I get stopped in my tracks

As much as my life has been a whirlwind of activity, gardening, company, and summer lately, it is moments like these that stop me right in my tracks.

I mean, my photography doesn't do the moment justice, but seeing those fuzzy little faces peaking out at the world from under the hen's feathered body, just makes you drop your gardening tools and flop down on the grass to take it all in. (OK, yeah, I had to go run and get the camera first - don't ruin the moment...)

Then, there's this:

Not warm or fuzzy, but elegant in its simplicity, form, and motion. She was coming out of a hiding place in the blades of the now quiet rototiller to sun herself on the driveway.

And lots of these:

I never tire of looking at all the many shades of green in the garden...

Escapades, escapes, and scapes

Life on any farm has its ups and downs, and those of us that pursue this lifestyle know that sometimes the ups and downs come with laughs, sometimes you come close to committing a crime, and sometimes the lifestyle amazes you. Whichever it is, it's definitely harder than most people realize. (Hence, the blog...)

This week it has been all of the above.

Cats on the farm can be quite utilitarian, but we seem to have passed right by that function and moved on to "soft lumps of purring companionship". But even there, I beg to draw The Line. We have a house cat (so deemed because life on the outside is just too risky for my daughter's emotional stability) who wakes me up practically every morning by purring in my ear. Loudly. But she has pushed this companionship thing a little too far. She has taken over my bath.

And this morning, she just wasn't giving it up. For anything. Even when I started up the water. So I figured I could start by washing my hair (under the faucet and with the pseudo-shower attachment thingy - we have no shower, don't ask.) and she would get the hint. Apparently not. She stayed right there for the rinse, too. And when I shifted positions to continue, still no movement. (Now this is where it gets ridiculous, but it was before 6, and any caffeine.) I actually finished the whole thing, remaining in pseudo-shower mode, so as not to push the envelope, and she responded by simply beginning to wash her nether parts, remaining defiantly in the dry end of the tub. I could have had this photographically documented, but the blog is PG, so forget that.

Now, being that we are a farm, people think they can drop off unwanted pets, and somehow they will discover some idyllic life on the farm, and we farmers will magically have loads of extra pet food just lying about. So, there are a sizeable herd of feral cats in all stages of wildness wandering about. We worked hard to tame one, dubbed Max, and have taken her into our hearts. Once we had done all the hard work, de-ticking, cleaning, feeding, and getting the flea collar, our neighbors decided they needed another trailer cat, and promptly snatched Max up. For days, I worried some evil had befallen her, until the fateful day we drove by and saw Max plastered up against the bathroom window, mewing. Wheh! Not dead, just kidnapped. But I couldn't imagine how I was going to have THAT conversation with the less-than-friendly neighbors...

Knock, knock. "Do you have my stray?"

Well, apparently the first weekend the grand-brats were over, one of them left the door open, and Max escaped. Yay, we have our stray back.

Now it appears the word is out in the feline press. Our porch is the new place to be and be seen. This greeted me this morning.

This kitty yoga practitioner is another stray. Now named Henry, for the time being.

Two nights ago, as I sat picking away at the computer, I heard a familiar "bleh". But it took only a second to register - this "bleh" was WAY too close. I looked outside into the pitch blackness beyond the front porch, and all six sheep ran by. All there was to do at 11:00 p.m. was pack them in the upper barn, and wait for the morning.

They had broken out of their pasture, broken into the garden, and broke out the onion dip, baby. They didn't leave until they had eaten every brocolli, brussel sprout, cauliflower and onion top. I seriously considered a mutton barbeque. And I'm vegetarian.

For me, the worst damage was the wheat. Almost 2/3 the plot. (Sigh.)

Why couldn't they have taken the garlic scapes? We planted garlic for the first time this year, and almost 100 plants came up. So that's 100 scapes. (Garlic "flowers"/"buds") That's a lot of scapes for folks who don't have a clue what to do with them. But we're learning!

Ichi-go!

Yes, these are "ichi-go". (Japanese for strawberries.) It's that time of year, and my nephew is here from Japan, so off we went to pick some strawberries. Despite the brutal heat, it took less than an hour to pick 8 quarts.

Once back at the farm, the cousins wasted no time in getting cool-water gun fights!

