Posts Tagged ‘Lambs’
Celebrating the Month of Hallows
I’m sure I’ve mentioned how much I love fall at least a time or two, but it’s true. I love the way the air smells on an early foggy morning, the way it fills your lungs when you take a deep breath; the way it smells earthy and robust in the evening, like rich compost. I love the way the sun glints and sparkles over the dew on spider webs and grass as I head out to the barn to feed the critters in the morning; the way it bounces gold and orange across a late afternoon sky, just before it sets. I love the color of the leaves as they turn red and brown; yellow and gold, I love gathering firewood, picking pears, making soup and tasting fresh pressed cider. Yep, fall is my season, no doubt about it.
It’s not the fall of department stores though. You won’t find skeletons or graveyards or scary, gross, bloodied or battered images on my farm, nary a one. My fall is the fall of old, of old European traditions when autumn meant celebrating the end of summer, a harvest put up and a long winter ahead. This is my fall, color and fruit and hearty meals and warm satisfying drinks. It’s a time when part of the garden is put to bed and part is planted with winter hearty seeds. It is a time to reflect on the past and look forward to the future. It’s a time for quiet and peace.
My first weekend of October started off with an early departure from work. The drive home was slow and relaxing, my mind wandered from freeway to highway to slow country road. When I finally arrived at the farm I set about watering and feeding, a much easier task since the barn is empty of lambs and meat birds; only the chickens remain. The berries are just about done for the year and our unusually hot summer means we may not have the cool late evening breezes.
Once finished in the barn and back in the house I set out pumpkin spice candles on the mantel, in the kitchen and on various tables around the house. I love the scent they give off and the glow they lay over the house is beyond serene. I pulled out the primitive paintings of New England fall days, treasures from a trip to Vermont years ago. These are my October decorations.
It seemed like I had barely fallen asleep when sis and I were awake and off to a vintage fair up the coast. I love combing the stalls looking for useful old tools and gadgets, or new additions to the kitchen ware. I never pass up an opportunity to add to my gardening and farming collection either.
The long day left little to the imagination in the way of dinner. After a quick trip to the barn to collect the day’s bounty of eggs I was in the kitchen grilling lamb chops, making mashed potatoes and sautéing green beans, a simple dinner for a simple season.
Sunday was all about the farm and fall. We left the house early to gather a cord of firewood, adding to the stack that will be warmth and ambiance all winter, and found a tree full of fall pears, we picked a few. By mid-morning we were home, setting a new batch of seeds into rich warm compost. Our growing season is long and my goal is to have a productive winter garden. My greenhouse/potting shed is fully enclosed and all my gardening tools, supplies and implements go inside before the weather really turns. It is also my place to think and plant and read and plan. During a short break we lunched on leftovers and filled the crock pot with the makings of a hearty split pea soup; the start of a freezer full of easy meals.
It was afternoon when our arms began to feel the strain of swinging a hammer and pounding nails through metal as we repaired some siding on the greenhouse. We pushed on though until the job was finished, then we sat back and admired our handy work. There’s nothing better than working hard in the cool of a fall day. It invigorates you, makes you feel like Paul Bunyan. But, smarter heads prevailed and rather than risking injury by pushing on we quit for the day.
When I had showered and rested a bit I made a favorite fall treat— Apple Pecan Gingerbread. The aroma floated through the house while it baked, that, coupled with the scent and glow of the candles made the perfect ending to my first weekend of October. I can only hope they all turn out this wonderful.
Apple Pecan Gingerbread
Ingredients:
5 tablespoons butter, melted, plus more for greasing
3/4 cup chopped pecans
1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons buttermilk
1/3 cup unsulphured molasses
1/2 cup sugar
1 tablespoon pure vanilla extract
1 egg
1-1/4 cup whole wheat pastry flour
1 tablespoon ground ginger
1-1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 Firm cooking apple like Fuji or Gala apple, peeled, cored and chopped fine
Directions:
Preheat oven to 350°F. Grease an 8-inch loaf pan with butter.
In a large bowl, whisk together buttermilk, molasses, sugar, butter, vanilla and egg.
In a second large bowl, combine flour, ginger, baking soda and pecans. Add apples and toss well.
Stir flour mixture into molasses mixture and then spoon batter into pan. Bake until cooked through and a toothpick inserted in the middle comes out clean, about 45 – 50 minutes.
