Our Five Seconds of Pig Ownership

Phil worked incredibly hard today. It turns out that we could potentially get electricity installed on Friday or Monday, so he spent time figuring out the electrical box all on his own! No books to help! All our books are packed, so he just reasoned it out. “If you look at it long enough, it starts to make sense,” he said. (I’m fairly confident that I could look at it for a month and it would make no more sense to me than it did in the beginning.) He ran again to Charlottesville, and bought, we hope, the rest of the wiring we need.

I planted 74 ginseng seeds after preparing a teeny bed in the forest in back of our trailer. It was restful and fun, though whether I actually get a harvest in five or six years is more than I can say.

Phil casually mentioned today that, for the first time since trying the Atkins diet, and the second time since we’ve been married, he’s below 185. He’s 175. Wow!

Our truck has been driving with a little shimmy at times, usually on the dirt road. We wondered if it was a harmonics issue, where the vibrations of the road built up over time. When Phil examined the truck more today, he found that one wheel had a nut sheered right off, and, perhaps in a related issue, one front tire was bent. That is not good news. And the power steering and power breaks are not working well. He is currently at the Bessettes, hopefully taking care of those issues with Dennis, who, as with many things, apparently is an expert.

If it weren’t for the Bessettes, we’d be up a creek without a paddle so many times over.

The worst of today was that we went back and bought our two $80 pigs. We enjoyed talking to the couple and the boys enjoyed playing with the children, so much so that it was dark when we returned home. We let the pigs out of the dog crate we had used to transport them, into the large electric-fence-lined pen built at such cost and pain. They walked right out.

We have no idea where they are. Phil, uncharacteristically, was beside himself. What a disappointment! What a frustration!

And that’s the news from Farm WoeBeHere.

First Blood

Every day I pray for protection for ourselves, our things, our animals. This morning when I prayed, I wondered if I was treating that prayer like a mantra, something I just prayed every day. I hoped not.

As Phil was constructing a pig pen, he was using a post driver to ram a T-post (a long metal post) into the ground. He’s done this before, and it’s not particularly difficult: you lift a hollow metal cylinder up and ram it down until the T-post is in the ground deep enough to satisfy.

At one point, though, as he rammed down with all his strength, the cylinder caught on the edge of the post and hit him in the head. He called for me, and then screamed in a panic: his hands were covered in blood (and Phil doesn’t do blood at all). I hurriedly put on shoes, set down the baby, grabbed a few little towels, and got outside to find my husband crumpled on the ground.

Thankfully, we believe he is all right. The bleeding stopped fairly soon because of the compression. However, we think he also had a concussion, as he was woozy for the rest of the day. And with brain injuries, they don’t always show up right away (thinking of our friend Stan, who hit his head, and then needed double brain surgery a few weeks later, as he had had a slow something-bad happen, like blood oozing on the brain, all that time).

This is not a part of farming I was ready for, experientially. On some level, I knew such a thing could happen, but to be there—it’s not so fun.

Phil called about the electrical inspection. This time, they told him he needed to pick up a part for his pole. So we drove to Lovingston, about 45 minutes south, to get a part. Then home again. (I went too because he was a little shaky.) Then Phil drove to Scottsville, to the hardware store, about 20 minutes east. They didn’t have all the pieces he needed, so he drove up to Charlottesville, to get the rest of the pieces needed. That was a LOT of driving. Too much driving to go get the pigs. Still no pigs!

I have heard that it is easy to make a small fortune in farming. Just start with a large fortune! Ha. It is amazing, though, how many things are needed: hoof shears, a hanging scale for lambs, various medications in case an animal gets sick, and on and on it goes.

I have decided to take to heart the “cast all your cares upon Him for He cares for you” verse. I realized I have spent the better part of a year worrying about the house not selling, worrying about when to move, and what to do. But that’s not been very productive for me, or helpful. So I’m done with that, I hope, and am working on just reminding God (“casting my cares”) when a scared or upset or worrying thought crosses my mind.

Pigs, But No Pigs

The boys and I stayed home and did fun school for much of the day. Phil had to deal with various paperwork/bookkeeping things in a location with electricity. The biggest, best news came from Michelle Bessette, who let us know that neighbor Gail just got WildBlue satellite internet, and it works great—with a south-facing hill. Which we have! Praise God: we will not have to commute forever!

During a bathroom break in the afternoon, the wind was gently blowing the trees, which are just starting to turn. Because the goats have cleared the underbrush, I can see into the woods next to our house. A few leaves fell in the shining sun, and the sheep and goats were ruminating in peace just down the hill. It was a beautiful, if fleeting, moment.

Phil poured the concrete today for the electrical panel. It is in place. (And it did rain a bit, but I am hoping that won’t make a difference.)

The last paddock we made for our sheep and goats was twice the size of the previous one, but the four ladies have concentrated only on the area that is more in the open, not venturing into the woods at all. Now that they have nearly demolished the open area, Phil cut down some of the thicket, so they could see how far back they could go. And they became more willing to forage into the woods. Silly ladies.

In the evening, we went to buy pigs. I was tentatively excited, but on seeing the ten pigs rushing around the pasture, I was a little more hesitant. And did you know that pigs bite with sharp little teeth? At one point, I asked the taciturn man how much the pigs weighed. He grabbed one by a back leg, then the other back leg. Eventually, he manhandled it up and held it while it SCREAMED and SCREAMED. I have never heard anything like it. Unnerving. “Squealing like a stuck pig” is an apt description, but it doesn’t quite show the volume or the desperation. Blah.

“I’d say it weighs about 100 pounds,” he said.

Sadly, this little episode made all the pigs jittery, so we were unable to catch even one to transport home. Which was fine, since we didn’t have a pen set up for them anyway. We had a pleasant talk with the wife for almost an hour. She told us of their nine years of hobby farming: chickens don’t work because feed prices are too high; turkeys grow slowly and are really stupid; grapes all died except for Concords, but who wants to eat that much jam anyway?; peaches never produce, or the deer get them; the garden started out enthusiastically and on a grand scale, but they have had to scale way back; the sheep shearer doesn’t come; the pigs are challenging to market.

This is not super-encouraging. I knew homesteading was challenging, but I am beginning to wonder if it is possible to homestead without becoming bitter. I pray it may be so.

It was embarrassing for me, though, to see myself reflected in the taciturn man. He said several times, “I shouldn’t have picked up that pig until they were all corralled: that was so stupid. Stupid of me.”

I have said those exact words several times since moving here, in moments of irritation or frustration. The baby dumps out the glass of water because his reach is incredible: “I should have SEEN that that water was going to fall. I’m so STUPID.”

I hope never to say those words again. It’s UGLY. (And the truly embarrassing thing is, I know when I say it that I’m behaving badly. Sometimes my disappointment in myself or my life is so great, though, that I just want to express it—somehow.)

Walk the Land

As a family, we hiked to the far side of our property and back this afternoon. It took 2 ½ hours. I have only been to the back side one time, the day we hiked the land with the realtor. Phil and the two older boys hiked there last October, but I only made it about halfway back, with 8-week=old Jonadab on my back, and 2-year-old Abraham at my side.

What a difference a year makes! The older boys are not at all whiners: they made up little stories and games as they went. Abraham made it all the way there on his little legs, and had a shoulder ride from Daddy most of the way back. But Abraham spotted a lizard, and he tried to climb some trees like his big brother. He bravely stepped over branches and climbed little hillsides. What a trooper!

As we traveled the land on the far side of Hog Creek (almost 2/3 of the land, I think), my heart sank. Phil had said, after reading a book by grass farmer Newman Turner, “I want to BE Newman Turner.” But with five acres of cleared land, and seeing the steep angle of the land on the far side of the creek, I thought, “Oh, there’s no chance he can be Newman Turner. Not on this beautiful, but harsh land.”

And the forest is mostly junk forest: 5-inch diameter trees, or dying pines. We have some massive oaks down near our creek, trees that haven’t been logged in, perhaps, 100 years, if ever, but they haven’t been logged because they are too hard to access. And they are so beautiful, would we really want to log them?

Despite the perfect weather and my sons’ happy laugher, my spirits sank. What are we doing in this wild, untamed place, with winter coming on, without a house or the chance to get a house? What are we doing?

I asked Phil on our return if he was feeling a bit blue. What an optimist he is! Rather than feeling stifled by what the land is not, he sees infinite possibilities. After all, the lots on both sides of us are not using their land. If we needed to, we could probably work out a lease agreement. And with the land as it is, we can do many smaller enterprises, and grow at our own pace.

