We have two goats due to kid on Sunday, but the tail ligaments are gone on both of them, which means they are likely to kid within 24 hours. When Katherine went out to the barn 45 minutes ago to check on them, it looked like Sherri had a contraction. She pushed her legs out in front of her, and she curled her lip. Katherine came running back to the house, and we both went running out there with towels. Sherri has a history of surprising people with her babies.
She was born on a farm in Michigan, and she had her first babies there. They were born in the pasture because by the time her owner noticed she was in labor and went to clean a pen for her, it was too late. Sherri's first kids here were born in the pasture. Her daughter, Shirley, nearly died from exposure. Sherri always has triplets, and typically when goats have three, the last one or two come out really fast, which means the mama may not have time to clean off all of them. Such was the case with Shirley. We found her in the pasture, looking dead and soaking wet. Both her siblings were nursing. My son reached her first and picked her up. He screamed, "It's alive." I grabbed the kid from him, not knowing if it was a boy or a girl, and not completely believing his proclamation that it was indeed alive. As I ran for the house, I screamed back, "Are you sure?" I felt no movement, saw no movement. When I reached the house, I filled the sink with water that felt like it was around 100 degrees. I plunged the little baby in the water, keeping its head up, and I began briskly rubbing its body. When I was still, I felt the chest expand with a breath. I looked under the tail and saw that it was a girl. "Don't get your hopes up on this one," I said to my daughter when she came into the kitchen. I put my finger in the kid's mouth. It felt like ice water. "Her body temperature is really low. We may have found her too late." Ten minutes later, she started to move a little. I dried her off and moved her to a heating pad on the couch. An hour later, she was taking milk from a bottle, and a year later, she was eating the bark off my apple trees!
Last year, Sherri almost surprised us again. I woke up at 1 a.m. to go to the bathroom. While I was sitting on the toilet, I thought I heard a noise over the baby monitor, but I wasn't sure. I picked it up and held it to my ear. I played with the volume, higher, lower, higher -- finally, I was sure that I did hear something. Not wanting to wake anyone because I wasn't certain that it was "the real thing," I put on my clothes and went out to the barn. Just as I walked up to the stall and looked inside, a head started to come out of Sherri. "Oh my!" I was glad that I had grabbed some towels. I sat down next to her and welcomed her three beautiful babies.
With the loss of Venus's babies still painfully fresh in everyone's mind, we can't miss any births. Margaret is in town buying a baby monitor as I type. Katherine is headed back to the barn with a walkie-talkie, so she can call me if anything happens. I'm not convinced that it's going to happen tonight. I spent about half an hour in the barn, and I didn't see Sherri do anything that looked like birth was close, but we don't want to take any chances.
Friday, January 5, 2007
Monday, January 1, 2007
Holiday meals and living with nature
I need to get back into the habit of posting regularly. So much has been happening here lately. Today, we had roast pheasant for our New Year Day dinner. It was, of course, homegrown. Sadly, it's the last of the pheasant. I really enjoyed the meat, but raising the birds is difficult as they fight too much.
Speaking of fighting ... once again, I am reminded of the laws of nature. This past summer, a mama hen hatched a clutch of eggs, and these two roosters appeared to be best friends. You never saw one without the other. I've written before about the importance of not having too many roosters. We learned the hard way that if there are too many roosters, they'll fight to the death, so we always butcher the roosters to keep the number down. These two boys seemed different though. Just the other day, I said, "We can't butcher one of them. The other one would miss him too much." We'd see them out in the east pasture every morning, and we'd see them following each other everywhere on the farm. Then yesterday afternoon, I saw them fighting. I knew from experience that it does no good to break it up. They'll just start fighting again the minute I'm gone. I shook my head and hoped they'd work it out as I walked away from the window. This morning, I looked out to the east pasture and saw only one rooster. Later, I looked out the dining room window and saw the same lone rooster. Last night, my younger daughter said that one of the roosters had a pretty bloody head. I sent my eldest daughter to the chicken house to see if she could find him. A few minutes later, she was headed back to the house carrying what looked like a dead rooster. He wasn't dead, but he was close. He couldn't even hold up his head. I told my husband he needed to put him out of his misery. I guess there is no such thing as friendship for roosters.
On December 27, Lizzie gave birth to twin doelings. They are beautiful and sweet. They'll come up to you and sniff you, and they love to be held. They'll curl up on your lap and fall asleep.
The next day, Venus gave birth to triplets, but they all died. She was a first-time mom, and she didn't clean the babies off. They either suffocated in the amniotic sac or froze to death from being wet too long. Only a couple days earlier, someone asked me why we have to be there for the births. I said we really don't have to do much other than dry off the babies. That doesn't sound like it's very important, but it is. We've almost lost babies to hypothermia before, but luckily, we always found them while they were still alive. We were able to get them warmed up, but we weren't so lucky this time. I was really depressed for two days. I felt so guilty. We normally have a baby monitor in the barn, so we'll know if someone is giving birth. But we haven't been able to find the monitor. I thought about buying another one, but then I figured I'd find the old one as soon as I bought the new one. I felt dreadful when we found the dead babies. They were perfect. I have no doubt they'd all be alive today if only we had that baby monitor. We have two more goats due on January 7. If we don't find the baby monitor in the next couple days, we'll definitely be buying a new one.
