Havoc in the House

(or why sheep really belong in the barn/outside/somewhere...anywhere...else)

Newborn triplets in the barn 1-13

He was so tiny and fragile, so cold and needy.  Human intervention was a true necessity. So, we tucked him in a towel and placed him next to the woodstove after getting a little milk down his tiny throat by "tubing" him. (a soft rubber tube was placed down his throat  and milk added to a syringe and drained directly into his stomach)

His survival was fairly uncertain.  I had honestly thought he was dead when I first pulled him from his mother’s warm womb, but he had revived and she had provided what care and attention a mother sheep can provide. But, he was so small, his siblings so large, that the chances of his being able to compete for the life-giving nourishment was pretty slim. The heat of the lamp in the barn wasn’t doing much to keep him warm, either.

His tiny hooves hadn’t even hardened when I brought him indoors, so for him to even stand was a challenge. (did you know that lambs hooves are covered with a soft, gelatinous covering when they are born?  This protects the mother’s delicate insides as the baby slides out.  The hooves harden after birth.  Nature IS amazing!)

Leaving him in a box with a heating pad, knowing we had done all we could, we headed out to finish the jug project in the barn.  (a jug is a small pen used for separating the ewe and newborns from the rest of the flock.  This allows the family to bond, and protects the babies from the larger animals.)

Imagine my surprise upon my return to find the tiny lamb standing and looking over the top of the box.  MAAA!  …and he was hungry!

Feeding him was going to prove to be a challenge.  His little hooves had indeed hardened, but the kitchen floor was slippery and he hadn’t quite mastered the whole standing, walking thing.  He ended up spread eagle on the floor, looking very much like a large, very ungainly, black spider.  He didn’t understand that the nipple on the bottle was the source of nourishment, either.  He kept bunting my arm, my hand and gnawing on my sleeve.  Mother sheep guide their lambs to the teats by gently nudging them(sometimes not so) toward the udder.  In my case, I simply held his head still and forced the nipple between his lips.  As the warm milk slid down his gullet, he would get all excited and detach…and we would have to start all over again. Finally, I felt confident he had received enough and I tucked him back in his box.

He dozed quietly and all was well.

Until….about an hour later…MAAA!

Well, I wanted him to recover.  And, it appeared he had.  Hunger was again the focus of his little world.  (and by default, mine, too) We did the whole bottle routine again.

When the cat came in the house, she immediately checked out the box and its inhabitant.  She was not amused.  It became apparent that she did not approve of our houseguest.  She paced and twitched her tail; she vocalized her dislike and wouldn’t even sit on the couch.

As the Boss settled in to watch a show on television, hunger overcame our houseguest again.  MAAAA! The Boss rolled his eyes at me.  It seemed no one in the house was too thrilled with my new project. (quite honestly, the appeal was wearing thin for me as well)

I fed the little guy again.  As I sat on the floor with him cradled in one arm, trying to get him to eat the bottle, Tess (the cat) sat beside me.  I thought she was being lovey and sweet until she started trying to catch the lamb’s tail as it waggled back and forth (lambs wag their little tails as they drink, it has nothing to do with cuteness, it has more to do with their digestion) Then, she grabbed his tail and bit it!  She was getting more and more irritated. She became disinterested and wandered off in search of entertainment elsewhere.

I set the lamb on the floor again to observe him.  Bodily functions were now my concern.  The only way to tell if he was getting enough fluid was to observe him peeing. (I suppose I should be proper and say voiding…)  And then pee he did! …ALL over the kitchen floor.  It was like one of the Great Lakes.  Well, there was no question that he was hydrated. I cleaned up the mess and put the lamb back in his box, hoping for a short respite.  

No sooner had I settled into the chair than….MAAAA! The look the Boss gave me was very much like the look on Tess’ face as she continued to pace around the house, twitching and glaring. The atmosphere was just a little chilly as little lamb continued to complain. 

We did the whole feeding deal again.  He could only handle about two ounces at a time and I ended up wearing a portion of that.

