We sunk the last four poles for the frame of Ft. Bountiful this morning before the rain set in. Well, not totally before the rain set in, but close enough. It remains now to hang the livestock panels and cut a gate into the perimeter somewhere. As I look at the skeleton this evening, it occurs to me that we will probably need to add some structure between the poles, but we’ll burn that bridge when we come to it, I reckon.
In other pandemic news, I was finally able to order some bread flour, and even a thermometer. I’m embarrassed that we didn’t have a thermometer already, but I guess that crises provide clarity for where we’ve been slacking. We’re having trouble keeping beer in stock (I suspect Puck has been pilfering after we’ve gone to bed), and I am somewhat wary of eating raw fresh vegetables, so it would seem we’ve eaten our last greens salad for a while. Farewell, arugula!
While we were taking a break from our labors yesterday, and drinking a lovely cup of Tanzanian coffee, Zeyda wondered aloud how much—or little—Tanzanian (or any other) coffee might be enroute to these United States. I roast my own coffee, so I have some degree of insulation from the swings in the commodity market, but then I wondered how long any supply interruptions might last. Long story short: whereas I normally order 15 pounds of green coffee every couple of months, I now have 40 pounds of beans headed my way. If the virus takes us, at least we won’t be drinking shitty coffee when it happens.
I managed to get a curbside pickup appointment from Kroger (five days from now, but whatever), so if you’d like me to grab something for you, lemme know.