When this kind of thing happens, people always ask what animals in the wild do. If you've been reading my blog for long, you might remember what I said about the mama turkeys ... they only have to raise one to adulthood to replace themselves. Nature is inherently wasteful but wise. In the wild, if Venus never learned to clean off her babies when they're born, none of her babies would survive, and her lack of mothering instincts would not be passed on to another generation.
Speaking of fighting ... once again, I am reminded of the laws of nature. This past summer, a mama hen hatched a clutch of eggs, and these two roosters appeared to be best friends. You never saw one without the other. I've written before about the importance of not having too many roosters. We learned the hard way that if there are too many roosters, they'll fight to the death, so we always butcher the roosters to keep the number down. These two boys seemed different though. Just the other day, I said, "We can't butcher one of them. The other one would miss him too much." We'd see them out in the east pasture every morning, and we'd see them following each other everywhere on the farm. Then yesterday afternoon, I saw them fighting. I knew from experience that it does no good to break it up. They'll just start fighting again the minute I'm gone. I shook my head and hoped they'd work it out as I walked away from the window. This morning, I looked out to the east pasture and saw only one rooster. Later, I looked out the dining room window and saw the same lone rooster. Last night, my younger daughter said that one of the roosters had a pretty bloody head. I sent my eldest daughter to the chicken house to see if she could find him. A few minutes later, she was headed back to the house carrying what looked like a dead rooster. He wasn't dead, but he was close. He couldn't even hold up his head. I told my husband he needed to put him out of his misery. I guess there is no such thing as friendship for roosters.
On December 27, Lizzie gave birth to twin doelings. They are beautiful and sweet. They'll come up to you and sniff you, and they love to be held. They'll curl up on your lap and fall asleep.
The next day, Venus gave birth to triplets, but they all died. She was a first-time mom, and she didn't clean the babies off. They either suffocated in the amniotic sac or froze to death from being wet too long. Only a couple days earlier, someone asked me why we have to be there for the births. I said we really don't have to do much other than dry off the babies. That doesn't sound like it's very important, but it is. We've almost lost babies to hypothermia before, but luckily, we always found them while they were still alive. We were able to get them warmed up, but we weren't so lucky this time. I was really depressed for two days. I felt so guilty. We normally have a baby monitor in the barn, so we'll know if someone is giving birth. But we haven't been able to find the monitor. I thought about buying another one, but then I figured I'd find the old one as soon as I bought the new one. I felt dreadful when we found the dead babies. They were perfect. I have no doubt they'd all be alive today if only we had that baby monitor. We have two more goats due on January 7. If we don't find the baby monitor in the next couple days, we'll definitely be buying a new one.
When this kind of thing happens, people always ask what animals in the wild do. If you've been reading my blog for long, you might remember what I said about the mama turkeys ... they only have to raise one to adulthood to replace themselves. Nature is inherently wasteful but wise. In the wild, if Venus never learned to clean off her babies when they're born, none of her babies would survive, and her lack of mothering instincts would not be passed on to another generation.
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Christmas on Antiquity Oaks
The day began with the usual fun of opening Christmas presents and eating Mike's homemade cinnamon rolls. Then a couple hours later, Margaret walked in with a look of sad resignation on her face. She held her wet hands out in front of her and shook her head. I knew what that meant.
I jumped up and said, "No! Who kidded? Are they dead?"
Margaret continued shaking her head from side to side and said, "Beauty. It was ice cold and still in the sack. There were two other ones, tiny skulls and legs."
I pulled on my coat, grabbed a plastic grocery bag, and headed for the barn. The fully developed one was a solid black buck. The other two were tiny. The heads were less than half the size of a normal kids, and the legs looked like toothpicks. They had clearly stopped developing a few weeks ago, perhaps a couple months. There was nothing we could do at that point. As we headed back to the house, I said, "At least the ground isn't frozen. We can bury them."
I thought about my comments the day before. "I want Christmas babies!" We had two goats due on December 25, and one due December 20. Surely someone was bound to kid on Christmas Day. I talked about naming them Holly and Ivy and St. Nick. I felt foolish for saying that I wanted Christmas babies. I said to the family, "I understand why people always just say they want healthy babies. I got what I thought I wanted -- Christmas babies -- but really I just want healthy babies."
I jumped up and said, "No! Who kidded? Are they dead?"
Margaret continued shaking her head from side to side and said, "Beauty. It was ice cold and still in the sack. There were two other ones, tiny skulls and legs."
I pulled on my coat, grabbed a plastic grocery bag, and headed for the barn. The fully developed one was a solid black buck. The other two were tiny. The heads were less than half the size of a normal kids, and the legs looked like toothpicks. They had clearly stopped developing a few weeks ago, perhaps a couple months. There was nothing we could do at that point. As we headed back to the house, I said, "At least the ground isn't frozen. We can bury them."
I thought about my comments the day before. "I want Christmas babies!" We had two goats due on December 25, and one due December 20. Surely someone was bound to kid on Christmas Day. I talked about naming them Holly and Ivy and St. Nick. I felt foolish for saying that I wanted Christmas babies. I said to the family, "I understand why people always just say they want healthy babies. I got what I thought I wanted -- Christmas babies -- but really I just want healthy babies."