Little lamb was banished to the office with the door shut. Tess settled in on the couch, the Boss returned to his show. Peace reigned momentarily.

A muffled maaa echoed down the hallway. Again he was fed.  This time, he finally passed the meconium that had been in his intestine prior to birth.  This meant his digestive system was working. That was great! It also meant that there was lamb poop on the office floor. Oh, yuck…not so great.  Well, it is a farmhouse! (and it could be cleaned fairly easily)

Another round of barn checks and it was time to head to bed.  No sooner had our heads hit the pillows than….thump…thump…MAAAAA!  I thought maybe I could ignore it.  Maybe the Boss didn’t hear it.  But, then his whisper came through the darkness. “Do you hear that thump?  What is it?”  I knew, but I really didn’t want to deal with it. (I was SO sleepy) The little lamb was standing in his box, looking around for food.  Still somewhat wobbly, he would totter and bump the side of the box.  Since the box was directly on the hard floor, the thump vibrated into our bedroom next door.  A rug under the box solved that.  Another bottle solved the food issue.

All too soon it was time for another check of the barn. But, not before I heard….maaa…Maaaa….MAAAA! through the darkness.  Geez!  How does a mother sheep deal with this? Again I sat on the floor, feeding the little creature.  He was certainly perking up, that was a good thing.  But, now I had lamb poop on my pajamas and lamb milk in my hair and on my shirt. (yep, I am that classy!)  The ewes have my unconditional admiration. I cleaned up, checked the barn and collapsed into the recliner.

When daylight came (about two minutes later) we resolved to get the lamb out of the house.  Since he is so small and has no siblings to keep him warm and his mother cannot care for him, he would become a patient in my make-shift hospital pen in the shop, outfitted with a heatlamp and plenty of wood shavings.  My little hospital pen is a vintage wooden playpen I found on Ebay and the Boss modified for me.  It was my first Ebay purchase ever and I still think it’s the best 15 dollars I ever spent! (a special thanks to Blondie for helping me set it up)

With the lamb in the shop, I could clean the floor (again), wash the towels that had been in the box and allow life to get back to the usual state of somewhat normal-ness.  Until I walked out the door…

MAAAAA! 

FEED ME!! NOW!!

Yep, he’s looking for a meal…and he can be heard OUTSIDE the shop.  (well, at least he’s not in the house creating mayhem)

...so I’m off to make another lamb bottle. He'll need to eat about every four hours for about a week, then he'll begin to get bigger amounts of milk less frequently.

But, it looks like this little guy is gonna make it…Hooray!

A Day as A Shepherd

This is what success looks like

Beep…beep…BEEP!

As I stretched my hand from under the warm covers to switch off the incessantly annoying alarm, I didn’t even bother to open my eyes.  

I know…I know…it’s 2:15am and time to get up.

2:15?  A.M.?  WHY?

WHY get up at such an ungodly hour, heading into the cold and darkness when I could be snug and comfy in our warm bed?  Because, I need to check the sheep.

  

Why?  I’m a shepherd. And, it’s lambing season.

It’s not because I love the early morning (I do, but anything before 5 is a little excessive) not because I really love sheep (I do like them, but…) and not because I’m just a little crazy (…well, that one might just have some credence). But, this is the life of a shepherd.

Lest you think I’m just some wacky shepherd who gets a thrill out of nocturnal trips to the barn…let me assure you, I really don’t like the cold, I’m sort of afraid of the dark and the barn is both of those in the middle of the night. …and I forgot to mention the rats…(!)  But, someone has to check and I voluntarily signed on for this whole shepherding deal…so out in the cold and darkness I go. 

We can’t take chances with any newborn lambs getting chilled immediately after birth as hypothermia (and subsequent death) is a real possibility with below freezing temperatures.  A sheep’s body temperature is normally 102*, so coming into a world that is so much colder would be a real shock.  …and did I mention that lambs are wet, really wet when they are born?  Do you see how that could be a problem?

I gave thanks that it wasn’t as cold as last week as I hunted for my glasses, my coveralls and coat.  Sliding my feet into my chore boots and grabbing the flashlight, I was on my way to the barn within minutes of struggling out of bed.

