#and then we will cover it in horse manure

[gargelyfloof118]

I made some good progress on putting the garden to bed for the season. Took out 3 tomato cages that I used for trellises. Cleaned out the peas, green beans, pinto beans, hot peppers, basil, broccoli, and harvested all of the cucumbers.

Ended up with a very large basket of basil, plenty of cucumbers for seeds, and a large bowl of each the pinto beans and hot peppers (a mix of jalapeno and datil peppers). I'm hoping to have every garden bed cleaned up for winter by the end of the week.

By the way... does anyone know if I can do anything with marigolds?

I know I can feed them to the chickens, but that's about it..

[turquoisephoenix]

If that rumored Medievil movie does happen and they do the typical hire a big name actor to play the main character like say they got Tom Hiddleston to be Sir Dan.

The funniest thing they could do is to market the heck out of Tom Hiddleston being Dan, there’s countless interviews where he’s like “this is a dream come true” or “I really had to work hard to get into character”. Don’t even reveal or imply how Dan actually sounds like.

Then the movie comes out and he voices living Dan for about 6 minutes until he dies, comes back as a skeleton and does nothing but Dan’s iconic mumbling.

I can picture the animated film trailer now...

[sweeping shot of a grassy medieval countryside as a pan flute plays. Various animation logos pop up.]

Esteemed British narrator (v/o): Long ago, in the kingdom of Gallowmere, there lived a daring knight...

[Establishing shot of a man getting up out of bed with physical humor involved. The pan flute stops when he trips and falls, scattering furniture for a couple seconds as the only sounds are crashing effects before getting up and facing the camera. Close-up of Dan's face as he smiles, showing big goofy teeth.]

Esteemed British narrator (v/o): Named Dan.

[Smash cut to Sir Daniel training, with more physical humor punctuated by pained grunts and yells as triumphant music plays. It's a whole montage of him poorly swinging a sword, falling off a horse, and landing in mud puddles and horse manure. The kids in the audience are giggling.]

Tom Hiddleston (v/o): I just KNOW I'm destined to be somebody! I'm not going to go down in history as Sir Daniel the Goof or Sir Daniel the...Fall Down Things Guy!

[We're at the Battle of Gallowmere. The triumphant orchestra swells. Dan does his goofy smile that made the kids laugh as he stands in full armor in front of a bunch of other knights. Everyone is expecting him to trip and fall again]

Esteemed British narrator (v/o): There's just one problem...

[An arrow flies through the air and pierces Dan's helmet with a sickening crunch, causing him to fly backwards. The music stops as we focus on Dan's lifeless body on the ground.]

Esteemed British narrator (v/o): He's dead.

[sudden smash cut to the MediEvil logo]

Cover artist (v/o): BOOOOOOOONE TO BE WIIIIIIIIIILD....

[atths--twice]

Malodourous

What happened at the end of War of the Coprophages?

Fictober day 12

Prompt: Honestly, why would I care?

Hope you enjoy!

This one is for Sue. 💓

“You know, I never thought I’d say this to you, Scully… but you smell bad,” Mulder said, smirking slightly as he walked past her, bringing the umbrella with him.

“Hey,” she called after him and he turned around, a small smile on his face.

“Yes?” he asked, waiting for her to catch up to him before they began walking again. 

“It’s not as if you smell like a bed of roses. In case you’d forgotten, we’re both covered in…” 

“Shit,” he said, grimacing as he shook his head. “Do you think that could’ve been something I forgot?” 

“Just stating the obvious considering your statement. People in glass houses…” she said, raising her eyebrows. 

“Need to invest in curtains,” he replied and for a second she stared at him in confusion. Then she laughed and shook her head. “You know, because they can be seen by everyone? Especially if they’re naked?” 

“Yeah, I got it,” she said, laughing again and he nodded with a smile. “Where are we going?” 

“Well, considering that our cars are trapped by fire trucks and police vehicles, and I would very much like to not smell like I rolled in a pile of horse shit, I was going to see if we could hitch a ride back to my motel.” 

“Oh. Good plan.” She stopped walking and turned back to look toward her car. “Let me grab my bag.” 

“Here,” he said, handing her the umbrella. “You do that and I’ll secure us a ride. Or, if I can't, I suppose we’re walking back to the motel.” 

“God, I hope not.” 

She hurried to the car and opened the trunk, globs of manure falling off as she did. 

“Revolting,” she murmured, taking her bag out and closing the trunk again. 

“Ma’am,” a firefighter said, walking over to her. “You won’t be able to get your car out for a while yet.” 

“I know. I just needed to get my bag so I can shower and change, because…” She gestured to herself and she saw his nose wrinkle in disgust. “Yeah. Imagine that being on you.” 

“You… yes, ma’am,” he said, nodding at her and walking away. 

“That’s what I thought,” she said under her breath. 

She zigzagged through the firefighters and police officers, making her way back to Mulder. 

“Hey,” he said as she handed the umbrella back to him and they stood beside each other. “The fire chief has graciously offered to take us back to the motel.” 

“That’s good.”

“It is,” he said, looking at her and she frowned. 

“Is there something else I should know?” 

“We have to ride in the back of the pickup. He doesn’t want the smell getting into his truck. So, if you don’t mind…” He shrugged and she did the same. 

“Look at the state of me. Of you. Honestly, why would I care? At the moment, I think it’s probably the best place for us.” 