The Permaculture idea of “Start at your own front door and work your way outward” is very helpful in this situation. We don’t need to worry about the junk forest on the other side of the creek. We’ll stick with the tasks we can do in our five acres for now.

As our realtor Burt said, the day after hiking the land with us: “When we hiked that land yesterday, I got EXCITED!”

After our hike, I was concerned for fat Acorn, who was lying in the sun. For some reason, Acorn looked ill to me, and I knew that there was goldenrod in their pen, which is not good for sheep, should they consume it in quantity. (In general, I prefer to believe that animals instinctively know what is good for themselves, but I have heard that sheep are suicidal.) This caused me a moment’s panic: I have no way to treat sick sheep, and wouldn’t know what to do, even if I had the proper supplies.

In reading up on sheep (reviewing a book I read some time ago), I realized that I really should handle the girls a bit: check their toenails, check their weight (I should feel their spine under their wool to determine how they are doing). So I went to get our new shepherds’ crook, made “for the range.” It catches the sheep’s rear legs, rather than catching them around the neck. Great! I would finally be able to touch the skittish creatures!

Ha! First of all, the sheep were not fooled. They knew that my hands were not empty, and they avoided me accordingly. Second, I wasn’t really the most confident person. I mean, once I caught the sheep, then I had to somehow tilt it back enough that its front legs were off the ground. AND, the advice from the people who sold the sheep to us to “just grab by the wool when all else fails” is actually awful advice: it bruises the animals and destroys their wool. So I had to somehow grab these distrusting animals, without utilizing the one easy hold available to me, tip the sheep toward me (but they weigh a good bit! And they have sharp little hooves!), and then do an exam.

When I finally grabbed Acorn’s leg, she somehow pulled it out of the crook. Phil took a turn with the increasingly stressed out sheep, and then we gave up for the day. I think real shepherds somehow confine their sheep (permanent gates and so forth), but that’s not in the budget this week or next, so we’ll see what happens.

In other news, Phil let Bouncer the barn cat out of her cage into the metal shed and closed the doors on her. I didn’t know he had done so, and merrily went in to get the shovel. It was hot in the metal building, so I left the doors open.

Bouncer bounced away somewhere—I didn’t see her go. Goodbye, Bouncer!

Current Lykosh animal count: six. One cat, one dog, two sheep, two goats. (Not counting an unknown number of babies gestating in the sheep and goats.)

A Time to Rent?

Phil has broadcast several hundred pounds of cover crops the last few days: lots of oats and hairy vetch. He even went out sowing in a gentle rain. The last few days have been extremely moist. At times it has been wet, yes, but more often it is just, well, moist. I went to feed the sheep and the goats with a sweatshirt on. The rain was falling—I could both see it and hear it—but in the ten minutes or so that I was outside, petting my ladies and putting their hay in the rack (really just the tops of the pallets that make up their shelter), I only got a little damp. Only a few small sections on my shoulders and upper arms even showed signs of water into the cotton hoodie. So weird!

Phil also dug the holes for the electrical box. If it were me, I would have found a shovel, sort of measured where the two spots were supposed to be, and then just dug in, figuring that eventually it would all work out.

This is not the best method. Phil’s is much better. In order to dig a perfectly round hole, first he roughs up the soil with a rock bar (basically just a heavy rod). Then he uses a post-hole digger to take up the dirt. This post-hole digger looks like a combination large pair of tongs, and tin can. (The tong part is shaped like a tin can.) When he thought the holes were deep enough, he got out his surveying equipment (which he admitted may have been overkill, but since he had it, he might as well use it) to see if the two holes were about the same depth in total, since one was lower on the slope.

As I was up early this morning, I suddenly realized what is probably obvious to everyone by now: our house truly may not sell at any price this year, and if it does not go under contract in the next few days, it is probably time to rent. I think we have the bulk of our initial expenses taken care of, and we will probably earn enough going forward to support ourselves—but only with one mortgage. The double mortgage is too much, and, hence, the need for tenants in Boulder.

It was the first time I have considered that without panic, just trust. That’s a much better place to be, I think. I think we’ll get a better price next year, too.

Finally, a plug for one of my favorite childhood books, that I haven’t read since I was about 10: The Wheel on the School. I have been reading it to the boys and we are DEVOURING it. We’ve read about 200 pages the last three days: two hours at a sitting often, with the boys begging for more. So if you need a marvelous, wonderful read, check it out.

Why I Have a Hardware Store Phobia

Yesterday morning I woke early from yet another nightmare. I read through some Psalms before the day began, but after those encouraging thoughts, I began paying the bills, which put me in a foul mood. As we spend several thousands of dollars a month on an empty house that will not sell, it seems hard to know where to begin to pay the bills, but, as with all things, I suppose we must do what we can and expect God to make up the rest. (It struck me as mildly infuriating that our electric bill for the empty house was $100 last month--$100 for something I don’t even have! Argh!)

So Phil and I decided that I should drive in to Johanna Bush’s house most days to work off her internet, at least until we get electricity. The most hopeful thing I’ve heard in some time is that one of our neighbors is getting satellite internet; she can be the guinea pig. Perhaps it will work for her! How wonderful to have an internet connection in my own house again.

The electrical situation, that I was so hopeful would soon be resolved, is delayed yet again. After calling for two or three days for the electrical guy to give us a date, Phil finally got through. “Oh,” said the man, “you actually need to have your pole in place. Then you can call us, and we’ll come the next day and make sure that it is where it needs to be, and then you get on the schedule, maybe nine days later or so.”

So we’re looking at electricity in mid-October, at the earliest. (The good thing is, that is right around the first frost date, so we will hopefully have heat by the time we need it!) Phil reminded me that we won’t automatically have running water when we get electricity: there is trenching and piping and other things that must happen first.

I would not have predicted this process to be so onerous, but I’m thankful we started when we did! Good grief!

The metal storage shed had been giving us fits. Phil decided it was worth a try to excavate under the sides. I used a long pole as a lever to hold the sides up, and he trenched under them. The half hour or less of digging was enough that he was able to finish the whole thing! (Except for some minor bits, which I’ll get to later.) He backfilled the lined trench on the outside, and within about five minutes, it started to rain, in a(nother) real torrential downpour. I was excited to have some water in my five gallon buckets, but, sadly, the wind was a bit too gusty, and most of the water whooshed off the tarps. Still, rain is good!

This morning, as it was still raining, we laughed to see the sheep standing outside, and the goats huddled under their shelter. The difference between a fleece and a hair coat.

We were eating breakfast when we had a knock at our door. FedEx delivery! And UPS came, too, so now we know that, despite our unofficial street address (which we made up, because you can’t get a real address without a permitted building, hence the issue with the driver’s license place), we can get packages! It makes me feel more grounded.

One of the minor undone bits on the shed is the doors. They aren’t hung. The package shorted us 21 “countersunk bolts.” I know that quite well because the first time I went to the hardware store, I had assistance, and purchased bolts that WEREN’T countersunk. So today I again headed to the hardware store.

Now, I have a long-standing phobia about hardware stores. (What?! Another phobia? Who knew? Here’s the story: the last Saturday I was in Boulder before leaving for Idaho to attend my junior year of college, Phil wanted to look at cabinets for his kitchen remodel. We went to Lowe’s to look, and ended up being helped by an old man who was V-E-R-Y S-L-O-W. He helped us for THREE HOURS. By the end, I was about to pull my hair out. And I was extremely hungry. So we went across the parking lot to Chili’s, where I ordered an appetizer because I needed food NOW. When my broccoli cheddar soup arrived, I was scarfing it when Phil suddenly knocked the soup off my spoon. That was a bit odd, but I got another spoonful, and he knocked it off again. “Stop stealing my food!” I yelled loudly. This is now a family joke, but the idea of going into a hardware store still sends cold shivers up my spine.)

Today I had to admit to the clerk that I am hardware store incompetent and purchased round-head bolts, not countersunk, so could I please have store credit or something so I can get the right ones? I searched for quite some time in the fasteners aisle, and had just about reached the point of panic and tears, when a kind man came and helped. He found the countersunk bolts in a box that was labeled “round,” so I was not actually incompetent—the store’s system itself was difficult.

In the end, all the trauma didn’t matter because the head of the bolts weren’t quite large enough. Argh!

