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It’s Thanksgiving!
Happy Thanksgiving from our little suburban homestead!
After celebrating Brianne’s birthday last weekend we’re here enjoying the rest of our quiet vacation with a few days respite from farm chores. Well – except for feeding. Yah, they all like to be fed too. Dutch and Dakota are enjoying the abundance of food falling on the kitchen floor from all the cooking activity going on. Our bird is soaking in its brine and I’m getting ready to bake a ham, cheese and mushroom quiche and fresh herbed bread. Later tonight I’ll bake my Harvest Pumpkin cakes and make our orange infused cranberry sauce. No one will go hungry this Thanksgiving, not human, nor dog, nor chicken, nor rabbit.
Sadly, no turkeys were raised on the farm this year. Our spring was so busy with travel to sheep shows that I thought it best not to bring new animals to the farm without the proper time to attend them. Hopefully next year will be different. With the success of raising our own meat chickens I’d love to take on turkeys. Incidentally, the bird we will fest on is from a batch we raised right here on the farm.
The evening will be spent by the fire, curled up on the sofa under layers of handmade quilts; doing what we do every year, a movie marathon. This year’s selection: Horatio Hornblower. This, of course, will be watched with copious amounts of cake. I’m excited.
It’s great to be surrounded by family, but I have to admit our decision to celebrate the holiday solo – just Brianne and I, has been a good one. She’s roaming around here somewhere, bouncing between the kitchen and texting friends.
Neighbors stop by throughout the day, concerned that we’re flying solo; seemingly unloved and unwanted. Nothing could be farther from the truth. I don’t miss the commotion, which sends momentary twinges of guilt through me…I think I’m needed in the kitchen, so I’ve gotta fly. But I wanted to check in and wish you all
Happy Thanksgiving!
From Suburban Homesteading.com
photo credit: Nancee_art
Changes From Within
We are a small suburban homestead here—a few cloven hooves, a few mixed breed chickens, a rabbit, a garden with fruit trees and berry canes, and two wandering dogs.
The posts that hold the arbor fences also hold the laundry line. The lamb I roast for Sunday dinner is also the lamb that is chopped and sprinkled over kibble. The shells from the eggs I crack into omelets end up in the compost, and scraps of fresh salad greens and veggies are feasts for our feathered ones. So what was once waste, to be thrown into the trash, is now feed for future eggs or chicken salad or turned into garden soil. The system we have is simple, but it serves us well.
There is work yet to be done though; I’d like to have a greenhouse to extend our growing season, a pond with geese and Thanksgiving turkeys. But, for now there is a garden to turn and meat chicks to raise. There are the chores of switching from one season to another, lamb to sell, firewood to lie in and workshops to attend. Without really knowing how, it all seems to fall into place. It all, somehow, gets done.
As I think back on all we have accomplished, I realize that the real work of this farm is not the food we’ve grown or the skills we’ve learned: it’s us. I say this will all sincerity.
When you build a place into your life purpose it changes you; changes how you understand yourself. It humbles you, but not at the mercy of the main intention. There’s no room for ego when there’s a barn full of shit waiting to be shoveled. When I think back over how we have slowly turned an overgrown suburban lot into what we want it to be, I see confidence in who we are, strength in who Brianne will become, but also worries. I never used to think about Brianne going off on her own, wanting to make her own way. I know she wants her own place one day, but I think about how and where and when. I worry about tasks that are beyond my strength, being alone and having time to myself. Certain things subside over time, but some stay raw and exposed.
Maybe that’s just the growing part. Or, maybe this place is teaching me to mind my priorities and let logic win over emotion. I’m not quite sure. I do know one thing I’m happy in this life, feel at home on our little farm with the animals and home cooked meals. I can close my eyes, click my heels three times and settle in.
Perhaps we never really settle down into our lives. Maybe we just have to give our lives time to settle into us.
Belonging is a State of Mind
The other day I walked into our local feed store needing to buy chick starter for our new batch of meat birds. As I strolled the isles looking over new arrivals and favorite old items I overheard a woman at the register asking Gary about raising chickens. They were the typical questions all new chicken raisers ask.
But this time was different. In the isle that stocks the horseshoeing supplies two men scoffed at the innocence of her questions. You know the tone. The one reserved for newbie livestock owners or out-of-towners who buy a few acres with the idea of growing their own food. I’m sure they meant nothing by it. When your family has raised cattle here for a hundred years and you spent your life on the back of a horse you might find it humorous not knowing how to raise a chicken, or any small livestock for that matter, but it struck a cord with me.
Once upon a time…a long time ago I too was that lady asking those very same questions. I smiled as I walked by them, but it has taken me a while to get to this point. For new farmers it can feel downright unsettling; thinking you’re the butt of all jokes or a worn out stereotype at the local café where the “ole timers” hang out.
