It does stay colder in pockets. On Friday I rode my horse down the hollow just south of us, and it looked like it had snowed there:
Things have changed in the henhouse, and not for the better. The morning after we found the Buff Orpington dead, we found a Speckled Sussex in obvious distress. Rick examined her and found a broken humorous, so she had to be dispatched and buried. Also, we have gotten ONE egg in the last week, after getting 1-3 a day this month. All suspicions rest squarely on aptly named Elvira. After fatality #2, I've been confining her to a cage at night, so there can be no fighting in the henhouse before the popdoor is opened in the morning. I am contemplating tossing her out to join the neighbor's free-ranging flock, but I'm afraid the damage may be done, that the two dead hens may have been the main layers. Time will tell, I guess. Chickens!!!
The sheep, of course, are fine. The wethers have an abundance of crunchy potato chips, otherwise known as picturesque fall leaves; I love capturing them in the slanting morning sun:
The traffic has been bad on our lane, thanks to this tradition. I cannot believe that every vehicle leaving neighborhood wineries is piloted by an unimpaired driver, and that makes me nervous. I prefer wineries at night, quiet and vacant:
That's it for now from . . .