Gracious Thank You!

I was nominated for something very nice.  By a very nice person I met through blogging.  And it may look to her like I've ignored the nod, but really I haven't. It's just I am struggling to try and figure out this new technology...

It means that Kathy reads the blog, and finds it inspiring and thoughtful and positive and she's ready to say so!

What a compliment!  I started blogging out of curiosity with the medium, and stuck with it because of the connections I made around the world, and I feel dedicated to it as a way of sharing important ideas and events.  So part of this nomination is to share with you other blogs I feel are inspiring and thoughtful and positive.  That would be a constantly growing list, as I love to link and read and follow all sorts of cybertrails...but kudos (to start) to these:

A Shepherd's Voice: this was my first "blog" I followed, and I continue to be impressed and heartened by Nancy's frank sharing of her ups and downs, and also treated to some of the best farm photography I have ever seen.  The fact that many of her photos feature Shetland Sheep, is well, a bonus.

Pretending to Farm: What fun to follow the life of another woman who loves this lifestyle as much as I do, and is determined to cram it into her little acreage and chaotic family no matter what.  (A kindred spirit...)  And a damn good writer, too...did I mention?

Sheep Thrills Farm:  Just when you (ignorantly) thought that the whole world was doing it just like you...you discover someone who shakes up that notion every day.  She lives in Arizona (cacti, sand, heat and lizards, right???) and raises (what else?) Shetlands.  Nope.  She's got everything Upstate NY, except the maple syrup.

Boulderneigh: More than once Michelle and I have noticed the parallels in our lives, but let me tell you, she is the good twin.  She takes life with more grace and faith than I ever could.  And she can spin...wish she were East Coast so she could teach me!

Knitting &: I met Karin when she had a LYS in Albany, and her creativity and energy always inspire me.  Visit her blog and follow her soapbox moments, too, they're just as good as her knitting!

Now that's only 5; there's more, but I don't dare try too big a post with this new computer....yet.

 

There's an explanation...

For my substantial blog absence, that is.  First, there was company.  And the company brought a new I-Mac. (Note: I have been a PC gal for over a decade, and this object is COMPLETELY foreign to me)  And work just went crazy busy.  There's a lot I can share with you, but let me just try this one blog post with the new equipment, and we'll go forth from there...

The goats are freshening, and there are babies everywhere! These are some of the first, sharing a playpen. Now, Shetland enthusiasts, don't despair...I am not converting to goats, but without any lambs this year, I have to settle...

So, check this out. (Still fascinating, no matter how many times I get to see it, birth is simply amazing.) My Shetland girls always lambed in secret, robbing me of any fun. These goats are not nearly as shy, and by now I am just another "post in the barn", so to speak, so I had a front row seat.

Viola!  

(Note: DH and daughter thought these pictures were disgusting, and ran from the computer with a chorus of Eeewww! and Yech!)

Now, putting this post together has frazzled my patience, so you'll have to wait for further updates...and if anyone can tell me why this blasted cursor rockets off to the edge of the screen with no warning, I'd love to hear it.  That never happened with the PC...just saying...

It's Off To Work We Go

The first blog I ever read with any regularity was Nancy's, and you might say she inspired me to start my own. She has also inspired me to show you my "commute" to work, much as she did.

Commuting has changed considerably, since my life has done such a 180 degree turn and launched me into farming full time...it's gone from an hour to just over ten minutes. Perhaps not much to see in 8 or so miles, but here we go...

Much of the drive is framed by the low mountains of the Taconics, nestled between the Green Mountains of Vermont, the Berkshires of Massachusetts, and the Adirondacks of New York. We are literally at the joining of the three states. It's that dismal time of the year for scenery, and this was taken just hours before an ice storm hit...the grey is both permeating and foreboding.

Half of the commute we travel alongside either the Little Hoosic River, or the main Hoosic River.