Phil and I moved the goats and the sheep, and there is little that is so beautiful as seeing animals in new pasture. They just gulp the forage down so happily.

A Way of Life Gone with the Wind

Yesterday I was away from the boys for much of the day, working and researching online. When I got back, sweet Abraham could not get enough of hugging and kissing me. I felt almost like Jesus with the woman who kissed his feet and cried, and wiped his feet with her hair. He needed some Mommy affection. It was very sweet.

I woke from a vivid dream probably around 4:30am or so. In the dream, we finally had a home offer, but it was so ridiculously low as to be insulting. (If we started off listing our house at $159K, this offer was for $32K. I mean, really ridiculous.) In the dream, though, it was our agent’s voice and apologetic chuckle and everything.

I woke, startled to realize that we actually have had no offer yet. And never went back to sleep. Which was okay—all the family members were up by 6:15am for some reason.

With that horrid dream not yet shaken off, I think I began to panic a bit over financial issues again. I guess this is just a pattern for me, which is silly because God has not failed us yet, but the idea that we could be months or years from earning anything off the land weighed heavily on me this morning. We had begun this process knowing that, but our financial situation was a great deal more rosy two years ago than it is now (as was most of ours, I suspect).

I left to work some more at Johanna Bush’s house, and as I drove away from Isaiah, waving goodbye (and ran over several large logs as I backed poorly out of the driveway), I sobbed and sobbed. I used to be able to work at night, after the boys were asleep, or in the afternoon as they played. I didn’t have to leave sweet Abraham so he missed me, or the other boys so they didn’t get in “enough” school time. I could be productive every minute of every day, and get a lot done.

Although I don’t wish I was back in Boulder—not for a minute have I wished that—it was good to remember that there is grief in change. I grieve for my effortless internet and electricity, for my interaction with the boys, for seeing my family on a fairly regular basis.

Sometimes a good cry is cleansing, and I felt a bit better.

My boys interact so beautifully, so much of the time. I will take today as a case in point.
Denise came to see our progress over the last month. We were showing her the sheep and the goats, and there came Jadon, carrying little Jonadab down the hill to us, so Joe wouldn’t be sad. So sweet!
Or this morning, Abraham sat next to Isaiah and handed him book after book of easy readers, and Isaiah happily read them, one right after the other. So sweet!
Or today, I blew out my breath in a “phew!” type sound, and Joe imitated me so merrily.
Or Abraham, again giving me kisses and saying, “I missed you, Mommy.”

They get interaction with people, even if those people are their brothers much of the time.

It was a hot and humid day today. After glorious days in the low 70s for the last three weeks, today felt like a blazing 90 (though it was only 82, with about 80 percent humidity). The boys went swimming at the Bessettes, because we were drooping.

Phil has stalled a bit on building the metal shed. It is supposed to be constructed on a concrete slab (a flat surface), so the slight angle up at one corner makes the siding not fit. He might need to excavate it out; he might need to deconstruct and reconstruct. It is all overwhelming and sad to me.

I am not yet a pioneer woman in the sense of wanting to just get in and fix it. On days like today, I’d rather just go to sleep and forget it.

Some good things: we received our first package at our land! Yes, FedEx delivered a package to our made-up address, while we weren’t here. It was on a chair right by our door. (Thanks to my sister for the bread machine inside.) Since I have other packages on the way, that was a great relief to me.
Another good thing was that Acorn let me touch her.
And another was that the older boys are finally able to enjoy The Wheel on the School. I was ready to read that glorious comfort book to them. I had tried it a few months back, and they would not settle in to listen, but we read for an hour before bed, and they were wishing for more. (Isaiah fell asleep in two minutes after I’d finished reading.)

Phil is constantly enthusiastic over how our pastures are becoming actual pasture, with grass and low-lying plants. He managed to saw down larger stumps, and then mow the last three or four paddock spaces in only an hour or two.

Here's a quick photo tutorial on pasture rehabilitation.

First, significant overgrowth. Blah.
Next, bush hog. After a month, you have regrowth that looks like this.

Add goats and sheep for a few days. With their hay and manure covering the ground, and their delight in eating, the soil is well picked over by the time they move on.

But the oats grow back! Just a few weeks later, and the land has a green sheen.

And, finally, a word about watering. How do we water our garden, without running water? Great question!

Three ways: first, I save all the dishwashing/handwashing water, and use this “greywater” on the herb gardens. Second, if it rains even a bit, we funnel the tarp into five gallon buckets. The entire surface area of the two trailers and the tarp can fill a five gallon bucket pretty quickly even in a light rain. Third, we haul water.

That entails first filling a 65 gallon storage container at the Bessettes. Back at home, I run a hose from the container into a five gallon bucket. I pour half the bucket into my watering can, and then walk up the hill to the garden with the watering can and half-filled bucket, leaving the hose from the 65 gallon container running to fill another bucket. I sprinkle my plants with the watering can, refill the watering can with the half-filled bucket, then run back downhill to repeat the process.

I will be thankful when we have a working well.

For the moment, you can be thankful that you buy your vegetables at the grocery store.

Favor and No Favor

Phil ran a LOT of errands on Monday. He went to the electric permitting office. There he said, “I am supposed to fill out an affidavit that states that my electricity will be used for a farm building.” The clerk didn’t want to give him the paperwork, since it was supposed to go to a structure. Phil said, “It will go to a pole, and that’s a structure, and that’s what Dwayne from your office told me to do.” The clerk said, “I’ll go get a ruling on this right now.” Thankfully, that individual was out to lunch then, so she gave Phil the needed paperwork. We will be allowed to get electricity! Yay! That’s the favor part.

The no-favor part was when he went to the DMV to get registration papers for our vehicles. After waiting in “a rather long line” (as he said), he was told that he could not register his vehicles because he had no proof of address. Without a permanent structure, he can’t get an address. And we have no bank statements, no voter registration, nothing, apparently, that would allow us to register our vehicles. That was a bit frustrating, since the van’s Colorado registration expired in August.

While Phil was away, I stepped out of the trailer, like I’ve done every day, and somehow caught the back of my foot and ankle. Like a bad toe stub, I saw stars. I lay in a chair moaning, thinking that all that existed in the universe was me and pain. Thankfully, such pain does not last long. I was soon able to get up and suffered no real damage.

But later, as I was gardening, my ankle and foot started to hurt. Maybe I rolled it a bit as I walked over uneven ground? I tried to push through because Phil had rolled his ankle, and then unloaded the entire POD, but by the time I was done with dinner, I couldn’t even walk. I went right to bed and tried to make it comfortable, but even the force of gravity was too strong. I was gasping, almost vomiting in pain.

Michelle Bessette is a physical therapist, so I called her. She told me the acronym RICE: Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation. (I have heard elsewhere that ice initially will drive away swelling, but that over time, heat is better to restore circulation.) I could do the rest, and elevation, so I did.

While I was gardening, I was shoveling up some compost from the remains of my 10 cubic yards. Suddenly a brown head popped up, right where my shovel had been—I had uncovered the home of a toad. Isaiah was thrilled to have a plaything, so he grabbed the toad and he and Jadon took turns hiding it in the dirt pile and then uncovering it all afternoon. I was relieved that when they set it down at dinner, it was still able to hop away.

Our new realtor called to say that there was an interested buyer, but they wanted to know if they could make a two car garage. We sent along the plat, and that is the last we have heard. Nibbles, nibbles, nibbles on the house, but no closure. Lord knows.

We read a funny, funny chapter in The Children of Noisy Village. Jadon was screaming with laughter, and even Phil laughed aloud. They had me read the whole chapter again. So even though I was disabled, we still had a good time.

My ankle healed in the night, praise God.

Tuesday: I commuted in to the Zach Bush’s. I work on Sonlight work there every other Tuesday: they have co-op, and so are away. They also have a large deck, so I sit outside on the deck, and the baby crawls at my feet or sleeps on my back. Very peaceful and nice.

We moved the sheep and goats for the first time. We ended up leading the goats with a leash one-by-one, but then established a fenced runway for the sheep. We didn’t think we could catch and put a lead on those larger animals. All went well, and the four gestating ladies were happy to be in a new grazing area. The goats are getting plump! All that good forage must agree with them.

The wasps were mean today! They stung both Jadon and Abraham before breakfast was done. For a sting: make a baking soda and water paste for the wound, and take Arnica homeopathic tablets. No big deal!

