Monday...Fun Day...NOT!

When we woke to the sound of rain, we both knew that the day was not going to go as planned. 

A check of the weather indicated that the entire WEEK was not going to go as planned.

Ahhh!  Take a deep breath, re-group and re-think and go forward with the new plan.  It happens all the time, so we try to have a “plan B” somewhere in the backs of our minds. There’s always plenty to do around here, so a finding a new project is not much of a challenge.  Sometimes they just appear…

When the rain let up, we headed out to do barn chores…the sheep were already complaining and milling around the back of the barn. The cats and dog were following along, looking for a hand-out…

Wait a minute!  We have two dogs….

Ellie?

Ellie!?

ELLIE?!!

When she didn’t instantly appear, bounding happily toward me, I began to get a little worried. As we called several more times, she came skulking down the barn path. She actually looked a little embarrassed.

What on earth happened to YOU?

Her usually lustrous white fur was dull and dark…did it have gravel dust in it?  Then we got a whiff…

Aw, Ellie! Won’t you ever learn? 

The Boss was the first to identify the smell…no…stench that was emanating from her.  Skunk…Big time SKUNK!  Blech

As is always the case in the dogs tangling with a skunk, we were on our way elsewhere.  Not wanting to smell like a wet, skunky dog for our trip to town, we put off the clean-up job.  But, I did add “de-skunkifying” items to my shopping list.

Now, quite honestly, I did NOT want to clean skunk scent off a dog, particularly a dog that was also full of gravel dust, and smelling particularly doggy anyway.  Ellie Mae is also rather skittish sometimes.  I had no idea what she would do when I began the attempt at clean up.  Unlike most dogs of my acquaintance, she will run away if you turn the hose on her (even on a hot day).

Of course, Jed wanted to "help".

Jed’s idea of “helping” is to plant his 100+ pound body directly in front of whatever you decide to do or put his huge doggy face right next to yours...complete with canine breath and copious amounts of drool.  Bend over to tie your boots; he puts his nose in your face. Sit down; he will try to get in your lap.  Do anything to Ellie, he jumps on her, bites her, and rolls on the ground…trying to start a game.

This was going to be fun…NOT!

                                      Jed was banished to the barn.

I decided to try the Dawn dishsoap/peroxide/baking soda treatment that has been making the rounds on the internet.  I also bought some enzymatic “de-skunk” stuff at the Farm Bureau (it seemed to work to some degree the last time) as a back-up. Here's the story of another skunk incident.

Amazingly, Ellie sat calmly as I scrubbed the solution into her long fur. 

She didn’t even mind when I dumped water over her with a little bucket.

She closed her eyes when I rubbed her nose with a washcloth. She must have been desperate to be cleaned because she didn’t even budge when I turned on the hose!

"Oh, the UTTER humiliation!"

I was pleasantly surprised that the Dawn solution worked…it worked quite well! The skunk smell was gone.

No longer stinky…she frolicked around the back yard, with what looked like a smile on her face. The cats and Jed were no longer avoiding her. Life was good.

The Boss insisted that she still smelled somewhat like a skunk.  I didn’t get that…I thought she had been rid of the terrible stench and just smelled wet and doggy. 

Then, I looked down….

this picture doesn't do justice to the filth and odor
of my beloved coveralls

ooooh….that might explain it.  My coveralls!  Yep, my coveralls are probably more dirty and smelly than anything else here on the farm.  No wonder I couldn’t smell the dog!

Wonder if the Dawn/peroxide/baking soda solution would work on this mess?  

                              

                                                 hmmmm, looks like a new project just appeared.

The Hungry Times

Looking at this picture, is it any wonder that some of the old timers called the period from late Winter through early Spring the HUNGRY times? The entire world seems devoid of life and color, tasty food is in short supply. 

It is not just the animals that feel this urge for fresh forage, human beings crave anything green this time of year ...which explains in part why dandelion salad, ramps and fiddleheads are much sought after Spring delights.

