Bulls and cows.

Owen is in the field with me helping me or at least hanging out with me while I feed and water the cows and chickens.

He walks over to the cows to offer a pat. Smokey comes looking for a crab apple treat, but getting nothing, turns her attention back to the grass. The bull comes wandering his way so I ask him to step back on the other side of the electric fence. (The bull has never been or shown any signs of being mean, but he's still a bull, and you never trust a bull 100%. Plus I think the heifer was in heat.)

Me: Owen, why don't you come back to this side of the fence. The bull is coming over.

Owen, looking at our cow Royalty: Is that the bull?

Me: No, she's a cow. That's Royalty. (Pointing to the bull) That's the bull.

Owen: I thought they were both cows.

Me: Nope. Royalty is a cow and you can tell because she has an udder. See, where the milk comes from?

Owen: Yeah, but that one has one too. (Pointing to the bull again)

Me: No, that's not an udder, those are his testicles. They're different. Only boys have those. Even you.

I leave Owen to run this information over in his head.  I wonder if he's wondering if his "fellas" will grow as large as the bull's. I wonder if I'm going to have to answer more difficult questions. I wonder where his dad is. But Owen moves on to wonder about something else. What would I do without livestock to explain these things?

Welcoming Yesterday

We had the trip planned since we sat down in June and looked at the short eight weeks of summer. The vacation would be short this year, just 2 1/2 days. We wouldn't be far, just 2 hours down the road. Doesn't seem like much of a vacation but we're lucky to have a beautiful national park near by. With cows and chickens it's hard to leave for any length of time because we need a babysitter. My friend was nice enough to do that for us, so we could go at all. She was worried though. Smokey was due to calve any day.  She is not a farmer. She is my friend with good sense and I trust her, but she is not a farmer. Maybe I was a bit worried too.  I prepared her the best I could, but you can explain 30 years of experience in a conversation or on a list.
Friend: How will I know if she calved?
Me: You probably won't unless you look for the calf. She'll be acting different. More alert.
Friend: Compared to what? I don't see her act normal.
Me: That's why you probably won't know unless you see the calf.
Friend: How do I know if the calf is ok?
Me: The mom will be ok. If she's upset something is wrong.
Friend: How will I know if the calf isn't ok?
Me: It will be dead.

No pressure.  There are a gazillion things that could go wrong that could cost the life of the calf and the cow. Realistically, Smokey should calve without any trouble at all. She's done it before, the bull wasn't big, so the calf shouldn't be....But still, that's why we would only be gone from Wednesday morning until Friday afternoon.  Even after our conversation my friend still agreed to babysit for me (she is an awesome friend) with a list of emergency phone numbers including those of my mom (my mom is good for all kinds of births).

The nature of herd animals and prey animals is to hide their young. Smokey hid hers well. So well that my friend had no idea she calved. Without seeing her calve with my own eyes, I can't say for sure when she did, but based on the hardness of the calf's hooves, the dryness of the umbilical cord and the calf's sturdiness on her feet, I say she calved Thursday, perhaps even late Wednesday.  While preparing to leave Wednesday morning I did a final round checking on our critters. Smokey looked to be in early labour.  It didnt' make sense to stay as she may not calve for days even if she was in early labour, but I was surprised to hear my friend say she hadn't calved. 

When we got home Friday afternoon I went straight out to the field. Shady was with me of course. Smokey was grazing and looked a bit thinner. Now Smokey does not like Shady, even when Shady isn't being a pest. Normally though, if Shady keeps her distance and runs through the grass looking for pheasants, Smokey ignores her.  This time Shady went into the woods and Smokey immediately followed. So I went in the woods and watched and waited. Smokey stared down the path under a fallen tree, so I walked that way. Smokey followed. Then Shady burst with excitement, wagging her whole body at something hidden in the tall grass that grows under the trees. That's when I knew for sure. Smokey started calling to her calf in that way momma cows do. A way I can't describe or mimic but is unmistakable and reserved only for talking to their babies. I nearly stepped on her to find her even though Shady had pointed her out. Hidden between trees and fallen branches, on a bed of tall grass, was a pretty little girl. She didn't say a word until I touched her. I got her to her feet, not knowing if she had nursed yet, hoping she had or I'd have my hands full. Once up it was clear she had. On practiced legs with plenty of energy she followed her momma out of the thicket.  If she hadn't nursed she wouldn't have had the energy to be able to stand. If a calf doesn't nurse in the first hour or less of life, they are in trouble. This little (I use the word relatively, as she's about 100 lbs) heifer though was perfectly fine.  The herd, including the horse, gathered protectively around the new addition and I took that as my cue to leave. 

This year is the Y year, so I think I'll name her Yesterday, as she was born yesterday, when I was away.

A bird in hand is worth two in the coop?

Despite the cold rainy weather, the chickens have been doing really well. I put them outside in the coop earlier than I did last year. They were younger but bigger. Last year they didn't eat grass or chase bugs or anything. They just sat there. This group is much better and eat a lot of grass and run around like they just discovered gold when they find a slug. (It's so funny to watch that I'll even pick up a slug just to see them run around.) But last year we were lucky. No predators gave us any trouble. I didn't knock on wood loud enough apparently. This year we weren't so lucky.

I like ravens. They are an interesting bird. Smart. I like the different vocalizations they have. The families they keep. But they took one of my chickens last weekend. 

Such an odd thing to have happen that the more I talked about it, the more I questioned what I believed happened. The chickens are kept in a portable coop so they can enjoy the benefits of being free range without running all over our property, pooping everywhere and getting eaten by numerous predators. Shady would probably kill every one just for fun if given the chance. She sees them as her play things and runs around the coop scaring them, just to see them scatter. She is a bird dog, I can't blame her, but I also won't give her the chance to actually kill one.

Last weekend we went to my parent's house for the night. When we got home I noticed 3 ravens fly up from beside the coop. This was odd. Not something I would normally see. So I went to check on the chicks. The chicks have all their feathers and weigh about a pound. They're a good handful.  When I counted I could only find 9 chickens. One missing. The ground around the coop was all scratched up. A three foot section was mainly focused on and I could see where they had dug under the wall of the coop.  The hole looked too small for anything to go under let alone a raven with a chick in it's maw, but there were only nine left. It obviously happened. By raven or not.