I have forgotten to mention how proud I was of Jadon at last week’s Bible study. He eagerly answered as many questions as he could, and really participated. He has been a bit reluctant, so that was so great to see: my son wanting to study the Word.

Ashley and Acorn (or, in Phil's words, Sheep 1 and Sheep 2)

In my spare time (usually when feeding the baby, or when I wake in the night and can’t fall back to sleep), I’ve been reading a bit about herbalists. It intrigues me a great deal, figuring out how to use the plants around me to soothe emotions or heal a wound. One interesting experiment I read about was to blindfold a person, then have another person lead them to a tree. The blindfolded individual touches, smells, feels the tree, and then is led back to the starting place. When the blindfold is removed, apparently the person invariably selects the tree he or she touched. Interesting, huh? (I haven’t tried this yet.)

After several days of more “intensive parenting” (which may or may not include corporal punishment), the boys got up happy and playful. And played happily with each other all day. What a wonderful thing to witness. Psalm 133 in action: Behold how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity. Ahh.

I tried to think of good names for the sheep. The taller one, the full-blooded Dorset, I think is named Ashley. She is much more brave than her fellow ewe. I was thrilled today, because I brought some hay into their paddock and sat on my haunches. I threw a bit in front of Ashley, who ate it. Then she gradually came near enough to eat some out of my hand. Then I showed her my other hand and was able to pet her face and behind her ears. It wasn’t a long contact, but it was a good start, I think. Good for her!

Her fellow ewe is much more plump. Since her sole distinguishing mark is her girth, I didn’t think it would be nice to name her with a person name. But she is round, and should have a better fleece, so I named her Acorn. I don’t expect to be able to get a hand on Acorn for some time.

We are talking about fencing options. I had hoped not to do a boundary fence, but all I’m hearing and reading says that I MUST do a boundary fence. The debate now is whether to do woven wire (less expensive, but hard to install, and probably not really suited to our hilly, forested terrain) or cattle panels (much more expensive, about $1 per linear foot, but easy to install, easy to move, and, if a tree limb falls on one, you replace that one 8’ section, and don’t have to restring the entire length of woven wire).

Maybe you can tell, but I’m more for the cattle panels, more expensive though they may be.

Sadly, neither of those options will be enough for the orchard: we’ll need something even greater there for deer deterrent.

There is also the debate about how much land to do: just the clearing? The entire acreage on our side of Hog Creek? I think the clearing would be enough for now. We’ll see.

Coffee! Lemons! Sheep!

Friday was a mellow day. Phil spent much of the afternoon bringing the cats to the vet. (I am so thankful that he runs those wretched errands! I got to make another garden bed, so when my garlic shows up, I’ll be ready. So I was in the beautiful fresh air, while he was dealing with paperwork and stressed out cats.) Abraham sweetly helped me with spreading hay around the bare spots on our land. We have six large round bales of spoiled hay, probably close to a ton of the stuff, and he happily volunteered and served with me. He is such a helpful little guy—he’s at the perfect age to begin farming. The older boys are, I think, a little more set in their ways, a little less enthusiastic about farming. At some point, I will help them get a niche, but for now, survival continues to be the order of the day.

While Phil was away, I was preparing another garden bed, when I felt a little sharp pain on my neck, a bit more than a sweat bee, but not much. Intuition or something made me head to the truck to look at my neck. Sure enough, there was a wasp, crawling around.

After I shrieked and ran around and spun in circles, I decided it was not flying away based on my actions, so I settled in and fed the goats. Still there. Periodically, it would crawl around, which is a funny tickly feeling. Bleah. I finally even went back to gardening, being careful not to tip my head too far in that direction, and it did eventually fly away.

See how in tune with nature I am now?

Today we went to a local farmer’s market. Michelle sells there (breads and cinnamon rolls), and she is only doing it this week and next. The row of sales booths was not terribly long, but contained a variety of vegetables, a few stalls with apples, herbal tinctures, bouquets, wool products, and soaps. We talked for some time to one of the apple sellers, and bought a bag (maybe 10 pounds of apples?) for $5. I don’t know how these little places stay in business. I used the apples for another apple crisp this evening, because they weren’t my favorite.

Then we headed on to find Edible Landscaping, a specialty nursery that I’ve been eager to see for several years (they come up in many books on fruit). I had seen their sign when driving in last October, so we set out to find them. Well, we had to go a long ways around, because their sign is only on one side of the road—not the side we were driving in on initially.

They were having a special event, with tours and talks. I would have liked to attended—had I not been there with four boys, who were not, I am sad to say, on their best behavior. We wanted to buy a lemon tree and a coffee bush, both of which were eventually successful. But, oh, to get to browse the grounds and the high tunnels—what a delight that will be eventually. They have figs growing all around, and a type of mulberry that looked like little brains.

I have tried twice to order their catalog off the internet, but they have yet to send me one. And today, when I went in person to get one, they were out. Argh!

Back home, Phil worked on the giant erector set that is our 10’x24’ shed. I held supports for him for some time. It is not yet finished, but the frustration level, overall, has not been too bad.

Then we returned Bubby the Buck to the Besettes. His job is done, so we think. The first week of October will tell us whether the ladies are still cycling, but I think they are bred. Then on to meet Tony, the manager of Edgemont Farm (where Lottie Moon lived as a girl). He and his son Dakota had sheep for sale, left from Dakota’s 4H project.

Let me say that sheep in person are not at all like lambs. These sheep weigh probably well over 100 pounds, and look even heavier because of their wool (which hasn’t been shorn since the spring, I suspect). They are about waist high, both three years old, both, presumably, bred, hopefully carrying twins. One is a pure-bred Dorset (“second-tier” in both meat and fiber, which means it is decent in both categories, but not stellar). One is a Dorset-Rambouillet cross. And they are both carrying lambs bred with the Rambouillet. (Rambouillets are second-tier in meat, but top tier in fiber. Since I rather like fiber arts, I am pleased about that.)

Anyway, back to the sheep description. They really, really want to be with their flock, and if one is separated, it will do its best to return to the others. At one point, I was talking to Diane, when her son brought two sheep between us. The other two sheep tried to dive between us, too. It was a bit silly to see.

I think of sheep as slow-moving, half-asleep. This is completely inaccurate. They are more like large rabbits, almost, and shrewd in their ability to escape from people. People, of course, have the forward-facing eyes of a predator, and they would prefer to escape from such a threat. Once their front legs are off the ground, though, they are docile; I think they assume they are dead, and give up.

To catch a sheep, you should preferably get a hind leg. However, if all else fails, grab the fleece and hang on.

To load a sheep into the back of a pickup, find a strong man and pick the animal up. Then make sure that there is some sort of enclosure on all sides. Tony told of a time when he was driving 60 cattle to market down a four-lane highway, when a bull burst through the back of his trailer and started running away. He almost got a ticket for leaving an animal alone, but was simply unable to find it (as were the police). When he got to the processing facility with the remaining 59 cattle, the plant’s manager said something like, “Oh, that happens weekly.”

The sheep and the goats are together in their pen. They more or less ignore each other. I can see how sheep escape from an electric fence: they are large and strong, and their fleece, I assume, shields them from the initial shock.

By the way, these sheep are celebrity sheep. Famous author Jan Karon (author of the Mitford series) gave them (or their ancestors—I’m not quite sure) to Dakota.

On a more tragic note, the eldest son of the woman we got the goats from lost his fiancé in a car accident basically at the top of our road earlier this week. When first driving around rural Virginia, I thought the roads seemed more slender and curvy. It certainly seemed less safe than driving around Boulder, but more relaxing, too, because the surroundings were so beautiful. Then this year, I lost all my fear of driving, after seeing how the locals do it: straight down the center of the one-lane roads, swerving sharply when an oncoming vehicle approaches.

After hearing of this death, and then remembering that our neighbor’s cousin broke his neck and killed his passenger the first week we were out last October, reminds me that getting in the car is not risk-free. It reminds me to continue to pray daily for protection for my family, as well as my animals and possessions.

Happy Constitution Day!

Phil returned from Colorado, so the two of us moved the goats. It is getting easier each time. The first time they escaped and Phil rounded them up and carried them back. The second time, Phil created this elaborate system where he gradually moved the fencing to create a pathway for the goats to move. It worked well, but it took a LONG time (because the fencing catches on everything), and it is totally impractical for me to do on my own. This time, we used a borrowed lead rope, which is just a rope with a catch on one end, so I can make a loop for the animals’ heads. Using grain to lure the goats, I caught them and gradually led them to their new pen. It didn’t take long at all, and the goats were never out of control.