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Learning about pigs
We just discovered that one of the pigs has a hernia. Apparently this is rather common in pigs. I've never heard of a goat or a sheep having one, but the pig farmers on my Internet list say it's common in pigs. We haven't added a new species of animal to the farm in a few years, so it's unusual for me to be so unsure about how to handle a situation. I am back on-line, asking for advice from seasoned veterans. Having a problem with a pig is very interesting and probably very unnerving for most people -- since it is a food animal, there is no question about it's value. It doesn't make a lot of sense to run up a big vet bill when you're just going to eat the animal in a few months. In this case, it looks like he'll become dinner sooner rather than later.
I've also learned that hernias in pigs are hereditary, so I wouldn't want to breed him -- except that he is a barrow (castrated male). Makes me wonder though if the gilt is related to him. If so, it might not be a good idea to keep her for breeding. I wouldn't want to have a bunch of piglets with hernias.
I've also learned a lot about castrating. Apparently if you're going to butcher a pig at six months, you really don't need to castrate him. They'll grow faster if they're not castrated, and they don't reach sexual maturity by then, so it doesn't affect the taste of the meat. So, I've decided that whenever we do decide to start raising our own piglets, we won't be castrating them. Makes no sense to put them through the misery of castration if it's unnecessary.
With the unseasonable weather we've been having (temps in the 60s!!!), we're getting a lot of work done outside. The yard and the barn are looking nice. Looks like we'll have a few more nice days, then the temperatures will be back below freezing.
My Thanksgiving break from school is ending, so tomorrow, it's back to class. Only three weeks to go, then I'll have a month off. Seed catalogs start to arrive after Christmas, and I can't wait to start planning the garden for next spring!
I've also learned that hernias in pigs are hereditary, so I wouldn't want to breed him -- except that he is a barrow (castrated male). Makes me wonder though if the gilt is related to him. If so, it might not be a good idea to keep her for breeding. I wouldn't want to have a bunch of piglets with hernias.
I've also learned a lot about castrating. Apparently if you're going to butcher a pig at six months, you really don't need to castrate him. They'll grow faster if they're not castrated, and they don't reach sexual maturity by then, so it doesn't affect the taste of the meat. So, I've decided that whenever we do decide to start raising our own piglets, we won't be castrating them. Makes no sense to put them through the misery of castration if it's unnecessary.
With the unseasonable weather we've been having (temps in the 60s!!!), we're getting a lot of work done outside. The yard and the barn are looking nice. Looks like we'll have a few more nice days, then the temperatures will be back below freezing.
My Thanksgiving break from school is ending, so tomorrow, it's back to class. Only three weeks to go, then I'll have a month off. Seed catalogs start to arrive after Christmas, and I can't wait to start planning the garden for next spring!
Friday, November 24, 2006
Thanksgiving and more turkey lessons
Yesterday was Thanksgiving, and we had a 20-pound turkey breast. It came from the biggest turkey we've ever raised -- a 43 pound tom! I was shocked when the processor said how big he was! All the way home, I said I'd never raise another broad-breasted bronze for seven months. In fact, my daughter, who accompanied me on the trip, said that I repeated, "I'm never doing that again" at least a couple dozen times. I'd be sitting in silence, staring at the road ahead, and say, "I'm never doing that again."
Well, my mama always said, "Never say never," and if someone had reminded me of that last Friday, I'd have said that she never grew a 43-pound turkey! Yesterday, when I took my first bite of that turkey, I knew my mama had been right. It was the most delicious turkey I'd ever had in my entire life -- including all the wonderful heritage turkeys we've been eating for the past four years. My oldest daughter was reading the newsletter of the American Livestock Breed Conservancy a couple of months ago, and it said that the reason heritage chickens are so tasty is because they're older. Chickens in the supermarket are all 6 to 10 weeks old, and they simply have not developed any flavor. They say the tastiest chickens (and I think I agree) are the older ones. Without a doubt, the old laying hens make the most delicious broth. Well, now I think I understand why the heritage turkeys always tasted the best to me -- they were seven or eight months old. We've always butchered the broad-breasted by about five months because they were getting so big, and they were always on the dry side and without much flavor. The turkey we had yesterday was delicious and tender without being mushy. It had so much broth cooking off of it (4+ cups!) that I used it in the stuffing and the gravy -- and yeah, it was the tastiest gravy and stuffing I've ever had also. Although I've always liked chicken better than turkey, this turkey was better than any chicken I've ever had. It's hard to believe how much basic knowledge has been lost in our culture. While we charge ahead at light speed developing faster computers and electronic equipment, our culture is losing basic information about good food.
Tonight we had turkey tetrazini for dinner, and it was the best I've ever had. I'm thinking that I really should remember my mother's advice to "Never say never." After eating such a delicious turkey, I do think we'll be raising them to seven months of age again next year.