We're starting a week of heat, perfect vegetable growing weather; our job is just to keep everything hydrated.

Oh, yeah. And making jam. That's tomorrow...

1 Hour Marten-izing

I used to see that sign on practically every dry cleaner I saw when I was younger. I have no idea what it meant, but I can tell you we were marten-ized last night. We are one hen lighter, thanks to this little fellow:

No, I did not turn into a wildlife photographer overnight, this is someone else's picture of a marten, but we're pretty sure that's what got Ink. All we have for evidence is the feathers, blood drops, and headless body. But that's enough.

She wouldn't follow the flock and come in when I shook the Raisin Bag of Joy. No amount of RBJ manipulation could convince her. So, I left her out when I went to the doctor's office. It was still daylight. But she wouldn't come in several hours later when the DH and DD tried to put everyone away for the night. They had worked for over an hour with the RBJ and every other trick in the book, to no avail.

When we got home from karate, it was dark. This flock is not anywhere near as savvy as our first, who would roost in the trees or in the barn. DH took the house flashlight, and began the search. That left me with the penlight I have in the barn for emergencies. (Why is it the men get all the biggest toys?) So while DH is wandering farther and farther away from me in the pitch black darkness, I am left with my itty bitty consolation light. Suddenly, he yells, "I have blood!" and seconds later he yells, "I've found her. And she has no head!" I am immediately sad for Ink, and frozen in my darkness, wondering what killed her, and where was that thing now? (Does it like human toes? I wonder...)

Suddenly, I am frightened out of my wits by a husky "bleh" behind me. I whirl around and my penlight lands on a huge, brown blob. (I'm thinking bear...) Followed closely by two white blobs. Yeah, the sheep that were supposed to be safely grazing on the far other side of our 5+ acres, have snuck up on me and frightend the s--t out of me. Farming lesson #4: Buy a big, bright flashlight for the barn, and don't let anyone else take it from you.

Ink, we will miss you. Even though Nature doesn't allow for stupidity or stubbornness, I wish you had decided to come in. Thank you for the eggs and the company.

P.S. The battery had died on the electronet, and the sheep had decided to come up and tell me about it.

P.P.S. A friend had the outstanding idea to get a pool skimmer to catch the errant hen next time. Adding that to the farm shopping list...

chicklets!

Yes, the experiment in poultry motherhood has yielded results: Four eggs in, two live chicks out. (Honorable mention: the Ameracauna chick who didn't make it out of the egg without enormous help, and then died later, as something "wasn't right" with its back end, and it was too weak to fight it.)

The chicklet in front is an Ameracauna, which my daughter has named Alex. She claims this stab at androgeny was necessary in case we have a rooster. (Please, no!) And the wee one in back is the Buff Brahma Bantam named Jelly. ( I didn't ask.) And for those of you keeping score, the mother is a Dark Brahma. I could stay and wallow in the chicklet cuteness for hours, but the weeds are talking to me. And it's not nice words they're using, either.

So THAT'S the problem!

Curse you, global warming! It appears G.W. may be to blame for my ever-increasing battles with my arch nemesis - POISON IVY! I just finished my second bout, albeit a mild one. I mean only having three or four half-dollar-sized blotches on my legs and arms is mild - (look ma, no boobs!)

Just when I'm trying to get the ruminants to eat us clean, I find out it's coming back stronger, with more urethiol, and can even be airborn. yeah.

VOLUNTEERS

Once, an old gardener told me that the name for plants that re-seed themselves, or come up a following year unplanned is "volunteer". I kind of like that name. And we've gots lots of them this year. It started with the curly parsley that over-wintered. Then it was the discovery of the cilantro that seeded. And the potato that has sprung up. (See below)

The obvious explanation for this volunteer was that I failed to dig up all the taters last year. So one "got away". But then I found volunteer potato #2, #3, and #4. It's a whole tater corp!

We love the volunteers. Not only are they pleasant surprises, but they represent a fighting spirit I find inspiring. How about this little tomato? It survived the Pruning Attack of the 10-year-old gardener. (An attempt to pinch off the botom leaves turned ugly) and it's coming back! (Yeah, I know - so are the weeds...sigh) And then there's the tomato seedling that's making it's home amidst the basil. How appropriate. But you gotta love this one the most:

Yep, that's a cosmos hiding out amoungs the brussel sprouts. It's a deserter from the DH's flower garden. Normally, I don't do flowers at all, but I figure if it fought this hard to exist, we'll let it go.