And I think, when they first reached their pen, that I may have witnessed Annabelle’s impregnation. Buddy fell off flat onto his back after the deed was done. Just in case that wasn’t actually it, though, I think I’ll keep Buddy around for another day or two before bringing him back to the Bessettes.

We spent another long day in the car after that: drive to Scottsville to notarize the easement that we grant to the electrical company; drive to James Madison’s home, which is a couple of counties away; drive to UVA in hopes of hearing celebrity farmer Joel Salatin deliver an address (I was five minutes late getting to UVA, but then couldn’t find the building. When I was 15 minutes late for an hour address and totally confused about where I was, I gave up); drive to the Tractor Supply Company to buy tarps to cover our hay (they had none that were large enough); drive back to Esmont to the post office; drive to the Zach Bush’s for internet and dinner; drive to the Doug Bush’s for Bible study; drive home.

There were times when I had to suppress a scream, the car made me feel so claustrophobic.

James Madison’s home at Montpelier was free today because it is Constitution Day, and Madison is the “Father of the Constitution.” He and Jefferson were, apparently, good friends and collaborators for forty years, and we got to see the room of the house where he thought through why other forms of government didn’t work, and what changes he would make.

As a person, I was not terribly impressed. Madison died without providing well for his wife Dolly, who was, apparently, a good wife to him. She lived thirteen years after he did, and had to sell their palatial estate due to “dire financial circumstances.” Lived a bit beyond his means, perhaps, did Madison.

And as a destination, I was not terribly impressed. The DuPont family bought the house and enlarged it (transformed it, really). Then donated it back to Virginia (maybe?). The Historical Society has spent almost a decade, and $24million virtually gutting the house so in form it looks again like it did when Madison lived there. But there is no furniture in the home, no decorations on the walls. The paint they restored using microscopes and chromometers (or whatever the word is that matches paint chips), but I find it hard to get excited over historically accurate paint colors. I suppose I wouldn’t make a good curator.

Dinner at the Bush’s and then Bible study made up for the less than great time that had gone before. We studied in Luke 9, how Jesus feeds the 5000. Besides the Resurrection, apparently, this is the only parable that is recorded in all four gospels, and it’s never been my favorite. Actually, I hated it: the twelve exhausted (from ministry), grieving (from John the Baptist’s death), hungry (because the crowds were pressing so they couldn’t eat) disciples were trying to get some rest. The crowds follow them, and then they are supposed to serve them again. I really resonated with how tired they must be.

But what I was overlooking was how brightly Jesus shines in this parable. He takes the little the disciples have to offer and multiplies it and gives it to them to minister. JESUS is the actor.

As we signed the listing contract with our new agent, for another lower price, now $90K less than our initial asking price (which, clearly, was ridiculously too high, but at the time, we thought it was a fair price), it was a good reminder. If I thought it would be a challenge to start a farm with what I expected to get, it seems downright ludicrous to start a farm with what we will, eventually, end up with.

But let me not forget JESUS, who, I believe called us.

At the Zach Bush’s, I had a chance to review some of my earlier posts. I remember now how desperate I was at the end of August for a financial breakthrough. At the time, I prayed, “Lord, you either need to sell our house, or I need a distant relative to have already died and unexpectedly left me a large sum of money that will suddenly appear.”

Without going into detail, the latter was almost how God provided for our needs this month.

Vintage Virginia Apples

Why is Isaiah smiling? Because he climbed the enormous rootball of a fallen oak and stands as triumphant king of the mountain.



And in this case, he's smiling because he swings through the air on a vine. Life is good to Isaiah.
The boys and I went to a “famous” orchard nearby, one that was mentioned in The Apple Grower. Vintage Virginia Apples has only been around since about 2001, but they grow 250 varieties of apples (only between 1000 and 2000 trees, though, so not many of any one type).

They were a very different operation than the one I went to several weeks back. Their large trees were on 20 foot centers (meaning, they have 20 feet in all directions, as opposed to the previous orchard that had trees probably eight feet apart in the row, with rows maybe 16 feet apart). They had some cider for tasting, but I think they must sell mostly at farmer’s markets, because they didn’t have a fruit stand set up: the sales clerk (alone in the tasting room the entire hour I was there) called in Chuck, who then spent an HOUR with me, letting the boys and I taste test apples. We tried Grimes Golden, which I really liked—good thing, because that was one I ordered. Also Suncrisp, a new tart variety that I didn’t like too much, though it was crispy. Also Hawkeye, which was the original strain of Red Delicious and was MUCH better than the crummy fruit you might find at the store (I ordered some of those from the nursery, too, which will be good, I think). I tried a russeted version, which was good, and Belle de Boskoop, which was Chuck’s favorite. It was so tart, it made my jaw freeze up! (I ordered some of those from the nursery, but they are more for cider, I think, than eating. Phew!)

I found it very interesting: when I asked about soil amendments, he said that they don’t do much, because NPK would make their trees have plenty of green growth, but not much apple growth. That made sense. He also said that the trees will just grow when you get them in ground. But I felt sad when he said that they had started the orchard with smaller trees on trellises, and pulled all of those out because they didn’t do very well (they succumbed to fire blight, I think). It seems to me that a healthy soil—a soil with enough calcium, for example—would prevent fire blight. So maybe his orchard does need soil amendments, but not the kind he thinks.

Anyway—can you believe it? An HOUR with me, a person he’d never met, for a $15 sale of apples (I bought about 20 pounds). Incredible. Really, really gracious man.

The only other real comment from today is that it is fly and yellow jacket season here. They are everywhere all the time. It is challenging to cook. I’m okay with the yellow jackets flying so close to my hand that I can feel the wind on their wings. But when they land on my fingers and crawl around trying to get apple juice off me, or when they hover right above my shirt, I start to get a bit nervous. Or when the baby is laughingly reaching for an apple slice that has a yellow jacket on it—aaaahhh!

We might start eating at the Bessettes.

Thirsty Beets Do Not Create an Adrenaline Rush

On Monday, I brought Annabelle some grain, and she became MUCH more friendly. She allowed me to pet her face and neck, and her side. It gave me hope that she will allow herself to be milked when the time comes.

Speaking of when the time comes, I was thrilled yesterday to note that Chrystal was in heat. I had heard that it can be difficult to tell, but it was QUITE obvious, once I knew what to look for. Her tail was up, like a little flag; her opening was moist. And today I thought it was a bit swollen. In three weeks, or around October 7, I’ll make sure to look again to see if she is in heat. Michelle assures me, though, that there shouldn’t be any trouble.

I rather like coming outside and smelling the musky buck smell. I like hearing them bleat to me when they see me. And especially I liked handling the goats, for the first time. That made me feel like those goats belong here, that despite Phil’s reluctance and Annabelle’s initial persnickety nature, those girls belong on the farm, at least for now.

Butch came over to talk about how to spread the minerals. He had never seen such a crazy shipment, and suggested (very graciously) that I not order from that place again. I don’t mind looking crazy, mostly because I expected it, but since I’ve now had the doubting comments from Rachel, Butch, and not one but two feed stores (basically everyone I’ve talked to), I’m really hoping this works.

Anyway, Butch suggested that Phil and I borrow his little spreader to pull behind our little riding mower. It’ll take a lot longer (maybe a couple of days rather than a couple of hours), but it would be a lot safer. I enthusiastically agreed. It wasn’t until later in the day that I remembered something (crazy) I’d read some months ago: the phases of the moon affect how well the earth takes in minerals and nutrients, especially in soils low in organic matter. Well, since there are few soils in the world with less organic matter than mine, I figured I should probably review when it would be best to spread those minerals. It turns out that the earth is more porous at the full moon.

Had Butch spread the minerals yesterday, it would have been just about the worst time of month, as we are now approaching the new moon. Yet another little reminder of how God guides and directs us each day.

Butch was really going all out for us. He brought over four more bales of “spoiled” hay, to use as mulch for the garden (or, if the inside is good, free feed for the goats and the soon-to-arrive sheep). These are the big round bales that weigh several hundred pounds apiece, so that amount of hay will be good for some time. And he brought over five bales of good hay, and he let Isaiah ride with him in the enclosed cab of the Kubota to go and pick up two of the bales.

I overpaid him a bit, and I think he felt bad, because later that day I looked over, and there was an excavator tearing up our ground over near the electrical box.