The cold night air of January is exhilarating.  On clear nights, the stars and the moonlight are spectacular. If it weren’t for the occasional coyotes in the distance, I would truly enjoy it. The dogs have grown bored with my nocturnal wanderings and don’t even bother to get up as I make my late night rounds. But, they, too hear the coyotes and occasionally grumble after sounds in the darkness.

Inside the barn, the ewes all look comfortable and sleepy.  Some are ruminating, some are snoring softly and a few are still nibbling at the hay in the feeders.  The lambs that have already been born are tucked in next to their mothers.  The ewe I’ve been watching for a few days is in her own pen, resting comfortably.  It’s a peaceful scene and after I check the animals, I head back to the house.

The cat and I settled into the recliner and went back to sleep for a while.  By five, the cat was ready to start her outside hunting and woke me with her insistent mewing.  While the coffee was brewing, I checked out the news and answered a few emails.  The Boss was up shortly thereafter and we discussed the plans for the day. 

I headed out again at six.  Thankfully, this checking the barn every four hours only lasts throughout lambing season…and lambing season only lasts for about three weeks.  The weak rays of winter daylight were just slightly evident on this trip.  Again, all the barn inhabitants looked healthy and comfortable. The ewe in the pen was chewing her cud contentedly.

We both headed out at seven to feed all the animals.  The Boss was servicing the henhouse as I walked into the barn.  Something seemed strange.  The mama sheep talk to their newborns…and “someone” was definitely talking.  But, I’d just been there an hour before…

The ewe in the pen was standing up and making odd motherly noises.  She turned around ---warning…potential TMI here---there was a head sticking out.(yes, from her behind)  A very large head. Oh, and one foot. Oh…I admit…I said (very loudly) the word the Boss doesn’t like me to use.  And, then…I said it again. And a few more.  Once inside the pen with the ewe, I did a check.  Ordinarily, birth is a simple miracle.  Sometimes, it’s an all-out emergency. This was going to be one of those times. The check revealed I needed assistance---read muscle---immediately.  I yelled for the Boss as I ran to get my vet box.

My duties as ovine obstetrician mean I get the fun job of “fixing” things when the lambs are coming out wrong.  This one was going to be tricky.  If the head was any indication, the lamb was huge.  Thankfully, it was alive---but, it couldn’t get out on its own because one leg was turned all the way underneath.  In a proper presentation, the lamb sort of dives out…little front feet first, then the head and rest of the body.  I pushed and prodded and moaned. It’s hard work in a tight and awkward place and it was hurting my hand.  The ewe pushed and moaned…because I had my hand/arm in the tight and awkward place.   I think I heard the Boss praying.

Finally, the lamb was correctly positioned.  Whoosh…and a ewe lamb was born.  Dang!  That is one big lamb!  Nearly 15 pounds. What a big girl.

The rule is, if you have to assist a birth, you better see if there are twins.  Lo and behold, despite the huge first lamb…here’s another.  Whoosh…oh, my goodness…I think this one is dead.  Aww ….Clear its mouth, massage it, oh…too bad…no, wait…He’s alive!  Tiny, really tiny, but alive.  Mama sheep started cleaning and talking and everything was cool. I didn’t think to look for any more inside.

Excitement over, we finished chores and headed to the house for breakfast. 

feeding a lamb

I couldn’t get the tiny lamb out of my mind.  He was less than half the size of his sister and seemed very weak and cold.  I went back to the barn.  Mama sheep was acting oddly.  Almost like she was going to have another lamb.  Nah…couldn’t be…triplets are unusual and that first lamb was huge. The little lamb was still trying to get to his feet.

I walked out of the barn to dump a bucket and when I returned…guess what I found.  Another lamb!  Yes, triplets!  This one was quite large, too.  (Later I weighed him and found he was 10 pounds) This was wild! Mama seemed in charge of the situation.  While the tiny lamb still seemed cold and shaky, I had made sure he was nourished and clean, so I headed to town for feed.  The Boss had work to do here, so he would keep an eye on things.