Let cool in pan for 30 minutes and then invert onto a plate and serve warm or at room temperature.
The Mystery of the Missing Goose
When I pulled into the driveway this evening there was a thin line of steel grey streaked across the horizon; that time of day that is well past dusk, but not quite pitch dark. I hurried inside dropped my laptop and quickly slipped into my work clothes. With a few minutes of pseudo daylight left I had just enough time to feed and water before night time set in fully.
I moved around the barn like I was on auto pilot, moving from feeder to waterer to throwing down another layer of bedding. It’s a routine that I’ve done a thousand times over my life; a routine that may have included more animals, or fewer, but a routine that is always the same. Screaming animals get feed first, followed by filling water troughs, then checked over for any signs of discomfort, disease or injury, and this night was no different.
With no lambs in the barn and it too cold to be brooding meat chickens the barn is fairly empty, save for the laying hens and Sophie. In less than 15 minutes everyone was bedded down for the night, or so I thought.
As I walked across the barnyard, breathing in deeply the cool crisp air and admiring a tea stained moon and stars that sparkled like diamonds on velvet I stopped—stopped dead in my tracks. The kind of stop that your body brings about, but your brain can’t figure out why. I stood like a stone, slowing looking around at what might have caused my reaction. I stared at the barn. Nothing came. I looked at the greenhouse, dark and silent, still nothing. Then, as I panned around the garden it hit me. WHERE WAS SOPHIE?
Now, Sophie is a large Sebastopol goose mind you, and unlike a small bantam hen that can easily get missed she is large. Her body is the size of a basketball and she is so white she fairly sparkles in the moonlight. But, on this night she was nowhere. I looked in the barn again. Nothing. I checked under the sweet pea bush (a favorite place). Nothing. I walked and called and peeked and poked, but still no sign of her. In a last ditch effort I stood very still, hands on my hips and called her name, which usually elicits a honk or two, but still not a peep was heard.
As night continued to darken the inevitable began to penetrate my consciousness…she had meet with a predator. There was no more to be done, sadly, so I slowly walked into the house and continued on with inside chores.
My mind kept going over every little detail. I had seen and heard her in the morning when I fed. When I come home from work she is either nibbling grass or sitting by the back door. She’s loud when she hears noise in the driveway or the house. And, when it’s lying season, which it is now, she is too nasty of a bitch to succumb to any small predator. What happened?
As I laid in bed that night I couldn’t help but feel sad. No farmer wants to or likes to lose an animal, but I have to admit that I was grateful for the fact that I would not have any orphaned goslings. We had bought her as a pair with a little gander five years ago, but he died shortly after we got him, so her eggs are not fertile.
The next day the early morning sun blazed through my bedroom window, bringing me out of a dead sleep. There in my drowsiness, that half awake half asleep state I heard that familiar honking. As I bolted out of bed there she was standing in the middle of the yard, bossy as ever. I quickly threw on some work clothes and ran out the back door, but by the time I arrived on the scene she was gone. I looked around, but saw nothing. She didn’t honk when I called her. I didn’t see her anywhere, so I began an inch-by-inch search of the whole place. I knew she was out there somewhere and by God I was going to find her.
After searching all the logical places I crept around the back of the greenhouse, almost on hand and knees. The greenhouse sits at the back of the property almost surrounded by an overgrown bougainvillea on the east side and a pepper tree, in dire need of a trim, on the south side. I worked my way through the tangle of vines and branches and THERE! nestled beneath the low hanging branches and tucked under the tangle of vines she sat on her nest. I was so relieved, at least for a split second.
It had been more than a week since I picked up the egg she laid near the raised vegetable beds. My thoughts immediate went to the number of eggs she could have in her clutch. If she laid one a day, which geese normally do, that meant she could have…1…2…3…4…5…6…SHIT, almost a dozen, if I calculate from the day I found that egg near the garden beds.
Relief is never without its own predicaments. Now I have to “unthrone” her, gather up all the eggs she’s laid and dispose of them because I can’t eat them, they’ve been outside too long, they won’t hatch because they aren’t fertile, but they will attract other animals, and if left too long they will spoil and stink up the place. Yep, there is nothing else to be done, but pull all the eggs out from underneath her. She’s gonna hate that. And, if history repeats itself I will be enjoying the attack of a hopping mad goose every time I walk outside for the next few weeks. Such is life with animals.
