Here comes the Cavalry!

Ill armed and half starved, they were still desperate men, to whom danger had lost all fears: for what was death that they should shun it to cling to such a life as theirs?
~ Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, The White Company

We won the battle of the birds but ultimately the weather won the war. The torrential rain and low level wind sheers pretty much destroyed what was left of our balloon brigade. The rain also washed just about all of the seed away.

How did the farmers do it; my grandpa and his pals? The ones who weren't just gardening to cut down on their monthly grocery bills? These men were farming to feed their family and others. I would really like to know how they did it, but that generation is sadly slipping away.

I enjoy reading books about what life was like in the past, but I can't help but wonder how much the authors "sugar coat" the story to make it more palatable to the readers who couldn't handle the truth, or rather, wouldn't keep reading the truth. I admit, I have a tendency to idealize and romanticize times and places of the past. Oh if we could just live on a small farm all by ourselves next to a babbling brook, life would be perfect! But those times were full of their own problems. Small towns have their own legacies to live down. I get so frustrated with people who seem to believe that if we all just did things the way they did them in the past, things would be perfect. Maybe it's because I know myself too well. I could very easily get caught up in that trap. I have to remind myself that God, our perfect Father, knows where we are. He chose this specific time and place for us and this Father definitely knows best!

But, I digress... we thought about making another attempt with different balloons, but Husband decided that we should pull them out (Retreat!) and replace them with metallic ribbons. In theory, the flash and movement of the ribbons is supposed to keep the birds at bay. We shall see! If they thought we were crazy before...

...now they know for sure!

Husband's response to my comments that Grandpa must be scratching his head wondering where his genes went: Your grandfather would say we were idiots!
Me: Why?
Husband: You can't eat grass.

He's probably right.