This is the fourth calf of the past month – a bull, I think.

As the title suggests, I covet his eyelashes. In a big way.

Judging by his mother’s reaction to my camera’s attention, I’m guessing they’re not for sale.

Yesterday, when talking about the weather, Caitlin described the spring as spitty.

I’m not sure spitty is a word.

My word processor certainly doesn’t think so.

But it’s entirely accurate. The gray days, the misty spitty mornings, lead to some really nice spinach. I’ve never grown really nice spinach in the spring, and it’s made me inordinately proud of myself. The color’s been spot-on, a nice mossy saturated green, and the plantings sized up quickly, with little or no insect damage. I did a smooth, spoon-shaped salad variety, and a big wrinkly savoy type. Both seemed the easiest thing in the world to sell – I guess just about everybody likes spinach. The most recent transplants aren’t doing as well. They’ll be the last ’till fall, when they’ll be back with a vengeance. I’m now a hopeless addict.

This radicchio has been in the ground since early April, yet for some reason it won’t head up. It’s had time, water, fertilizer, you name it. Won’t budge. Maybe because it’s an Italian heirloom, and I’m not doing something right. Maybe because it isn’t so cool outside anymore.

The thing is, I don’t even like radicchio. I do bitter, but I have my limits.

But it’s beautiful, isn’t it? I can’t bring myself to rip it out. It’s a great weakness of mine, as a farmer, an inability to just cut my losses and move on.

Will somebody come and take it away? Lie to me, say you’ll eat it, throw it in the compost. Just smile and take it away.