Everyone I've told this story to have been stunned. A raven taking a small chick, sure. A family of ravens digging under a coop to steal a chicken, unheard of. That's when I started to question what I saw. Maybe I was placing the blame on the last one seen at the scene of the crime. Maybe they didn't commit it. Maybe it was a mink or weasel. I would think another predator would dig a neat little hole and be in and out, killing every single chick. Not wasting time digging the length of the wall just to take one. I was sure of one thing though, whoever took the chick would be back. There were nine meals left.

I devised the only barrier I could around the coop by lying tall buckets on their side. It looks like the coop is on pontoons. If the culprit was a raven the chicks should be safe. (Ravens may be smart but I dare them to dig under buckets that could roll on them and under the coop.) If it was something else, they were doomed.  When I got home from work that evening I was sure my story was accurate. On the fence sat 3 perturbed ravens. In the coop, nine happy chicks. 

Welcoming Royalty

It's June so of course a lot of things are going on right now. We made a million different plans in the aftermath of Toodles' death. We ended up following through with none of them, instead coming up with another altogether.

What the loss of Toodles cost us, other than the loss of her as an individual, was a producing cow and her calf. Her keep is earned through her calves. Our source of farm income. By losing her, we not only lost our investment in her, but her calf (which would have earned income next year) and all of her future calves as well.

At first I thought we'd keep Xanadu and buy a calf to replace her as meat this fall. This made sense as she has great genetics and good confirmation. I'm sure she'd produce excellent calves. The plan didn't make sense because I would then have two cows that were genetically related.  It also didn't make sense because Xanadu wouldn't calve until next spring and that calf wouldn't earn income until the year after that. That means keeping Xanadu would cost us 2 years of expenses with no income. Plus we'd have to buy an animal this year and next, to meet our meat orders. So it would cost us double. This plan was scrapped.

The plan we thought made most sense was to buy a cow who just calved this spring. More money up front, but it would cost us less in the long run. The hardest part was which cow, from who, for how much. As much as farming, beef farming, is a predominantly male industry, my mom has nice cattle and my mom's best friend Barb also has nice cattle. She has nice quiet cattle too that are accustomed to living in a small herd.  So three women farmers sat around on the phone and through emails and discussed who had what animals and what genetics and who would fit best in my herd that they no longer needed in their own. Fun. Better than talking about men or shopping for clothes.

Last week the decision was made and last night a cow and her calf were delivered from Barb's farm. Royalty is her name and Owen named her sweet little heifer calf Yummy. Royalty is 5 years old I believe and an older style cow with a long neck, blocky head and a long solid frame. A long neck on a cow is said to indicate a good milker and she is.  Royalty is friendly and used to being handled. I think she'll fit in really well here.  We have a bull on his way that will breed her and she'll produce another calf next year too. She'll put us right back on track. Smokey and Xanadu were excited to see another cow when she arrived. I know they've missed Toodles.  This morning, Royalty was still tentative in her new surroundings but grazing with the herd that has suddenly doubled.

When raising livestock, you are bound to have deadstock. That's how farming goes. But you just keep on keeping on. It's a happy ending or a happy beginning, depending on how you look at it.

Welcome to Farming

The first time I saw a cow butchered I was seven years old. I knew what happened to them when they left the farm, my parents never lied to me, but this time I wanted to see it. I can't explain why I wanted to see, I just did. It didn't upset me, it was just the way life worked. But I haven't forgot.

I haven't forgot any of them. The calf that was born dead.  The calf I found in the field after the vultures had found it. The yearling that broke her neck in the feeder. The heifer that broke her neck tied to the post. I remember them all.  In 30 years I've seen alot of death. 

Today we tied the the two cows and the calf to the back of the tractor and started the walk back to the pasture. We had made the same walk to the barn in January, when Smokey didn't want to walk.  Since the air smelled of fresh grass and the cows were itching to get out of the barn, I thought it would go more smoothly than last time.

Everything started out fine. Everything was going as planned. I had put halters on the cows weeks in advance, preparing them for the walk.  They were quiet as we started out, all walking perfectly. Then Toodles got scared and pulled tight. She was taking forced steps the whole way, but not dragging and falling like Smokey did in January, so we kept going.  This was nothing new, expected actually.

Then, with only 500 ft left to our walk Toodles fell. I went to her side to get her up. She wouldn't. We took off her halter and encouraged her by slapping her butt, but she wouldn't move. I don't know how someone knows when something is dying, but I can assure you that if you are ever in the situation, you will know.  I don't know why, but lying there in the road with her head in my hands, Toodles died. 

Toodles was due to calf any day.  Her calf was now dying too.  With two other animals, we had to keep going.  So Mart stayed with Toodles while I continued on to the field with the others. I love my husband dearly. Neither of us woke up this morning expecting him to have to cut open a dead cow in the road to do an emergency c-section. But he did. He tried. He did everything that could be done. But it was too late. The little heifer calf died with her mother. 

As shitty days go, this one ranks up there.  Toodles was a sweet, friendly cow. I won't soon forget her death but most of all the enjoyment I got from her.  I so wish this didn't happen but I don't know how I could have foreseen it, or prevented it.

With life comes death. Welcome to farming.

Story of a horse

It occurred to me that I've never told the story of Bud. My lovable but frustrating horse that I often refer to as Dink. Really it's not fair to him. You don't have the full story. He is a dink sometimes none the less, but you need the full story for it to be fair I call him that.

Bud is a purebred registered Morgan. He was born with a fancy pedigree name that, to be honest, I don't even know. His papers are in the safe at my mom's house I think. I've just never cared enough to look at them. His familiar barn name was Bubba. I don't call him that either. I take offence when someone does. That life is long gone.

When I was two years old my family adopted my sister. She was 8. She was put in foster care when she and her siblings were removed from her mothers care, or lack there of. My mother (so the story is told) told her she could pick a new name for herself if she wanted to. A new life, a new name. She did. A beautiful new name.

Bud came from a similar situation. So, new life, new name. He is Bud, or Budward or Dumb Ass or sometimes even Dink.