Well, my mama always said, "Never say never," and if someone had reminded me of that last Friday, I'd have said that she never grew a 43-pound turkey! Yesterday, when I took my first bite of that turkey, I knew my mama had been right. It was the most delicious turkey I'd ever had in my entire life -- including all the wonderful heritage turkeys we've been eating for the past four years. My oldest daughter was reading the newsletter of the American Livestock Breed Conservancy a couple of months ago, and it said that the reason heritage chickens are so tasty is because they're older. Chickens in the supermarket are all 6 to 10 weeks old, and they simply have not developed any flavor. They say the tastiest chickens (and I think I agree) are the older ones. Without a doubt, the old laying hens make the most delicious broth. Well, now I think I understand why the heritage turkeys always tasted the best to me -- they were seven or eight months old. We've always butchered the broad-breasted by about five months because they were getting so big, and they were always on the dry side and without much flavor. The turkey we had yesterday was delicious and tender without being mushy. It had so much broth cooking off of it (4+ cups!) that I used it in the stuffing and the gravy -- and yeah, it was the tastiest gravy and stuffing I've ever had also. Although I've always liked chicken better than turkey, this turkey was better than any chicken I've ever had. It's hard to believe how much basic knowledge has been lost in our culture. While we charge ahead at light speed developing faster computers and electronic equipment, our culture is losing basic information about good food.
Tonight we had turkey tetrazini for dinner, and it was the best I've ever had. I'm thinking that I really should remember my mother's advice to "Never say never." After eating such a delicious turkey, I do think we'll be raising them to seven months of age again next year.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Pig time again
About a month ago, we picked up four piglets to raise for meat. We've raised two pigs per year for the past two years, and two people have already said they want a whole hog for next spring, so we decided to buy four piglets this year. The pig farmer didn't have four boys, so we wound up with a girl in the mix. We've always raised the castrated boys (barrows) in the past, so as soon as he said that we'd have to take a girl (gilt) if we wanted four, I started thinking about keeping her and starting to breed our own pigs. The pigs have settled in nicely, and the gilt is the one laying down closest to the fence. You can see that they had grass when they moved in, but these pigs love to root! I'd really like to get them into the garden. I've heard that pigs in the garden over the winter are great -- they're little rototillers and fertilizer machines!
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Turkey time
Friday we took the turkeys to Arthur for processing. We got up at 3 a.m. and were on the road shortly after 4:00. Two hours of driving in the dark is tough when you've had only six hours of sleep. Shortly before sunrise I started getting really sleepy, but Katherine was doing a good job of talking about anything and everything to keep me awake.
We arrived at the processing facility at 6:45 and were able to unload the turkeys right away. Then we went to breakfast at one of our favorite restaurants in the area, Yoder's Kitchen, which has Amish-sized portions of everything. The Amish eat lots of hearty food, but obesity is only 10% in their community (compared to 60% of overweight Americans) because they do so much manual labor. Shortly after 8:00 we left the restaurant and started visiting all our favorite Amish stores. Their grocery stores have the best bargains imaginable -- cheaper than any store I've seen including Wal-Mart and other discount stores. Also, they have things that you just don't see in other stores! They have half-gallon canning jars and salt petre, which I think is used for curing meats.
At the end of the day when we picked up the turkeys, I was shocked beyond description when I learned that we had a 37 pound and a 43 pound turkey! I knew the broad-breasted bronze turkeys were getting big, but that is just ridiculous. Someone asked me how we (the all-natural farmers) could grow something that big, and I replied that it's just genetics. Broad-breasted were raised to get big, although I was under the impression that they did not ever get THAT big! That's why I chose them rather than the broad-breasted whites, which are the modern commercial strain. I know the white ones can grow to 50-60 pounds. We've never had a bronze get that big before, but we've always bought them from other hatcheries. It is possible that Privett has a strain that gets bigger than normal.
You might recall that I decided to grow only slate turkeys as our heritage breed this year. That's because they're my favorite heritage breed, and they are still critically endangered. The bourbon reds have become quite popular, and there are a few thousand of them now. Slates are still virtually unknown. We kept a gobbler and two hens, and we're keeping them in a poultry tractor, which is a movable pen. (I know I'll need to post a picture.) This way, they will be safe from predators, and they can have fresh grass every day. When the hens hatch their babies, they'll also be safe from predators. Our free-range turkeys this year were not able to raise any of their babies to maturity, and I really want to raise our own turkeys! I don't like buying from the hatcheries because I'm not really increasing the population, although I am at least helping create a demand for the birds. It is also NOT sustainable to keep buying poults every year -- and we want to be sustainable.
Here's an interesting story ... when we were waiting for our turkeys at the processor, we met a couple who was also waiting for their turkeys. They had raised broad-breasted turkeys for many years, always buying them from hatcheries and butchering them every year. They were probably in their 60s, and the man said that he thought about keeping a pair or a trio this year so he could raise his own, but then at the last minute he decided to just butcher all of them again. I made a comment about how he'd have had to do artificial insemination to raise them -- he didn't know that. I find it amazing how little today's modern farmer knows about the simplest things -- like the fact that broad-breasted turkeys can't mate naturally. They have swallowed the factory farm lifestyle with all its associated craziness, and they don't know anything else. Do they not think about the fact that their information comes from big corporations who (like drug dealers) want to keep you buying from them year after year? Big Ag wants you to grow animals and crops that can't reproduce, from turkeys to corn and soybeans, so that every year you buy new baby turkeys or more corn to plant. And it seems that no one questions the idea that we should even try to develop a turkey or a plant that can't reproduce without human intervention. Of course, they just hear how much money they're going to make by growing these genetically modified lifeforms. There are farms that are sustainable and profitable, and I hope that more of them will move in that direction.
Falling off my soapbox now ...