I freaked out. I couldn’t find my phone to call Phil. I wondered if maybe Phil had gotten in touch with excavator Randy, who had come to excavate a trench. But if that was the case, he was excavating the wrong spot! Who wants an extra trench?! And we had hoped that Randy could also dig us a little pond while he was there, but was I alone supposed to decide where to put said pond? EEEK! When I finally found my phone, it was dead, so I had to wait longer to plug it in. Then I couldn’t reach Phil.

I steeled myself to go and talk to the mysterious excavator, and gently and humbly redirect the activity.

It was Butch, characteristic cigar in mouth, come with his excavator to remove some of the stumps that were too big for Phil to mow over. “I had an extra hour and just thought this would be fun. You don’t have to pay me or anything,” was his explanation.

Abraham and I had a good time watching. And Butch came back again this morning to pull up some more, then called a bit later to let me know that he had left me some tomatoes, and invited me to pick while he and his wife are on vacation this next month. So dear!

The boys and I were reading Daniel 1, and it says something to the effect that God caused Daniel to find favor in the eyes of the prince of the eunuchs. It was so striking that I feel like God did that for us, too, with Butch, a man who does not follow God, but, for some reason, just really loves us. And I made sure that the boys know never to say, “Mommy says that you’re like the prince of the eunuchs for us!” (Can you imagine?!)

I made tea with the spice bush stem that Abraham and I had found. I thought it delicious, and I expect that it would be like chai if I added milk and sugar. I can’t wait until we have milk on a regular basis again. Only five more months or so!

Today was an errand day, which really just means that I needed to look some things up on the internet, and I wanted to see what mail I had. That took several hours. We were also out of water, so I carried the empty 35 gallon water container that Phil bought at the great Tractor Supply Store and put it in the car. It has a nozzle on the bottom and a filling hole in the top, so it is easy to fill and fairly easy to dispense. That size fits in the little cart behind the riding motor, so Phil can drive down to the goat pen, and use the long hose to fill their water bucket over the fence. Michelle complimented the set up (which was lifted entirely from their set up).

I filled the tank at the Bessettes, and was so pleased to have the entire tank to use in the next 24 hours. That is plenty of water for drinking and washing and cooking (even 10 gallons a day is plenty!), and the goats were well-supplied already, so I figured I had plenty of water for my thirsty garden. I have been more diligent to water the original three beds once I realized things are actually growing (yippee!), but I hadn’t once watered the beds planted Saturday. I figured that when it finally rained, it would be time for the seeds to sprout.

Well, I’ve gotten a little nervous about that plan. In part because the kale was supposed to go in the ground on September 1st, which is now two weeks back. And although we haven’t had heavy dew, I’m not positive that the seeds aren’t sprouting. Maybe the dew would be enough.

With my 35 gallons of water, I was ready to saturate the whole thing. Remembering how tiring it can be to lug a 5 gallon bucket of water up the slope, I decided to practice my reverse-driving skills and back the car the 50 feet up the hill. Less water lugging is always good.

In order to back the car those few feet, though, I had to make sure Chloe was in the car. She tends to get stressed if the adults and the cars look like they are leaving without her. And I had to get Jonadab in, because he, too, is pretty connected to his mother. And Abraham piled in for good measure.

I backed up the hill and went to get the hose and fill my first bucket.

It was then that I realized that, at some point, the hose had fallen under the container and was now securely stowed beneath 200 or so pounds of water.

I tried to budge the container, and I am still sure it could be possible for someone of my muscle capacity to move something so heavy. I have read stories in Reader’s Digest about such feats of strength: when a child falls off a ski lift and the little mother holds onto him, dangling in midair, for long minutes, for example. The adrenaline rush kicks in and superhuman feats are possible.

I tried to tell my body that the beets and beans were thirsty, but no adrenaline rush was forthcoming.

Thankfully, Phil had a smaller piece of hose. I was able to unattach the long piece and reattach the short piece.

But now I realized I had parked the wrong way, working against gravity. So again I piled the dog, the Jonadab, and the Abraham in the car and turned it around. Phew! This worked. Slowly, slowly, the water dribbled out of the tank and into my bucket. Then from the bucket to the watering can, and finally from watering can to garden.

Which was fine for the first 25 gallons. But gradually the flow of water trickled to nothing. I had not parked to the full advantage of the slope. So again: dog, boy #4, boy #3 in the car, drive in reverse for about five feet. Third time was the charm. My vegetables were not thirsty any longer.

Back in Colorado, Phil had a chance to meet with our new real estate agent. Our former agent’s contract had (finally) expired, and we immediately contacted the South Boulder expert. He said that we were clearly the best value on the market, and was surprised we hadn’t sold yet. Which I took to mean that God has things he must teach us, and we need to wait for His timing. That was encouraging.

One final example of God’s grace to us. I had been a little put out by the crazy 3000 pound totes from the mineral company. How ridiculously heavy! But as I read through their catalog, I realized that Joe had really been looking out for me. They usually can ship a pallet for $110 each, which would have been $770. (I assume that, had they loaded only one ton in each pallet, it would have been $1100 for me.) But Joe pulled some strings for this raw beginner, and found me shipping for $475. That was really kind of him, and I appreciate it much.

Zach Bush once described his house as feeling “more like home every day.” That’s the way I feel right now.

No Poison Dart Frog Phobia!

Abraham and I went on a walk around the land, looking for edible plants. We identified the edible nuts of the oak (acorns), shagbark hickory, and beech trees, and made note of where the several walnut trees are for when the autumn nuts fall. Down in the bottomlands (which I now know means an area that is flat and low, where topsoil erodes to, which makes it more fertile and moist), we found a spice bush, which gives off a pungent odor when broken. The twigs and bark are used for tea, and the little berries can be dried to make a substitute for allspice. (That plant isn’t exactly going to feed the family, but it is fun to recognize a plant nonetheless.) Once we identified one, we found more and more of them.

We also spotted a little toad, which I carried up to my garden. The little toad did not like that, and I think he peed on me (or worse). As I felt the moisture spread over my hands, all I could think was “poison dart frog poison!” but I had to tell myself not to gain a new phobia, when I’ve conquered so many since arriving here.

Overall, we really rested well. I read chapter after chapter in Red Sails to Capri, and the boys are finally getting interested. (For those who know the story, they laughed quite hard about Mamma’s egg song and her poor ruined kettle.) Then I fell into such a deep sleep that when Butch came to talk about spreading minerals for us, I didn’t hear him drive up, and I didn’t hear him talking to Isaiah. I was really out!

The apples we gathered from the orchard aren’t getting any better, so I cut up some of the worst of them and cooked them with some sugar and cinnamon, almost like I was making applesauce. Then I made a crumble crust with oats, some butter (and olive oil, because I had too little butter), sugar, cinnamon, and salt, and popped that on the top when the apples were soft.

The boys kept exclaiming how much they loved it. As I think it now, it has been many months since I made dessert “just because”—I don’t remember making any while the house was on the market, and probably not the month before, while I was frantically trying to get it ready. So it could be nine months or more since I made them dessert. No wonder they were so pleased.

Culinary Notes, among Others

One of my Christmas presents last year was a fine oat press (made in Italy, not China! Marcato brand). I had read that fresh-pressed oats are more flavorful than the standard Quaker version, but had no yet tried it out. But with a 5-gallon container of oat groats (weighing about 40 pounds), it was time to try the press out.

What a great machine! I’d recommend it. The boys fight over whose turn it is to press. The oats do taste noticeably richer. With salt, butter, and maple syrup, it’s a good breakfast. And, as my midwife pointed out some years back, it will keep you regular.

Embarrassingly, I am also enamored with something not quite so healthy: ketchup. Now, I would not purposefully consume the high fructose corn syrup stuff, but the Annie’s Organic is quite tasty, and it goes well on noodles with salmon, or noodles with tuna, or pinto beans and corn, or pretty much anything I’m eating these days. Except oatmeal.

I have lost a little weight since being here, and suddenly this week it was like my body said, “You MUST eat more! No more weight loss!” Because I hadn’t been very hungry, but when I hit the same weight I’ve hit before, my body says, “This is as far as you may go.” What’s funny to me about that is that Phil has his own body’s ideal weight, but it is the same whether he works out or not. He’s weighed about the same the entire time we’ve been married, except for the brief Atkins Diet loss, and a gain shortly afterward.

His weight is distributed differently now, though.