RING…RING…I had just gotten to the feed store when the Boss called to say that yet another sheep was in labor…maybe I should head back?  He was pretty sure everything was under control…but…

By the time I got back, another set of twin lambs was on the ground.  The Boss had helped the ewe clean them up and they were looking for a meal.  We did all the newborn stuff and put them all in a warm pen. By now it was time for lunch.

the view from the hayloft
new families in jug pens

The first ewe was taking good care of two of the triplets.  The tiny one didn’t look so good and despite her continued attention, he was too weak and cold to stand and nurse.  But, he was looking rather alert, even though he was very cold and shivery. What to do? Oh, you know I don’t want a bottle baby…but, we can’t let him die…

Oh, let’s take him to the house…

I fed him some more, we stuck him in a box in the house and we went back to the barn to build jug pens for the other new lambs that will be arriving soon. When the little pens were finished, I backed the truck to the barn and we unloaded the feed.

So, now there’s a lamb in a box in my living room.  Oh, a lamb in a box with a heating pad. A lamb in a box with a heating pad that has begun to baa at me.  

This saga will no doubt continue.  I don’t know if the lamb in the box will survive, but he’s in the best possible place and is receiving expert attention.  

a lamb in a box

My day as a shepherd is nowhere near over... but, now I'm kinda beat... 

                                                            …it’s only 4pm!

Lessons I Wish I Didn't Learn the Hard Way

Fair Hogs
Don't they look happy?

When I was a little girl, about 7 or 8, my father had a number of hogs. I've always loved pigs, they always look happy (and I really like bacon). There was one big white sow he let me name “Petunia”. I was thrilled when I found out she was going to have piglets. While she wasn't my personal responsibility, I enjoyed visiting and scratching her big, bristly back and listening to her grunt in approval.

(I was an odd little kid who felt completely comfortable in the barn and loved its inhabitants. I preferred their company to that of my family. I really enjoyed the animals and I had learned a lot about responsibility and animal care with the barn menagerie.  I was about to get a big lesson in animal husbandry.)

The big day arrived and the piglets seemed to be thriving.  However, due to some mis-communication between my parents, the pig family was housed in a stall in the barn with deep bedding rather than the hard concrete-floored pen my father intended for them.  Much to my horror, some of the piglets were being flattened (and killed) when the mother would lie down in the pen. 

As I watched my “city girl” mother burst into helpless tears at the disturbing sight, I inwardly vowed that I would never face such a situation again. It was my childish suggestion that we simply sew up the split piggies…surely that would fix it. We did manage to get all the survivors moved into the correct pen and the story had a somewhat happy ending. Unfortunately, similar disasters seemed to beset our little “farmette” often and before I started high school, the animals were just a memory.

While I can honestly say that I never did experience such a thing again, I also have to admit that I have shed my fair share of tears in the barn. Not tears of helplessness, but tears of frustration accompanying a feeling of “dammit, this should not happen!” and I could tell my own tales of woe and disaster.

Cows have been some of my greatest teachers

There is a saying among old-time farmers that if you have livestock long enough you will indeed experience dead stock at some point.  You learn a lot about living and dying while spending time in the barn.

I know what to do for milk fever, mastitis and how to “fix” a prolapse.  I can detect parasite overload and illness, often with just a glance. I know the signs of lambing distress and ringwomb...frost-bite and scours.  I’ve set broken bones, corrected mis-presented births and  once the Boss and I performed a post-mortem C-section and saved the lamb. I’ve attempted mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and once doctored an egg-bound hen.  But, the truth of the matter is I only learned these things because the unthinkable happened.

More than once the “simple, country life” has nearly defeated us---me in particular. I thought I knew about animal husbandry and farm life...but,  since moving to the hill in ’97, I have had to learn a lot...the hard way.  Rather than let the bad experiences whip me, I’ve asked questions, read books and done online research.  But, sometimes even that is not enough.