We arrived at the processing facility at 6:45 and were able to unload the turkeys right away. Then we went to breakfast at one of our favorite restaurants in the area, Yoder's Kitchen, which has Amish-sized portions of everything. The Amish eat lots of hearty food, but obesity is only 10% in their community (compared to 60% of overweight Americans) because they do so much manual labor. Shortly after 8:00 we left the restaurant and started visiting all our favorite Amish stores. Their grocery stores have the best bargains imaginable -- cheaper than any store I've seen including Wal-Mart and other discount stores. Also, they have things that you just don't see in other stores! They have half-gallon canning jars and salt petre, which I think is used for curing meats.
At the end of the day when we picked up the turkeys, I was shocked beyond description when I learned that we had a 37 pound and a 43 pound turkey! I knew the broad-breasted bronze turkeys were getting big, but that is just ridiculous. Someone asked me how we (the all-natural farmers) could grow something that big, and I replied that it's just genetics. Broad-breasted were raised to get big, although I was under the impression that they did not ever get THAT big! That's why I chose them rather than the broad-breasted whites, which are the modern commercial strain. I know the white ones can grow to 50-60 pounds. We've never had a bronze get that big before, but we've always bought them from other hatcheries. It is possible that Privett has a strain that gets bigger than normal.
You might recall that I decided to grow only slate turkeys as our heritage breed this year. That's because they're my favorite heritage breed, and they are still critically endangered. The bourbon reds have become quite popular, and there are a few thousand of them now. Slates are still virtually unknown. We kept a gobbler and two hens, and we're keeping them in a poultry tractor, which is a movable pen. (I know I'll need to post a picture.) This way, they will be safe from predators, and they can have fresh grass every day. When the hens hatch their babies, they'll also be safe from predators. Our free-range turkeys this year were not able to raise any of their babies to maturity, and I really want to raise our own turkeys! I don't like buying from the hatcheries because I'm not really increasing the population, although I am at least helping create a demand for the birds. It is also NOT sustainable to keep buying poults every year -- and we want to be sustainable.
Here's an interesting story ... when we were waiting for our turkeys at the processor, we met a couple who was also waiting for their turkeys. They had raised broad-breasted turkeys for many years, always buying them from hatcheries and butchering them every year. They were probably in their 60s, and the man said that he thought about keeping a pair or a trio this year so he could raise his own, but then at the last minute he decided to just butcher all of them again. I made a comment about how he'd have had to do artificial insemination to raise them -- he didn't know that. I find it amazing how little today's modern farmer knows about the simplest things -- like the fact that broad-breasted turkeys can't mate naturally. They have swallowed the factory farm lifestyle with all its associated craziness, and they don't know anything else. Do they not think about the fact that their information comes from big corporations who (like drug dealers) want to keep you buying from them year after year? Big Ag wants you to grow animals and crops that can't reproduce, from turkeys to corn and soybeans, so that every year you buy new baby turkeys or more corn to plant. And it seems that no one questions the idea that we should even try to develop a turkey or a plant that can't reproduce without human intervention. Of course, they just hear how much money they're going to make by growing these genetically modified lifeforms. There are farms that are sustainable and profitable, and I hope that more of them will move in that direction.
Falling off my soapbox now ...
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Part-time homesteading?
Life is certainly different now that I'm not home every day. I no longer have my finger on the pulse of everything that happens around here. Although I am enjoying my new commitments, I am also frustrated about the things that don't get done around here. When I'm not here, I simply don't think about things that have to be done here. The old adage, "Out of sight, out of mind" is very true. And now, most days, I am leaving shortly after the sun rises and not returning home until the sun sets, so I don't have the opportunity to see much of anything around here on most days.
We had our first freeze this week. I told the girls to pick all the ripe peppers and tomatoes and a large amount of lettuce and mustard greens. They covered two rows of lettuce and mustard greens with floating row covers, and so far, everything is surviving. We are eating the lettuce that was picked prior to the freeze, but for some reason, it is turning brown rapidly. It normally lasts much longer than this. The 10-day forecast only shows a freezing temperature once, so we are hopeful that we'll have plenty of lettuce for quite some time still. There is simply nothing tastier than lettuce fresh from the garden!
Many of our meals now are completely homegrown. A couple weeks ago, we had company for dinner and served goat cheese appetizers with hot pepper jelly, a salad with homegrown lettuce, carrots and tomatoes, an entree of our turkey, potatoes, and mustard greens, and for dessert, apple crisp, using apples from our own trees. Last night, we had salad, pork roast with peppers and tomatoes, and apple crisp for dessert. Tonight we had salad and a chicken casserole made with our own chicken and goat milk. The spaghetti and mushrooms were store bought. For years, spring has been my favorite season because I love the beautiful flowers; however, fall is rapidly becoming a favorite because of all the homegrown food!
We had our first freeze this week. I told the girls to pick all the ripe peppers and tomatoes and a large amount of lettuce and mustard greens. They covered two rows of lettuce and mustard greens with floating row covers, and so far, everything is surviving. We are eating the lettuce that was picked prior to the freeze, but for some reason, it is turning brown rapidly. It normally lasts much longer than this. The 10-day forecast only shows a freezing temperature once, so we are hopeful that we'll have plenty of lettuce for quite some time still. There is simply nothing tastier than lettuce fresh from the garden!