I am glad she’s not hurt though.
Baby Pumpkins Abound!
There are clutches of chicks, litters of kits, herds of kids, and bands of lambs. And, now we have a family of Cucurbitaceae’s.
The flowers I pollinated last week have all taken and we will now have a full harvest of Fall globes to adorn the front walk and the house. One thing I did notice, though, is that are many more “male” flowers than there are “female” flowers, so in the future I will be especially care to pollinate all I can find in order to maximize the harvest.
The pumpkin pictured above is only a few days old. Those pollinated before him had already morphed many times this size!
Let Fall begin!
Ending on a High Note
Well folks, we did it. We finished our last show of Brianne’s 10-year sheep showing career this past weekend with a two-day show and we ended it on a high note. She won 2 Reserve Champions with each one of her lambs and placed second to the top showman in the state in showmanship both days. I couldn’t have asked for better.
It seems like only yesterday that this shy little girl stepped into a livestock show arena for the very first time; untrained, unsure, unaware of how this livestock show thing worked. But, over the years she has gained confidence, knowledge about raising livestock, skills in presenting her animals to their best, respect from fellow competitors and made a ton of friends along the way. We have traveled thousands of miles over the years, shown in some of the worst weather California could throw at us and come out the other side strong, committed and even more dedicated to what we were doing. It isn’t all about buying lambs and winning prizes. It’s about building a foundation for what Brianne wants to do in her adult life, and clearly that will include raising sheep.
At the end of the weekend our friends took one of the lambs north and delivered it to its new owner, a friend up north whose daughter will take it to the state fair. The other lamb came with us and was dropped off to its new owner, a friend who will show him at our county fair. It was strange though, coming home with an empty trailer, no lambs to settle back into their home, no equipment to unload, clean, reload waiting for the next show weekend, and when 6pm rolled around we hardly knew what to do with ourselves. We usually feed at 6 then work on showmanship in the cool of the early evening, but not this night. It was oddly quiet. Sure there where chores we could have done, projects we could have worked on, but our routine was out of sorts, broken. The block of time set aside each night for sheep related tasks was empty and silent.
But, life is all about change and we have to change with it or become stagnant. So now Brianne is going in her direction…an internship with an agricultural company, then off to college in August. After that who knows what the future holds. She wants a farm of her own, a flock she can hold on to and not sell off after each show season that much I do know. She is already connecting with large breeders she can work for while in college and hopefully work with when she is finished.
In the short term I’m taking back my farm starting with a new batch of meat chicks and a greenhouse, then moving forward with new garden areas, fruit trees and more vegetable beds, and raising a pig for the freezer. There are plans in the works, laying the foundation to move from my little suburban homestead to a larger farm, but for now those are only plans rolling around in my head. When I look at the horizon I see a world of possibilities, not next weekends show. How quickly we change and move on.
It’s been a long ride, folks, and a good one. I wouldn’t have changed it for anything.
The Garden Plan
The growing season so far has been unlike any I’ve experienced. Late into spring we’ve had days covered in clouds, drizzly, blustery with temps in the low 60s and highs in the 90s, sometimes all in one week. I wonder if this is what farming looks like in other areas of the country.
Seeds I planted back in March are finally producing an edible crop. Some, like tomatoes, squash and of course the treasured pumpkins are big enough to plant out in the garden. Seedlings of cucumbers, cauliflower and broccoli bolted in the short heat wave we had and have been replanted, but not big enough to be planted out. I have to keep telling myself it’s just May and in some parts of the country it’s just now time to sow seeds in the ground.
My garden plans are grandiose this year. With the lambs just a week away from being sold and our final show season all but over my mind has turned to other projects that have been on the back burner for the past few years. One of the biggest is a greenhouse, something I’ve been dreaming of for a long time.
My neighbor Scott recommended Jordan a local handyman and part-time builder who loves to work with vintage anything and reclaimed materials for interesting building projects. When I explained what I was doing he was instantly onboard, and he completely understood the “girl thing” that it had to be functional AND cute. What a guy!