No, he wasn't just taking a nap in the sunshine

This past spring, we lost a lamb. A big, beautiful lamb just about ready for harvest.  After being a shepherd for more than 10 years, I heartily concur with “the thing sheep do best is die”. I hate to lose animals, but it happens.  When we lost the second lamb, I began to panic. The whole flock seemed to be ailing and we had absolutely no clue what was going on. Our area has a recurring rabies issue and the Boss and I were both more than a little concerned about the illness. A trip to the state lab was in order for a necropsy.   I had numerous discussions with the veterinarian on call and he was about as baffled as I was.  Everything seemed to point to a clostridial disease, but I had followed the same protocol I had followed for years.  We went home from the lab and vaccinated the remaining animals again, figuring that we had to do something.  By the time the lab report came back indicating that it was indeed clostridial in nature, we had lost two more animals.  In the end, the veterinarian was fairly certain that the only reason the losses weren’t higher was because we treated the remaining animals when we did.

Now, I like to think that I am a fairly intelligent person, but the protocol that we had been following (at my direction…I am the default vet here on the hill) was wrong, due to my lack of knowledge or misunderstanding.  Ultimately it was my fault that those animals died. That didn’t make me cry…but, it did renew my resolve to do everything in my power not to let that happen again! I felt incredibly stupid and realized there was indeed more to learn.

Sometimes the learning curve seems insurmountable.  I know that over the years I have struggled with things that folks born to this way of life would never have given a second thought.  However, when I’ve gone to other farmers or my favorite vet with my questions or troubles, they didn’t lecture me or even roll their eyes, they answered the question graciously and pointed me in the right direction.  On occasion, I have been comforted with a pat on the back and the words “sometimes that’s just what happens”.

Because, sometimes even your best shot isn’t enough.  We’ve lost lambs because we were under the impression that spring lambing would work for everyone.  I had to watch helplessly as one pet lamb died because our “natural” methods for parasite control were not effective. I spent countless hours (and dollars) in the barn with the vet because I didn’t understand the nutrition issues that can cause milk fever. But, in the long run, we learned from each of these situations and haven’t had to have any repeat lessons.  As a matter of fact, the dairyman who really didn’t even want to sell us a cow at one point actually offered to buy one that we had bred and raised.  The vet whose brusque no-nonsense manner scared me witless on his first visit, allowed me to call him by his nickname AND told me in no uncertain terms that I knew what I was doing and knew my cows…as much as any one of his old farmers. (no small praise from such an old-school man)

Memories of the losses still sting.  Not because we lost pets…these are farm animals destined for the plate.  The memories sting because they point to ignorance, bad husbandry and poor stewardship. And, quite honestly I wonder what other people think. But, the experiences gave me insights that would have been missed otherwise and a level of experience and expertise to help other folks in the future.

     ...and there's always that sweetness of victory and success at the end of a difficult situation.

But, I must say every time...  “that’s a lesson I wish I didn't learn the hard way!” 
                                                                                                                                                      (THE HARD WAY-Eric Church)

Success is oh, so sweet!

Sunday Walkabout 11-12

It’s been another week of extremes here on the hill. 

Sunset 1-11-14

Storm clouds over Sugarloaf mountain

The Polar Vortex blew in the beginning of the week. When I say blew in, I am not exaggerating. As the weather changed, the winds picked up and the temperatures dropped 50 degrees in a matter of hours. The wind was blowing steadily at 20 to 30 miles an hour, with gusts much higher.  The temperature was -3* and when I did the calculations, I came up with a windchill of at least 40 BELOW zero. (I really didn’t need to know that) It goes without saying…IT WAS COLD! (while I know that the Midwest and the prairies beyond are experiencing weather that makes this look tame, we are in the South…and this is unusual)

the coldest I have ever seen here on the hill

cool ice crystal formation on the bedroom windows

The biting arctic winds coincided with the “real” beginning of lambing season.  (most of the ewes should lamb between now and next Wednesday…give or take) We can’t take chances with the lambs getting chilled immediately after birth as hypothermia and subsequent death is a real possibility with temperatures so cold.  A sheep’s body temperature is normally 102*, so coming into a world that is well over one hundred degrees colder would be a real shock.  …and did I mention that lambs are wet, really wet when they are born?  Do you see how that could be a problem?  So, we check the barn regularly...as often as every hour when the weather is particularly dreadful.