“You do smell bad, as I previously stated. I think it’s a wise decision.” 

“Fuck off,” she said, flipping him off. He laughed as she shook her head. 

“You folks ready?” the chief asked and they both nodded, following him to his truck. 

Mulder climbed in first, offering Scully a hand as she climbed up. The chief took her bag and put it in the cab with him. 

“The rain is likely to pick up while we’re driving. Wouldn’t want your clean clothes to get wet.” 

“How kind of him to worry about that,” Scully said, sitting down and leaning against the front of the bed. “Yet, he’s fine with us getting rained on while we’re driving.” 

“Free coat wash,” Mulder said, sitting beside her and closing the umbrella, knowing it would not work well while they were driving. 

“Only thing worse than the smell I’m experiencing now, is the smell it will have when it gets wet.” 

“Hmm,” he said, resting his head back and closing his eyes. 

By the time they got back to the motel, they were both wet, the rain beginning to fall harder as they scrambled out of the truck. 

“Thanks for the lift,” Mulder said, taking Scully’s bag from him and ushering her inside the motel. 

They walked past the front desk clerk who gave them a confused look, but said nothing. 

“Here,” he said, taking out his key and opening the door. “Go take a shower.” He put her bag in the bathroom and walked out. “I’ll go see if they have any trash bags for these clothes.” 

“Okay. I’ll try to be quick.” 

She closed and locked the bathroom, turned on the shower to warm the water, stripped off all of her clothes and left them beside the sink in a heaping pile. 

Washing twice, she stepped out of the shower feeling like a new person. As she dried off and dressed, she wondered how Bambi and Doctor Ivanov were getting along. 

“Scully?” Mulder said, knocking on the door. 

“Almost finished. Nearly yours,” she said. 

“That’s good, but I was just going to say that I got some trash bags.” 

“Okay great.” 

She ran a brush through her hair, hung up her towel, grabbed her bag and opened the door. 

“If you take this, I’ll take a trash bag,” she said, holding out her bag, but he shook his head. 

“I’m still dirty and smelly. You’re clean and you smell good. I can bag them up for you.” 

“You don’t have to-”

“I know,” he said, smiling as he walked into the bathroom with two trash bags and closed the door. 

She sighed, looking around the nondescript motel room, the morning light pouring in. 

“Hmm,” she hummed, suddenly feeling very tired, the night catching up to her. 

She turned on the television and adjusted the bed covers. Sitting down, she leaned against the headboard, as she heard the shower begin running. 

She woke to Mulder, pulling the comforter over her, the room slightly darker as the curtains were closed. 

“Oh! Hey,” she said, attempting to sit up, but he stopped her. 

“I just talked to the sheriff and the cars are still on site.” 

“Mmm,” she moaned, closing her eyes and pressing further into the pillow. 

When did I lay down? she thought with a frown. 

Oh, who cares? came another thought and she nodded as she exhaled. 

“He also said, the fire station agreed to wash them for us, so he will have them towed over there.” 

“No one wants to get inside?” she asked and she heard him chuckle as he moved around the room. 

“I’d say we’ve got some time. You want to get some food?” 

“I want to sleep. Someone kept calling me when I attempted to do so at the time most people dedicate to sleeping.” 

“He sounds like an ass,” he said and she smiled. 

“He can be at times. Especially when he hangs up on you, leaving you wondering if he’s still alive.” 

“Yeah, sounds kinda douchey.”

“Hmm,” she hummed, not saying anything further and he chuckled softly. 

The bed suddenly shifted and she opened her eyes in surprise. 

“What are you doing?” she asked, turning her head and seeing him lying on the bed. 

“Well, as you mentioned, you didn’t get much sleep last night. The same thing happened to me, oddly enough. Seeing you sleeping here when I got out of the shower, it dawned on me that I am also quite tired.” 

“Hmm,” she hummed, turning her head back and closing her eyes. 

“We have some time for a quick nap,” he said tiredly and she yawned, burrowing further into the comforter and nodding. 

The ringing of a phone woke her, something heavy holding her in place when she attempted to get up and answer it. 

“Mmm,” Mulder moaned close to her ear, his arm around her tightening its hold. “Not yet.” 

“Mulder,” she said, nudging him until he woke up, and moved his arm off of her midsection. 

“Sorry,” he said, his voice sleepy and low. 

“Your phone was ringing. Maybe it was the sheriff.” 

“Maybe,” he said in the same tone, not rising from the bed. 

“Mulder. Get up.” 

He grumbled as he got up, picking up his phone and calling the sheriff back while Scully stayed wrapped in the warm blankets. 

Thirty minutes later, the sheriff picked them up in front of the motel room and then dropped them at the fire station, chuckling under his breath every so often. 

“At least you both smell better today,” he teased. 

The outsides of the cars were clean, though the inside still smelled and would need a thorough deep clean once they were returned to the rental agency. 

“This will be an interesting one to expense,” Scully said as they walked from the rental desk and into the airport. “I don’t think there’s space for- a building full of manure exploded onto my rental car.” 

“Or we don’t say anything. And Skinner will never know.” 

“But my credit card will,” she said, bumping her shoulder into him. 

“Hmm… well,” he said, opening the door for her. “Then let me treat you to breakfast. It’s the least I can do.” 

“The very least,” she muttered and he laughed, nodding as she walked past him. 