It seems to be the old long-time local vs. the new beginner divide that makes so many new farmers or homesteaders feel out of place. Think about it…if you’re fresh out the back of beyond with city lights and pubs that stay open till dawn…you have good reason to feel separated from the locals. It took me years to crack the surface and even more before I felt like “one of them”. But I can tell you this with certainty – Don’t let it affect you. Do not let who you are now stop you from becoming who you want to be. Embrace the difference and let it be part of where you are heading. Read the rest of the story »
Keeping Poultry Warm during Colder Months
After months of silence I was awakened this morning by the sound of water dripping off the eves. Not just water, but – RAIN!!!
Finally, our long dry spell is broken. I stayed in bed longer than usual, nestled under layers of quilts and down comforters just listening to the soft – Ping…Ping…Plop…Kerplunk – of a steady rain as it hit whatever was below. It was a joyous sound. I laid there thinking about crockpots simmering hot with pot roasts or stews, the smell of home baked bread fresh from the oven, crackling fires casting a warm glow over our little farmhouse and days filled with much needed indoor chores.
As the sun rose, beaming just over the horizon through gray clouds, Blue (our Cochin rooster) began to sound off the coming dawn. I could hear him as he strutted around the coop. Soon the other boys chimed in and eventually the hens began cackling to be let out in the barn now devoid of lambs. (Did I mention the lambs went to the processor on Monday? No matter, we’ll have them back by weeks end nicely wrapped in freezer paper ready for whatever recipe strikes my fancy.) The farm is awake.
I’m up now, enjoying a steaming hot pot of tea and a piece of warm pumpkin bread smothered in butter. Yummy! It’s still raining – slow and steady – the kind that soaks in rather than runs off. It’s cold outside. The beginning of a cooler fall – I hope. But, the cold sends a message. It’s time to recheck the bedding in our nesting boxes and the level of litter on the coop floor. It’s time to make sure the coop is ready for what is predicted to be a colder than normal winter.
Chickens can handle remarkably cold temperatures. Some say the temperature doesn’t bother them until it gets down to -20 degrees, while others say as long as the coop is not damp or drafty they can handle even lower temps. But, I figure if I’m warm and snug why not them. So, we’ll clean out the nesting boxes and refill them with a thick layer of shavings from the stock trailer then a layer of fresh straw. It’s really not necessary to have both kinds of bedding; we just use the leftover shavings from the trailer so the hens can scratch in it all winter before it’s used for mulch or compost in the spring. The coop floor will get a nice thick layer of straw after any low spots have been filled in.
Damp or wet conditions in the coop can bring on illness. We’ll check the coop for drafty areas and shore them up; and we’ll minimize the ventilation to 1) lessen the amount of cold air entering the coop, and 2) reduce the openings that might appeal to predators fixed on an easy winter meal. Fox, weasel, raccoon and rodents can be surprisingly cunning if a free meal is to be had. A warming mat is set under the water trough so it won’t freeze over should the temps drop that low. And a few heat lamps will be hung just in case.
I rarely have to be concerned with frostbite, but many who live in really cold areas will. Combs, wattles and feet are susceptible to frostbite in extreme weather. A rooster whose comb freezes is not only in a lot of pain but may also be less fertile. An old-timers trick is to put petroleum jelly or Vaseline on the comb and waddles for protection. And, keeping outside poultry areas free from snow will also help. But, the number one way to keep a coop warm enough to weather most winters is a thick layer of straw because it helps hold the heat in.
On Saturday I’ll swing by the feed store and pick up a bag of corn based scratch. It won’t replace our regular chicken feed; it’s a treat the girls love, plus the added energy used to digest the corn helps keep them warm.
The seasons are a changing, folks! Fall is here. And, there’ll be pot roast and warm homemade bread for dinner tonight, a crackling fire in the fireplace and pumpkin spice candles flickering from every corner. I am one contented farmgirl.
Longing for Fall
It was barely dawn when I woke to a cool breeze floating through my window. A thin glimmer of light shone just over the horizon. Rather than roll over and sleep some more I got up, put on my jeans and a long sleeved shirt. Our weather is still warm during the day, but the mornings are brisk. I quietly left the house and walked around our little homestead. I love this time of morning, before the farm and the world has decided to rise and get on with their day.
When Dutch and Dakota finally realized I was outside they came running over to me, tails wagging wildly. They were still droopy eyed. Wondering what I was doing out so early, but loving the pre-dawn attention. I bent over and rubbed them vigorously and chuckled as they flopped on their backs begging for a belly rub. I am happy to have such contented farm dogs. They moaned and grinned and begged for more.
When Brianne came out I joined her in her morning routine of scooping grain and throwing hay to the lambs, and feeding the chickens. The baby chicks, now a good month old, have been moved to a spare rabbit hutch to get acquainted with barn life and life outside the brooder. No more do they have the warmth of their heat lamp, but a thickly packed nesting box seems to suit them just fine. Oreo (the rabbit) got his water bottle refilled and a fresh supply of pellets. We still have lambs left over from the state fair and our county fair. Fortunately they have all been sold. Now we wait for the butcher to have room in his locker before we can take them in. Not an ideal situation – waiting – but I know when our turn comes he will treat us right. Our county fair is just a few weeks gone, but it seems like a lifetime ago. Strange how we roll from one event to another with barely a look behind.