And if you blink when you pass through this intersection in the heart of Hoosick, NY you would miss the Moose Store, where they have EVERYTHING moose. It is a relatively new enterprise, designed to capture the tourist crowd as they zip past from New Jersey (mostly) on their way to Vermont (to ski, I suppose) but I think it's survival will actually depend on the favor of the locals. And so far, the upscale, opportunistic owner from a Saratoga bedroom community doesn't "get" that. He refuses to feature local farmers, producers or artists unless they present their product slathered in moose labels or kitchy moose-themed marketing. Yeah, good luck with that, bub. Seemingly better are the Mennonite artisans who have opened a furniture shop here almost two years ago. The giant chair is a recent addition to the roadside signage, and I so want to sit in it and get my picture taken. Probably just like the hundreds of folks who drive past each day. (I bet that could get old quick if I worked there...)

And every day I am reminded of the deep history of this place...like Mr. Fraser here, who was with Lewis and Clark when they explored the Louisiana Purchase, among other things. I pass his birthplace.

At last, on to the farm, which is framed first by the maple grove, ready for tapping in just a few weeks:

Finally, the hub of the farm which sits nestled in the center of 600 acres:

I did, however, have one advantage over Nancy. I had my own photographer to help me:

She's the one on the right...

No picture, please

There is not, and should not be, a photograph for today's post. It was cold again today, so we decided on another "off-season" task: caprine pedicures.

For those unaquainted with nasty, overgrown goat's feet, let me tell you this. Yech, yech, and yech. Worse than your worst imaginings. Remember, these guys trot around in mud and manure pretty much all the time. Their hooves, like fingernails, grow constantly. And therefore need trimming at least twice a year. I do the Pygoras on our farm every time I shear them. (About every 6 months) I won't even venture a guess when the last time these diary goats were trimmed...but, back to the facts. Both the inner and outer walls of the hoof must be trimmed, any gunk present scraped away, and even the pad trimmed down if it is not flat. You go until you see pink tint in the hoof, then stop before you draw blood.

And although I have done this chore myself for several years, and read plenty of "how-to's", the essence of the job was revealed to me when my boss explained, "trim the hoof parallel to the hair line" for the best shaping. And, "keep the sole FLAT." It was just one of those "light-bulb" moments, when all that I had read and sort of understood just fell away, and the clarity and simplicity of her instruction hit home. Not to mention I had to repeat those instructions to myself 120 times. Yep. I trimmed 120 goat feet at work today.

So, instead of the photo of gnarly hooves, grimy hands, toe funk, nail trimmings, and the occasional pile of poo, I leave you with this:

Sunday, one of the barn kitties, was napping across the warm back of Purple Collar. (Not an incredibly interesting name, but these are production animals, and not pets...) She sat up for the photo - sorry for the alien eyes, but you get the idea.

What I Did At Work Today

(Froze my freaking butt off!) OK, really. It is winter, and we are not milking, therefore there is no cheese to make. So what is a "farmer" to do?

There is a pasture across the road from the main farm that is long overdue for a mowing/clean-up/conditioning, so we are planning to run a Mowing Menagerie there this Spring, and eat up all the rose bushes, bramble, young trees, and other stuff cluttering the view. To get ready, we need to remove decades-old barbed wire in dire dis-repair, rotten old fence posts with various hardware, garbage etc. and make it safe for the critters.



Today was our second day of clean-up: clip the run of wire between fallen posts, pull the strand free from the bracken and honeysuckle, fold it up to a portable size, and into the farm pick-up. Save all the loose nails, staples and bits for the bucket, and on to the next strand. Pile all fallen or broken off posts for pick-up later, and keep your eyes peeled for plastic fence posts, old electric wire, beer bottles, oil cans, and shotgun shells. (Annoying red plastic does not belong in a pasture...it hurts the eyes) Sounds easy enough, but remember, the fence is in an area that looks much like this:

But without most of the pretty snow...

And I am unclear why exactly they say witches' gazongas are so cold, but I was definitely as cold as them today - the windchill was -5 F for most of the day. Except when it was -6 F. Brrrr.

Wow...who knew?

My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is: Her Most Serene Highness Lady Melanie the Talkative of Tempting St Mary Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title

I discovered this with a little help from Lauren and Beth and RevJen. Now, who do we think the Tempting St. Mary is...would that be Mary Magdalene? Interesting company, to say the least.