She shook her head in reply as she thought about everything that had happened in the past twenty four hours. 

Yeah, buying her breakfast was the least he could do.  

[professorpski]

A woman who travels by rail should not wear many and delicately coloured ostrich feathers or flowers in her hat. A railway train is not the place either in which to display white or pale tinted gloves, a long trained gown garnished in lace, etc, or flowing or sumptuous wraps.

We tend to romanticize the past, but we should not romanticize train travel in 1915 because its effect was to cover passengers in dust and dirt. If the coal burning out of the engine did not dirty you, the dust from the surrounding area could. And then when you got somewhere, you would have to cross streets with horse manure ground into them. All and all, not the place for pale or fragile garments, or something you need to clutch to you to keep safe

Instead, dark clothing and plain accessories were recommended in this 1915 Encyclopedia of Etiquette by Emily Holt.  And although traveling by car or plane is much easier now, I still think she is right. The jostling of a coffee cup, a bang into dirty luggage, etc. can still ruin a pale outfit, so opting for dark colors and something simple still seems the best bet. 

[objuct]

my patreon suggestion thread

Since I'm gonna closeout my patreon, I wanted to take my suggestions thread and make it public for other CC creators to look over and consider for stuff to make! Some of this stuff has already been made by now but it would definitely be cool to see the rest. (i'm copy pasting each of these comments, thus weird wording possibly and repetition)

there's a lot of good ideas here and i'd hate for them to just be thanos snapped out of existence

I would be happy about proper gaiters or different types of bridles. the same about ultra long manes.

Dressage poses would be lovely!

Idk if that's possible, but maybe try to override the barrels with orange cones to make it a little less western?

Riding boots and spurs! Bridles, boots/bandages for horses, breastplates

Saddle-shaped numnahs (and just more numnahs in general)

Bridle racks with/without bridles

Halters (hung up, as acessories, different colours, with/without wool covers etc etc)

Saddle wall racks

Equine first aid box?

Feed and water buckets (large and small - the flexible tub ones that are mostly used nowadays)

Black feed bins

Wall salt licks

Filled hay nets (floor and wall option)

Turnout rugs and stable rugs, but hung up (I've currently just upsized the dressing gowns lol)

High-vis accessories

Hung-up high vis sim jackets?

Sim ankle riding boots

Feed supplement tubs (turmeric, garlic, etc) as decor and in simlish

I think barn clutter would be great, we got like three barn clutter items in the pack haha. I'm hoping to see other mane and tail styles and more CAS items showing up soon too!

Could you make an Australian Stock Saddle

maybe more saddle textures, and hitching posts

rugs/turnout blankets

helmet that doesn't remove hair

different style jumps

decor objects for goats like the platforms they would play on irl and low watering troughs. They gave us nothing for them :/

English riding clothes for show and practice

better polo wraps and sport boots

salt lick in a feed tub on the ground for out in the pasture

different functional horse ball toys

saddle and pad racks for the wall of a few different saddle styles

more standing saddle racks of different saddle styles

bridle rack

functional hay and water troughs in more modern styles

stacks of buckets

manure pile

items you'd find in a wash stall

more styles for mane and tail (a proper running braid for show would be nice)

more horse-obsessed BB and CAS for toddlers and children

Hairstyles, new English saddles (nice dressage and jumping saddles), saddle pads, track points, a slider to adjust the size of the horse would be cool too

random coat colors for foals and not looking exactly like their parents. I have no idea how you would fix this but it is my biggest annoyance in this game!

dressage saddles! new saddle pads!

realistic manes or turnout stuff

I love everything Western! I would love a few free-hanging western saddles/ bridles and also a saddle pad rack with only western pads! Maybe a few sponges/flyspray/shampoo bottles.

Perhaps leg wraps and english saddle pads that are matching? Like Lemieux and the sorts. Hanging horse blankets / horse racks that hold blankets. Vet objects, like syringes, creams, vetwraps and little objects for a first aid kit :)

please make a stable rug/ turn out rug/ riding rug :D

I though of something while i was sitting here building a jumping course. A little pile with poles neatly put together to place outside the arena on the ground for some esthetic purposes

I would love another short tail! :)

Ah and maybe those silly little horse mustaches lolol? :,D

Girth holders on walls, hanging rugs, bridle holders. Saddle soap / spray, conditioner :)

Maybe a halter for foals?

i know ive said this before but bridle hangers and saddle holders & maybe maxis match hay stacks so we don't have to pile it up ourselves with the debug hay bale and maybe more different swatches for the hay rug from the ranch pack? bc thats only 2 in 2 different colors

Stall doors please!

Western / Red Dead Redemption inspired tack and saddles

bell boots would be amazing!, and barn clutter, like helmets, gloves, english tall riding boots.

I'd love to see some foal accseries if you could figure that out, other then that rop halters are sorely lacking

I'd love to see a breastplate for the saddle and a double reined bridle

[kemetic-dreams]

How filthy were Western Europeans in medieval times? Is it true that they never take a bath?

English society in the time of Queen Elizabeth I (1558–1603) believed that bathing caused pain.

Queen Elizabeth I is known by many historians to have black teeth with stinky breath, her body was covered in powdered mildew all the time to disguise her body odour.

Her black teeth are thought to have been because he was very fond of sugar and sweets, which were introduced to the people there during her reign.