CSA: Week One baskets this week featured mostly herbs and the early "spicy" veggies(radishes and jalepenos) Next week we'll take pictures...

For The Birds...

For some time now, I've had birds on the brain. They seem to be coming up again and again, so the only way to rid myself if them is to share...

It all began about a month ago, when we had baby mallards in the pool at work. Ten of them, plus momma.

Last year, we moved them by putting the babies in a net, and walking Mom behind as we took the 10-15 block walk to the Washington Park Pond. This year, there was no net, and after a whole day of fruitless ideas, Momma got 6 away safely, but 4 were left.

We found a wildlife rehabilitator who would take them. When we dropped them off at her house, we were treated to a wonderful tour of her recuperating and rescued animals, mostly birds. From kestrals with defective beaks, to an overfed tom turkey, to canada geese with angel wing, to a black-capped chickadee, and a turkey vulture (who threw up her breakfast as soon as we approached - gross, but a cool defensive mechanism).

Then several days later, my friend Melissa sent me an e-mail filled with all sorts of cartoons, and I enjoyed them all, but this one made me chuckle out loud. Can't explain why, it just did.

Next, it was the gray catbird that wound up on our office steps, clearly suffering from some sort of injury, likely neurological in nature, as she was disoriented and unable to fly away, sort of off-balance like.

Unfortunately, she had a seizure and died before we could get her to the rehabilitator...I was struck by how fragile and delicate she felt as I put her in the box, compared to the hulking chickens I have become so used to on the farm.

Speaking of chickens, broody-momma-#2 is now ensconced in the maternity ward in the coop...since #1 decided on the 18th day that she had just about enough and she abandoned the nest...

(It's day 18 today, just don't tell her - it's a secret) There's maybe four fertile eggs under there...we've not been successful at chicks so far this year, keep your fingers crossed.

Then there's the resident "odd bird", our little bantam rooster who has to go for a walk every morning and every evening with me and the goats.

He hops up there when the walk is too long, or the grass too dew-ey. He prefers I carry him, but I could never get THAT picture, so you'll have to imagine it. And it was on our walk this morning that I discovered, despite my belief that I fed the local birds more than half the seed, our winter wheat is here! (And looking SO wheaty...)

Yarn Harlot!

Many of you may not know, because it's not something I bring up on here often, but I knit. I love to knit. I am currently embroiled in an insane tribute to knitting known as the 52 Pair Plunge where I and 90-some-odd other knitters try to knit a pair a week for 52 weeks (yeah, I know...I didn't think it all out before I pushed the send button on the sign-up e-mail...) So, when the call came many weeks ago to sign up to see the Yarn Harlot speak in Northampton, I jumped in with both feet.

It was amazing! I was awestruck by the theater filled to overflowing with something over 600 folks, all knitting. And we all were entertained by Ms. Pearl-McPhee (of course) and she inspired us to "come out" as knitters, and to love our stash, so here it is.

I knit.

I own lots of yarn, known to us knitters as "stash".

I also own sheep, which I consider simply an extension of stash, known as "yarn on the hoof".

And I now own a signed copy of Stephanie's latest book:

And Allison and I even brought her a skein of our yarn to add to her stash. I couldn't tell if she was more impressed with the dedicated colorway, or the fact that we printed the label with the yardage in meters. (That should really be "meterage", shouldn't it?)

Now, if only sheep and chickens could read, they'd understand where Mommy was last night until VERY late....

We've got plants!

It's the moment we've been waiting for... plants in the garden. Finally, after nursing seeds and seedlings, and trying to find the time to pull it all together, we have stuff in the garden.Radishes, for starters. No wonder they're recommended for children's gardens, they're up in three or four days...great for those of us with short attention spans.

The garlic is going great - weedy, but no scapes yet. (Hey-weeds are plants, too)

Now we had lots of cucumber babies...has anyone seen the cucumbers?

Who us? We haven't seen any (*burp*) cucmbers...