Many of our meals now are completely homegrown. A couple weeks ago, we had company for dinner and served goat cheese appetizers with hot pepper jelly, a salad with homegrown lettuce, carrots and tomatoes, an entree of our turkey, potatoes, and mustard greens, and for dessert, apple crisp, using apples from our own trees. Last night, we had salad, pork roast with peppers and tomatoes, and apple crisp for dessert. Tonight we had salad and a chicken casserole made with our own chicken and goat milk. The spaghetti and mushrooms were store bought. For years, spring has been my favorite season because I love the beautiful flowers; however, fall is rapidly becoming a favorite because of all the homegrown food!
Monday, September 11, 2006
What did YOU do on 9/11?
It is at times like these that I honestly wonder how much different my life would be if we had never moved out to the country.
But, let me take a minute to introduce myself before I get into the story (which is a long one). I am Margaret, Deborah's eldest daughter who is taking a break from academia, and am currently the "farm manager." As such, I am home more often than not because I am the only one in the family not currently attending school of some sort.
This September 11, as did the one five years ago, started inauspiciously enough (other than the lightning and thunder that awoke us all at about 6:30 am). It was a typical, slow-moving farm day until Katherine (my younger sister) came into the house, panicked and dripping wet, because she could hear her baby goat across the creek screaming his head off. She was wet because the entirety of the middle and near pastures' low ends by the creek was covered in water 2 feet deep (some of it had temporarily trapped a few sheep). She was panicked because she could see one of the four bucks across the creek, and he was in water that covered most of his legs. Goats typically detest water, so we knew there was something seriously wrong... like their entire pen was flooded.
Our first step, was, of course, to use our heads. We knew the only way to cross the creek at this point was to swim, despite the frigid temperature. But the current would sweep us away before we could get very far, and I didn't want to take the chance that my baby sister would be floating away and there would be nothing I could do about it! So we found a rope (that my father claims is 50 ft long, although I wouldn't have guessed it was more than 25) and I fashioned a harness out of one end of it to attach to Katherine so that she could try to cross. She tried a couple of times before I told her I would try. So she gave me the harness and I started to try. My first brilliant deduction, after failed try #1, was that my shoes were too heavy. So off they went. My second (after failed try #2) was that my sweat pants were so waterlogged they were adding at least 10-20 pounds to my weight (or so it seemed). And they were history. My THIRD brilliant deduction was that it was ridiculous to think that I would be able to fight the current the entire way across, and would have to move a little upstream on the assumption that I would go a little ways downstream before making it across. Attempt number four was when I made it across, after having to discard the harness when I was a couple feet from land (but close enough that I would have run into bushes if I had lost the battle with the current).
At first I was very upset, because I was starting to doubt I had any brain cells left. What was I thinking, trying to swim across a creek that had practically become a river with all the extra waterfall? What could possibly be THAT important. However, as soon as I could see the bucks I knew that I could not have come soon enough. Although the one buck Katherine had seen had only had his legs in water, the littlest buck (Katherine's buck), Hammie, was almost completely covered in water, and still screaming. As soon as I picked him up I knew we didn't have much time. Not only was he freezing on the outside, but his body temperature was definitely in the mid-90s, if not lower. (Normal goat body temperatures are usually around 103 degrees Fahrenheit.) He was as limp as goats get, and was grinding his teeth in pain.
It was then that I realized I had no return plan. How was I supposed to make it across the creek holding onto a little buck when I had barely made it across by myself? As soon as I had realized the seriousness of Hammie's condition, I started shouting "What do we do?" across the creek to my sister, who, in her turn, shouted my words back to me. I started walking upstream, taking only a few seconds to look at the other bucks before focusing my attention back on Hammie. None of the others were in as bad a shape as he was; they, at least, could keep their bodies above water. I stopped walking when I reached some trees, trying to find a place where maybe I could grab onto different tree branches to pull myself across, but couldn't find a good spot. Instead, Katherine spent the next five minutes trying to toss the rope back across to me, but because we were both running on adrenaline and freezing from the water, never accomplished it. In the end, as Hammie's condition continued to worsen, I just waded in and swam across, holding Hammie's neck to keep his head above water and using my other three limbs to get us across. Luckily, because of the trees and branches just upstream of us, the current was much calmer than it had been where I had crossed originally and I was only swept about 15 feet downstream of where I started.
As soon as I climbed out of the water with Hammie (though I was still standing knee-deep in it, I was no longer swimming through it), everything hit me like a ton of bricks and it was all I could do to keep standing. But again, because I knew Hammie was in bad shape, I kept going and made it through another 200 ft of knee-deep water, up a hill, through the barn and back to the house to try to breathe life (not literally) back into the freezing goat. I won't bore everyone with the details. It would suffice to say that it took us about 20 minutes before we were convinced his condition was stable enough to go back for the others. (We also changed into our swimsuits at this time, since it was clear we were going to get soaked anyway.)
This time we went right back upstream to where the trees were, where we knew that the current was not as bad. During the time we spent untangling and untying the rope, we were introduced to all of the wonderful (note the sarcasm) bugs and spiders who were trying to survive by climbing onto anything that was above the water level, including us. I did not know that praying mantises were in Illinois, but I saw one! In addition to all the scary-looking spiders (Katherine assures me they are harmless) and orange-colored ants (though those might have been fire ants), there were numerous worms and caterpillars clinging to life.
