Suburban Homestead Store
Archive for the ‘In the Barn’ Category
Uncle Sam Wants YOU to Raise Chickens!
Or at least he did during WWI.
That’s right folks; the government encouraged every American to keep chickens for eggs and meat. Backyard chicken raising was touted as a patriotic duty as well as a business venture that would help bring back high quality small flocks.
In the early part of the last century poultry magazines were as popular as today’s tabloid trash. Our population was closer to its agricultural roots than they are today and poultry magazines offered readers an array of photos, stories, how-to and ads geared for the large poultry raising audience.
The premise was… Read the rest of the story »
Raising Ducks for Meat
Meat chickens, turkeys and rabbits are the quintessential small livestock used for meat production on farms and homesteads of all sizes. But other fowl, like ducks, should not be discounted as a viable source of food and income. In fact, ducks are thought to be easier to raise then meat chickens because they are heartier and don’t require expensive housing. They can handle many different climates very well. They eat a variety of foods, from kitchen scraps to garden culls to small critters like toads and snails. Ducks are also beneficial. They produce good quality fertilizer while ridding the garden of weeds and bugs. And, they are not as susceptible to avian diseases as chickens are.
So—if you’ve mastered raising your own meat from other small livestock and want to try something new, try ducks.
The more popular meat duck breeds include the Pekin, Rouen and Muscovy. The White Pekin is a favorite of the three because it produces delicious, healthy white meat. The Rouen is second to the Pekin with its flavorful carcass. Rounding out the trio is the Muscovy because the meat is similar to ham or sirloin steak, yet much leaner (98% fat free). Read the rest of the story »
For the Love of Fall
I love today.
I love Fall.
I love the dusky umber October Light.
I love the big orange moon.
I love the black night and bright stars.
As a farmer.
As a woman.
Goal! © by Barbara L. Hanson
Fall is when my lambs are sold.
Fall is when I store for winter.
When Brianne goes back to school.
Fall is when the leaves turn red and orange and gold.
Autumn at Mt Macedon © by Ryk Neethling
When bugs are gone.
When wood is gathered.
When hay is laid in.
When a fire takes the chill off a cold night.
Campfire on Honeymoon Beach, Isla Danzante © by lowjumpingfrog
Writing this, I think to myself:
My favorite book sale is soon.
I should call my friend Jane, who loans me her cabin,
Up above the mountains’ tree line.
I will surprise her,
And take her some firewood,
And give her some fruit,
And find her a book,
And tell her thank you for being my friend,
Because she deserves it.
It will be my honor to Fall.
Autumn Leaves © by dtaylorcreative
Autumnal Equinox
It’s September 23rd, the fall equinox slowly jogs across the southern sky towards a time when day and night seem to become equal. From here on days will become a little shorter, the sun will linger a little less; night will come a little sooner.
We’re in an Indian summer here. Not wholly unexpected for our area. The days are warmer than usual and the nights hang still, not a breath of wind blows across our parched farm. I long for the damp cool fog that rolls in from the coast forcing us to wear a sweater while attending to night time chores. It serves as a reminder that October isn’t far off, my favorite time of year.
As the sky turns dusky behind me my mind turns to last winter—long and cold with rain that lasted well into spring. It was not bad, but preparations were not up to par for a winter that lasted so long. It’s September though and we already have 3 cords of firewood stacked. One more will be collected and brought in before the weather turns.
The final market lamb has been sold off. Unlike last year when timing and delays with the butcher forced us to feed lambs well into October, a costly and time consuming proposition.
We will be going into winter with a freezer full of lamb and chicken, along with a larder full of summer’s bounty. The barn will be empty of meat animals, unlike last year when Sandy and I butchered chickens right after the New Year. Cold doesn’t even begin to describe our adventure. Only the laying hens, Sophia, our goose, and one rabbit will join us this winter.
There is still much to do though. The new raised beds are only half finished and the coop and barn still need to be dug out, the contents of which will be the base soil for fall planted onions and garlic, and early spring peas and greens. There’s a barn window to replace and a goose-size nesting box to build. Lamb pens need to be dismantled and re-arranged to accommodate a feeder pig come spring. For most of the year, my entire garden area served as an exercise pen for Brianne’s lambs. But, not now. The wilderness that has grown up will be pulled out or cut down to make way for a greenhouse and new vegetable beds.
