You wouldn’t think that, with a name like Thistle Hill, we’d be making war on thistles.  But this is grandson, Church, on summer break, practicing his back-swing for tennis.  That’s what we tell him anyway. Actually thistles, which blanketed the farm 10 years ago, have virtually disappeared, particularly in the pastures where we practice mob grazing.  This is the field where we keep young bulls and it is set-stocked.  And, of course, we don’t use herbicides for weed control.  Bad for the tennis game. It’s great having Church here for the summer.  He’s all “growed” and can out-work me.  (He carries four mineral bags at a time; I lift one, and…