Her pungent body odour was something that no one could protest against at the time because she could have ordered the beheading of people because of that person's behaviour or the queen's mood swings even if they were trivial.

Shakespeare did not write about Elizabeth I at all despite living during her reign (16th century) because writing about her meant suicide.

"Elizabeth, I passed a law made in England banning the circulation of unflattering images of herself. Elizabeth's paintings are famously fictitious and overrated because they always show her as a pearl-white-skinned Renaissance beauty icon even when she was old. [Source: Elizabeth I's portrait brings us face to face with the ravages of age]

People from outside the kingdom who visit always comment on his teeth and body odour.

Perhaps this is why she is called the Virgin Queen, because no one is asking, except Lord Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester.

I myself have never seen a depiction of a painting of Queen Elizabeth I showing her black teeth, but Cate Blanchett and others drew the Queen with her face and body covered in thick powder.

Throwing human waste from windows directly into the streets below and mixing it with horse manure and other animals is a common sight in cities, People do not bathe and their clothes are also exposed to a lot of dirt. Inside the interior of the building is no less dirty than outside. It was not only the bathing habits of the English that were very bad in the 16th century, but also the whole bacteria that were rampant. Such an environment led to the bubonic plague of the 17th century which was spread by fleas on rats and killed 20% of London's population.

.

.

Translator's note: the 16th & 17th centuries are actually no longer medieval, but have entered the early modern century. However, we get the idea that in the more modern than medieval centuries alone the people there were still that filthy. Especially when it was still medieval

[disabled-dean]

hi hello i need to know more about The Last Great American Cowboys 👀👀

Hiiiiii Jenna 💕 (and hiiiii Taylor cuz you asked about this too!)

The Last Great American Cowboys is a poetry & prose chapbook I'm working on about my experience working with my great aunts on their ranch. They are 90 years old and have led literally thee most incredible lives. And now they live in an ambiguous platonic partnership on an unproductive horse ranch in the mountains. I have so so many stories about them (and would love to share more from the collection) but I am late to a meeting and then a cute little procedure!! So I'm just gonna start with the series of poems that got me writing again after five years.

More under the cut and tw for horse death (I got horse death poem three published in a zine last year along with the illustration, Snowfall)

horse death poem one

a horse falls in the barn outside 

there's nothing to do but go inside and wait 

for the man to come with the heavy tools to bury her.

she has fallen in such a way

that it will be difficult to move her

halfway in and out of the barn, 

on the crusted snow that has fallen 

off the roof.

if she dies in the stall, 

it will be ugly. 

her open eyes are glazed

her body frozen. 

not upright. 

not taking nourishment.

her paddock-mate, 

a handsome red gelding, 

runs frantic circles 

in the pen beside her.

(Horses apparently can become very attached to one another)

Pat says, these ones in particular.

we cover her in an electric blanket. 

there is nothing to do but wait.

we go inside. 

Pat practices the music

for her upcoming concert.

60 years in the Yakima Symphony 

first chair violin.

Micki starts to take 

the ornaments down

from the Christmas tree.

The orange barn cat 

sneaks inside 

as she's taking the wreath 

down from the door.

I make bacon at the stove. 

we spend 

several minutes of lively 

debate

trying to tell if it has turned.

Micki says,

"With the things we do and the things we eat, we should be dead by now." and they both laugh.

they tell me a story about getting lost in town the day before, trying to find their hairdresser.

we debate 

trying to move

the horse before the man 

comes- the first foal 

born on this ranch when they moved 

from California

33 years ago.

Outside,

she is lying in the sun.

Micki says,

"There's something very sad about putting Christmas away.”

horse death poem two 

we go out to the barn 

with shovels and pick axes

and try to chip 

her frozen hind quarters 

free from the ice.

kneeling in snow 

and frozen manure.

The orange cat watches solemnly from the stall door.

A long, orange extension cord

is run from the house to power a small, purple hair dryer.

The man has not come.

horse death poem three

The next day a vet comes 

with a long silver needle 

and we stand around in the snow, 

talking about the small,

painted colt 

with the hole in her heart

Who -29 years ago- 

wasn’t supposed to make it

through the night

(Sorry tumblr fucked with the spacing and I am too late to fix it!!!)

[renee-writer]

Frank Chapter 10

AO3

“The lad, he will be alright?” They walk towards the stalls. She nods, her mind on Frank and how to get as much information from him, without rousing suspension.

 

“Yes. He is blessed.” Has the sword hit a bit higher, there would been nothing she could have done.

 

“Aye, you’re here.”

 

She gives him a distracted smile.

 

Seeing Frank wipes it away. Her husband is covered in sweat and manure.

 

“There ye are, Jamie lad. That filly isn’t going to break herself.” Old Alec frowns at him.

 

“Pardon Alec. There was an emergency with Hamish.”

 

Frank, head down, mucks out the stall he stands in. He has yet to notice his wife.

 

“Hamish! Is the lad alright?”

 

“He will be just fine.” Her voice rises his head.

 

“Alec meet Claire Beauchamp, a fine healer who saw brilliantly to young Hamish.”

 

“A right pleasure to meet you Mistress.”

 

“You as well. Frank is my husband. I will need a few minutes of his time.”

 

“Aye, o’ course,” Turning to him, “Frank your wife wishes some of your time.”

 

The look he gives the older man is missed by him. He has already turned to Jamie and is instructing him on his job for the day.