The thought of all this work, with winter breathing down my neck, makes me feel uneasy and more tired than usual. But, even I have to admit that cleaning barns and building vegetable beds is a pretty dam nice way to fill a plate. It keeps me grounded. Keeps me busy. Keeps me happy.
Everything will get done—somehow. And, in the end, winter will come and we will be ready for it. You’ll see, a few weeks from now I’ll be baking bread in my kitchen while a storm stirs outside my window. Just you wait and see. Just you wait.
The Great Chicken Debate – Cornish Rock Crosses vs. Heritage Breeds
Today’s grocery store chickens are hybridized to be exactly the same as all the other grocery store chickens. They are bred to grow the same, finish out the same and be similar in weight. This fast-growing breed is called a Cornish Rock Cross. Typically, they range in age from 4-weeks, for a Cornish Game Hen, to 8 to 10 weeks for a full grown roaster. The chickens are the same; only their name has been changed, taking labels given to chickens from days gone by.
So, if you’re thinking that a Cornish Game hen is not a Cornish Game hen at all, but rather a baby Cornish Rock Cross, you’d be right. Cornish Game hens are not raised commercially any longer because they take too long to grow to a marketable weight.
Modern grocery store chickens also have white feathers and were developed in the 1980’s to gain weight fast on a limited amount of feed. It is true that some birds grow so fast that they sometimes have heart attacks or break down in their legs before ever reaching a butcherable weight. But, I think that is a factor in commercially raised birds more than homestead or small farm raised birds. Some growers even limit the feeding schedule to slow down the birds’ growth.
And, what about those white feathers? Well—the average consumer wants a pretty carcass to make a pretty roasted chicken to put on her family’s dinner table. Non-white feathered chickens can have black spots in the skin where the pin feathers broke off during plucking. This happens to white chickens too; only the consumer can’t see them because they are white. Read the rest of the story »
Real Farmer or Faking It
I first heard about Ben Hewitt when he authored the book, “The Town That Food Saved”; a story about how a struggling Vermont town became a beacon in the locavore movement and brought national attention to resolving the food crisis. Ben posted this article on his blog recently and I wanted to share it. I thought it was a great example of how small-scale farmers are perceived by larger growers. I especially liked the questions he raised about the value of being able to feed one’s self and one’s family. Enjoy!
Faking it
By Ben Hewitt
Not so long ago, I was at the home of a real farmer. I know he was a real farmer, because he told me so. The implication, I believe (though I can’t be sure) was that I am not a real farmer, because I do not earn all or even the majority of my living from a farming enterprise. For what it’s worth, this is not the first person I’ve heard articulate such a belief. Or even the third.
Leaving aside the question of why it even matters who is and who is not a real farmer, and why anyone would feel compelled to claim such a title for him or herself, I couldn’t help but ponder what factors must be present to make a farmer real.
I’m pretty sure our neighbor’s definition is income-based. That is, if you make your living “farming,” then you are a “real farmer.” Fair enough, I suppose. But I know this person’s enterprise pretty well; I know that his family purchases the vast majority of their food at a retail outlet. I know that they don’t keep a garden, or process any of the milk they produce into butter or cheese or yogurt. They don’t raise their own meat. What they do, basically, is specialize in the production of a single food (milk), which they primarily sell in bulk. This arrangement provides them with the money necessary to purchase the essentials they do not produce for themselves. This is, in his mind at least, real farming.
Last year I was at a book talk, and someone asked me how much of my income is derived from our farm. “Oh, not much,” I answered, because it’s not. Most years, it’s not much more than 15%.
“But did you include the food you grow for your family in that figure?” He asked.
Well, no, actually. I hadn’t.
Which is where this conversation gets interesting, because my family raises upwards of 80% of the food we consume. I’m not really sure how to put a dollar value on the food we raise for ourselves, because I know that in many cases, we could purchase our nourishment for much less than it costs to produce it, particularly if one is inclined to believe the lie that time is money and therefore, the time spent in pursuit of our food production could be more profitably applied elsewhere. In other cases, we couldn’t buy the food we produce for any price, because it’s simply not available on the open market.
In any case, I am struck by the irony that we seem to have arrived at a definition of “real farmer” that is rooted in money, rather than food. Frankly, it’s fine with me: I have no need nor desire to lay claim to the term “real farmer.” I am happy to cede it to those whose agricultural pursuits are based in the exchange of product for money.