triplet ewe lambs

Despite my frequent barn visits, I completely missed the arrival of triplet lambs the day after the weather started to moderate.  The blessed event could have only taken an hour with absolutely no signs on my earlier check. (go figure) They were all up and nursing when I arrived on the scene.  This is Mama Sheep’s second set of ewe triplets in as many years.  She’s doing a fine job feeding and caring for them with no assistance.  Yay for Mama Sheep!

Ellie and Gus are desperately trying to get to the new babies...
they must lick their ears and noses

By Friday, the temperatures had warmed considerably and it began to rain. And rain.  And RAIN.  Well over an inch in about 24 hours.  All the rain made the barnlot (and everything else) into a sea of MUD!  When I say MUD SUCKS…I am not being rude or flippant.  The mud will quite literally suck the shoes/boots right off your feet.  Quite a change from the scouring, brutal winds of the early week that had turned the farm into a dry and barren wasteland.

Mud Sucks!

Upon my arrival in the barn Friday morning, I noticed a ewe in advanced labor.  After feeding the other sheep, I put her in a pen to “do her thing” and went about my chores.  A strange noise caught my attention and it was a good thing it did.  When she birthed out the first lamb, the birth sac enveloped his face and he couldn’t shake it free.  (the noise was his attempts to breathe through the membrane…it was like a balloon over his face) Without some intervention, he would have smothered shortly after arriving in the world.  However, he and his brother are both doing fine. 

newborn ram lambs under heatlamp for warmth
the red color is intentional
providing a warm,calming environment

But, the fact that I dubbed them “dos rambos lambos” and found it endlessly amusing is a testament to what sleep deprivation will do to a body.  Read this old post…it explains why I find "lambos" funny.

Thankfully, we got through the episode with the Polar Vortex with little difficulties and no catastrophes.

Well…I take that back. We did have one difficulty.

For reasons known only to Gus’ furry mind, as the winds of the Polar vortex began to swirl around the farm, he took it upon himself to tear the dryer vent off the back of the house ---and tore it to smithereens and left it in the middle of the backyard.  A trip to Lowe’s, a larger than expected repair job, and we have a new (metal-covered) dryer vent.  Let’s hope he doesn’t eat that! (or anything else...this puppy chewing thing is getting a little old!)

The upcoming week should be eventful, to say the least.  The rest of the ewes should be dropping their lambs in a three day stretch.  This is the way it happened last year, too.  

It promises to be challenging, chaotic and we're going to hope...completely successful.

Off to the barn for another check-up…and then, I’m following Tess’ lead and taking a nap!

Happy Sunday!

The Good Fight

While I'm not really one to make resolutions...

This year, I resolve to quit yelling at my computer screen (it really seems to un-nerve the Boss). Despite the fact that I feel like planting my face in my desk repeatedly…I will not. (it gives me a headache) I’ll try to stop typing “smh” over and over, although I find myself  shaking my head all too often. And I won’t give up the whole writing/ag-vocacy thing even though I really wonder if I will ever see any evidence that I have had any impact…anywhere.

Lately, I’ve felt like Don Quixote…always "tilting at windmills"...the imaginary giants that in reality were just...well, windmills...and beyond the possibility of conquest.

Surely, it can’t be as bad as it seems.  There is no way that the constant barrage of negativity toward Agriculture can be more than a figment of my imagination.  Right? Surely, I mis-read that article in Rolling Stone, the one with the blood-splattered images and the squealing pig noises. That article in the Washington Post (and picked up locally)  didn’t mean to imply that farms and farmers are superfluous and quite possibly unnecessary.   I must just be hyper-sensitive to the advertisements used by Panera Bread and Chipotle that make farmers look like some sort of lazy monsters. The words “pesticide pushers” shouldn’t be offensive.  I must have misunderstood those local folks who seem to be vocal opponents of farmers and farmers markets. No one  railed against me (and the Boss) lied about us and called us names. Small bands of inexperienced, yet very vocal activists can't be responsible for huge changes in farming. Surely, the Federal Government doesn’t want to enact more regulations regarding food production.  All farmers like and respect all other farmers regardless of their size and/or farming practices---they would never be disparaging or lie about others.  Right?   ha

Think again.