And in the 1700's garden, the first plant for the medicinal bed is bloodroot. An early remedy for menstrual cramps, this Eastern Woodland plant is also a dye plant. I bought one at a garden club plant sale, and lo and behold, when mowing the camp lawn this weekend, I found another! literally right in front of me...

I'm going to keep this one here, and now that I know camp is the right environment, I'm going to hike around and look for more...

And also this weekend: potatoes (2nd round), raspberries, lettuce, beans, and Madison's garden is in....

Look out summer, here we come!

Tagged

We interrupt our scheduled program to bring you this commercial message:
I've been tagged.

Lauren, has passed along the "blessing" with the disclaimer that I do not have to participate if I don't want, but I am anal about finishing these kinds of requests, so off I go. The assignment: five random facts about myself.

Now the challenge is, I don't have five interesting facts about myself. I wondered myself to sleep last night trying to think of what they might be. Really. Sure, I can talk my fool head off to anybody, including the strange guy in the line at the market, but as far as offering tidbits that others would find interesting.....duh....I dunno?

Hmmm...OK...here goes.

1. My dream job would be to run my little farm and somehow make enough money to exist pretty much as we do. I suppose that would mean organic vegetable prices would have to go up, and there would have to be a keen market for registered Shetlands and Pygoras, and the like, but hey, that's why it's call a "dream" job...

2. My favorite book(s) that I wish were real and I would like to be in: Diana Gabaldon's Outlander series. If not for all the adventure and good sex, at least for the reunion in the print shop. Love that moment.

3. Of all the famous people in the world (none of whom I have met, BTW) I would like to meet the Dalai Lama. Just want to ask him tons of questions...

4. I collect (although not as passionately as in my youth) glass insulators. You know, the typically blue/green thingys on top of telephone poles (usually ceramic these days) I have close to 75 different ones, and have most of them displayed in our dining room.

5. I give up. You guys will have to ask me what you want to know for the last one...

Oh yeah, and since I don't know five other people with blogs that haven't already been tagged (most of my friends and associates don't even know what a blog is, or what to do with it...) this one will have to end here. Sorry cyber-world.

This n' That

Saturday we went to my alma mater, far above Cayuga's waters, and had a 4-H Fun day. Woo-hoo!

I am planning a dastardly, motherly, not-too subtle attack on my daughter's plans to go to college anywhere other than here by starting early, and showing her all the neat things on campus (excluding the establishments that feature malt beverages, of course) so we lept at the opportunity to visit the vet school and do cool animal things...
Here the kids are attending a seminar on Communicating With Your Dog. (One might surmise by the fact that the dog is facing away from the kids that they failed this course, but the Schnauzer was so damn fast he followed the chosen command and got back to his mistress for the reward snack faster than I could snap the camera...)

This was followed by Rescue Dogs, and Canine Agility, and Travelling with Your Dog, and more stuff I've forgotten...

All in all, a very nice start to my plan. She had a ball.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, every animal that had a cage escaped it, every animal that has a fence found a way around it, and every animal that has any propensity whatsoever to bite, did so to some tender part of my husband. Needless to say, he was not thrilled with farm life when we returned.

Chief chomper:

The bantam rooster, Speedy. (A Mille Fleur/Splash Cochin cross, for anyone who's interested...)


He is 1 and 1/2 pounds, (thinks he's 40 pounds), and latches on to the leg of anyone else but me like a crazed terrier. I'm not sure what he's defending, but he sure acts like its something good.

For me, he lives in with the Pygoras, and comes on walks with us twice a day. Ambling along as nice as you please, grazing just like they do. Chirping the whole time. And the goats seem to accept him as part of the herd. He was an incubating "experiment", when (without much thought as to the outcome), we let our daughter incubate a fertilized egg.

We are trying to be a little more thoughtful this time...


Our Red Cochin hen, Sandy, went broody on us and was actually stealing eggs to sit on. So we got a hold of two Ameracauna eggs (we have an Ameracauna rooster) and gave her those. Along with two Buff Brahma Bantam eggs, which we are only guessing are fertile...

I had to give her a maternity ward of sorts, away from other pestering hens, and here she sits on Day 17. Or 18, we're a little unsure...