There is a point when it seems that Winter may never end.  The animals eat hay and grain in copious amounts in an attempt to maintain body condition throughout the cold, dismal season. If folks are eating seasonally, the larder is nearly depleted, although root crops and canned goods should still be in good supply. But, somehow, they just don’t satisfy after some point. We are all craving something fresh and green.

The first signs of Spring are but subtle teases…the change of light, the faint scent of freshly turned earth and a hint of green grass. You know the seasonal change is coming...surely...but, then another round of winter weather arrives.  This cycle seemed nearly endless this season.

The sheep seem desperate for even a small nibble of the sweet, delicate grass. Fences become meaningless...the call of the sweet green blades beckons. We understand this feeling of urgency for greens, we once drove over the mountain to C’ville just to get fresh, organic salad makings. 

The only answer for the animals is to finally allow them to graze freely once more. 

The first day that the sheep go out on grass is a much anticipated but fairly anti-climactic event. 

Finally after the fence is checked and any damage from the winter is repaired, the gate is opened and the sheep head for the “Promised Land”. 

 Most times, they just put their heads down at that first green blade of grass and begin eating.  They graze non-stop until they can graze no more.  While the lambs dance and play and cry for their mothers, the ewes are just steadily munching their way across the paddock…first one way and then the other.

Once that craving for fresh green grass is somewhat satisfied, they settle under the pines, where they snooze and ruminate until they feel the urge to graze again.

To satisfy our own cravings for greens, we need only take a bowl to the hoophouse…no more trips over the mountain for us.

We have reached the END of the "hungry times".

                 Ah…life is good!   

Sunday Walkabout

While Sunday is our day of relative relaxation, at some point we generally take a quick tour around the place, making a list of priority jobs for the upcoming week.  I like the list-making; it gives me a sense of direction and checking off the completed tasks grants a sense of accomplishment.  The Boss usually just goes along with the list-making thing because it keeps me happy...he's more a "fly by the seat of your pants" kinda guy.

The idea of the Sunday walkabout gave me an idea for an ongoing theme for the farm blog.  What if we take you along for a virtual farm tour on a regular basis?  I'll spare you pictures of the endless weeds, huge piles that need to go to the dump and other unsightly things, focusing instead on completed jobs, funny occurrences and some of the beautiful things that are part of the landscape.




                                  Here's the first walkabout of the 2013 season. Enjoy!

We finally got a chance to plant all those little onion plants that arrived sometime ago.  The ground was tilled, the irrigation tape set, and away we went.  The soft earth allowed us to simply push each little plant into place in the rows.  Later in the week we had a great rain that settled all the plants and we are looking forward to harvesting onions sometime in June.

Somehow, Squeekie managed to get herself caught in the rat trap in the barn.  While she wasn't hurt in any way, her grumpy face and loud MEOWing gave us a few chuckles.

The first batch of broilers FINALLY got out on pasture.  The weather had been so miserable that they stayed in the brooder far longer than normal. This meant that the second batch of broilers had to live in a big hopper in the shop for more than a week.  Now, everyone is where they belong...and we are less than TWO weeks from fresh chicken for the Market!

The sheep were the big winners this week.  The change in the weather meant that the grass is finally starting to grow steadily and the sheep could leave the confines of the barn for greener pastures.  This change is a cause for much rejoicing each Spring.  The green grass means that hay consumption ends and the feed bill lessens. (well, a little)

Then, there are the blossoms...lots and lots of beautiful apple and peach blossoms!  Here's hoping for lots and lots of beautiful apples and peaches.

The seeming endless flats of transplants for the hoophouses actually got planted this week.  

The hoophouses are almost in full production for the season.  It's time to start more seeds!

The squash and cucumber seeds have begun to sprout!  That means we are only about 60 days from fresh, delicious squash, cucumbers and pickle making season.

In anticipation of the upcoming week's big project of planting out the brassica crops, all the broccoli, cauliflower and cabbage seedling were taken out of the greenhouse and put in the trailer outside so that they could harden off some prior to planting.  By putting them in the trailer, we can also keep them protected from any severe weather by simply pulling the trailer into the barn. 