What does that make me? Hell, I don’t know. And I’m not going to spend much time trying to figure it out: I’m too busy growing food.
To read more about Ben and his family farm check out his blog
Raising Meat Rabbits on a Suburban Homestead
From Hutch to Haute Cuisine
Raising Meat Rabbits on a Suburban Homestead
Second to chickens, I have always thought that rabbits made the perfect homestead livestock. They are quiet, easy to raise and don’t take up too much space. Plus, they are a great food source and provide the gardens with mounds of excellent fertilizer.
With just one breeding trio – two does (female) and one buck (male) – I can raise more than enough meat to feed my family for a full year. And the best part – it’s all done on an 8’ section of our barn wall.
But, before we get too far, as I always say when talking about raising any meat animal the biggest question to ask yourself is “Can You Do The Deed?” meaning, can you butcher your own animals or have them butchered by someone else. If you can, then in just a few months you will be well on your way to raising your own supply of healthy, drug free, humanely processed meat for the freezer.
To me the most important first question is how much meat you want to produce. This will determine how many does and bucks to buy. It will also dictate the size of your rabbitry. The average doe produces about 8 kits (babies) per litter, and she can be bred several times a year. With my two doe’s kindling (giving birth) twice a year I can raise enough meat to put rabbit on the dinner table almost every week of the year. Read the rest of the story »
Finding Buried Treasure
I’ve been worried about my hens lately. Their egg production has been so sporadic that I knew something was wrong. Some days I would get 6 good sized eggs, other day’s one or two small ones and still other days I would go to the coop only to find empty nesting boxes. The water trough always had enough water, but just to be safe I added another one. The hanging feeder had plenty of mash. Every few days they would get a treat of lettuce, carrot or beet tops, old bread or even a bit of fruit past its prime.
Everything seemed fine, but still I couldn’t figure out what could be causing such erratic egg laying.
Not until this morning that is. While getting dressed a couple of black crows frolicking in the yard caught my eye. They weren’t doing anything special just pecking at the ground. As I stood there watching, they kept dipping their beaks towards the ground then raising the heads high into the air, like birds do when they drink.
Pecking around the ground for a few moments more suddenly one of the crows hopped over to the flowerbed and disappeared into the low growing branches of a sweet pea bush. When he emerged he had a brown egg clutched between his beaks.
That was it! One of the girls had found a new hiding place and made it into a nest. After I finished getting dressed I walked outside to the flowerbed where I had seen the thieving crow, climbing over the scabiosa and coreopsis I moved the branches of the sweet pea bush out of my way and there tucked in the underbrush of plants and weeds was a small nest with three more eggs. One of the banty’s must have decided she preferred the quiet of the garden to the chaos of the coop.
All told I lost 5 eggs today—2 to the crows and three to the compost pile. I couldn’t keep the eggs I found because hard telling how long they had been buried.
I guess the crows are the only one’s to enjoy the bounty of finding buried treasure this clear spring morning.
Haymakers Punch
Decades ago, haying season on a farm meant the difference between farm animals eating well through the winter or starving. In most areas hay was brought in twice a year; once in late spring, about June, and once in late summer or August.
It was a time when all the neighbors came together to help one another with the backbreaking task of cutting, turning, drying and storing hay. Not only was haying a race to cut at the right time, so the hay would have the most nutrients and the most feed value for the animals, but it was a race against summer rain storms and humid weather. Rain on uncut hay would delay the whole process, while rain on already cut hay meant there was a chance that the hay would not dry properly or could mold in storage. Humid weather could also promote bacteria and mold growth, both of which had the potential to sicken livestock.
The work started early, usually on hot spring and summer days. After the hay was cut and raked to cure, then turned to cure some more it was piled onto wagons and taken to the barn for storage. In later years, after the mechanization of agriculture, hay was baled before being moved to the barn and stored. Workers moved swiftly and deliberately through the fields forking hay onto the wagons or throwing bales onto wagons or into trucks. No matter which method they used haying was backbreaking work that took its toll on the body.
To keep workers nourished and hydrated, a homebrew called Switchel was served. Some credit the Amish for inventing this energy boosting beverage of our country’s pioneers. But, research shows its use was widespread as far back as the 1600s. Laura Ingalls Wilder called it ginger-water in the book The Long Winter, and references how it quenched the thirst without upsetting the stomach after hot work making hay. Read the rest of the story »