Now the "ward" is complete with private room, a view, fresh food and water via daily room service, and must be pretty good digs in the chicken world, 'cause when I went out this morning, two other hens are holed up in the laying boxes, refusing to move, and squawking something about, "Just what does a hen have to do to get some service in here?"

Next post: We have plants!

Has it been that long?

Shame on me! I get so wrapped up in jobs around the farm, and I forget to keep my blog family up to date...

Well, Madison has made real gains with Max, the abandoned kitty. As you can see, he trusts us enough now to eat from a bowl, and he has earned a bed on the front porch, toy included...

We've started with a flea/tick collar, to get him used to that, and to help him with the bugs. I've pulled four ticks off him already, but none since the collar. We can make it a "real" collar if he stays through the summer...

The sheep are on pasture full time. Here they are down by the pond, Hattie (center) and her first twins, Jack and Victoria. All camera hams.

The electronet gets moved several times a day to keep the sheep mowing, and tummies full. And Hattie has dandelion duty - she cruises the lawn and nibbles the yellow flowers off in each new section.

(Wonder what they taste like? Lemon? )

And, we are lighter on the rooster load by one. Ewok, the Ameracuana with attitude, found a new owner at the Fairgrounds Tailgate Poultry sale.

But we are up on the fence count...this one is totally decorative.

Flowers to come...

Sunny Monday

I know, it's past Monday, but I have to tell you, it WAS sunny, and we played hookey from all our urban responsibilities...to stay on the farm. I've simply been catching up, and had no time to post!

Monday was MY day to hang with the sheep on the front lawn - this is my dear Hattie (I can barely remember chasing her for two hours up the mountain in the dead of February in my pajamas...she looks like my best friend in the world, no?)

And there were eggs to gather...

And potatoes to plant...and that's when I got into trouble. POISON IVY-(my arch nemesis!) Now I know, it's a hazard of farming. And I know we have plenty of it on the lower lot. And, yes, I know what it looks like, thanks for asking.

But the truth remains, if we don't pull it up, or have the critters eat it, it will continue to exist. (Round Up is out, Mother - organic farm, remember?) So I'm just doing my little part. Besides, there are no leaves to speak of on anything around here, so good luck telling that viney root apart from the other viney roots I was pulling out of the potato patch.

So, yeah, the first (of many) bouts with poison ivy. On my face-all around my left eye and cheek, a smattering on my hands, all across the back of my neck and down the left side, on my right elbow, a stripe across my belly (don't ask - it seems to find it's way there every time...) and on my knees. Yep, despite the spread, it's not a major outbreak. Let's just be thankful it's not on the boobs...this time.

The only comfort - (besides covert scratching when nobody is looking) the DH has it too! No more of that superior "We men of color don't get poison ivy" bullsh**. Hah!

Sunny Sunday

What a gift! Two sunny, beautiful weekend days in a row! Well, you know what that means...

But before chores, there's time for some grazing on the front lawn. (The sheep, not Bill.) Bill is in charge of, what else? Skritches.

"Aaahhh" says Secret.

So there was brush burning, and repairing the firewood shelter, and the mandatory weekend trip to Home Depot for project supplies, and then more chores...

The most interesting chore on the list was goat shearing. The Pygoras needed their coats removed, and this was the day.



Here, Cicero models the new stanchion. (Built from plans in Hobby Farm Magazine) Once Clio realized there was grain involved, she joined in from the front.

Cicero was a pretty good boy, and we got most of the body fleece off in good order. I let the legs, neck and other fleece go, as it was beginning to felt, and I was just hoping to get enough good stuff for me to process, and to get the practice of shearing these guys.

Clio, wasn't bad, but she wasn't perfect either.

See, she has this strange habit of lying down anytime anyone comes near her with shears, clippers, trimmers, thermometers, needles, or medicine. Needless to say, it makes shearing her a challenge. (You should see what the poor girl looks like now!)

Me wonders....what will she be like to milk if we ever breed her? Will her udder be so swollen she wouldn't think of trying to lie down? One can only hope...

Sunny Saturday

A sunny weekend day usually means chores, but we promised ourselves a trip to Hancock Shaker Village, a historic farm/museum/preservation site only 30 minutes drive from our place. It was the last weekend of Baby Animals, and there was sheep shearing...so we couldn't resist!