 The cats have taken to sleeping in the trailer with the plants. I reckon this way we don't have to worry about any small rodent attacks. 

As always, the end of the week is Market Day.  For two weeks, I have taken my camera, intending to take pictures at the Market and for two weeks, I have gotten busy and forgotten about it.  We've had wonderful weather and great sales both weeks. The Boss posts Market pictures on a weekly basis...you can check those out HERE.

 This week we had a visit from some very special friends and their new baby.  This is Buzz, Britainy and Zion on their visit to the Market. Can't tell you how we enjoyed seeing them! 

Those are the highlights from the week on the hill.  Thanks for taking the little virtual tour with us.  I hope you'll come back again soon!

                Happy Sunday!

OH! My Achin'...

I have been betrayed.

While I can’t believe it…it’s true…and it’s a terrible feeling.

Long ago I came to terms with the fact that I would never be some tall and lithesome blonde that thrilled and scintillated everyone.  No, my somewhat short and sturdy stature is perfect for my lifestyle and occupation.

It doesn’t bother me that my bad knees kept me from sports and a lot of socialization all throughout high school.  Those two stints on crutches made me kinda cool in an odd sense of the word. That cortisone shot directly into my knee hurt incredibly, but got me walking normally the same day.

I finally realized that that weird “flopping over thing” that my right ankle does on odd and random occasions could be overcome by wearing workboots all the time. Yes, I have worn skirts with workboots. Now THAT is a fashion statement! But. it certainly beats taking a header off the front porch and/or suddenly falling over in the middle of the mall.

All those other little physical idiosyncrasies are just part of what makes me unique. 

But…

             …when a gal can’t even walk down her own driveway…

I really think my body and I need to have some serious words!

It let me down, just when I needed it most.

It is finally Spring in our little corner of the world and that means that the workload just grew incrementally with that first rise of the mercury (hmmm, do thermometers still have mercury?) 

Job ONE was potato planting.  Aside from harvesting the potatoes, this may be my favorite job.  It means that winter is finally over and the growing season has indeed returned.

We had cut the potatoes and were just waiting until the frost thawed before we headed out to plant all those
  ‘taters.  While we were waiting, the Post Office called.  Oh…yikes!  Completely forgot about the new batch of broiler chicks.  OOPS! Suddenly, we were scrambling to get ready for an unexpected project that threw everything else into a tizzy.

The Boss headed out to rig up some sort of temporary brooder in the shop since the first batch of broilers was still in the real brooder due to the continued cold weather.  I set off for the Post Office to pick up the chicks.  Virginia, the Post Office Lady, loves when we get chicks.  When she is not being deafened by their incessant cheeping, she is reminded of the good old days when she used to raise turkeys, and she seems to enjoy reminiscing for a bit.

Since the Post Office is so close, I was back within minutes.  Ellie greeted me at the gate and I saw Jed trundling up the driveway toward me.  I knew that I needed to hurry. As I opened the gate, I pivoted in order to return to the Xterra.  I felt a pop, Pop, POP in my calf.   Ow, Owww, OOOOOWWWW!  Man, that hurts! It really, really hurts…but, the gate is open, the car is running, the dog is coming and the chicks are getting cold.  Pull yourself together!  Wincing from the pain, I closed the gate, rubbing my calf hoping the horrific pain would disappear.

Once I got back behind the wheel, it didn’t seem so bad.  Maybe I over-reacted. 

I drove down the drive to the shop so I could deliver the chicks to the Boss. When I put both feet on the ground and tried to walk, I realized that no…no, I didn’t over-react.  *gasp* this really hurt!  The Boss commented on my weird gait and odd moaning noises.

We got the chicks settled and headed inside.  The Boss began to worry.  “What could be wrong?  You know blood clots cause leg pain…”  I adore the Boss, but this really wasn’t helping.

