It is kind of neat waking up in this transitional season at Refuge Farm. The sun continues to rise in the east. The list of things to accomplish before the onset of Winter is a bit daunting.

But the turkeys and roosters start calling a little before dawn, and after a couple seasons, I can tell which one is telling what. The flock has not visited the property since last week, and I really enjoyed the visit.These are magnificent birds. Not like my nemesis Turkey Buzzards.

We had negotiations with the Russians next door about what to do in future civilian incursions on the property by a variety of domestic fowl. I fed them when the flock overwhelmed my fence the first time, and then the next incursion. I have no idea if this is potentially state-sponsored series of events. There is so much of that going on it is a bit hard to keep track.

The birds seem to like crumbled Ritz and saltine crackers, but negotiations about even avian incursions need to be taken seriously. You never know when the regime could change.

That is a comfort. I monitor the digital equivalent of the morning cock’s-crow out of residual professional interest in The Swamp, but this last week was off the charts. It took a day or so to figure out who did what to whom, but no one seems to care. Either the water along the Potomac is getting deeper, or more of the undying structure is being exposed.

My concern is about the trees turning color. Lack of rain in August after a sodden spring may have something to do with it. The trees that wave toward the house are going direct from vibrant green to a morose brown.

That is not a metaphor, no kidding. I am just a country guy. But at some point we need the grownups to come back and unscrew this. I don’t think it is that hard. But, of course, I have no idea where we can get anyone to put up with being so viciously and publicly trashed.

Outsourcing, anyone?

Copyright 2019 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com