September has always marked the beginning of fall for me. I’ve been pining for it, longing for it since July, but it’s still a few weeks off. Fall is my time folks, when golden leaves float down from the sycamore tree in front of my house; when the fragrant smells of hearty stews fill the kitchen; and, when the pumpkins we planted back in spring start to change their color from green to brilliant burnt orange.
No – it’s not yet time, but soon. September paves the way for our hallowed fall. This is my time folks. I can’t wait.
A Wonderful Saturday Morning
What a wonderful Saturday morning I had at the Spinners and Weavers Festival!
I woke up early, the sun streaming through my window. I can already feel the changing of seasons and that Fall is not far off. After a leisurely breakfast with friends I packed my tote bag and headed down the road to the other side of the county.
What ever thoughts I had about summer not coming to our area quickly disappeared as the thermometer in my truck rose above 80. It wasn’t even 9am. When I pulled into the festival venue I was surprised and delighted all at the same time. An abandoned elementary school had been transformed into an arts center. Each classroom was divided into individual artist studios. There were potters and sculptures; painters and of course weavers. It was exciting to see such a great reuse of a building that could have turned into a dilapidated mess, with graffiti scrawled over the walls and vandals destroying anything in sight. But it was full of life and talent and art.
As I made my way through the rooms I recognized some of the artist names from art walks I had been on around the area. But the real treat, the real reason I went was to see the weaver’s guild. Their studio took up a multi-purpose room, and was much larger than the rest. It was full of looms strung with yarns of all colors and projects in various stages of completion. There were tabletop looms for weaving scarves and larger horizontal looms for shawls. The yarns were all hand dyed in deep rich hues of greens and purples; blues and teals, and an array of natural tones. Seeing them stacked on the shelves was like its own piece of art.
The vendor booths were set up on the grass areas between the classrooms and in the back parking lot. Many of the vendors were selling hand dyed rovings in wool, alpaca, angora and rabbit. Some vendors had spun yarn while others offered raw wool, leaving the pleasure of dying it to the buyer. There were vendors with spinning wheels, drop spindles, drum cards, hand cards, books and patterns for making your own creations. It was fascinating to see all the ways the artists found to show their creativity.
After a few hours at the festival I was ready to head home, to the simplicity and quite of our little farm. My eyes were opened a little wider today. There are many ways to express ones artistic talents. Some mold clay into pottery, some lay paint to canvas, some take dirty raw sheep’s wool and transform it into gloves and hats; scarves and shawls that keep us warm all winter long. And some, like me, take a small suburban homestead and turn it into a patchwork of gardens and orchards and flowerbeds. This is my palette.
Call Me Crazy and the County Fair
Well – leave it to two crazy livestock girls to cram as much showing as possible into the shortest period of time. Our county fair starts today and rather than concentrate on the local scene Brianne and I decided to drive two hours north to attend a one-day livestock show on Saturday.
We left before dawn and arrived shortly after 7am. The weather was quite warm, but the show was fun, Brianne did well, and it was great seeing everyone one last time before heading to our own county fair. One particularly fine friend took our biggest lamb to the sale yards along with his, so that is one less trip we have to make. After that, we empty the barn of sheep to make room for the meat chickens that will be raised to Cornish game hen size then processed for the freezer; and with any luck we’ll also have a feeder pig to raise and butcher before Thanksgiving.
With our busy show schedule I just wanted to drop a note that posts for the next week may be a bit sporadic. Brianne shows in the market and breeding sheep classes on Tuesday and if I’m not too tired I’ll let y’all know how she did.
As much as I love our life of livestock, shows and running around together, I’m looking forward to rolling into my favorite time of year – Autumn – with it’s cool days and warm evening glows. I’m already beat and we’ve haven’t even gotten to the fair.
For now I’m just putting one foot in front of the other. Wednesday I can collapse.
Exiting Suburbia
Exiting Suburbia
I leave the amenities. I leave the street light security. I leave the proximity to be near mountains and streams and unfettered skies; I wander off the familiar path to lonely back country roads, hugging the foothills like a cocklebur clings to my pants – no chance of falling off.
Meandering
Insecure, anxious until a hundred miles from home I watch the cars fade to another place, like a handful of chaff tossed in the wind; the skies open deep and clear; my body eases, my mind relaxes and all the chains of suburban life fall away, link by link.
Sebastopol Geese
I want these geese!!!
Sebastopol Geese – the geese that wear a wedding dress.
I saw them at the state fair last week and immediately feel in love.
They are medium sized white geese that are known for their long curling feathers. Even the feathers on their neck have a slight curve to them. They originated in Europe along the Danube River and around the Black Sea.
They are beautiful. And, after a conversation this afternoon, with a breeder up north they will be a new addition to our homestead come spring.
We are excited!!