As a stud colt he was shown all across the US and won awards that covered the walls of his breeder. He was something to look at. He still is. A champion. But as he got older he became violent and unpredictable. Only to be handled by the owner.  I met him at this time, when I was hired on to muck out stalls at his barn for the summer, but never allowed in his.  He was 2 and a nervous ball of power and energy.

He was only allowed out of his stall to be exercised under saddle.  After his lesson he was returned to his stall where he paced in a constant state of anxiety.  He became too much of a problem when he started to toss his head in the show ring. They would put up with him being difficult to handle, using the fact that he was a stallion as the excuse, but when he could no longer be shown, he became worthless to them. They had him gelded but that didn't help. They couldn't sell him as he would give them a bad name. It's at this time that we found him.  Three years had passed since I'd seen him last. He was now 5 and if we didn't want him he'd be shot. So my mother and I took him. That was 7 years ago.

When he first came home we could ride him anywhere. He'd go with the whites of his eyes showing and his chest covered in sweat. It was quickly evident just how damaged this horse was. So we stopped. Everything. And started again at square one. We asked nothing of him and offered trust.  We didn't ask him to go anywhere or do anything he was afraid of. Turns out he was afraid of everything. He had never been allowed out of his stall so he didn't have one sweet clue how to be a horse. He didn't know how to graze, what a stream was, what a puddle was, what the wind was. Nothing. He had instinct but no teaching from another horse on how to behave. We left him in the company of the cows and he started to learn.

We brought him back slowly using natural horsemanship and the guidance of Pat Parelli. Very similar in style to what I'd naturally been doing with horses my whole life, but with more tools and understanding.  When we started riding again he would only follow the dog. And did what the dog did. So we rode for a few months with his nose dragging on the ground.  It was two years before I could ride him down the road where he'd never been before.

He's come a long long way in seven years. I can confidently take him anywhere. He is not dangerous.  The tension is gone. He's a relaxed, happy boy. (On a side note, what we've learned through Bud has translated to our dog and kids.)  But he can still be a dink. He's a smart horse, which is why I think he snapped being cooped up in a barn all the time. He likes to push my buttons. Plus he still carries scars from his past life. He tenses when new men come around. He is very claustrophobic. He likes to scare himself like a little kid on Halloween. Having been gelded late imprinted stallion behaviour on his brain so dominance fights can be fun between us. He is a challenge and everything I get from him is earned.  He is affectionate and sweet and loves to play and think.  Plus he is wicked fun to ride and full of spunk.

To see a horse who was once afraid to stand alone in a field now gallop it's length, is a beautiful thing. Who was once afraid of trees, ride through the woods. Who was once afraid of a puddle, plod through a river with water up to his belly. 

Then he sees his shadow flicker and jumps in fright while I'm on his back. Chases the cows so they can't have a turn drinking water. Turns his butt to me and farts when I come to say hi.  Jumps into the road because he sees a mailbox. Dink.

I've always thought control is an illusion. There can't be control, control is forced. Instead, there is partnership. I had to earn that from Bud, and to know I have is an honor.  He had plenty of reasons to never trust again. He can be a dink, but I love him anyway. I've learned a lot from him. Most of all, that pedigrees don't make a horse. Or a dog. Or a person.

Bright idea

Sometimes an idea should remain just an idea. To bring it to reality would ruin it. And sometimes our desire to act on the idea is amplified by our inability to actually do it. For example: Maybe I'm sitting on the couch and it's 10:30 at night. All I want in the world is a fudgescicle. Not the no-name kind made with frozen brown water, the real deal. In order for me to actually have a fudgescicle I'd have to drive 20 kms* to get it, which isn't going to happen at 10:30 at night, but that only makes me want it all the more, until I'm actually contemplating driving 20 km for a stupid fudgescicle.  If I actually made my idea a reality I'd feel stupid for driving 20 kms and by the time I got the fudgescicle and ate it, it'd be close to midnight and I'd feel gross.

Bud the horse has been living in the barn with the cows all winter. It's an open area with an indoor and outdoor space. Plenty of room, but not enough to run.  Lately he's been acting like a brat. Wanting stimulation, wanting to run, wanting to do something.  I can't blame him, with the snow just about gone and the fields bare, spring fever has hit us all.  So I've been taking Bud outside in the evening light to play games, be stimulated and to stretch his legs and run.  It's really his idea. He's been leaning his head over the fence and staring out into the fields for days. 

Outside on the lunge line poor Bud is so out of shape he can't run a lap without panting for air.  At one point he stopped and looked at me with pleading eyes as if asking What was I thinking? I don't feel so good.

I just laughed. After all, it was his idea.

*It is actually a 20 km return trip to our nearest convenience store. I know, it's not very convenient.

It's coming

The only thing I know for sure is that spring is coming. Regardless of how much snow is in my yard and continues to fall on it, spring is coming.  Regardless of how much winter unpacks and makes itself at home, it's not staying.

The other day the sun was shining, but not in that freeze your eyeballs open kind of way, typical during winter in these parts, but in the wrap you in a warm blanket kind of way.  For one day the temperature rose above freezing and we caught a glimpse of spring. For one day you could even smell it. 

So despite the coop being buried under snow, I celebrated the day the best way I could. 

I ordered my chickens.

Two Crows Farm

There are bonuses to winter. For example, I can pull on my insulated coveralls over my pj's on weekends and go out to the barn. Another is that the poop is all frozen so it's not as smelly or dirty in the barn.  The bad part of winter is not having a heated water bowl and having to chop ice out of the water buckets twice a day. 

Last weekend we finally moved the animals 1 km down the road to the barn. We are borrowing a space in the neighbour's barn for the winter. Hopefully this is the only winter. This spring, plans are in the works to build our own. Crossing my fingers that it actually happens. There is government funding that will help with a big part of the bill.  I am beyond excited, but force myself to be patient. There is currently 3 feet of snow on the ground that has no intention of going anywhere and the funding applications don't come out until May. I'm not going to be too excited until I see an approval letter in the mail.

