only to watch the rain that was supposed to come that night dissipate before their very eyes.
That old, familiar feeling of defeat by the radar came creeping back.
Sunday was a day that held a lot of promise. Good, soaking rains were predicted to soak in and help the little corn seeds start their life off in this dirt with a good drink.
Only, it didn't happen, and they started planting again, only to be kind of rained out, despite a really black sky.
Grouchy talk. Griping at the weather man's failed predictions. In classic farmer style, never enough, never at the right time, and NEVER, EVER what we thought it would be.
So, here we are this morning. Quite moist (as witnessed by my massively curly hair I refused to fight today), but not moist enough. Not raining currently, but gray enough to tease you.
That old familiar feeling…
that I loathe.