***

A few photos of our current set-up.

First, our outdoor kitchen. This is, apparently, all the rage in the West, so just call us trend-setters.


Then, our living/dining room. We eat around the coffee table, and are using every bit of storage space we can.



And finally, the bedroom, with the triple bunk bed. Phil did such a good job laying everything out!



***

It surprised me that both Phil and I have admitted that we long to mention our educational level to the people who come by. I long to say, “You know, Butch, I have a college degree, and Phil has a post-graduate degree. We did not always live in such cramped quarters, but had a large, fine house in one of the world’s beautiful cities.”

I had never felt like my educational level was worthy of bragging rights, but living in such dirty, almost degrading conditions has done something to me. And to Phil.

***

One of the hardest things for me to deal with is the lack of multi-tasking. I always felt so busy in Boulder because I could make a meal and listen to a sermon or a lecture on agriculture. Or if I was eating breakfast or lunch, I could read one of my magazines and keep up with current events or learn about something new in agriculture.

Now, I do one thing at a time. If I wash dishes, that is all I do. At one point in the past, I half-wished for less distraction, so I could spend my time in prayer. Now that the opportunity is here, I find I am less capable of concentrated praying than I would wish—there are plenty of distractions.

***

Moving from 2700 square feet to 224 has meant that I no longer have “a place for everything and everything in its place.” I do not remember ever misplacing my keys, and so the morning I misplaced both wallet (which actually was in my computer bag as I remembered, but in a different pocket) and shopping list frustrated me until I was almost frantic.

Phil, besides helping me search, patiently puts up with my mini break downs. He takes life as it comes, and does not berate himself for supposed shortcomings. If the new life doesn’t match the old, that’s okay; they both have different challenges and rewards.

A Productive Day, Told in Excruciating Detail

What a productive day I had! Phil, too, in Colorado kept busy. He said that he mowed our Carlock house’s lawn, and that it was perfect pasture, with a good mix of plants (plantain, dandelion, field peas, rye, along with regular grass). Some of the grass stalks were 9” long! And for dinner he headed to Bill Burger’s house, where he watched the USC game. Incredibly, their starting quarterback is a true freshman: 18 years old, starting for the number one ranked school. Truly incredible.

But lawns and football are long miles away. While I believe that eventually we will have a pasture, for the moment we have small oat sprouts and red clover popping up all over. My hope is that it will be sufficient to prevent the slopes from eroding more. And instead of football, we have the remains of the 10 cubic yards of dirt to entertain us. But more on that in a bit.

After my few chores (check on all the animals for food and water; feed the boys breakfast), I drove into the post office to check for packages. I have several Amazon orders coming (edible plants for the region! Herbs! How to construct buildings!) and at some point my several pounds of garlic and onions, as well as golden seal roots, will arrive, and then I will need to make raised beds. It seemed prudent to check, and I had things to mail to my mother, so I went into Esmont.

Sandra at the window was so solicitous. I set down my pile of books and catalogs and said, “I need to mail this.” So she helped me find the right box, helped me package all those items, and then taped the box with a LOT of tape. The best part was, it all fit in a prepaid mailer, which was good because based on weight, it was over $22, but because it fit in a small mailer, it was $10.50. Nice!

Only one of my books had arrived, unfortunately, and no sign yet of my garlic or onions. So we returned home. I think the forty minute drive was worth it, but it would have felt more worth it had I had more than one box waiting.

Back at home, I called Butch to see if he would be willing to spread the minerals. With seven totes at about 3000 pounds per tote, I am really hoping he will deal with it this time. Otherwise, I’m not sure how Phil will manage; he’ll probably need to borrow Butch’s tractor, but that is a lot of weight for a borrowed piece of equipment, and an $80,000 tractor is not something to borrow lightly. Butch said he would come by Monday morning and assess the situation. What an incredibly gracious neighbor he is.

We were supposed to move the goats today (they’ve been in that pen since Wednesday), but because Bubby is a more enthusiastic forager, I didn’t think they were quite done with that paddock. I hopped in and sawed down a few of the more tippy saplings to give my girls a few extra preferred leaves. They were grateful. Goats have the same four-part stomach that cows do. Thus, they take great bites of hard-to-digest plants, moisten with just enough saliva to swallow, and eat such bites until both the top two stomachs are full. They wander around eating, taking, I believe, about 60% of their food from browse, and 40% from hay (or grasses if we had grasses).

Then they rest, which is a beautiful thing indeed. We have three resting goats, at times, their jaws working steadily. While they rest, goats cough up balls of roughage, called cud, and chew it thoroughly. Then it goes into the third stomach, and finally into the fourth, which is similar to human stomachs (I’ve heard), from which the nutrients exit into the bloodstream.

From what I’ve heard, humans have been able to survive on grasses in time of famine (and wheatgrass is a health food, after it’s juiced), but our stomachs are not designed to process grass. If you find yourself on the brink of starvation, just chew any grass you must eat really well.

(Phil is currently reading the informative and humorous book All Flesh Is Grass. And if you think about it, it’s literally true! The author of that book, Gene Logsdon, is fun to read, should you want specific ideas on small-scale farming. He has many books, one of which was on how to grow grains on a small scale. So, should you wish to have a pancake garden (really just a patch of wheat), feel free to plant one in your yard. He did, and he can tell you how to, too. September 26 and 27 are especially ideal days to get your wheat or spelt in the ground, should you be so inclined. They’ll be ready for harvest next summer.)

After lunch, I had the boys all get on their bunks and attempted to read school books to them. First I read them the story of Jacob breeding his sheep and goats in front of the stripped saplings, and I liked how God multiplied Laban’s flocks exceedingly while Joseph was there. God can do it for us, too, in his time. Overall, though, I think that unless Jonadab falls asleep, it is quite challenging to do fun school with four antsy boys, so we didn’t last too long. Enough to read about the Stoics, though, and agree that none of us are terribly Stoic about pain. We all say “ow!” when hurt.

Some days ago, I wrote about my bad case of “poison ivy.” Phil finally noticed that one patch looked like it was encircled by a ring. “That looks like ringworm,” he commented. I knew nothing about ringworm, which sounds incredibly gross. It’s not a parasite (that’s roundworm), but a fungus, which, if it gets in your toes is known as athlete’s foot, and if it gets in your undies is known as jock’s itch. Lo and behold, the symptoms of ringworm sound virtually identical to poison ivy: watery blisters, itching and burning. Clotrimazol cleared up the patches in a day, so I think the humidity and the stress of moving caused an outbreak. No wonder the poison ivy remedies weren’t working! (I think I did have a bit of poison ivy initially, but as the itchy watery blisters spread, I couldn’t distinguish between ringworm and poison ivy.)

Because I did not end up having systemic poison ivy (which would have required finding a doctor to administer steroids, so I’m quite thankful), I got to engage in one of the satisfying tasks around the farm: pulling poison ivy vines. They are satisfying to pull because I find a little sprout, maybe three inches high, and pull it up with gloves hands. Usually, it is connected to a vine, which has rootlets coming off of it about every two inches. As I pull with steady pressure, those rootlets detach from the ground with a very small “pop-pop-pop-pop” feel. It’s not a sound, but pulling poison ivy roots is like no other root. I am pleased to say that I can recognize not only the leaves now, but also the root, both visually and by feel.

I could probably have pulled poison ivy the rest of the afternoon, but finally decided that, whenever we get pigs, one of their first jobs could be to dig up and consume those poison ivy vines. They can put their snouts to good use.

What pigs cannot do, and I can, is make lasagna beds for fall planting. So I spent several hours building a few more beds. I had put it off because I was disappointed in the seeds I had already planted. After the two or three days of good rain earlier this week, the only moisture that’s come has been the dew. Now, dew is better than nothing, but I have no running water for irrigation, and I feared that all the seeds so carefully and lovingly planted had died. I complained to Phil and he laughed and told me to water the plants. After all, I have a fine Haws watering can, and we have probably 100 gallons in various storage tanks, including about 30 gallons in a tub up near the garden. As I watered, I noticed that I do have sprouts coming in the peas, and probably in other beds, too, but since they are covered with hay mulch, I’m not certain.

Thankfully, I continue to get packages, and packages have boxes I can use for the base of the garden. I was not anticipating that boxes would be the limiting factor of my garden, but they are!