We brought the cows down the road by tying them to the back of the tractor and walking. Smokey, who had been halter broke in the past, I thought would be fine. Toodles, who I didn't think had ever had a halter on, I was worried about. Xanadu, the calf, she was left loose to follow along. I wasn't concerned about her. She had two choices, follow or be left behind alone. Of course she followed her mamma like a good girl. What surprised me was that Smokey wouldn't walk. She's approximately 1800 lbs and wouldn't take a step. The tractor pulled, she slid behind, then fell. Legs splayed on the road. We had gone 500 ft and her hocks we skinned and bleeding from falling on the pavement. It's frustrating watching. All she had to do to relieve her discomfort, was to walk. Each time she fell, I loosened the ropes and gave her a rest. Unsure what we would do if she didn't walk. We couldn't drag her, we'd kill her. We couldn't let her keep falling, she'd hurt herself.  Toodles in the mean time was tied next to Smokey, standing just as quiet as can be, without ever pulling her rope tight. You'd think she had been shown, she was so well halter broke. (She is now officially my favorite cow.) When we reached the farm next door, I'm not sure if Smokey could smell the other livestock or what, but she stood right up, shook her head and walked. The rest of the way was a breeze and thankfully she is no worse for wear, with no injuries other than skinned hocks. 

I wasn't terribly worried about the walk, because I knew it would work, but it was a huge relief to have them inside and out of the wind and snow. The trip back in the spring? Well, I'll worry about that when the time comes. In the mean time, I will be putting a halter on Xanadu and teaching her how to walk, as she'll have to be tied next round.

A few years ago I would have thought it impossible to farm without machinery or a barn. But I guess where there is a will, there is a way. I've had to be resourceful and return favours with my time (which is worth more than money) but it's working.  I have my cows.

The horse wouldn't let me catch him that day. He's in need of a lot of work. He's very herd bound and would prefer if I left him alone with his cows. The thing with him though, is that he's not mentally strong enough to be a herd leader. If he wants to go somewhere in the field, but he's afraid, he'll herd one of the cows and force them to come with him. He's severely claustrophobic (which stems from years of being trapped in a stall 24/7 and mistreated before we bought him) and is afraid of most things. So being in the barn is a bit of a mind blow for the guy. The space they are in is an open area, half enclosed and half outdoors. There is no reason he should feel the least bit confined or trapped, but he does. I'm not sure how to help him with this except to go back to the lessons of natural horsemanship and build his confidence with games and exercises. 

I left him in the field and took the cows. If he didn't want to follow me, then he'd suffer the consequences and be left behind. He wanted to be a dink, so I said fine, have it your way. When I returned for him, he ran up to me in the field, placed his head in my lap. He didn't care, he'd follow me anywhere, so long as I didn't leave him alone. He has a strong dominant streak in him, being a stud for 3 or 4 years and that dominance and fight for leadership is a daily battle with us. He wants to be in control, but wants me (or the cows) to provide him with safety and comfort. In the animal world, you can't have it both ways. You follow or you lead. Poor guy is in constant struggle with himself. 

We walked down to the barn. I had plans on riding him, but he worked himself into such a state he was covered in icicles from galloping through the snow banks and sweating. He's such a dink some days, but he's my special boy. There is no lack of personality. He is the furthest thing from a dead head quarter horse that you might mistake them for different species.

With everyone warm in the barn, I can wait for Toodles to calve. I'm not sure on her exact due date but some time in February is our best guess. Her calf will be the second born on our farm and will have a name beginning with the letter Y.  Two Crows Farm is officially a member of the Canadian Limousin Association and has been given tattoo letters that represent our farm. If we choose to register our animals they will have the tattoo in the left ear beginning with MDC then the number they were born and the letter of the year. So Toodles' calf could be MDC 1Y.  We chose the tattoo MDC because it is both Martin's initials and mine.

So the little girl that everyone thought was crazy for having a cow in her back yard, with no barn and no tractor, now has 2 cows, has sent 3 bulls/steer to market, fed 12 families, has had one calf born on the farm and awaits the second, with top of the line genetics and some pretty awesome cattle and plans to purchase two more. Hard to believe we had none of this two years ago.

The power of love.

The tornado ripped through town picking up the house and tossing it into the land of Oz.

Well, it wasn't a tornado, but it was stronger than the so called hurricane we had.  And it did pick up the house and toss it 20 ft away, leaving the turkeys in an unfamiliar world.

In the past 4 days we've had more than 5 inches of rain, leaving everything soaked through. The turkeys are still here, but I must say, having turkeys in weather like this is not fun.   The poultryminium 1000 we built is showing wear, has no bottom and only one wall.  It was perfect during the summer and offered plenty of shade and shelter and allowed for grazing.   Recently, the cows and horse have been chewing on the tarp that is its roof, making holes and the rain has decided to fall horizontally.  So the turkeys are wet to say the least.  The tips of their wings and tail feathers are brown.  The tail feathers are nothing more than the center quill and look more like ass end of a porcupine.  There isn't a dry place in the field to move the coop to.  The best I can offer is a spot without puddles and even this is now hard to come by.  Keeping an eye on the weather, I can point the wall of the coop into the wind, giving them some reprieve.  So long as the wind direction doesn't change the turkeys stay relatively dry.  When it does change though, they're off to Oz.

Friday I spent the day an hour away in meetings.   Mart walks in the door, home from work to the phone ringing.  It's our neighbour, Fred. 
Fred: Have you looked out the window?
Mart, confused, but accustomed to Fred's odd way replies: No, why? 
Fred: Your turkeys are on your lawn.  Where's your wife?
Mart: Work
Fred: Can I videotape you trying to catch the turkeys then?

My loving, patient husband suits up in his rain gear and goes out to round up the turkeys.   They had wandered from the pasture, under the barbed wire fence and onto our lawn.  Since they had already been under the fence Mart thought (and sensibly enough) that they could and would, walk right back under and into the pasture again with guidance.  He forgot they're turkeys.  There are a few things dumber than a turkey, but none come to mind right now. 

I should add that between the barbed wire, at approximately the level of a man's crotch, there is an electric fence wire we use to divide part of the field.  Oh, and it was on.

Our turkeys are friendly enough but not used to being handled.  Ready for the roasting pan, they are nearing 25 lbs each.  Not having any luck herding the turkeys, Mart simply picks one up, carries it over the fence and returns it to the coop.  It was simple really.  I don't know what the fuss was about.  It was only a 25 lb turkey flapping its wings and kicking its legs and trying to escape what it believed to be an attack on its life, with Mart trying to hold it under one arm while straddling the fence and getting electrocuted every 10 seconds in the crotch.  No big deal, really.  Before long he had all 5 back in the coop.  They were wet, disheveled and bright blue in the face showing just how put out they were by the whole ordeal, but no worse for wear.  They're turkeys, and with fresh feed in front of them, they quickly forgot the whole thing I'm sure.  Mart, likely not.  