However, if I am to live up to my title, I surely must post more...

Timing is everything

It's that time of year. Time to remind our egg customers of the seasonal nature of free-range eggs. Most understand, but there's always a few who don't want to acknowledge that Slow Food and being a "locavore" (one who eats locally) has it's realities.

"...egg laying is triggered by day length, so most of our breeds naturally stop or slow down in winter. Availability might be limited in January & February..."

It's the lesson we find ourselves constantly teaching to folks...and it is comforting to know we are not alone...

And speaking of timing, the Ravelry tide has turned: there are now more people in line behind me than in front of me!

Chicken Dance

Besides being the infamous oom-pah wedding song from Werner Thomas, it's the apt description of my morning chores that takes up far too much of my where-did-it-all-go-to? time. Somehow my daughter's hobby, and my indulgences and bleeding heart have led to:

First, there's the regular laying flock of Surprise and his dozen plus girls. They lay the eggs, so the earn the money. No problem so far.

Only, one Red Cochin hen has decided coop life is too, well, cooped-up for her, and she has found a way out of the penned yard every day. Like a feathered Houdini, she defies logic and crafty incarceration attempts and finds her way out. So every morning I am greeted by this:

She waddles over, pleased as punch with herself, as if she is supposed to be outside the enclosure. All would be forgiven if she would then return with no fuss to the pen, but...no. So the dance starts with all the rest of the flock lined up at the fence (cheering her on, I just know it...) and me chasing her around till I've cornered her to get her back in the pen. Some days I'm just not up to it and I default to the Red Scoop of Joy, and toss a whole bunch of grain in there and watch her race to join the feeding frenzy. Now, they would be getting fed eventually anyway, but this way it feels just too much like the chickens are calling the shots, and the dumb human is being played like a banjo.

But then there's the "exceptions" who require separate housing and board. Like Pecky...

...who is now occupying the former maternity ward for broody hens, as she was a summer hatchling Ameracauna who is too big to be housed with her brood-mates, but is too small to be safely released in the regular flock because the harrassment is just too awful. (Hen-pecked doesn't even BEGIN to describe it...)

So after feeding her, I have to take care of her brood-mates Caesar and Jelly, offspring of the award-wining Buff, who are bantams and just too small to be in with real chickens ever.

Next, there's loud-mouth Gomer, who I just think is the cutest little rooster ever, and who needs a hen in the worst way, but thankfully Red Pyle Old English Game Bantams do not just grow on trees around here...

And on to the "outlyers", (that is the parents of Caesar and Jelly), Buff and Stenson, who live in a chicken condo of their own, mostly because they're bantams, so again, too small to be in with regular chickens, and also because too much sun and outdoors time would fade their plumage. It was also told to us that bantams are very broody, and the spearate digs were to encourage them to raise a bunch of show-quality chicks, however Buff emphatically states that motherhood is not in her contract, and Caesar and Jelly can thank their existence to the fact that broody hens don't care much about whose eggs they sit on, so long as there's eggs.

(Oh, blast! Where did THAT picture go?)

Joining them are the newest pair, Salmon Favorolles named Zeus and Maya:

They have five toes. That's one more than normal for most chickens. However, the novelty of this is wearing thin, as they eat just as much as regular chickens. So they are stop # 6 on the Chicken Breakfast Express.

And just because I need more exercise, I finish all the way across the property by feeding the turkeys.

So, this weekend, we are doing some serious systems work. Shrinking. Consolidation. Re-configuring. After all, I've signed up for Ravelry, and I'm gonna need every spare moment I can get. Enough Chicken Dancing for this gal.

Flying solo with Brie

It's been just a little over a month, and I have been frantically trying to suck up every morsel of cheese-making expertise and instruction from my new boss. She moves around the cheesehouse so naturally, and has all of this experience and understanding tucked so deeply away that she does things without even being aware of it, not to mention the tons of little "shortcuts" she knows and does...it's a little daunting to learn this way, but she tolerates questions, so I am picking it up.