The greenhouse/potting shed will be built out of old wood frame windows I found at a local second hand store. The front door is a great old Victorian style with lots of intricate detail. Below the windows will be siding of galvanized tin roofing material. I was able to buy all I needed from craigslist for a few dollars per sheet. It’s used and the old scuffed and rusted areas will add to charm to the greenhouses look. The only materials that will be new is the fiberglass roofing. Even the rooster wind vane that will adorn the roof is more than 25 years old, a treasure I’ve been carrying with me from one house to another. The back side of the greenhouse, which faces the back of my property, will be solid siding. I will use this area to hang and store long-handled tools like shovels, rakes and hoes.
The inside I will build out myself. It will have a sink area with running water, shelves for newly planted seedlings and storage for potting soil, pots, hand tools, plant labels and all the other interesting gardening gadgets I’ve collected over the years. I’m looking forward to having all my gardening supplies in one location. But, more than that I’m looking forward to having a quiet, tranquil place to plant seeds, plan my garden and watch everything grow from the comfort of a small patio just outside its walls.
It’s been a long time since I’ve taken on a project of this size, but I’m looking forward to it. And, with Jordan’s help my dream should become a reality with just a few long hard days of swinging a hammer and cutting lumber.
I’ll post our progress and the finished product in all its vintage glory.
Full Moon Farming
Our full moon hides behind a bank of storm clouds tonight. It peeks out and then sneaks back in, covered by a mass of gray. There’s something about doing evening chores under the soft glow of a full moon that makes everything seem new and pleasant. She rises slowly over the tree tops, seemingly out of nowhere. She watches as we muck about in boots with buckets and bags, through dirt and mud and poo. She watches the night unfold on our little farm.
She watches as Brianne throws hay and grain into the lamb’s feed trough and bounces light off the water as it cascades from an overturned bucket when the water is changed; sparkling clean and clear like the reflection of a mirror when it is replaced.
The moon peers down on us as we move from chicken coop to rabbit hutch, replacing bedding, filling feeders and turning kitchen scrapes into meat and eggs. She laughs with us as we hunt for egg treasures in the far corners of the barn. The girls have gotten clever at finding new places to hide their eggs – under the hay wagon, behind a feed barrel, inside a bucket, but we always manage to find them before too long. I talk to Sophia and stroke her head as I hand her a small treat, congratulating her on another successful egg.
The new lambs seem to be settling in just fine. Some do so faster than others. After 30-years of bringing lambs onto a farm I have learned that they each have their own time. All we can offer them is feed, water and shelter, medical help when they need it and a small bit of attention. The rest is on sheep’s time – they either settle in or they don’t. We have two wethers right now, one a charcoal grey Hampshire cross, the other the same breed, but white with wool on its face, both weighing about 95 pounds. Brianne will show them all spring before selling them to kids who can show them at the county fair. Sheep come and go on this farm. Some are shown, some are sold and some are butchered to feed a mom and a daughter. It is the heart of this place and its owners.
As I start for the house I turn back and look at the barn, the coop, the sheep, the new vegetable beds ready to be filled and the partially built duck and turkey runs. I hear Sophia rattling around in the barn, the hens cooing in their nests and the roosters settling in high in the rafters. I hear the lambs chew their cuds. The moon watches all this too. I smile.
I think about spring and know it will be here all too soon. But, I also know that chores under a full moon are a gift of winter and I am pleasured by it. I continue to the house thankful for the soft glow of a warming fire and the big pot of soup that awaits.
The storm can rage all it wants now, for the farm and its owners are warm and safe and fed.
photo credit: trustypics
Charwoman, House Maid, Scullery Maid, Stock Tender, Gardener, Mom, Writer
It’s an unusual thing to wake up in this farmhouse after the sun has risen. This is not an uncomfortable event by any means, but at 6:00AM the sky is still black, the chickens still asleep and the houses around the neighborhood still void of light. But this morning was different. The alarm went off and I slept right through it. When I finally woke, a sliver of sun was gleaming below a clear blue sky, something we haven’t seen in days.
Strange mornings like this aside, my first task of the day is that of a charwoman. I step out into the cold morning in a thick pair of Vermont wool socks and slide into a pair of muck boots. The ready woodpile is not far from the door, but on a frigid morning at dawn the winter temps are shocking. I gather my wood, collected and stacked back in October, and set it on the fire grate in a box pattern; two vertical pieces topped by two horizontal. I light the fire and when it catches I add more wood. With a fire crackling like a blast furnace I can feel the chill recede from the house and I head outside to tend to a waking barn.
My job changes from charwoman to stock tender.