He truly loves me, I can tell.  He'll cross the driest desert, sail the largest ocean, climb the highest mountain and catch turkeys in the rain, just for me.

F#*$ing broccoli

I learned lesson, well I forget what number I'm on now but it's a lot, in gardening the other day.

Last year the little green worms ate all my broccoli. So this year I've kept a keen eye out for the little garden munchers but they haven't been around. Last year we had lots of moths. Cecropia and Luna moths, plus others I liked to call Neapolitan moths because their colour reminded me of ice cream, spattered the door and wall of the house under the outdoor light each morning. This year, they came back, but we apparently have more birds this year. Instead of moths spattering the walls, we have moth wings on the deck like autumn leaves. Birds give me heart attacks daily, crashing into the house and snatching away what must be a juicy breakfast.
At any rate, less moths mean less eggs laid by moths on my broccoli, which mean less green worms, which should mean more broccoli. The plants looked healthy all spring and early summer and I was excited to see the heads forming. Then, for no reason that I'm aware of without analysing a soil sample, they bolted. Went to seed. Beautiful little yellowish white flowers where broccoli heads are supposed to be. No broccoli for us again.

So I've come to the conclusion that some people are meant to grow broccoli and others are meant to buy it from those people at the farmers market. Lesson learned: don't waste time trying to grow broccoli.

On another note, my chickens will be leaving on the 31st. I have to bring them out to a farm to be butchered. The dilema is how to get the 9 chickens to the farm. Without making a mess in my truck.

Xanadu

I'm stunned. Happy and proud and stunned. I have that new, proud mamma glow. Can you see it? Grinning ear to ear, I sit here stunned.

I got home from work today, just an hour ago and went out to the back yard. Mart was working on the chicken coop. The cows are in the closest pasture to the house, but were down over the bank out of sight. Suddenly we see a vulture gliding over the tree tops, directly over our heads and the field. I thought, that's weird. Vultures don't come around for nothing. I wonder why he's here. Not expecting anything but a vulture with a nose for chickens, I walked out into the pasture. I had to check if the cows needed more water anyway. I never expected to find what I found.

Smokey calved! A pretty little girl. All cleaned up and licked off. She was even standing. Old enough for her fur to dry but that's about it. I place her about, well, it's 6:30 now, so an hour and a half old. The vulture was fast sniffing out the after birth.

I'm going to do the only thing there is to do and let nature take it's course. Though, I am human and our species isn't known for letting nature do anything on its' own, which is why I'm here. It's stopping me from going out there. I would feel better if I saw the calf nurse.

I'm stunned because I didn't know she was due. I'm happy and proud because she is the first calf born on our farm. First calf of Two Crows farm. Did I tell you we named the farm? Two Crows for two crows joy! For days like this.

*********
Update:
The calf was nursing last evening, so I felt better going to bed. I put the horse in the other field so he wouldn't be a jerk and I'm glad I did. This morning they were all laying down in the tall grass, soaking up the morning sun. She's about 80 lbs, which is a perfect size. She's just little. We've named her Xanadu for the X year.

and so it goes

Like plans often do, ours changed.

I was planning on bringing Stella back this spring, but instead she remains in her herd with many others, likely spending the day grazing, swatting flies with her tail and licking snot from her nose. Cows are glamourous creatures. I decided to leave her behind for the sake of safety. She is not a safe cow. She has no problem planting the top of her head under your ribs and sending you flying. So, since I like my ribs intact, I left her and brought two others instead. They are a kinder, gentler sort. Smokey and Too Dew, which we've renamed or nicknamed Toodles.

Toodles because Owen says it nightly to us as we leave his room from tuck-ins and stories. As he says it, he can't help but curl his tongue over the side of his front teeth creating the most adorable smile and snaky ssss sound at the end of the word.

The two, plus calves (Winston and Wellington) born last fall are gaining weight and happily settled into their new home with Bud. No chasing, no escapes, no charging or frantic, panicked cows this year at all. Just boring cows, grazing, swatting flies and chewing cud. Just the way I like it. Last weekend we finished the fence around the back pasture and let the gang have at the knee high grass. The second field in the 3 field rotation. Laying down, they are nearly hidden. All you can see is the odd ear flicker or swoosh of a tail.

There is still a list of to-do's as long as the fence line, which is probably why Mart was dead silent on the end of the line when I called and informed him the turkeys would be arriving in less than 2 weeks. He was clearly unhappy to hear from me while standing in the locker room of his gym, sporting nothing but boxers. My call informing him indirectly that I had another project for him to do, without actually asking him if he would, was probably poorly timed. So while I'm in the dog house, I'm making plans for a turkey coop. We shall see how good my carpentry skills are. Hopefully I'll look so pathetic he'll come rescue me, or, you know, I could just ask him nicely....

My most favorite aunt wrote in our wedding guest book nearly eight years ago, "Martin, you will never be bored with your new wife". I remind him that this is what she was talking about.

Spring means farming

It's been a while since I updated the farm part of my life. I guess it's been since the whole fiasco when the cows were loose for two weeks. You're probably thinking not much goes on in the winter and that would be true I guess.

Last fall, well, last November my mom was coming to pick up Stella the cow, Fuzz Butt the bull and Bud the horse to bring them to her house for the winter. I don't have a barn yet (oh I dream and count my pennies nightly) so Stella and Bud needed a place to stay comfy cozy. Fuzz Butt was going straight to the butcher.

That was the plan anyway.