The sheer volume of misinformation that is available on the internet is astounding.  (Okay, who didn’t know that?) Sometimes it feels like my personal responsibility to correct it all. Or at least what comes across my desk.  But, it’s overwhelming.  I could have a new “cause” just about every day.  (maybe every hour)  In the past year or so, I’ve written letters, articles, rallied the troops to respond and just plain worried (a lot). Sometimes with good results…other times not.  But, the tide of mis-information and misunderstanding continued to swirl across my computer screen and threatened to overflow my desk at times.

I don’t know which part of the mis-information bothers me the most.  

…I guess it’s the number of times that the same mis-information is repeated, re-packaged and re-worded slightly for a different audience, but remains mis-information nonetheless. The truth is big farms are not evil, small farms aren’t nirvana and LOCAL is not the holy grail of food. (and the issues of production and practice warrant their own blog) Each has its place in our community, in our very global economy, and to dis-allow any one is to revoke the very special privilege of personal choice  (something folks have bled and died for over the centuries and we shouldn’t take for granted…nor attempt to impose our choices on everyone else). Those involved in Agriculture would do well to remember this truth and work together, not using the mis-information in an attempt to make their operation look better than those in the “other” sectors of the agricultural world. I don’t know when competitor bashing became an acceptable marketing tool, but it really needs to stop!

I’ll keep plugging away in my little corner of cyberspace, sharing with those in my small circle of influence…because the truth needs telling…. and for some reason, I feel I am the one to tell it.   

…and when the whole thing gets a little too much, a little too discouraging or frustrating, I resolve to go to the barn, the hoophouse…somewhere on the farm where I can re-group, re-focus and remember why I started doing this whole writing thing.

I love this life, the land and my job.

Agriculture is important.

There is much more to Ag than food and sustenance...it requires abiding faith, serious commitment and the heart of a servant.

I want to share that with others.

Since most are so far removed from food production, it is necessary to give folks a glimpse into the life on a farm, and instill a respect for those who work the land to bring food to our tables, clothes to our backs and shelter over our heads regardless of farm size or farming practice. Everyone should know a farmer...and yes, know their food.

That’s what I feel called to do. I want to help open eyes and share farm knowledge. Even on those days I feel like I'm wasting my time, my breath...and banging my head on the keyboard.

Maybe, just maybe I’ll make a difference for someone, somewhere.

My hope is that---when I get to the end of my days (whenever that might be) I want to be able to say “I’ve fought the good fight…I’ve kept the faith.”
Perserverance and persistence should apply to all aspects of life. (Agvocacy as well as Christianity) 

..and at that point. I’d really like to hear
               “well done, thou good and faithful servant.”  

That would make up for all the worry, the frustration and the effort!
 (although perhaps not the head-banging...)

Sunday Walkabout 1-5-14

A New Year

Well, it’s time for our weekly virtual farm tour.  …and amazingly, we are in the midst of a “warm spell” (it was a balmy 35* at morning chores---yesterday it was only 12)…and it’s dry! (for the first Sunday in a month!) Don’t worry---January is coming back with a vengeance later today or tomorrow.  There are penguins in the forecast on my phone.  PENGUINS! Just what does it mean when there are penguins in the forecast anyway?

the more reliable weather site shows -3* as the low
and 7* as a HIGH
(but, it doesn't have penguins)

The penguins indicate cold…Cold…COLD!  The coldest air mass since January of 1985 is set to overtake the region tomorrow.  I remember that cold snap.  The Boss and I were newlyweds living in a townhouse. (yes, us, in a townhouse…what were we thinking?) Anyway, it was so cold that the pipes froze.  The Boss had to take the day off from work to fix the mess.  I couldn’t go to work because the furnace at the office picked that day to go on the fritz. So, we sat at home with our frozen pipes and watched Ronald Reagan take the Oath of Office in an indoor ceremony. (an historical moment)  So, I’m wondering what history will be made during this cold snap.  ?