The hens are first on my caretaker rounds. With the flip of a latch, Sophia begins a chorus of honks that shatters the early morning quiet. She runs for freedom with a coop full of chickens trailing behind. I step inside, pull the lid off the grain barrel and fill the hanging feeder with lay pellets. As a treat, I toss a few scoops of leftover sheep feed from our earlier show season. Troughs are emptied and re-filled with fresh water. Then I turn to the rabbit, topping off his metal feeder with pellets and replacing his water bottle. When there are lambs in the barn or a batch of meat birds, the morning routine takes longer.
Lambs must be separated and fed their individual rations. Show lambs, unlike lambs raised for the table, are carefully monitored for rate of gain, weight and finish so they are in perfect condition for their run to champion. The lambs will jump and kick and frolic when let loose from their night time prison, eventually running into their individual feeding pens, knowing what waits ahead. You can’t blame the boys for knowing what they want or having the spirit to demand it.
With chickens running free, the goose occupied, lambs chomping, rabbit contented and meat birds pecking, I am down to the last task of the morning.
I grab a hose and set the nozzle to shower. I drag it from bed to bed watering winter greens and dampening the soil around the new berry patch. The bed I transplanted more than a month ago is doing well, even if their biological clock tells them to go dormant.
The brood, flock, herd, passel and beds seem strong and at ease going into winter. There’s not much activity on the poultry breeding front. All the better I think. I’d rather hatch chicks in the bright light of spring then on a blustery day in winter.
Last ditch tasks are attended to. Potted gardens are watered, salt licks replaced if need be, cats fed and watered, eggs collected, barn tided and tools hung on hooks. The farm is ready…ready to go about its business of making meat, eggs, wool, and vegetables. In a few months baby chicks will be on the way, along with lambs, ducklings, turkeys and maybe kits. The idea of a French duck cassoulet or smoked turkey sounds amazing. This whole morning thing takes about 30 minutes…20 if I hurry or Brianne helps. I return to the house and a fire that beat down the cold now makes the house feel like a thousand degrees.
My next job is housemaid and cook. I set a pot of water on the stove for tea and hot chocolate, and heat up skillets for scrambled eggs, bacon and French toast. While pots bubble and blurp, I tend to dishes and laundry; and after all that…sit down to a fresh made meal from local fields and our farm. It’s a satisfying thing to cook what you grow and grow what you want to cook.
My last job of the morning, and most enjoyable, is writer. After dishes are done I see to emails and open up a word document to capture any writing ideas that pop into my head, so they won’t be lost in the flurry that is putting words to paper. I enjoy writing about our little homestead and encouraging others to pursue this life, even in the suburbs or cities; teaching how this farming thing can work and how living with seasons and animals and crops has always made me feel more whole, awakened new pleasures and purpose in me even after all these years. They are days of blessings; a life of blessings.
That is a weekend morning for this homesteader. The chores will change with the seasons, with the animals and with the needs of the farm, not the farmer. The warmer months can easily have more jobs in a weekend than can be managed, many revolving around chicks and lambs and gardens. But, in this time, between the warm nights and longer days, I am a charwoman, house maid, scullery maid, stock tender, gardener, mom, and writer. It is work that fills my heart long before the sun rises and long after it sets; and I am glad for the places it takes me.
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.
Peak Oil
I never intended this site to talk about militia tactics, conspiracy theories or post-oil survivalist ways, but it is becoming increasingly impossible to be involved in homesteading and the local food culture and not be at least aware of, if not affected by, the topic of Peak Oil.
I take solace though that the more I read and learn about energy issues the more content I feel that I have chickens who give us eggs, lambs who provide us with meat, a garden, berry patch and fruit orchard that supplies us with fresh produce and the where with all to combine those ingredients into a satisfying meal for my family.
If this topic is new to you or you’ve never heard about it before you may want to ask yourself these simple questions. What is Peak Oil? Do you think Peak Oil is fact or fiction? Do you or your family base decisions based on the future of oil?
Do you think the current boom in small farming and homesteading is the result of worries about peak oil, the food supply or energy issues in general, or is it just a fad? I’m sure our readers would be curious to know what you all think.
The Peak Oil clip above is a quick 3 minute video visually explaining Peak Oil, what oil is used for, and what the future may hold with regards to Peak Oil.
To learn more about Peak Oil check out this YouTube video by VideoNation, or simply plug Peak Oil into your browser window for more videos and articles.
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