 

“Claire, thank God.”

 

“Frank,” she leads him away from the others, “How are you? How’s your head?”

 

“How are we to get out of here?” His eyes are wild, scanning around them and the stalls, the horses, the other men working around them, “I cannot continue to muck stalls. I am a tenured professor.”

 

 

“We have to play the roles we are giving. For now.”

 

“And you have been given the role as healer. Not kitchen maid.”

 

They haven’t  much time and he needs to start cooperating.

 

“I am a healer.” She moves them a few more steps away and starts talking in French, imagining that none of the Highlanders know it. She asks him what he told Colum. He answers her in the same.

 

“How is your head, Frank?”

 

“It is fine,” A shake of his head as he comes to understand that he was being a jerk to her, “I am sorry my darling. We will figure this out.”

 

“Yes, we will.”

 

“Enough, kiss your wife goodbye and back to work.” He gives him a dirty look.

 

“Frank, please. To keep us safe.”

 

He nods and kisses her before heading back to the stalls. Jamie watches them go with a frown.

[downtoearthmarkets]

A couple of weeks ago, we discussed the different methods of crop irrigation that farmers use and how climate change is affecting the volume of water needed to keep fields hydrated and healthy here in the northeast. Managing water use wisely by installing efficient irrigation systems is just one of many steps that farms can take to reduce their impact on the local ecology while increasing their profitability and productivity. This week, we’ll touch on the importance of protecting and improving soil health to the future of sustainable farming. Building healthy soil and preventing erosion Sustainable agriculture is often used interchangeably with the term ‘regenerative agriculture’ because of the focus on restoring degraded farmland back to its former vitality and biodiversity. Beginning in the early 1900s, traditional farming techniques underwent a rapid transformation as mechanization replaced animal and human labor. As a result of these changes, the use of artificial fertilizers and pesticides was introduced, farms grew larger, yields increased and free-range, pastured animals were confined to smaller areas or moved into feedlots. During his youth in the 1950s, my father worked as a part-time laborer on a small farm in the north of England where he witnessed firsthand many of these changes occurring in real-time. The farm horse named Kit that he had grown fond of and spoiled with carrots and apples was replaced by a Ferguson tractor, while ancient hedgerows filled with blackberry briars and bountiful plum and damson trees were removed to make it easier for the new tractor to plow the land. He recalls forking out chicken and cow manure from the back of the horse-drawn cart to naturally fertilize the fields and hand-harvesting potatoes amongst other “backbreaking work” that is now performed by machines instead of farmhands. While all this modernization has spiked farm efficiency and production, it has often come at the expense of the health of the farmland, livestock and environment. Regenerative agriculture aims to restore the land back to its former fertility by reintroducing many of the traditional farming techniques of my father’s youth. At its core, it centers on promoting and bolstering soil health as fundamental to a farm’s ability to thrive and prosper well into the future by adopting a range of methods including the following:

Crop rotation and diversity: Rather than planting the same crop in the same field year after year, which eventually depletes the soil of certain nutrients and can lead to pest infestations, farmers introduce a different type of crop each year or at multiyear intervals. They can also include intercropping which involves growing a mixture of crops in the same area.

Cover crops and perennials: Cover crops such as clover, rye, buckwheat, mustard and vetch are planted in fields during the off-season when the ground might otherwise be left bare. This helps protect and build soil health by replenishing nutrients and preventing erosion from extreme weather events that are becoming more frequent due to climate change. Perennial crops such as alfalfa and asparagus keep soil covered, suppress weed growth and maintain living roots in the ground year-round which hold soil in place and helps stabilize the areas in which they are planted.

No or limited use of chemicals: Crop rotation and planting cover crops will naturally reduce or eliminate the need for synthetic pesticides and fertilizers over time by protecting and boosting soil biology. Regenerative agriculture allows for the judicious use of chemicals only when needed, such as when restoring heavily depleted soil to its natural resilience.

Compost, animal and green manure: Farmers can increase the amount of organic matter in their soil and boost its fertility through the application of compost, animal manure and ‘green manuring’ their cover crops which entails plowing under the still-living, undecomposed plants into the ground where they slowly release fertilizing nutrients like nitrogen.

Reducing or eliminating tillage: Traditional plowing (aka tillage) prepares fields for planting and prevents weed growth by mechanically turning over the uppermost layer of soil. Unfortunately, plowing disrupts soil microbiology (bacteria, fungi and other organisms) which causes soil loss and releases carbon stored in the soil’s organic matter into the atmosphere as carbon dioxide, which we all know is a potent greenhouse gas. Alternatively, no-till or reduced-till methods involve inserting crop seeds directly into undisturbed soil, which reduces erosion and conserves soil health. 

Agroforestry: Agroforestry refers to the practice of incorporating trees into farmland, such as the plum and damson trees my father remembers in the old hedgerows. By cultivating trees and shrubs on their property and mixing them into their operations, farmers can provide shade and shelter that protect crops, livestock, and water resources, while also leveraging additional income from fruit, syrup, nut, or timber yields. Agroforestry promotes biodiversity on a farm and trees are, of course, critical to slowing the effects of climate change. Plus, trees promote soil health by preventing erosion, fixing nitrogen and supporting the growth of fungi and other soil microbes.