We tied one end of the rope to a post, and I swam across with the other end to tie it to a tree - it was barely long enough. I got one of the goats, and did the same thing as I had with Hammie, except this time I was kicking with my legs, holding the goat up with one hand and holding onto the rope with the other. The main purpose of the rope was to keep me from going too far downstream. Unfortunately, the second time my legs got tangled up in a bush that was covered in needle-like stickers, so I got rather scratched up and accidentally dunked one of the goats. Meanwhile, each time I brought a goat across and handed it to Katherine, she would run across the middle pasture and up the hill to the barn pasture to deposit said goat in the dry area before turning around and coming straight back. The first time she did this, she saw that I was already waiting to swim across with the next goat and started running, only to trip and go flying headfirst into the water!
The third time across was definitely the hardest, for two reasons: one, the goat I had was 60 pounds (I know because I weighed him last week); two, I had detached the rope from the tree, and Katherine was pulling me across. I was doing fine until about halfway across, when I realized that I could not hold both my head and the goat's head above the water. Since I couldn't tell the goat to hold his breath, I took a deep breath and went down. Unfortunately, of course, I could not communicate this to Katherine, so she had a few panicked seconds when all she could see was Hercules, and no me! (She didn't see that I was the only thing holding his head above water.)
By the time we got the goats settled and inside the barn with a heat lamp, and Katherine and I went inside, Katherine was still very worried about Hammie and trying to decide what to do next. Although it had never really left my mind, I knew that we were risking hypothermia and told Katherine that we'd done enough for him for now and that if she didn't want to spend the next week in bed we needed to take care of ourselves NOW. We took quick showers to get all of the creek water and twigs and muck out of our hair and got into a very warm tub, where we soaked for at least half an hour to try to warm up our innards, much in the same way we had soaked Hammie (one of the things I didn't bore you with earlier). We had both noticed that although we didn't feel cold on the outside (strange, since the water had been so cold), it seemed as though our very bones were exuding coldness. After getting out of the tub we both dressed from the tips of our toes on up, covering every spare inch. We put our hair up so that we could release body heat through the back of our necks, but wore long sleeves, thick socks, and two layers wherever we could.
And then we got back to work. I still had dinner to make, after all. (Homemade pizza with dough made from scratch, without a breadmaker, if you were wondering! Katherine also made fried okra.)
It was the longest two hours of my life, but also the most exhilerating. I guess adrenaline can do that!
Hammie is doing much better. After six hours he is finally standing again, though he still looks droopy. He will be staying in the house tonight. All of the other bucks (of which there are three) are in much better shape, dry and well-fed in the barn. I don't know what you did on the fifth anniversary of 9/11, but ours was certainly one to remember!
Margaret
But, let me take a minute to introduce myself before I get into the story (which is a long one). I am Margaret, Deborah's eldest daughter who is taking a break from academia, and am currently the "farm manager." As such, I am home more often than not because I am the only one in the family not currently attending school of some sort.
This September 11, as did the one five years ago, started inauspiciously enough (other than the lightning and thunder that awoke us all at about 6:30 am). It was a typical, slow-moving farm day until Katherine (my younger sister) came into the house, panicked and dripping wet, because she could hear her baby goat across the creek screaming his head off. She was wet because the entirety of the middle and near pastures' low ends by the creek was covered in water 2 feet deep (some of it had temporarily trapped a few sheep). She was panicked because she could see one of the four bucks across the creek, and he was in water that covered most of his legs. Goats typically detest water, so we knew there was something seriously wrong... like their entire pen was flooded.Our first step, was, of course, to use our heads. We knew the only way to cross the creek at this point was to swim, despite the frigid temperature. But the current would sweep us away before we could get very far, and I didn't want to take the chance that my baby sister would be floating away and there would be nothing I could do about it! So we found a rope (that my father claims is 50 ft long, although I wouldn't have guessed it was more than 25) and I fashioned a harness out of one end of it to attach to Katherine so that she could try to cross. She tried a couple of times before I told her I would try. So she gave me the harness and I started to try. My first brilliant deduction, after failed try #1, was that my shoes were too heavy. So off they went. My second (after failed try #2) was that my sweat pants were so waterlogged they were adding at least 10-20 pounds to my weight (or so it seemed). And they were history. My THIRD brilliant deduction was that it was ridiculous to think that I would be able to fight the current the entire way across, and would have to move a little upstream on the assumption that I would go a little ways downstream before making it across. Attempt number four was when I made it across, after having to discard the harness when I was a couple feet from land (but close enough that I would have run into bushes if I had lost the battle with the current).
At first I was very upset, because I was starting to doubt I had any brain cells left. What was I thinking, trying to swim across a creek that had practically become a river with all the extra waterfall? What could possibly be THAT important. However, as soon as I could see the bucks I knew that I could not have come soon enough. Although the one buck Katherine had seen had only had his legs in water, the littlest buck (Katherine's buck), Hammie, was almost completely covered in water, and still screaming. As soon as I picked him up I knew we didn't have much time. Not only was he freezing on the outside, but his body temperature was definitely in the mid-90s, if not lower. (Normal goat body temperatures are usually around 103 degrees Fahrenheit.) He was as limp as goats get, and was grinding his teeth in pain.