We tried to get these elusive cows into the trailer but they wouldn't have it. Everyone was uncooperative that morning (including the humans) and Fuzz Butt hid in the woods and the horse was being a dink and not listening. He is usually a great cattle horse, but not that day. Have you ever packed to go on a trip and watched the dog's reaction? Ours dances around like a fool, forgets how to listen along with her manners, as soon as she sees the first packed bag. She races back and forth from the house to the car, trying to hide away under the dash any time the car door opens. There is only one thing on her mind and that is making darn sure we do not leave her behind. Well, Bud was kind of acting like that. A dink. Except I was on his back and needed him to preform an important task. The only good thing was the animals were still in the pasture. A huge bonus from the drama that played out a few months earlier. Poor husband was left to build a corral in November, when the sun sets at 4:30. So I would cook supper and see him out the window, pounding away at fence posts by the headlights of our truck. That really was all he wanted to do after work for a week anyway I'm sure.

The following week the corral was ready and we arranged another trucker going to Yarmouth to come pick up the cattle. Fuzz Butt was butchered and yielded 630 lbs of the tastiest meat I've ever eaten. (That is a really good weight by the way, over 50% yield from live weight) Then it snowed and winter happened and here we are.

Stella calved this January and had a heifer (that would be a girl). Because the cattle we have are purebred Limousin, they are registered. When registering cattle, they need a tattoo. Our tattoo numbers are determined by order born in the year. The tattoo also has a letter and the letter is determined by the year. This year is X. Why? Because last year was W. So people can quickly know the year the calf was born by looking at the tattoo. We like to name the animals according to the letter year they were born too. So Stella has a baby girl named Xena. Xena the sirloin princess. I'd like to congratulate my brother in law for winning the name the calf contest.

Stella and Xena will be here soon. The grass is growing and the weather has been warm (ish). We are about 3 weeks ahead of where we were last year at this time. Bud will join them and I can't wait until he gets here. I want to going riding so bad it's darn near killing me. We may also have another little cow, who calved last summer joining us with her calf. Her calf will have the same fate as Fuzz Butt and possibly Xena this fall as well. We may trade Xena to our neighbours as payment for housing our animals at their farm next winter. Then she'll get to live to a ripe old age, having babies of her own just like her mama. It will be great having the animals next door. The horse will be here all winter! So I can ride all winter!

Fixing the fencing is in progress right now. We want to fence in the back pasture so we'll have 3 pastures to rotationally graze all summer long. Everyone will be happy and fat from the fresh grass. Our garden is tilled and ready for rows. We've added peat moss, compost (home made) sheep manure, cattle manure, rabbit manure (thanks Bunny Bunny, I'll never say you've never given us anything) I'm hoping to plant the onions and garlic (from started cloves) this weekend. But I say I, when I really mean Martin. I need him to handle the rig that is our tiller.

Martin made really good salsa last year, so I'm hoping to grow all the ingredients for it organically this year in our garden. I've never grown garlic or coriander before, so that should be interesting. I'd like to harvest broccoli this year rather than watch the green worms eat it all. If the potatoes are bigger than the size of a golf ball that would be a bonus too. Can you tell I'm better at raising animals than vegetables? Big bull, little potatoes.

I also want to raise a few turkeys plus there are a gazillion other things I'd like to do. At this Martin shakes his head and calls me a dreamer. But that's ok. That's what makes it fun.

Gobble Gobble with 1 horse power

There was a glitch in the sending off of the bull. He wouldn't get on the trailer. (Someone must have told him where it was going.) After a muddy morning walking the field, trying to convince him, and a small mental break down, a plan was scratched out. After a phone call (well, 3 if you count the ones to my Mom asking for guidance), one day and two nights, a corral is made. Mr. Butt has a new pick up date and hopefully (because I'm not exhaling until he's secured on that trailer) he'll be on my plate in 2 weeks.

What excites me about all this (because lets face it, this bull is old news, and wearing me down) is that we had 30, 13ft rails delivered to make this corral which we didn't need all of. So now I have the logs I need to build a movable poultry coop! I'm very excited because I love poultry but it isn't allowed on our property to roam free. They poop everywhere. Everywhere. Front steps, lawn furniture, BBQ, etc.

We didn't get any chickens or turkeys this year for 2 reasons. First we had enough on our plates and secondly because even though they can't roam free, I didn't want them stuck in one place with no fresh ground, grass, bugs to scratch and eat in. Mom made a movable coop years ago, but she has tractors and whatnot to haul the thing around. A friend even visited a farm with the same idea. But I didn't, and therefor, was stuck. Until I had an epiphany and realized I've had the horse power all along.... Bud! He loves hauling stuff around and he can pull heavy stuff. So in my design there will be a place on each corner to hook a rope that I'll then hook to the horse and off we go. Since Bud can be a finicky sort, I'll practice before I put the turkeys in, just in case he takes off. I wouldn't want roadkill in the field.

I'm all excited for spring now. I'll have turkeys again, which are so fun. They will be free range, or fit the definition having fresh grass and bugs each day. Plus our neighbour told me he'd love to buy one, so I already have a sale. Thanks giving and Christmas will be extra tasty next year.

Earning my keep

The bull is going to the butcher on Thursday. Yahoo. I like seeing the finished product of a years work. He is a beautiful 14 month old boy. Yummy eating for 4 lucky families this winter. The only sad part is the cow Stella and the horse Bud are going back to Yarmouth for the winter, since I have no barn yet. My financial plans still rely heavily on winning the lottery. So I have to hang up my coveralls and saddle for a couple of months.

Since I've had to wait until now for the critters to go home, they've been out in the pasture. In case you didn't notice the grass stopped growing a couple of weeks ago. Since their arrival in spring, I've had to buy 4 round bales of hay. Two back in August when they were staring at how much greener the grass was on the other side of the fence. Green grass I hadn't finished fencing in. So 2 weeks of hay got them by until I could open the gate. The other 2 bales fed them the past 2 weeks since the grass declared it winter.

When cutting grass, be it for hay, haylage or silage, nutrients are being removed. Without putting fertilizer of some type back on, the soil will quickly loose it's ability to grow anything but weeds. Because I have no equipment, or money, and would like to stay as natural and as close to organic as possible I've not been able to put fertilizer back on. A great farmer/agrologist/consultant told me that people have to earn the right to harvest a crop. I'm ashamed to say that I have not fully earned that right. The cows and horse do fertilize as they go, but not enough to even out what is being removed. I was hoping for wood ash to put on the field, which is organic, natural, and oh so good for the soil. But October decided it wanted to be a mansoon for halloween and the fields are too wet to get anywhere near with a tractor. Next year.