Unlike large, industrial farms that grow monoculture crops and factory farmed animals, the small, local farms that partner with Down to Earth farmers markets have long embraced many of these sustainable agricultural practices. From composting to pasturing livestock to crop diversification, our farms understand the importance of soil health and are invested in protecting the local ecosystems and communities in which they operate, while producing a range of healthy, nutrient dense foods. It’s a win-win for everyone!

[theoriginalmarke]

MUCKING MONDAY MANURE

When we were leaving the house yesterday the neighbor’s horses had gotten into the barn. Naturally we stopped to put them back out into the pasture before they could destroy anything or escape into the road.

One of the things in the barn is a beautiful antique horse drawn buggy. Don’t want that kicked or anything. 

She asked if we could feed them supper, and I’m always happy to help with her herd. Turbo is my bud, even though he’s a butthead. Maybe because he’s a butthead. He’s the smart one who can open gates and once picked up a bucket, shook it, and then tossed it at me.

The two donkeys have become favorites as I’ve gotten to know them, too. They’re very sweet. Dolly is also quite vocal, especially when it’s feeding time. She’ll bray at me sometimes when I’m riding by, letting me know I should be stopping to visit.

When we stopped to feed them on the way back home it was raining, of course. Some of them eat in a covered area next to the barn, but the ponies and donkeys eat across the paddock. It requires a trek across an ankle deep mix of mud, muck, and manure. 

I rolled up by pants legs and slipped and slid while carrying flakes of hay. One of the donkeys followed me step for step. I like to think she just really loves me but honestly she was probably hoping I’d slip in the mud and drop the hay. 

It was a mess, but I’m not complaining. I miss working with horses, and this is a good group. Even when they’re being buttheads. It was an adventure, and adventure is what makes life interesting.

My boots are still covered in mud. I should clean them now, but I think I’ll wait until after I ride to a client’s house. Let the wind blow some off first. That’s my theory anyway. I’ll take them off before I go inside, of course.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a Monday to do.

I love you, baby. We’ll horse around later. Nudge nudge wink wink.

Y’all have a great day.

[zoeysandin]

“stay with me,” comes @daevilhorns’s voice suddenly as he lays in the messy bed tucked away in the corner. he’s been plucking away aimlessly / noodling on his guitar , and the words linger in the air as she stands by his doorway , donned in her jeans and a black bra , pausing in her movements after she’s leaned down to grab her black tank top. no , nothing happened. but he’s shirtless so why can’t she be? who cares anyway. ( jesus. ) shut up.

zo doesn’t know how to respond to that. after everything she’s been through , she’s not sure that she should. she bounces the tank in her fleshy and spider-like metacarpals , phalanges bunching it so her head can go through , which it does. then lets her left arm slide in & then her right , tugging it down towards completion over her torso. the sultry female then clears her throat.

her mind always flinches at the idea of getting close to any other man that isn’t a particular blonde. that man is gone now , we won’t talk about how. her mom & brother are safe. that’s all that matters.

rest in peace, jimmy. thank you for your sacrifice. don’t worry , you were avenged with a shotgun by your daughter.

but despite all that , it didn’t make the reality of the fallout any less weird to cope with.

her gaze finally finds his , picked up from the ground as her lashes flutter. she may have residual bruising left over from her escape , maybe even a busted eye & lip that she’s covered with stage makeup from his show. on a whim , she’d managed to snag tickets from a scalper as she was passing by. ( mostly to escape the reality of what she’d just gone through ). hands runs over her arms now as she shrugs noncommittally.

“i don’t really think i should,” zoey murmurs to him , scared but not of him , rather of . . . specific ghosts. safety & security radiate off him. herself on the other hand , well — she’s a cacophony of horse manure / she doesn’t want to stain him.

but . . . she also doesn’t leave.

[diegodsthings]

"My mother was a slave, My Mother is sicked and couldn't even work, so, ever since I was old enough to remember, I was working in the black smith shop and stable. My body was always covered in ash, coal, horse manure and was always white or black, they gave me the nickname "Askellad" it means "covered in ash". My Father was a from powerful family from long land, Long land is a Long and grassy islands, My father love booze, woman and killing people, He was a Viking just like does you'd find anywhere else. I heard he had lot of kids like me in random women here and there, but he only named the older kids he had with his legal wife, he probably didn't know what his other kid looks like. I heard my mother was one of my father favorites slaves when she was younger, but after she feel ill, he treated her like a dog, for me life has always been hard, but it was different for my mother, My Mother often told me about the hero, Artorious, one of our ancestors, she told the story many times, The legend was about a general who save my mother’s homeland, from being invaded by savages 500 years ago. my mother believe the legend prophecy that hero would be resurrected, she believed that he would return to free her from illness and enslavement, She kept repeating it so I started to believed it too, She said that "far to the west in a land cross the sea, where ordinary people cannot reach, there's lies paradise where the hero Artorious lives, A paradise where peace, prosperity and eternal life is promised, the hero is still there now, healing his battle wounds, someday he will come leading an army to destroy the savages and conquered the world" my mother’s family was kept waiting for him, they waited for 500 years, The hero is not appeared yet" Askellad laugh and said "Kid just think about it, if our ancestors really living in such a nice place, he'd never choose to comeback in a word like this" Askellad laugh "Damned old man just continue the story" Thorfinn said. Askellad drink and continue the story again "When I was 11 my mother's heart is finally snapped, we are on the black smith shop. Off all the things that could happen she thought that my father who just passing by was the hero Artorious, then my father picks up his sword and going to kill my ill mother. then I realized in an instant, if Artorious was not going to come to save my mother in that moment then he's never going to come, do you understand kid? someone was do it, A person, not a hero, not A god. I pick up a sword and fight my father to save my mother, it's weird I had never used a sword before but it felt suit and comfortable in my hand, I knew how to swing it, I thought of it as proof that I had the blood of that Damned father bastard flowing though my veins. we fight sword to sword and I fell, and he pointed his swords to me and he said "you, are you her child, are you my child?" saying it calmly and I say yes, he said that I have a potential and I'm going to live his place now with my other brother, after living to my father's place all I do is train, how to fight and I become close to my other brothers.”