This round barn is the centerpiece of the farm - it's construction is magnificent! The whole place is awe-inspiring...what beauty there is in the peaceful and thoughtful pursuit of a way of life.

Inside were the baby animals - sheep, pigs, cows, and all sorts. Madison got to help bottle feed a lamb...

There were furniture and woodworking barns...

And we left feeling very satisfied and justified in the lifestyle choices we are making. Everywhere around us were families of all makes and ages, and the one thing that most had in common was their absolute amazement at farm life, and an unsettling ignorance of what the farm is/was all about.

A woman who had no idea what the shearer was doing to the poor ewe, and who was even more clueless as to how that stuff got to be yarn (You only have to do that once for each sheep, right? What?!? Every year? Doesn't that hurt the sheep?) A man who explained to his grandson that the 3-week-old chick, half-feathered and as large as pidgeon, was just hatched. Today. (And as soon as it gets all it's feathers, it will begin to lay an egg every day until it dies.) Another woman who thought maple syrup came right out of the trees, ready to go. (These recipes sound delicious, but who'd want to go to all the effort to cut their trees and get out the syrup? You cook it to get it that way? But, why?) And a man who couldn't tell the difference between a goat and a sheep, despite the big yellow signs that identified all the animals. (You have to look at the back, dear. Those ones with the big bags back there are goats, because that is where goat's milk comes from. And the ones with horns are all sheep. Curly horns are males, straight horns are females.)

We couldn't leave without perusing the gift shop, where DH found edibles, and the midget and I found books, books, and more books. (Gotta haves.)

Back at the ranch by 3:00, and the chores began. Rototilling, mailbox installation, feeding, and moving roosters, and more (pictures tomorrow!)

And we made a new friend.

Or, I should say, Madison made a new friend. This is a feral? cat that has been hanging around since last summer. She/he is sooooo timid, and has a very damaged right ear, and if my eyes don't deceive me, a funny gait with that back left leg. Perhaps abuse? What ever the circumstances, my patient and kind little midget spent all afternoon coaxing it out from under the porch with milk and cat food. She has dubbed "it" Max.

Damp, Dull, Dark, and Dreary - But you asked for it...

I've been asked by everyone, "What's up?" and "When are you posting?" and the truth is, I've been trying to spare you all, but since you asked...

It's been raining, and raining, and raining. And then, raining. Everything is damp. And muddy. Even the chickens. This is Blueberry, a normally fluffy, bright Blue Cochin. (Well, OK, light blue-grey.)

These are the sheep. (Or at least sheep-butts. ) Not anywhere near as interesting as say, lambs. They are dull. At least lately. No shearing excitement, no woman exploring their ewe-terus, no sheep-coated cuteness. Don't get me wrong - I love them dearly. But they do have their high moments and their low...

Today was the last of the maple season. We took in the taps, tubes, tubs, and pails. The sap is cloudy (a sure sign) and the syrup is dark. The earlier in the season, the lighter the syrup. (That's where grading comes in). We produce "kettle" syrup, cooked over an open fire, which is already darker and richer in flavor than commercially produced. But when it's this dark, it's time to wrap up the season. We produced over three gallons of syrup, which translates to something over 120+ gallons of sap collected.

And, well, these are the neighbors. Turkey vultures. Each afternoon they circle the farm, in huge loops; there are over a dozen of them. I was never able to get more than two in the camera lens at one time, circling before they roost in the pines. Even in their red-headed ugliness, they usually evoke a sense of awe as they glide in a blue sky, but this grey is just dreary.

(Sigh)

(Perfect weather to curl up and knit some socks...)

Parsley Perseverance

What a lesson I've learned from parsley. It is one of the hardest damned things to get started from seed... (Isn't that always the way of things?) but look!

That's last year's parsley - coming back! Frankly, we're not zoned for that, madam.

I took that picture yesterday. Here's a view today, from our front porch, looking down on the lower lot where the parsley perseveres:

Can't you see it? Right down there on the left, tucked in the corner of the fenced in area which is the main garden.

Honest. It WAS Spring yesterday. But if the parsely can persevere in this, so can we.