The good part of all this is that the left over pooped on, walked on hay that the animals didn't eat (which is a significant amount) was piled to rot all summer. Since this hay was cut very late, the grass had gone to seed. So now, I have something to give back to the soil. The very grass that removes alot of nutrients when harvested also gives it back. This rotten peed on, pooped on grass is now spread out, fretilizing the field and reseeding at the same time. Areas that the horse had paced down to the bedrock now have green grass growing. Hooray. This had turned out to be a very good use for this old hay. Some of it went in the garden too. That should help break up the clay and improve the soil structure.

The goal for next year is to have the back field fenced off and do a better job of rotational grazing. Because wood ash doesn't supply any nitrogen, I'm fiddling with the idea of frost seeding triple mix to add clover to the fields, which will hopefully help it produce its own. Wood ash will be used next year and everyone will end up happy. I'll have earned my crop, the cows and horse will have better grass and the soil will have the nutrients it needs. All naturally.

Stone age hunter

I don't know where I get these ideas, but they make sense to me. Well at least at the time they do.

Have you ever read the children's book Little Red Hen? The hen decides to make bread, so she plants the wheat, threshes it, mills it, then bakes her bread. The other farm yard animals laugh at her, so in the end, she doesn't share. Sounds pretty easy. So I figure I should find out just how much wheat you'd have to plant to get enough flour to bake bread. Forget that I don't have a mill. What difference does that make. They did it in the old days. Last summer the lawn was mess of tall grass because we decided to build our house in a hayfield. The mower really couldn't handle the 4 ft grass, we needed a tractor and a hay mower. Since we don't have a hay mower, I figured Dad's old scythe would work just dandy. It did in the old days.

In case you're wondering I did learn that inventions and modern technology were born by need. Hay mowers and grain mills were no exception. But I still fall back to the old tools. It's a problem. I'm working on it.

Mr (or Mrs) Coyote was in our field last evening around supper time. Just standing there, taking his time wandering through the field. No worries at all. Not even the least bit skittish. We watched from the kitchen window as he tracked through the grass, under the fence and into the pasture with the horse and cows. The nerve of this guy! How bold is he! I don't want him around. I don't want him for the safety of our cat, our dog and all future animals that come onto our place. Coyotes are all fine and dandy, and quite pretty really, but they belong in the woods, away from people. They should be scared of people. So I went outside. Me and Mr Coyote were going to have a little chat.

I walked right up to the fence, maybe 50 feet from this fella and he stood there. Just stood there. Looking at me as if he were there just to check out the local entertainment. So I picked up a rock and walked into the field. Circling down wind so I had the advantage. If I could have I would have liked to sneak up on him and scare the living daylights out of him. But as Martin noted to me earlier in the evening when speaking of my diabolical plan, that perhaps sneaking up on a wild animal who hunts for a living isn't the smartest thing to do. But it would be funny. Or fun. Probably both. I wanted the coyote to be scared of us, thus leaving us alone and minding his own territory. As I got closer he moved away, back towards the woods. I would have kept chasing him, but the two deer who live in our field showed up and blew my cover. Not that an open field and a graceless human have much cover. But I didn't want to chase away the deer, just Mr Coyote. So I reluctantly went back inside.

Back in the house, Martin asks what I was doing. I'm sure he was watching and laughing from the window at the sight of his wife tramping through the fields after a coyote. Because you know, he's good that way.
"Did he turn on you" he asks
"No, I just didn't want to scare the deer. Besides, I had a rock"
"A rock. What did you plan to do? Defend yourself with a rock?"
"No, throw it at him. But I couldn't get close enough"
We don't own a gun. But Owen and Reiley were playing with a sling shot. Perhaps if I could practice and get good enough at aiming I could hit him with a rock. That'll scare him off.

Mr Coyote didn't go anywhere. Our little chat was not effective. He stayed in that field staring at the house until it was too dark to see him. Probably wondering who the hell that strange person was coming after him in the field. He'll be back though, if nothing else for the entertainment. But I'll be ready, with my stone age tools. A rock and a slingshot. That'll teach him.

stop and smell the potatoes

"You know what's going to happen right?"
"What? With Bill?"
"Yeah Bill. He's going to blow summer away. It only just started and he's going to blow summer into the Atlantic and it will be fall."

Those words were spoken this summer and two days later, in fall of 2009, we knew we were right. Hurricane Bill came by and stole summer.

One of the largest land animal migrations on earth happens in Africa when the wildebeests travel to new pastures. They say they can smell the rain and know when it's time to go. If we stop and pay attention, I think humans can still smell the rain. Maybe not as far as half a continent away, but we can still smell the change.

Bill brought fall in his wake and now my toes are cold in my sandals. But fall isn't so bad. I like sweaters. My butt looks good in jeans and I'm tired of wearing the same old shorts all the time. It came so quick though, that I'm reeling a bit. Spinning around in a room ablaze with only seconds to choose what to take before it all burns. Hurry up and appreciate summer before it's gone. I don't like the feeling, so I set it on a shelf in my mind, acknowledged but ignored. I put on rubber boots, tuck in my jeans and go out to the garden. Appreciate fall before it's winter, or I'll be spinning around looking for my hoe in a few months, always a season behind.

The fresh air is a nice change, and the horse looks cute when he's all fuzzy. Plus, looky what I found after some digging...potatoes! Apparently they did grow. Fall means harvest, and harvest means good food and good food means that we get to eat meals where nothing was purchased from a store. Corn on the cob, potatoes, carrots and pork chops from the farm down the road. Soon it will be steak that we raised. I'm full and happy. The fall colours will be pretty. And Owen finally gets to ride the school bus.

Blanching day

We got back from vacation Sunday to a couple of treats. The first was that there were 3 animals still in the pasture. Cow, bull, horse, big phew on that. Even though the idea of the cow watching us and waiting for the coast to be clear for her to break through the fence and be free (again) is pretty ridiculous, I still worried a tidbit while we were away. We even put extra hay in the grass pasture just to be sure they couldn't use the excuse of being hungry to justify an escape. You can't tell I'm a bit gun shy from the 2 weeks of freedom they stole on the first night they were here, can you?

The second treat was the garden. It must have taken steroids and been working out at the gym. The corn shot up 2 feet, grew tassles and each has at least one ear.