Page 2

[gayturians]

I can't resist quoting him this time so Robert Fulghum in All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten:

“Weeds,” says I, “are plants growing where people don’t want them. In other words,” says I, “weeds are in the eye of the beholder. And as far as I am concerned, dandelions are not weeds–they are flowers!” “Horse manure,” says he, and stomps off home to void any taint of lunacy. Now I happen to like dandelions a lot. They cover my yard each spring with fine yellow flowers, with no help from me at all. They mind their business and I mind mine. The young leaves fake a spicy salad. The flowers add fine flavor and elegant color to a classic light wine. Toast the roots, grind and brew, and you have a palatable coffee. The tenderest shoots make a tonic tea. The dried mature leaves are high in iron, vitamins A and C, and make a good laxative. Bees favor dandelions, and the cooperative result is high-class honey. Dandelions have been around for about thirty million years; they are fossils. The nearest relatives are lettuce and chicory. Formally classed as perennial herbs of the genus Taraxacum of the family asteraceae. The name comes from the French for lion’s tooth, dent de lion. Distributed all over Europe, Asia, and North America, they got there on their own. Resistant to disease, bugs, heat, cold, wind, rain, and human beings. If dandelions were rare and fragile, people would knock themselves out to pay $14.95 a plant, raise them by hand in greenhouses, and form dandelion societies and all that. But they are everywhere and don’t need us and kind of do what they please. So we call them “weeds,” and murder them at every opportunity. Well, I say they are flowers, by God, and pretty damn fine flowers at that. And I am honored to have them in my yard, where I want them. Besides, in addition to every other good thing about them, they are magic. When the flower turns to seed, you can blow them off the stem, and if you blow just right and all those little helicopters fly away, you get your wish. Magic. Or if you are a lover, they twine nicely into a wreath for your friend’s hair. I defy my neighbor to show me anything in his yard that compares with dandelions. And if all that isn’t enough, consider this: Dandelions are free. Nobody ever complains about your picking them. You can have all you can carry away. Some weed!

I don’t think dandelions are weeds. I think dandelions are free flowers that four year olds can pick for their mommies

[lavelled]

feeling twenty-two. (I take gummies and two naps a day.)

The Twin Brothels:

The impact-with-a-horse Princess Child Bride story wasn’t factual. But it had your entry-level threats. With rapt attention, the whole world read the equestrian publicity and confirmed that it’s you who causes suffering and tragedy. On a daily basis. Bad things happen because of you.

Dull weekend?

Oh look. The Britannica brothers can Google. Slightly curious: do you have formal duties, debutante balls, any responsibilities that faithfully serve the crown or do you waste a large chunk of the day crafting fake press releases about a one-way deal with an underage peasant girl?

I take Gatcombe Park to mean Catacombs. It also rhymes with hurting Matt R. over a coined sexual experience you tell yourself you’ll get. I can see how your instincts were to squarely threaten me and Matt R. with concussed head injuries, ignoring the direct line between you and numerous untimely deaths. You’ve been unconcerned with my happiness, why should you care about humanity?

Best to avoid all athletes at the ESPY Awards.

There’s a quote of “swift recovery” because Will had fun with his dadly duties. Is this about the fraudulent cancer storyline? Oh no. So dadly. Your mate still doesn’t have cancer. Rather than belittling patients, you should be on a gilded quest to finding solutions to end homelessness; getting residents back on their feet; and helping the overburdened shelter system. Sure. Your housing development project is a cover for you believing you have a vice grip on a v-shaped cottage.

Ever wonder why advisors, known as my team, chose Rose Hanbury to be the ex-girlfriend to invent mistress newspaper headlines? It’s pronounced bury you. Interesting she married a gentleman with Marquess in his title.

Harpy: This is you getting me to partake in epistolary warfare. As crypto-influencer in your secret spot, you were a blocker where I often attempted to write, yet you were turned on by the alphabetized vocabulary of a little girl’s prison literature.

It’s a conflicting job.

Come to think of it, shouldn’t you be abusing royal protocol to assemble a Botswana crowd for your race-based platitudes as you covet the jar preservatives of rapey kidnapped fruit? I thought you’d be too busy to read, what, with your choreographed paparazzi walks near horse manure fertilizer where you get quick child updates from a payroll wife you still don’t live with.

Your press mentioned Thomas, Rachel’s dad.