Since it was still too cold to get after the potato job, I began to research my injury.  I was fairly certain that I knew what happened.  I figured that I either strained or tore the calf muscle.  That Pop, Pop, POP…..OWWWWWW! indicated the classic symptoms of a torn Medial Gastrocnemius.  Further investigation revealed that it was almost certainly a tear.  I am still not certain of the severity. But, thankfully, it was not my Achilles…that would have been really bad. Before anyone offers advice…being self employed with no insurance...self-diagnosis and treatment are how we operate a lot of times. I am about 99.9% certain of my diagnosis. In situations that involve blood, or require testing equipment,  we don't hesitate to get expert treatment.

I must admit, it was more than a little bruising to my ego to find that this is quite often an age-related issue, due to overwork/overuse or being a “weekend warrior”.  Since nobody could call me a weekend warrior…I’m going with overwork.  (ha)

R.I.C.E.  is the method of treatment.  That’s REST….ICE…COMPRESSION…ELEVATION. So, find some ice, elevate the leg…where’s that ACE bandage?…grab a bunch of “Vitamin I” (that’s how us oldsters refer to IBUPROFEN), a pillow and wait.  Surely, the pain would subside.

It had to.

We still had 250# of potatoes to plant!

The potatoes got planted.  YAY! I was incredibly slow, but we were successful, due in part to the Boss’s cool new tool. (story to follow, I promise)  Upon completion, I returned to the couch, replaced my icepack and got some more Ibuprofen. The addition of some Arnica Montana seemed to get the pain and swelling under control.

It looks like the tables are turned for a while.  The Boss will be feeding the sheep and picking up the slack for ME while I wait for healing to take place.

There are a few things I can still get done in the meantime.  By employing the lawnmower as a mode of transportation, I can still get to the hoophouses…and most of the planting/harvesting/weeding is done on my knees anyway.  Doing the Market was an incredible challenge, but we got that done too.

A little more time, a little more ice, and a whole BUNCH of “Vitamin I”…and I’ll be back to normal before you know it.

But, in the meantime, I must say, I agree with Mick Jagger and the Rolling Stones…

          “WHAT A DRAG IT IS GETTING OLD!”

                                                                                  -Rolling Stones “Mother’s Little Helper” 1967

Farewell to a Neighbor

Over the weekend, one of our elderly neighbors passed on to his reward.  While this news didn’t really come as a shock as he was quite elderly and in failing health, I was surprised by my own sense of loss.

Old Mr. H was part of the landscape…he was as much a part of the scenery as the mountains and the fields in our little part of the world. At one time, hardly a day passed that we didn’t see him somewhere along the way.  He was perhaps one of the first neighbors I began to recognize by sight when we first moved here so long ago.  As a full-time farmer, he was often spotted driving his tractor, hauling hay or equipment or just putt-putting down the road.  We would always wave, because in this part of the world, you always “smile and wave to the man up on the tractor”. If we went out early on a Sunday, there he was…looking dapper in his church clothes complete with bowtie…driving his ancient blue sedan to services at the Presbyterian Church.

The first time I met Mr. H, I was struck by his sense of kind neighborliness.  Yes, despite the awful circumstances, he was really nice…a little gruff…but definitely nice.

You see, the first time I actually spoke directly to Mr. H, I had to introduce myself and tell him that…well…I ran over his dog. Not just any dog…one of his guardian animals.  Great introduction, huh?

I had done my very best to avoid that dog, swerving to the other side of the road.  But, the sickening thump told me that my best hadn’t been quite good enough. I had never hurt anything with a vehicle before…and I felt just awful walking across the road to where Mr. H was working to tell him what happened.  He only had one question…

"Was he in the road?"

Yes, sir…oh, I am so, so sorry.

"It wasn’t your fault.  He was in the road." His tone was kind, he didn’t yell and fuss…unlike his hired man who was fussing and fuming and really making me feel bad.

But, don’t you want me to do something?  I’m ….I live up…

Before I could finish, he said, “I know you...I know your name and where you live.  It’s all right.  We’ll take care of it. It’s not your fault”   It was evident the conversation was over.

Later, through communication with the family, I found out that the dog indeed survived. While that fact was a relief, I still remember that day.

Years passed and we saw less of Mr. H. 

When he retired from farming, his daughter took over the family operation.  She was looking for a farmhand for summertime, and hired Blondie to help around the place.  As Blondie only had her learner's permit to drive, either the Boss or I would accompany her on her trips down the road.  This granted us the opportunity to sit and talk to Mr. H while Blondie fed the critters in his barn.  Those were some interesting conversations about farming in the old days….and pet lambs.

Life shifted again, and we saw even less of Mr. H.  His wife’s declining health was taxing their family, and our family was changing too. The girls got jobs in town…they met fellas.   A few waves here and there…a quick word when he’d pass us as the girls and I took long rambles with the dog.

But, there was one last encounter with old Mr. H that I will always hold dear. During what was the most stressful period of my entire life, following the whole horrifying wreck ordeal…if you are wondering…the short version is here.…I heard from Mr. H.  He would call once a week just to “see how that girl of yours is doin’ “ After a quick update, he would promise prayers, and hang up. He continued to do this from the time he heard the news until I gave him the report that she would indeed walk again. Every week for a couple of months…he was amazingly predictable and quite comforting.

He knew our injured daughter only from her job at the local TSC store…and seeing her walking her dog.  He always mentioned seeing her walk her dog.  He didn’t have to call…lots of people (including some family) didn’t. But, call he did...and it meant so much to a very worried, stressed-out mama.

I'm sorry I never got to tell him just how much he touched my heart and helped me through a hard time.

               Rest in peace, Mr. H! 

                      You will be missed. 

The Whole World Needs A Kitchen

We live in a drive-through generation
About the closest thing to a home cooked meal
Is a greasy made-in-three
We hardly ever gather at our table
Life's too busy to be a family
Now if you ask me

The whole world needs a kitchen
Like the one we lived in
The smell of supper cooking on the stove
Food for the soul and a taste of mama's wisdom

Tired daddy dragging through the screen door
Hugs and kisses and a 'thanking the Lord'
They don't make it like that anymore
The whole world needs a kitchen

It's where we sat and did our homework
And that bottom stair was a barber's chair
When mama lowered our ears
It's where we watched mama and daddy dancin’
To the Rolling Stones and old George Jones
Man, I swear

The whole world needs a kitchen
Like the one we lived in
The smell of supper cooking on the stove
Food for the soul and a taste of mama's wisdom

Tired daddy dragging through the screen door
Hugs and kisses and a 'thanking the Lord'
They don't make it like that anymore
The whole world needs a kitchen

It's where we talked about our problems
And it's where we solved them
Lord knows we still got them

The whole world needs a kitchen

*Craig Morgan “the whole world needs a kitchen" 2012

With the Mayor of New York City declaring a war on oversized sodas…the Governor of Massachusetts trying to repeal the tax deal for sweets and Denmark enacting a specialized tax on fat, food choices are definitely in the news.

Personally, I don’t think that we can blame the worldwide obesity issue on just one thing.  While I don’t think MickeyD’s fries, high fructose corn syrup, society’s acceptance of a sedentary lifestyle, or eating on the go have helped anything; it is truly impossible to pinpoint one single factor.

I do think that I may have an answer.  Although, my solution may be every bit as controversial as Mayor Bloomberg’s soda ban and nearly as far reaching as Denmark’s fat tax…

My personal solution would be…

                                                                                                  
            

slow it down,  

fix food together,
  

 and eat in your OWN kitchen... 

   ...dining room...

          ...living room...

                         ...HOME! 

                                                                                    



                                                                  (even if it's only occasionally)

If you really want to start a revolution…grow your own food! (or at least some of it)

I might not be alone in my suggestion, check out this report released by  National Institute for Health Research Public Health Research (NIHR PHR)  Programme .

Some of our family’s most memorable moments have been shared around the kitchen table.  We have laughed and cried, prayed, fussed and fought and even made up while gathered ‘round that piece of furniture around which life centers…that slab of formica covered wood in the middle of our kitchen.  More than meals have been shared there…we’ve shared dreams, hopes, disappointments, fears, heartaches and moments of great achievement.  You might say that history has been made in our kitchen while eating some of our favorite meals. Read THIS...     

I wrote about the Power of Food  some time ago...and Here's the link to the story of the kitchen re-do.

The breaking of bread is a most powerful experience. The act of preparing it together may be even more powerful. All sorts of lessons can be learned...and a crucial foundation for a healthy future can  be secured. 

History has been changed over the dinner table.  Maybe it’s time to change history again. 

                                                                         

                                                                  …one meal at a time.

March Madness

Around here, any reference to the madness of March has absolutely NOTHING to do with basketball, brackets or even the odds of winning.  

Nope…it’s just that little tick, tick…tick. Don’t you hear it?

As the days of March begin to blur, passing by at with an ever-quickening pace, I begin to hear that little tick, tick…tick.  It seems to get a little louder with each passing day.

Market season is coming, 

Market season is coming!

Tick, tick…tick…

While this is a very good thing…sometimes the sense of urgency gets more than a little overwhelming.

There is SO much to do…and there is so little time! Market season starts the first weekend of April...no matter what.

The Market has been part of my life for far more years than any of my “real jobs” that were part of my “career” ever lasted, and we are fast approaching the point when the Boss can say the same thing.  So, you would think that Opening Day would just be…well…another Saturday. In some ways it is always the same, but in some ways every single year is SO very different that we would be more than a little cocky and perhaps a little foolish to think that we got this thing figured out. 

Every year is a unique challenge. And every year, I still have my moments of worry…what if no one comes? …what if they don’t buy anything?  …what if the weather is awful…every single week? What if we sleep through the alarm clock on Saturday morning? 

Last season, I wrote about this phenomenon and posted a number of links to past years.  You can read that HERE.

This March has been complicated by the fact that we have received well over 2 feet of snow.  TWO FEET of snow…in March…in Virginia…to say that is a “complication” is putting it mildly. We’ve also had numerous ice events and nearly 2 inches of rain.  The mud situation has threatened our entire existence at times.  We are incredibly thankful to live on our hill of grass-covered limestone.  At least we know that things dry out fairly quickly. The temperatures are also running far below normal, so the planting schedule that was made with meticulous care in December will have to be revised as the season progresses.

after all the snow the potato garden looks like a swamp

Tick…tick…tick…

We have obtained the potatoes for planting.  Bags and bags are sitting in the shop waiting drier weather.

Tick….tick…tick…

The hay supply is dwindling.  The sheep are eagerly anticipating fresh, green grass.  Can we make it a little longer?

Tick…tick…tick…

The onion plants arrived last week.  More than 3,600 tiny onions are also sitting there (keeping the potatoes company)…waiting.

 Tick…tick…tick…

The broiler chicks REALLY need to go outside.  (It’s been too cold and snowy for them to leave the brooder…and there’s the little matter of GRASS…) But, there are more broiler chicks arriving this week and they will need someplace to live…

Tick…tick…tick…

Sales brochures have been made for the Market….plants are growing…the cooler is clean and functional…seeds have been started…the market freezer has been cleaned and is awaiting stocking…the moneybox is in order…seasonal plans are in order…there are bags in the trailer…a pick-list has been made…there are indeed things to harvest for sale…the Boss has done some plowing and tilling...

Tick….tick…tick…

My mental to-do list goes on…and on…and on….

All the stuff that must be done is not the problem…it’s that blasted ticking!  That’s what’s driving me mad…

Tick… 

     Tick…

          Tick…

Once the Market starts, I finally realize that I will never truly be prepared and most everything eventually gets done…so, we just take it as it comes during the season…and the infernal ticking finally stops…

                                                                                          …until next March.J