The third treat was that the hay was cut. It's the best treat even though it had the least effect on my personal comfort. If the first two treatas weren't there, I would probably still be riding around the countryside in a lunatic-like state tracking animals, and I'd be hungry. But it has the biggest effect on my happiness. The field looks beautiful, the grass will grow back thicker than before, I have a new place to ride, and now the animals can use that field as another pasture. (Once we finish fencing it.)

When we planted our garden, I was hoping there would be enough of a bounty that I'd be able to freeze string beans, carrots and corn, and eat well into winter. I don't know if I'd say we'll eat well into winter, but for a bit anyways. Not bad for the first year.

After harvesting what was ready, I ended up with way more food than we could possibly eat. So I got to learn how to blanche beans and carrots. Thanks to the beloved Purity cookbook passed down by Mom. Well, actually she bought me one when they republished it (it even has the original black and white pictures in it) because hers was so worn out and she was never parting with it. That book has it all. By the end of the evening, after boiling a pound at a time for 3 minutes, I had about 5 pounds of to be frozen string beans. There are still beans in the garden, but unless we can't keep up eating them fresh, I don't think I'll be freezing anymore. I froze some carrots too, but they aren't in as urgent need of being harvested. We'll eat most of those fresh.

Onions have got to be the easiest thing on earth to grow, and we have lots. Too many. I haven't a clue what to do with them. Get a deep fryer and make onion rings I suppose, and live happy and fat all winter. No really, I think I'm supposed pull them and let the outer skin dry so they'll keep in storage, but I'll have to do some investigating on that. Where to store them is another matter. Martin might just have to dig us a cellar if our garden is going to get bigger each year.

There are only two things that haven't done well in our garden this year. The potatoes and the broccoli. The potato tops prematurely yellowed. I was hoping the yellowing was a sign they were ready, but no. After digging, it's officially 'premature' as the spuds are only slightly bigger than ping pong ball. Add it to my list of things to learn I guess.

The broccoli was doing fantastic. It looked awesome when we left last week. That is until they were attacked. I'm talking about a critter that must have a microscopic stomach but which can eat a gazillion times it's own body weight per day. This little green worm has destroyed our broccoli. Eaten all of it! Each night I can easily pick a dozen of these guys from a plant. They tuck themselves up under the heads and chomp away to their hearts delight.

Broccoli is Martin's favorite vegetable, so maybe I could use this destruction to convince him that we need some sort of defence against these pest. And since we want an organic garden, that defence should be natural. If you're anything like me, you'll say the obvious choice would be chickens! I need to tweak my argument a bit, but I'll break him down. There will be chickens, and those worms will be gone, and we will eat broccoli. Next year.

A country of our own

There is a certain amount of pride that comes from being able to provide for a family. The roof over our head doesn't leak, the kids look dapper on the first day of school, the car in the driveway doesn't have any lights flashing on the dash. We work and there it is, something to show for it. Green lawn, dog, cat, two kids. Put up a picket fence and send in our family picture to Readers Digest to congratulate us on being a home grown Canadian family.

But really, we are just leaches, a family completely reliant on our government to keep us alive. If we made ourselves a flag and declared ourselves a country, we'd be a third world country. Importing everything with no currency. I don't much like how that sits in the pit of my belly so I decided to change it.

Martin has got to be the most useful guy in the whole wide world. I have an idea, tell Martin, go to work, come home and there it is, a tilled bed for a garden. Wake up late on Saturday and why look at that, the raccoons must have made rows while I was sleeping. He is a perpetual motion machine that man. I love him for it or we'd likely be sitting on an empty lot where the house should be.

The garden gets planted and I'm as excited as can be. Probably more than a bunch of seeds in dirt warrants, but hey, this is cool. A grocery store on my lawn! As a kid I helped my mom plant the garden every year. Punishment for the stupid stuff kids get in trouble for, was to weed it. I've learned that as an 8 year old, I really didn't absorb much information back then. I'm flying by the seat of my pants, hoping stuff grows. Lucky for us, stuff is growing! Good stuff. Peas.


I heard a man speak, who knows about soils and growing crops and such things, and he said that we can't take things from the ground without earning it. Meaning we have to give something back first. Otherwise the empire on which we sit and dream to feed our family with, will wither and die like the Roman Empire. So off I go to find something to give back to these fertile soils. Just so happens, we are also growing our meat too, and they produce and abundance of fertilizer every hour of everyday. They just don't package and deliver it in handy bags. If I could get a cow to do that I'd be rich. So now the garden is coated in manure, the cows are grazing and everything is growing. Soon we will hoist our flag and declare ourselves a country.


The peas are ready now. Delicious snap peas, the ones you eat the whole pod. Making nachos? Need an onion? Wait just a minute because they are ready when you are. I think it must be my gentle love and care that makes them so good, because they are the best peas and onions I have ever tasted in my life. The tomatoes are coming along and even the peppers have bloomed. People tell me they can be finicky, so we shall see if they produce any fruit. Then the nachos will be even better. Tomatoes, onions, peppers, I smell salsa! I guess I'll have to learn how to make that too. The carrots are tiny, but I've never been one for patience so I pulled one. Once again, the best darn carrot ever. The horse likes them best. Well, he gets the tops. Soon we'll have broccoli, lettuce, beans, potatoes and corn. Add the bull to the harvest and we have a freezer full for the winter. Guess I'll be learning how to prepare veggies for freezing this fall.



I mentioned that we're growing our meat too. Well that would be just beef so far. So far. Give me time. He and his mother are grazing in the pasture keeping my not so sane horse from going completely over the edge. (He has issues) The pair are from my mom's farm, an organic beef farm. The cow is going to return home this winter and the bull will feed the starving families of, well ours and that of our friend. But a noble act indeed, so we will treat him with respect and make sure he wants for nothing, living out his days chewing his cud and swatting flies with his tail. His name is Fuzz Butt and he is royalty.


Come join us this fall for a corn boil (with the left over corn the raccoons don't take) and some BBQ steak. Our little self sufficient country does not require passports and welcomes foreigners of all sorts. We haven't decided on a name yet, but Farm of the Rising Sun or Raven Hill Farm have been tossed around.