The disproportionate hatred for Tom Cruise needs examination. Nowhere is this more evident than choosing Thomas for an in-law. Taking liberties with the truth, you’ve pushed this crackpot, flawed story in which Tom Cruise somehow stole a pen-pal from you when you were 0-years-old. What a unique way of telling the world your father got caught being a pedophile. You didn’t know me. Tom knew me. Probably because he was unsteady with newfound fame and he thought I was a melodramatic, wise-ass kid in Nike gear. I was also funny. I don’t believe he wanted me locked away from the world. That serves no purpose. If you considered someone a life-force or a source of light, you wouldn’t shut them out. Your royal family stole me because Tom was far cooler. And I was too goddamn young. You swooped in and stole a little girl’s adulthood to try to save the monarchy from being perceived as a tribe of baby-fuckers.

We all know how you pay the rent: as master of an anti-social contract with those who grew up alongside me, offering up fairytale childlessness and solitude, and then having the nerve to car pool with my industry husbands.

I wonder why Daniel Cleaver, who plays you in a movie, started a HackedOff Campaign; uses a Twit account imbued with choppiness; and follows your information-gathering lawsuit claims in London? He’s also known as William Thacker from Notting Hill. That totals a lot of butchering.

Your loveless contract only symbolizes inside assault.

I meant to include Real World castmembers in the public eye who shouldn’t hurt themselves—we lost one recently—I read about the surfer shark attack and the Dagestan capital and I have a suspicion it’s about him—don’t leave.

K

[italytravellog]

Travel log #5

Today marks our last day on our trip to Renaissance Italy. Yesterday's wedding was a great first hand experience into the wealthier people's lives. The fact they have so much time and money to have festivities for a whole month straight is flabbergasting to say the least. We are back at Ducal Palace resting up until noon to have brunch and get ready to head to the theater to watch L' Amfiparnaso. This type of play was the first of its kind. Including lines of more singing than speaking. It was a comedy unlike many of the popular classics that revolved around romances and knights. The time in history allowed writers the opportunity to delve into creativity and create unique plays. Well, we've ate our food and dressed up accordingly, a lot more casual than the day before to head into the town center to watch this play. We ride the horses down and make way to the theater. The theater is outside and seems to be made of wood. I see many actors getting ready behind the curtains. Some are reading their script and others are getting their costumes on. Lets grab some wine to drink to watch the show. As we shuffle our way between the crowd I can smell the manure and mix of spices trying to cover it up. I notice there are all types of classes here, from poorest to wealthier. Since the Duke and his newly wed wife got us our ticket we get a better seating than some of the folks here and access to certain foods and drinks. If you think about it, it reminds you of vip lounges like at modern day concerts or sports events. I guess its always been something for those who are richer. Eventually we get to our seats and watch the play. It was a great mix of romance and comedy, maybe this is where rom coms were born! It was nice to see a play on our last day here. Sadly we have to go back to the 21st century and say goodbye to this wonderful place. I hope you've had fun following along and experiencing life during Renaissance.

[juliana-hale]

A Sand-Sculpted Journey

“Pass me the bucket!” I reached out my arms to my older brother. “I want to build a sandcastle village!”

He passed me some buckets, and I got to work. My parents wanted me to enter into a sandcastle building competition this summer, so I wanted to practice my sandcastle-making abilities while on vacation in Mexico. The ratio of water to sand always confused me, but this was my chance to perfect that skill.

~

Twelve hours later, the sun began to go down over the horizon, and I was just starting to finish up my sandcastles. Completely drained, I stretched out on the sun-drenched sand, its warmth soothing my tired limbs.

The world around me dissolved into a fluid canvas of swirling colours and shifting landscapes, seamlessly blending into the realm of what felt like a medieval dream. I looked around and saw that I was surrounded by tall stone-carved buildings, with the streets made of bumpy sand-coloured stones. People walked past wearing silk and fur coats, with extravagant straw hats and brown leather shoes. Plenty of horse-drawn carriages passed by, leaving a pungent trail of horse manure in their path.

I looked down at myself and saw that I was wearing the same floral one-piece bathing suit that I had been wearing on the beach in Cancun, and adrenaline shot through my veins. I tried to cover myself with my arms, but that just made me look silly in such an upper-class medieval town.

Suddenly, a mysterious man came up behind me and placed a long, heavy fur coat on my shoulders. 

"What in heaven's name brings you here, my dear?" 

I struggled to speak, feeling as though I had to exert considerable effort and strain my stomach muscles just to form a single word.

“I…I don’t know why I’m here.” I looked around and then back at the mysterious man. “I was on vacation and I had just finished building sandcastles for twelve hours, but then I ended up here.”

“I see.” The mysterious man took off his hat and smiled. “You know, my dear, you have quite the imagination! And twelve hours of doing anything is far too long, especially on vacation! Go out and be a child – play on stilts, play jacks or even leapfrog with your friends!”

Out of nowhere, the mysterious man whipped out a pair of stilts and hoisted me onto them. I felt so liberated, like I was on top of the world without a single concern to weigh me down.

Is this what childhood was supposed to feel like?

All of a sudden, the world that I had just started getting used to slowly faded from sand-coloured stone architecture to a midnight blue sky full of stars, with all my sandcastles surrounding me yet again. It felt like my brain had been decluttered and I could finally think straight, like a normal six year old.

“Wakey wakey!” I heard my mom’s soft voice hovering over me, and she gently lifted the heavy fur blanket that had covered my body. “Did you sleep well?”

My mind was consumed with the sensation of newfound freedom that I had just experienced, so I could hardly focus on her words.  

I slowly opened my eyes. “Mom, can we buy stilts?”