It was then that I realized I had no return plan. How was I supposed to make it across the creek holding onto a little buck when I had barely made it across by myself? As soon as I had realized the seriousness of Hammie's condition, I started shouting "What do we do?" across the creek to my sister, who, in her turn, shouted my words back to me. I started walking upstream, taking only a few seconds to look at the other bucks before focusing my attention back on Hammie. None of the others were in as bad a shape as he was; they, at least, could keep their bodies above water. I stopped walking when I reached some trees, trying to find a place where maybe I could grab onto different tree branches to pull myself across, but couldn't find a good spot. Instead, Katherine spent the next five minutes trying to toss the rope back across to me, but because we were both running on adrenaline and freezing from the water, never accomplished it. In the end, as Hammie's condition continued to worsen, I just waded in and swam across, holding Hammie's neck to keep his head above water and using my other three limbs to get us across. Luckily, because of the trees and branches just upstream of us, the current was much calmer than it had been where I had crossed originally and I was only swept about 15 feet downstream of where I started.
As soon as I climbed out of the water with Hammie (though I was still standing knee-deep in it, I was no longer swimming through it), everything hit me like a ton of bricks and it was all I could do to keep standing. But again, because I knew Hammie was in bad shape, I kept going and made it through another 200 ft of knee-deep water, up a hill, through the barn and back to the house to try to breathe life (not literally) back into the freezing goat. I won't bore everyone with the details. It would suffice to say that it took us about 20 minutes before we were convinced his condition was stable enough to go back for the others. (We also changed into our swimsuits at this time, since it was clear we were going to get soaked anyway.)
This time we went right back upstream to where the trees were, where we knew that the current was not as bad. During the time we spent untangling and untying the rope, we were introduced to all of the wonderful (note the sarcasm) bugs and spiders who were trying to survive by climbing onto anything that was above the water level, including us. I did not know that praying mantises were in Illinois, but I saw one! In addition to all the scary-looking spiders (Katherine assures me they are harmless) and orange-colored ants (though those might have been fire ants), there were numerous worms and caterpillars clinging to life.
We tied one end of the rope to a post, and I swam across with the other end to tie it to a tree - it was barely long enough. I got one of the goats, and did the same thing as I had with Hammie, except this time I was kicking with my legs, holding the goat up with one hand and holding onto the rope with the other. The main purpose of the rope was to keep me from going too far downstream. Unfortunately, the second time my legs got tangled up in a bush that was covered in needle-like stickers, so I got rather scratched up and accidentally dunked one of the goats. Meanwhile, each time I brought a goat across and handed it to Katherine, she would run across the middle pasture and up the hill to the barn pasture to deposit said goat in the dry area before turning around and coming straight back. The first time she did this, she saw that I was already waiting to swim across with the next goat and started running, only to trip and go flying headfirst into the water!
The third time across was definitely the hardest, for two reasons: one, the goat I had was 60 pounds (I know because I weighed him last week); two, I had detached the rope from the tree, and Katherine was pulling me across. I was doing fine until about halfway across, when I realized that I could not hold both my head and the goat's head above the water. Since I couldn't tell the goat to hold his breath, I took a deep breath and went down. Unfortunately, of course, I could not communicate this to Katherine, so she had a few panicked seconds when all she could see was Hercules, and no me! (She didn't see that I was the only thing holding his head above water.)
By the time we got the goats settled and inside the barn with a heat lamp, and Katherine and I went inside, Katherine was still very worried about Hammie and trying to decide what to do next. Although it had never really left my mind, I knew that we were risking hypothermia and told Katherine that we'd done enough for him for now and that if she didn't want to spend the next week in bed we needed to take care of ourselves NOW. We took quick showers to get all of the creek water and twigs and muck out of our hair and got into a very warm tub, where we soaked for at least half an hour to try to warm up our innards, much in the same way we had soaked Hammie (one of the things I didn't bore you with earlier). We had both noticed that although we didn't feel cold on the outside (strange, since the water had been so cold), it seemed as though our very bones were exuding coldness. After getting out of the tub we both dressed from the tips of our toes on up, covering every spare inch. We put our hair up so that we could release body heat through the back of our necks, but wore long sleeves, thick socks, and two layers wherever we could.
And then we got back to work. I still had dinner to make, after all. (Homemade pizza with dough made from scratch, without a breadmaker, if you were wondering! Katherine also made fried okra.)
It was the longest two hours of my life, but also the most exhilerating. I guess adrenaline can do that!
Hammie is doing much better. After six hours he is finally standing again, though he still looks droopy. He will be staying in the house tonight. All of the other bucks (of which there are three) are in much better shape, dry and well-fed in the barn. I don't know what you did on the fifth anniversary of 9/11, but ours was certainly one to remember!Margaret
Saturday, September 2, 2006
Canning
Being busy with school now means that I only have the weekends to get homesteading stuff done. Last weekend and this weekend, I am working on canning food from the garden. It's time consuming but wonderful. Last weekend, I canned seven quarts of peppers: jalapenos, banana peppers, mixed peppers, and a jalapeno relish with homegrown carrots and onions.Today I canned seven pints of salsa and seven half-pints of hot pepper jelly.
Last weekend, I also made three loaves of soap and a batch of goat cheese. I need to make more of both this weekend. I am so happy that Monday is a holiday. I can certainly use these three days to catch up! We are getting a bumper crop of okra this year, so I'm hoping to can some pickled okra before the weekend is over. I also need to can more salsa and hot pepper marmalade, which is similar to the jelly, but it's chunkier.
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