I flew solo today; making a batch of cow milk brie from start to finish by myself. We poured out twenty eight or so of the larger molds, which when finished will sell for $10 each. I have no idea the weight of these wheels, but they are roughly the size of a saucer (6-7 inches in diameter and 2 inches thick). It takes about a month for them to grow their white mold casing, so I won't be able to taste them for a while.

I've learned to wax cheese, stack cheddar curd, brush cheese wheels, cut curds, stir the whey, and on and on, but this was the first time she let me go. Considering we were dealing with almost $300 worth of cheese, it was no small trust.

On the home front, 4 out of 5 sheep are clipped and coated, the last of the apples are being picked this weekend for cider, and the winter wheat still sits on the front porch, mocking me in its plastic-bagged state. With company planned for the weekend, it remains to be seen what I can get done. Trying to farm as a job, and keep this wee farm going is a constant race for time. Too bad all I want to do now is sit and knit...

We found this little fellow trying out our cellar out as a potential winter hibernation spot:

Actually very striking and pretty, this milk snake was about 18" long, still a baby. Hopefully, it finds a home in the rock wall and settles in before a serious freeze.

Speaking of settling in, there's a set of dpn's laden with alpaca calling to me...

The Power of Poo

First lesson learned on the new job: never underestimate the power of poo. Honestly, this place grows vegetables that look like they're on steroids. I've never seen potatoes this big. Granted, using them as baked potatoes might challenge even the sturdiest microwave or conventional oven, but they make dandy fries!

It just highlights the importance of good soil, and the efforts to get and keep such soil in your fields. The 50+ cows in the farm herd are kept mostly for their manure and the improvement of the fields. (Organic hamburger and steak being the second obvious benefit of these guys...)

I have also learned that a foot and a half of cow poo and mud can suck your boots off. Really. So walking slowly and deliberately around the farm is not a quaint mannerism of full-time farmers; nope, it's one way to make sure your foot is boot-covered before stomping it down in a jaunty trot across the field. I know this. (I suppose you can figure out just how I know this...)

On our farm, the garlic went in this week, covered with sheep poo and barn whatsit as a mulch and soil enhancer. Last year we planted approximately 80-90 cloves; this year we planted close to 300. Mostly red hard-neck, but also took some softneck for braiding from work, and some white hardneck that has been the farm standard for them.

Cheesemaking continues to fascinate me, and my apprenticeship is just beginning. The only thing (I believe) I can do reliably well is turn and brush the wheels in the cheese cellar. But I am learning from a master, all the while she is running the whole huge farm, so starting this week I am taking notes. Really. Because my brain is overflowing with little details that I need to remember and that took her ten years to accumulate.

And what is this? This is what happens when the conservative, PC parochial school decides Halloween is no longer an appropriate holiday and they appease the eager youngsters with All Saints Day (dress up as your favorite saint!) and Mommy quickly suggests the only saint that offers a sliver of a chance to be at all fun - St. Francis of Assissi, patron saint of animals and animal lovers (or something like that). So we pack up one of the Buff Brahma Bantam hens and dress in a very fuzzy and comfy imitation of a monk's robe, and join the scary procession of classmates dressed in mini-nun outfits. Those girls looked like one big nun recruitment poster. I am so glad we didn't go there. Considering she doesn't actually like candy anyway, bringing a chicken to school garnished as much fun as trick-or-treat, and really set the nuns and staff on edge for the day. Especially the part where the kids get to go to chapel in costume...

(I'm going to hell. I know this. But lots of my friends are probably there as well...)

And then there was....change

When I started to write this blog, I was employed as a trainer and curriculum writer of material for the Human Service field. Farming was incredibly interesting, and was my real love, although I couldn't see any clear way to making it my living...at least not yet.

Based on my years of good performance and written material, along comes a multi-million-dollar contract, which made my administrators drool and ooze from every bodily orifice, and for which I was to dedicate the bulk of my work time, although I still worked for The Agency. Somewhere along the way, I was sold over to The Contract, and like a Vegas marriage, I was hitched along with no clue how I got there.

After almost a solid year of frustration and bureaucracy in which the bull-shit-o-meter registered almost constant 100, The Agency had already spent too much of the multi-millions, and despite regular warnings from me to start pushing back and making clear our concerns with the behavior of The Contract parties, The Agency found themselves in a bind. So with a ruthlessness and desperation that was reminiscent of a fox that chews its own paw off in the trap, or the lion that will eat the cubs to eliminate any trace of a former rival, my boss (and former best-friend) cut me loose. That Vegas marriage had obliterated all of my former good works and value to The Agency: I was unemployed.

Now anyone that does any farming at all, even the Wee amount we do, knows that does not mean I had nothing to do. I simply spent the first two weeks trying to catch up on necessary chores and pre-winter projects around here to allow the blood to clot, and the sting to heal. (A bit...)

And in a strange twist of fate...I find myself working again. For a farmer! An organic farmer! A woman-run business, organic farm! A woman-run, organic, MAKING MONEY farm! (Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus...)

So, I have stepped off the edge and am going for it. Yeah, making a living at farming. Or making my best effort to, so I will never have to look back and wonder, "Could I have...?" Much of what my new employer/mentor does is what I want to do, only on a much grander scale, (with bigger machines), but knowledge is knowledge, and I learn something amazing every day.

And I'll keep you posted...

Talkin' Turkey

Something new on the farm - turkeys! We have never tried to raise meat poultry on the farm, because we've never had anyone to "process" them in the end, but circumstances have changed, and here we go!

First, I had to build a pen. So from this:

(the old pheasant pen...a 4-H project...)

To this:

With old or green lumber, no power tools, no concept of level, and no directions...it's fantabulous! Or at least Madison and the poults think so...

That's one Narragansett, and three Bourbon Reds. Sex unknown. At least for now...

These guys were the first installment on the new career (more about that coming), and a new "mentor" for the farm, and well, ...you'll see.

NESSA '07

The Northeast Shetland Sheepbreeders met at Maple Ridge Farm in Vermont a week or so ago, and I've been holding off reporting so as not to "leak" news of our project, but I think it's safe now...

We are a small group, but this year we hailed from New Hampshire, Vermont, Massachusetts, and New York.

We discussed all kinds of sheepy stuff like marketing our fleeces, composting animals, testing hay, but the discussion that was most lively was around breed standards and especially colors. Shetlands come in a rainbow of colors, 11 recognized for showing and registering purposes. But there is much debate about what's what, and people are constantly trying to make up new names to describe the subtleties they see in their flocks, and it makes it challenging for breeders and anyone trying to promote the breed yet stay true to our Shetland roots...Just look at some of the variety in Linda's flock (her rams):

Her ewes:

It was after the potluck that we got to go "play" with some of Linda's sheep. Here is one particularly friendly ewe (the Walmart greeter of the flock):

Fleece inspection:

And it was during all this activity that we formulated the "project"

We're going to collect fleece samples and try to get the definitive, "scientific" scale of Shetland colors...or something like that. I'll post a link to the group discussion when it's posted.

Meet Gomer

For those of you not running around with a copy of Poultry Breed Standards tucked under your arm, this guy is an Old English Game Bantam Red Pyle. (Nod if you understand the choice of name...my second choice was Rock, and my daughter hates them both.)

He is a chicken with no real purpose in life, other than to look good. Perhaps someday he will father other little Pyles, (if I take a blow to the head and decide raising bantam chickens is one of my newly discovered passions) otherwise his coming to the farm was just another rescue/acquisition for the stash. Apparently, the concept of stash does not only apply to yarn. His previous owner is going away to college (in a large city where they frown on poultry in the dorms, no matter how small or handsome) and had to find a home for him. In his current state, which is with comb and wattles (a flaw for Old English Game bantams) no one wanted him, and so home to the farm he came. I have no plans to take scalpel and cauterizing iron to his head just to make him "right".

But you have to admit, he is handsome. Doesn't he look just like the model for half of the chicken/country brick-a-brack you see lining the walls of _________(fill in name of the large box store of your choice)?

We think so. Now to build him a coop....

Anybody Wanna Do Some Dyeing?

It bothers me to waste stuff. So when I have an abundance of something, if I can't save it or put it to use, I am determined to share. This year we have an abundance of butternuts off the trees on our farm. More than I ever remember having in all the years we have lived here. I use them for natural dyeing; they give a nice, coffee brown color on natural wool, and are pretty easy to use.


So does anybody out there want to try some? I will mail you a box with enough butternuts for at least a two skein batch and instructions. All I ask is that you post your results on your blog, or e-mail me to let me know how it came out. Of course, you're not obligated to dye yarn, but that's up to you. Mind you, if you were to send me some dye plant stuffs from your corner of the world that I could play with, I wouldn't mail them back, but you DON'T HAVE TO.

Today, in between bouts of cooking, I dyed with some goldenrod flowers and got the nice pale yellow on the right. The honey color on the left is red onion skins. What fun!

Fox Hunt

When I type the words, it brings to mind the genteel, pretty picture of steeds and hounds, bounding across an English countryside laced with manicured hedges and the call of a brass horn...(it's just a mental picture, actually I don't think chasing down a fox with a troup of dogs and humans is sport, fair, or even nice, but...)

But like so many other things, on our farm the reality does not come close to the vision.

As it is with the fox. Or foxes, to be accurate. There is a mother and her single, surviving pup, now pretty grown up. I say surviving, because grey foxes usually have litters of 2-4, and we have no proof of demise, but just assumed.

They ate Speedy. Speedy, for those who do not know, was a bantam rooster we hatched on the farm, and despite his fiesty and sometimes aggressive personality, he was my buddy. So we do not like these foxes. And although they have helped us curb the rabbit population, I would prefer nibbled veggies to losing our poultry pals.

So, we are hunting the foxes. We all would prefer to catch them and move them to the state land three miles down the road, but this has proved harder than we would like.

1st Attempt: Bait the trap with a rotisserie chicken wing and wait.

Although the right color, not exactly what we were hoping for.

2nd attempt: Try a piece of the chicken skin.

Some sneaky little creature dug underneath the trap, and removed the skin by pulling it through the bottom. It's the right intelligence, but not the outcome we were hoping for.

3rd Attempt: DH thinks we should use apples, since we have watched the foxes eat the windfalls, I think apples are too available, and opt for an egg.

At dusk, we checked the trap, and DH reported the egg was gone. So either this Einstein really did go in for the apples, which lay by the dozens all around, or it went something like this:

Rocky: Hey, what's that over there?

Rascal: Dunno, let's go check it out.

Rocky: Why don't you go in it?
Rascal: Why don't YOU do it?
Rocky: What? You chicken?
Rascal: OK, fine. Watch me.

(Clang!)

Rascal: Hey! Get me out of here! You made me go in...don't leave me!
Rocky: Cool your jets, I'll dig you out. Wait till I tell the boys about this one...

Rascal: Shut up and dig, man!

Rocky: Sorry pal, but I'm not getting anywhere. What did you go in there for in the first place?
Rascal: Shut up.

4th Attempt: Bait the trap with cat food. We have also seen the foxes eating the cat food.

Just the distance of the photo should tell you what we caught this time, in case you can't tell...Needless to say, this one did not end with the same happy outcome as the others. (Animal Lovers: We are open to any tips on how to empty a live trap of a skunk without necessitating extensive bathing in tomato juice and driving to work with all the windows open...short of that, it was "Hello to Mister .22")

5th Attempt: (Still waiting for the trap to air out...)

Meanwhile...another puzzle.

Several weeks ago we found the feathery remains of something on the lawn. Too many feathers for it to have been a close call, or happy ending, and pretty much the look of a raptor kill. But the feathers were all a light grey, covered with polka dots of white. I was stumped.

This morning, as I went back up to the house for Mister .22, I found a carcass in the middle of the path.

The size of one of our laying hens, at first I thought that's what it was. Thankfully, none of ours match the description, and frankly no chicken I've ever seen has the grey and polka dot plumage...so I'm thinking young guinea hen? Any thoughts? Before you tell me to check the head, there was none.

And if anyone wants to weigh in on the predator...

BTW- none of our neighbors have guinea fowl. At least none of our neighbors within "several blocks". So that just makes the whole thing even more strange. So it goes around here...