While our predicted cold is nothing compared to the brutal temperatures being endured by the Upper Midwest, we have had to make some preparations in hopes of keeping the animals somewhat comfortable.  …and their care and comfort will keep us on the move throughout the duration of frigid temperatures. (I’m working on a piece about Winter on the Farm…look for it later in the week)

The Boss did a little work on the henhouse.  While the henhouse has the possibility of being mobile, it sits in one place throughout the winter season, thus protecting the grass for the summertime.  If you haven’t toured the henhouse, read this post.  It’s pretty cool.  The floor is wire to allow the excrement to fall through (otherwise it would get beyond GROSS in there) however, the wire also allows airflow…lots of airflow when it’s cold and windy.  The Boss put up plywood skirting around the house, blocking the breeze but still keeping the house somewhat clean.  Once the hens go inside for the night, the door shuts (it’s on timer) and they all stay relatively warm, even when the night is frigid.

The first lamb arrived this past Monday with very little fanfare…as a matter of fact, he was a bit of a surprise.  Proving once more that nature is indeed superior to my math skills and predictions.  As a single ram lamb, he promises to finish out as one of the largest lambs ever and the Boss has taken to calling him “Moose”. Some little barn-mates should be arriving about mid-week.

Since the sheep carry their woolly coats at all times, we don’t need to go to any special preparations for them. (as long as they have hay, shelter and water)

Do you see the lamb in this photo?

However, lambs are due to arrive soon, and they are easily chilled (possibly leading to death), so prompt newborn care becomes a concern. That means regular checks at the barn.  Which reminds me of a funny post from a couple of years ago. Read/watch this. 

born on Monday
"Moose" is already out in the paddock with the big sheep

Things are looking a little bleak and forlorn around here right now.

Even though most of the snowfall has stayed to our North, Winter has settled in here on the hill.

The Boss keeps weeding
even when it's cold

The crops in the hoophouses have been frozen solid a number of times and it’s easy to get discouraged at first glance.

I admit...this Chinese cabbage does look doomed

However, a little sunshine will cause a sudden resurrection and it will be easy to imagine that spring is just around the corner.


Just 73 days...
check out the new widget on the sidebar!

…and I will never get tired of the sight of baby lettuce plants (particularly knowing how cold it is outside)

Thanks for visiting!

Hope you’re warm and cozy and enjoying a Happy Sunday!

Y’all come on back, now…ya hear?

(I take the dry Sunday part back.  The steady rain has started again and the temperature is falling...HELLO Winter.)

A Friday Funny

 (...or yet another reason I get nothing done...)

It's Friday, we've completed our preparations for tomorrow's delivery run, it's too dang cold to do much outside (it finally reached 19* at noon) and my level of motivation is non-existent.

So, for your viewing pleasure...here is the latest in the adventures of Gus and Tess.

Hey...Tess!  Tess?  You in there, Tess?

                             I am hiding, Gus...I am HIDING!  Go 'way.

Hide and seek?  We're playing Hide-n-seek? Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!

Apparently you do NOT understand.  I am HIDING...and I do not wish to play with a dog.

Uh, okay, but, maybe I can get you out like this...I really want to play!

                                           Come on, Tess...I think I want to hide, too.

                                           No, I'm hiding!...and...You can't get me!

                                             But, Tess...I really wanna hide...

NO!

Hey, that was pretty funny, Tess...you almost got me!

Now, I've got you...this is fun.

I think I like this game!

This went on for ages, until Gus got bored and/or distracted and headed elsewhere for excitement.  At which point Tess poked her head out and I'm pretty sure she said...

"I thought that dog would never leave!"

We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming...