If It's Raining on Sunday

Sunday is not a big work day around here. Even in the height of the season, Sunday has always been taken at a slower pace.

Having spent all of our remembered life in the “Bible Belt” we are cognizant of the fact that even if we don’t mind working, our friends and neighbors might. So, partly as a matter of respect for others, partly ‘cause we need a little break, we take it a little easier on Sundays. Although, there have been times when we have done big jobs on Sundays because it seemed absolutely necessary. You know “the ox in the ditch” kind of deal…

I hope this doesn’t make us sound like utter slackers. All our regular chores are done. Animals are fed, meals prepared, plans made for the following week. We take care of all the necessities. We work plenty hard the other six days, let me tell you!

But, rainy, rainy Sundays come all too infrequently. Those days that make anyone long for a blanket and a warm place to take a nap. On those precious and few days, we take advantage and enjoy.

A movie and popcorn, a chance to “re-charge” and "re-new", those things are what rainy Sundays are made for.

And, you know what? We don’t feel guilty, nope…not even a little bit! As a matter of fact, those rainy Sundays may just be necessary to the longevity of the farm.

Evolution of a Farm

I've been feeling a bit nostalgic of late. It was 14 years ago (March 24, 1997 to be precise) that this little bit of God's creation became ours. We were so happy, we felt so blessed, and well, so overwhelmed!

Our bit of creation is 12.03 acres of hill. When it became ours, it had perimeter fence and a septic system. No house, no barn, no greenhouses, no NOTHIN'! But, it was ours. We immediately set to work getting the builder on the job. He was an amazing guy that survived on cigarettes and Mountain Dew.He got the house finished in record time. He has since passed on, but he and Tom were my heroes that July!


By the time we actually moved in, the garden was already going. We learned a LOT on that garden. The weather and the wind here on this hill are much different than what we were used to. The elevation here puts us in a different growing zone. Yes, we learned that one the hard way. The local folks told us to wait..... But, NO.... that year we planted tomato plants at least twice!
Despite our struggles, we learned a lot AND managed to put food by for the winter. At this point, we were looking for a subsistence farm focusing on our own survival, never imagining that we would grow into a market farm.



The house and garage/shop were quickly followed by the barn. A hoophouse structure rose from the landscape in the fall of that year. Then a greenhouse was attached to the house. Several years later the shop grew a greenhouse addition as well. The barn has seen multiple renovation/additions. Three years ago, we got an amazing deal on a used hoop structure, and #2 hoophouse went into operation. Somewhere in there the garden grew into GARDENS and we put in an orchard and berry plants. Flower gardens sprouted up as well.


This piece of land has been home to cows, (milk and meat breeds), goats, chickens, ducks, turkeys, rabbits, sheep, pigs, dogs and cats.A had a pony for YEARS! (seemed like too many years) We even had a llama for a while. No, we didn’t have all the varieties at once. We learned a lot from the experiences with our menagerie. We’ve learned how to vet our own animals, aid in birthing and process them for consumption when appropriate.

.
Fast forward to today. This will be our 14th year as vendors at the Staunton/Augusta Farmers' Market. We no longer start our seedlings in old recycled egg cartons, or in the kitchen window Even with two greenhouses for propagation, I am always thinking maybe we should have MORE! We’re no longer looking to just survive here on the hill; we’re looking for ways to make our little operation thrive.

Opening day of 1998, we made a whopping $66.50.




We were thrilled because we sold out of the products we took. I can say without hesitation that I wouldn't even consider going to the Market for $66.50 these days! Honestly, I have MUCH higher expectations.




We've been contract producers of eggs and sold vegetables to fancy restaurants. After a short while, it became evident that the Farmers' Market was indeed our best option. For the Market we have baked bread, sold wool and handmade wool products (our girls’ handiwork), marketed milk-based soap, made turkey sausage, grown plants and vegetables and a number of other things. Our daughters each had their own money-making ventures at the Market while growing up. In the most unlikely turn of events, the youngest one is now a Market vendor herself.

When we first started doing the Market, it seemed that baked goods would be the easiest way to get fast cash-flow. Tom asked me to bake “just ‘til the vegetables come in”. Ten years, and over 10,000 loaves of bread later, I hung up my potholders when the price of flour tripled in the course of a single season. Honestly, none of us missed the flour wafting through the house, all the pans to wash, and the overheated kitchen (not to mention the overheated mama) every Friday afternoon.

Gone, too, are the milk cows.
It had long been my dream to have a milk cow. When we moved here to paradise, Tom found a cow for me and we began our dairying adventures. Experiences worth a whole series of entries, I might add. Ten years of that, and it was time to move on. Hmmm, takes us ten years to “see the light”. Guess we must be slow learners. The departure of the cows granted more “free time” to pursue the gardening aspect of the place. Good thing. With two propagation houses, and two good-sized hoophouses, we have absolutely NO reason to ever be bored!

Now, we focus on vegetables, lamb and chicken, and eggs. While it sounds like our range of products has decreased, and people STILL ask for bread….this is actually far more profitable. (and I really do NOT miss baking!)

Our girls have grown up, married and gone on to their own endeavors. As middle-aged empty-nesters, it’s interesting to see what we are able to do, now that our “help” is gone. We’ve come up with new operating procedures and found that we’re pretty efficient. We even manage to have a good time working together…even after all these years.


Now that it is “spring” once again, we are looking forward to another year of the Market. Planning and planting and working to make it the best yet! Come on down…and visit us Saturday mornings, April through November…spaces 15 and 16…Wharf parking lot….Staunton, VA.

Thwarting the "GREAT ESCAPE"

My days rarely go as I plan them, and yesterday was no exception.

Morning chores revealed that we needed to follow up on “working the sheep”. I told Tom, but I completely forgot as I was so focused on making the most of the spring-like weather to get some much needed planting done. Perhaps I conveniently forgot…we were following up on the castrations of last week. Blech! Since Tom is the brawn of the operation, I get the stinky part of this job. Sometimes it does NOT pay to be the “brains”!

When he reminded me, we realized there were several other things to do with the sheep. Jimmy Dean (the baaaaby) needed to be tagged and banded as well. I had intentionally skipped this task, as I really questioned “Jimmy’s” survival and I didn’t want him to experience too much pain at one time. Like it or not, banding the ram lambs does cause some level of pain.

With that in mind, I took “Jimmy” his bottle a little early. Lambs find a sense of security in suckling….and OK, I am a soft touch! (call me a sissy or a wus...I won't argue, this time)

While I sat there holding the bottle for Jimmy, I saw it happen. There was absolutely NO denying it…they were planning. I could almost hear the plot in their cheeping. Yes, the chicks were apparently planning the “great escape”. Dare I say they were “hatching” a plot? Nah, way too corny!

First, “Big X” hopped up on the ledge.
He scoped out the situation and apprised the others.

“The Tunnel King” checked out the tunnelnope, they’d have to go out over the wall, men!



“Intelligence and the Surveyor” added their observations to the situation. “Headley” suggested flying…unfortunately, he forgot he didn’t have his feathers yet….he crashed down.


They checked it out over and over. Conversations of escape routes continued on through the ranks.







Too bad, guys, I already saw the movie! While I really didn’t like playing the part of the prison guard and thwarting the escape, it had to be done. Last summer we had turkeys in the shop, and one kept escaping and pooping on Tom’s garden tractor. This did NOT set well with the establishment!

At first I thought I would just cover the stocktank with chicken wire. I was wandering through the barn with this roll of wire, trying to decide what to do when Tom saw me and had to hear the story. He had another suggestion, but it was majorly involved. The problem was that they were going to get on that little ledge no matter what, so I found another tub.


There was quite a commotion when the would-be escapees were rounded up and placed them back in the stalag. They should rejoice….I could have put them in the COOLER! (all in due time, chickies, all in due time)

Despite the diversion of the attempted escape, we still managed to get all the planting done! Who says you can’t work hard and STILL have fun?

(my apologies to the cast and crew of the 1963 classic movie)

The greatest birthday present

Tom insists that it is difficult to buy presents for me. I don’t know why he thinks this, but he IS entitled to his opinion. However, a couple years ago, he bought me what is quite possibly the greatest birthday present EVER.

I carry it with me daily, feel lost if I somehow forget it, and all my jeans have a mark on them from carrying it. I have used it in nearly every aspect of my work. How did I live without it?

Have you guessed what it is? It’s my Leatherman, of course!


I used to watch Tom play “John Wayne draw” with some teenage friends and laugh at their antics. They all carried Leatherman tools, big ones. Each had a holster, and it was a big game to yell “DRAW” and see who got their tool out first. It was raucous, silly and done EVERY time we saw them. Everyone has since grown up ….kinda sad.

It seemed a handy tool, but far too unwieldy for skirt pockets. When I got back to blue jeans, I began to wonder if a pocket tool wouldn’t be handy. I am forever misplacing the barn tools and it’s such a hassle to go looking for something in the barn when working elsewhere.

For my birthday a couple years ago, Tom got me a Leatherman of my very own. I personalized it with bright orange nail polish (after dropping it in the hay and fearing its loss). I had no idea at the time how dependent I would become on my own little tool. I began to carry it all the time.

I was talking with Son-in-law #2 (he was just “the boyfriend” at this point) for my birthday that year. I told him about my great present. He was impressed and we talked about farm tools a bit. My wonderful Leatherman wasn’t mentioned again until his graduation party in the spring. When he was in the midst of opening presents and cards, someone suggested he needed a knife to cut the ribbons and open everything. Without thinking, I reached in my pocket and got out my Leatherman. (told you I carried it everywhere) He and our daughter exchanged odd looks and I distinctly heard the word “weird” whispered between them…but, he got his presents opened!

I’ve cut baler twine, opened paint cans, chipped ice off the frozen gate, harvested crops, pulled nails and splinters, tightened various screws and completed a myriad of other tasks all with my handy Leatherman.

Thanks, Boss! I think of you whenever I use it!

Even Doctor Herriott

(this is a post-script to yesterday’s “Monday”… warning: it’s not funny, cheery or in the least…HAPPY)

I have read all James Herriott’s books: the entire “all creatures great and small” series, I’ve watched all the TV shows repeatedly. If you are unfamiliar with him, he was a Scottish vet in rural England after WWII. I learned a lot about veterinary practice and diagnosis from reading his books. His books and the show detailed both the awesome successes and the dismal failures. I’ve always admired his pluck and stamina and the way that he didn’t let the bad times get him down.

We just had one of those bad times. The ewe that we were concerned about needed some intervention. We decided to go in after the babies. It was our only option. I even checked with a vet indirectly. A works for a clinic, and checked with one of the vets there. He wasn’t too encouraging. I wasn’t too optimistic either. The last time we had a similar trouble, it cost us $275.00 for the vet, and I still had two dead lambs for which I had to find a mode of disposal. About a week later, the ewe died as well. That was one of those experiences I hoped to never repeat.

Tom and I worked incredibly hard to birth out these lambs. I can honestly say I never put as much physical effort in to anything. The first baby died as I pulled it from the mother. I don’t know if I broke its neck or what happened. It was an incredibly difficult delivery.

About this time, the ewe began to seriously labor. With my arm still inside, it was quite painful. It became obvious that the second baby was mis-presented. His head was turned backward, and it was very hard to get him positioned correctly. But, I did it. He was born alive, but barely. We rubbed and tubed and warmed him up. He made it to the house where he later succumbed.


Ewe is not looking so good either. She seems incredibly traumatized and weak. She is lethargic and uninterested in food. I can’t say that I blame her. If she survives, we will have to take her to the stockyard. That would keep it from being a total loss, but barely.

So, there you have it. I lost the battle with death. I truly hate when that happens. For the next couple of days, I will end up going over the situation repeatedly in hopes of understanding. Tom thinks I “beat myself up” too much with my “woulda, coulda, shoulda" wonderings. I wonder if I had only, what if …. My reason for wondering and wanting to know why is simple. I don’t want to repeat the situation. If I can figure out WHY…then maybe, just maybe I can keep it from happening again.

Today is another day. Hopefully a better day. There are more lambs coming. My hope and prayer is that these will be successful. The chicks we got yesterday look healthy. When I went to feed Jimmy Dean-the bottle lamb, he was standing on his back feet, pawing at the side of the pen, looking over the top at me. Not bad for a lamb that started his life with a severely broken leg!

Even Dr. Herriott had his failures and unexplained happenings. You learn from it, if you can, and go on. Despite the failures and disappointments....

Hope springs eternal.

That’s what keeps me…us…farming.

just another manic Monday

Monday is our town day. We try to combine all our errands and get them out of the way at one time. This saves both time and money, theoretically. I’m not so sure about that one.

The trip generally includes the feedstore for sheep and/or chicken feed. The bank (to make the deposit to PAY for said feed) and Wal-Mart for groceries and some “people feed”, and Lowes, another farm store or two, and possibly the office supply store, another grocery store, the list goes on ad infinitum. When things start getting out of hand, we call them “mushroom trips”, as things seem to mushroom out of control.

Today, before we set off on what was supposed to be an abbreviated trip, I got a text from B. My all-time favorite cleaner was on clearance sale at her place of employment, and I could get it about half-price. Never one to miss a bargain, I altered the trip plan a little.

Tom had to make a stop at Staples to do some copies for the Market. As Market Manager of the Saturday Market AND chairman of the Market committee, he gets all the fun jobs.

The rest of the trip was uneventful, until we got to the store to pick up my cleaner. It is the beginning of “chick days” at Tractor Supply. You could hear the peeps as we walked in the door. I swear, I saw those wheels turning in Tom’s head BEFORE he said, “hey, let’s go look at the peeps”. B was still unloading the boxes and boxes of chicks and ducklings. Tom got to thinking maybe we could get an extra batch of broilers earlier than we planned, cheaper than we thought, and maybe we could do this TODAY!

Hmmm, neither one of us could remember what we were paying for chicks, so we put the plan on hold and headed home for lunch. We would check the hatchery website. Despite our check of the weather prior to heading into town, it became obvious that we were in for a rain. We were in for rain….RIGHT NOW! Of course the tarp was in the tool box, and the tool box was back at the house. Drat! That chicken feed is packed in PAPER bags. Tom kept telling me to hang on ‘cause he might have to drive like the wind. Of course, that meant we got behind a VERY, VERY slow vehicle on M’brook Road. When they made M’brook Road, they must have followed a sidewinder, because there are almost no straight stretches, and very few passing zones. It was pouring by this time. He finally passed and drove faster. The rain nearly stopped by time we got to our lane. Thankfully, none of the bags were TOO wet. We laid them out all over the barn to dry.

While I was in the barn, I checked on the sheep and gave them a little hay. Uh oh! One of my yearling girls had her birth sack hanging out. That’s a sure sign of imminent delivery. But, please,not now! I NEED LUNCH! She was busy munching hay, so we went off to lunch.

Over lunch, we discussed the rest of the day. We really, really needed to make a run to the dump. The junk piles up quickly around here, and it’s a regular chore to cart it all off to the dump.
Since the rest of the week is supposed to be nice, we decided to chance the rain and tornado watch and get rid of all the stuff, leaving the rest of the week free for farm work. While we were at it, we really ought to get that batch of chicks. We could have chicken for sale by the end of April. The price was right, and it’s not too far out of the way to swing back by the store on the way home from the dump. But that ewe…she was STILL chewing her cud and just “chillin’”. We locked her in a stall slightly away from the noise and confusion in the rest of the barn.


And off we went. We got to the dump with no catastrophes. We got by TSC, and picked up the chicks, a light and some feed. Now, there are 30 broiler chicks living in the shop with Jimmy Dean.
Not exactly WITH him, everyone has their own pen. The rain re-appeared on our way home. (thankfully we made it to the dump in fairly dry conditions). They also lifted the tornado watch. But, we’re getting some amazing rain.

Tomorrow, Tom will clean out the brooder, and eventually we’ll get the peeps out there. The shop is just a stop-gap measure for a couple days. They will actually be "pastured poultry".


When we got back, the sheep was still in her stall, just hanging out, chewing her cud.


After last week’s sheep disaster, we decided to check her out. I “suited up”, checked her out, found nothing amiss, and am hoping that my rooting around in there will start the labor in earnest.
We will have to wait and see on this one.

And, so it goes….you never know what is going to happen next around here. I didn’t get much done on my “to do” list for today. However, we started a broiler project, I got the groceries, AND we got all the trash to the dump. Now, if I can just get these lambs born….

coveralls ain't sexy

I love country music. It expresses my feelings when I can’t find the right words. It stands for strength and courage and deep family bonds. Faith in God and belief in His word are at its core. It’s hot, it’s loud, and it’s brash…soft, slow and tender. It’s just part of who I am.

My relationship with country music goes back to my childhood. The only radio station we could get when I was small was an AM country station that went off the air at sundown. The radio host was “the TomCat” Reeder up on the Breezy Knoll. When Tom and I married and bought our house in the county, we were up the road from the radio station. Every time you picked up the phone to make a call, you heard country music (if, of course, it was before sundown). Honestly, the radio signal somehow bled over onto the phone line. I believe the station is gone now. Just another faded rural American memory…it may be gone, but not forgotten.

Despite my lifelong love of country music, I have a serious gripe. WHY are country men mentioned in song and you never hear of country women? I mean, Kenny Chesney sings about a woman thinking his tractor is sexy, Trace Atkins croons about how ladies like country boys….and farmer tans….and there are more. Is that fair? Am I being sexist for asking the question?

It occurred to me the other day, that I will never hear a song about me..or my coveralls…and particularly not me IN my coveralls. Nope, never. But, I love my coveralls. They keep me warm; my clothes clean….and on rainy or snowy days…keep my underwear mercifully dry. Oh, dear…I suppose you really didn’t need THAT piece of information. However, after feeding 20 to 50 sheep on a rainy day, one comes to value these things.

I discovered coveralls years ago, and coveralls that fit about 3 or 4 years ago. I didn’t realize that I was short enough to wear kids’ coveralls, but they are SO much better, and don’t drag in the mud (well, not so much). I have pockets for everything: my phone, my Leatherman, my MP3 player, my gloves, a headband,a couple of dog cookies, my rubber exam gloves ….oh, and hey, there’s that pair of pliers I thought were lost!

My coveralls keep my clothes clean (well, clean-er, it's a relative term). They are covered with all kinds of animal fluids, mud, and antiseptic spray, a little bit of blue-coat, maybe some wormer, and occasionally some dog food. I fit right in with the barn inhabitants!

As a matter of fact, I was in the barn the other night, just kinda hangin’ out. I love to watch the interactions of all the animals. As a shepherd, this is important work….the checking for health and well-being. Besides, it’s fun. While I was standing there, lambs began to come closer and closer. I waited to see what would happen. They got close enough to sniff me. I waited. They sniffed some more and began chewing on my coveralls. Then, they bunted me….just like they would their mothers in order to get something to eat.

Hmmm, maybe I know why country women (at least this country woman) never make it into song….




Maybe I seriously need to wash the coveralls!