...and we might have a food garden.  We won't know for about six weeks if we also have food.

Turning a part of a yard that had only previously grown scrub grass into something capable of supporting vegetables is not, it turns out, easy.  It involves using things one would never imagine finding a use for.  Like chicken shit.  (Warning: that link crows like a rooster.  I just woke up everyone in the office retrieving it.)  We thought since we had the space and the interest, given the rising cost of food, our current state of abject poverty, and the end of the world being ushered in by climate change (only sort-of-kidding), now seemed like a good time to raise our own meals, as much as it was possible to do so.  

We don't have quite enough grazing land for a cow, however.  Chickens maybe.  Plus, I know what I can do with their shit.

The plot behind the song Bad Bad Leroy Brown is nearly identical to the one in You Don't Mess Around With Jim.  For some reason this bothers me immensely.