All the hours I was transporting hay and peat moss, compost and bonemeal, the boys were playing in the remains of the compost heap. Jonadab ended up nakey (I’m not sure how, but suspect one or more of his brothers had something to do with that), and merrily crawled on that compost heap all afternoon. His cousin Natalia is known for avoiding naps all day when a party (or any gathering) is going on, but this is the first day I’ve known him to skip naps. A short doze on the way back from the post office was the only rest he had until we drove to the Bessettes at 7pm. He fell asleep in the car so soundly that even the dog’s bark right behind him made him merely frown a bit in his sleep. That was one tired baby!

When my beds were made, I planted many small groups of seeds. I did two varieties of my absolute favorite vegetable, kale (oops—I think I’m two weeks late! We’ll see if it grows); also three varieties of what the boys think is their favorite vegetable, radishes (one type matures in 24 days; one type is a fall type and takes 60 days; one type is the Asian daikon radish, which grows into a large tuber, I think with a texture like the Mexican jicama. I think).

I also planted three types of lettuce seeds, courtesy of a seed swap that Gramps went to. (Gramps also sent some yummy sounding watermelon seeds, among others, but they will have to wait until next year.) I think it’s fun to have some seeds that didn’t come from a seed supply house, but just from someone’s backyard. (FYI: There’s an entire organization dedicated to saving such seeds, called Seed Saver’s Exchange. If you garden and want to get seeds from other gardeners, you can join and get some of their 10,000 varieties. Or, if you just want heritage seeds, you can order a catalog and order from them directly. What I got from Gramps is along the same lines.)

I also planted spinach, which does not excite me, and rainbow chard, which does. Rainbow chard is the incredible fluorescent pink, orange, and yellow vegetable that you may have seen in the health food store. I would not have believed that anything in nature was that color, but rainbow chard is.

By this time, it was about 7pm, and we were all filthy and exhausted. You may have heard about the jeans that were so dirty that, when their owner stepped out of them, they continued to stand up on their own? That actually happened to me today! Well, not ACTUALLY, but I think I am just shy of that occurring. The Bessettes went away overnight, so we bathed. The water after the boys were done was indescribably dirty, and I didn’t take a picture because a picture would not do justice to the hot chocolate-colored water.

They started to watch Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang, but I made them quit before the end, and put them to bed at the Bessettes. I was too tired to drive home.

I can tell that Phil is out of town—this was one long post!

Is She or Isn't She? (in heat, that is)

Today we woke early (4:10am) to bring Phil to the airport for, perhaps, one more trip to Colorado. Back at home, the boys and I had a good day doing school work, walking the property, watching the goats. Annabelle was bleating more than usual, so I called Michelle and went over to get their Nubian buck. Michelle graciously brought Bubby back in her truck, because, she said, if Bubby peed on our nice van, it would forever smell musty, like buck.

We watched the two for about a half hour, but Annabelle was certainly not in standing heat, as they didn’t mate. So we’ll keep Bubby the Buck for a while. Here are my buck observations, for those who don’t get to be around goats regularly.

First, bucks have large scrotums. For perspective, Isaiah asked why Bubby has an udder! (It is good to be able to explain such things to curious children. In the photos below, the first shows a scrotum, the second an udder--you can see that they are about the same size.)



Second, bucks smell pretty strong. They promote that strong smell both from glands (apparently), and from peeing on their forelegs. Bubby liked his own smell so much, he puts his nose in the stream of pee. Third, Michelle called the impregnating member “lipstick,” as it emerges in pink glory about 6” to pee, then retracts.

Bubby is quite sweet. He is smaller than my girls (he was born in March of this year, not March of last year), and had a rough birth. Michelle had him, as a small kid, sleep in her bed, since they had to bottle feed him to keep him alive. Unlike my skittish girls, he comes up to me to scratch his head, and appears to enjoy any attention lavished on him.

I appreciate Bubby’s gratitude. My girls get browse (the brushy stuff goats like to eat, as opposed to pasture, which is simply grass or other green leafy growth on the ground) every day, and they turn up their noses at redbud leaves, preferring oak, tulip poplar, maple, and elder. Bubby, though, has been on pasture perhaps his entire life, so he immediately and enthusiastically went to eat the remaining browse in the pen (at that point, mostly redbud).

Annabelle and Chrystal, sufficiently chastened, soon joined him in his meal. Honestly, a picky palate was not something I expected from my goats! (Don’t goats have the reputation for eating anything?!)

Michelle was quite encouraging: she said both goats look exactly right, neither too fat nor too thin. She guesses that Annabelle will be more gentle once she has kidded, and suggested that I just manhandle Annabelle to get her used to touch. Annabelle should be less jumpy than she is (and she had been less jumpy some months ago); Chrystal is just a bossy old goat, and there isn’t much hope that she’ll become sweetness and light at this point.

For the near future, then, we have three goats, one of which smells strongly musky.

The other major event of the day was I bought a 10’x24’ metal shed still in the boxes off of craigslist. Joe even delivered it—and that’s a drive! I think the last time it was raining, and all of my burners got wet so that I couldn’t light the fire to cook our lunch, and I stood in the wet noon blowing on the burners with all my might to clear them of standing water, I thought, “This is the wet season! I cannot sustain this for the next several months! I will go insane!” So I looked for storage sheds on craigslist and found this one. It will be almost as large as another trailer; we’ll see how we choose to use the space.

The boys and I saw several interesting insects today. We watched a spider go around and around the inside of her web. We saw a very hairy caterpillar and a teeny tiny snail that crawled on Isaiah’s fingernail. Isaiah also held a wiggly nightcrawler, and a flying beetle (?) flew right by Abraham’s and my ears and promptly died on reaching the ground. That was odd.

While we walked the land today, I observed the trees. So many of them near our trailer are small, oddly formed, crooked, split, or otherwise undesirable. So to walk a little further into the woods and look around encouraged me. We have plenty more undesirable trees—40 acres of mostly neglected woodlands will do that. But we also have some beautiful, straight trees in our woods. I had forgotten.

We are thinking about what kind of house to build. Dennis suggested a straw bale house, and there are now books on how to build straw bale in a humid climate. We would probably build a wood frame, then just infill with straw bales. But it might not be cost effective in the end; there is plenty to research on that front. To build with wood, I think it would be wise to have a sawmill, so we are thinking we might purchase one of them as a “soon” purchase.

I realized today why more people don’t mineralize their land. For the five acres we’re going to mineralize, we just spent about 20% of the total price of those acres to improve the topsoil a bit. We’ll spend another 20% next year, I expect, and the following three years or so after that. So to try to get our land healthy, we’ll pay the total price again. Wow. I hope it works.

Why the Bobcat Popped a Wheelie

This morning was the mineral delivery, set for 8am. Butch was unavailable to help unload, but he graciously (and secretly) let us use his bobcat. (“Don’t tell anyone” he said about three times.) The seven pallets each had a tote on it, a large bag with about one ton of minerals.

When 9am rolled around, I was pretty nervous. I had run the battery down on my phone, and the driver had no way to contact me. The phone charger was in the truck, which Phil had driven to Butch’s when he got the bobcat. Finally, for my peace of mind, I drove to Butch’s and got the charger. No messages, but the driver called us soon after.

When the semitruck finally arrived at 10:30, it was large enough that it couldn’t get on our land at all. It basically took up the whole of the road. Thankfully, the mailman was just ahead of the truck, because there was no getting around it while we unloaded. Phil got the bobcat and put the forks into the pallet, the back wheels on the bobcat came off the ground, and he could get no purchase to unload. Hmm. This was a problem. The driver tried standing on the back of the bobcat, but that did no good. Phil tried re-angling the bobcat, but that did no good. We considered possible counterweights, including using a tote on the back and on the front of the bobcat, but that didn’t seem practical (or safe).

After stewing about this for some time—what if driver Dave had to leave without unloading? What then?—driver Dave had a brainstorm. He used the truck’s internal crane system to get a tote on the ground. This made me a bit nervous; if we couldn’t move the tote, it would be stuck in the middle of the road and create a major traffic hazard!

Incredibly, the bobcat was able to get the tote off the ground. Just barely. The front of the pallets plowed up the gravel driveway a bit, but Phil was able to move the totes onto our land. I expect it felt like hydroplaning, though, as the back wheels were not always in contact with the earth, as the back tires aren't in the photo.
I have to remember that living in the country just takes longer. What I thought would be a quick unload took an hour. I had hoped to get the minerals both unload and spread yesterday; it was lunchtime before they were even unloaded.

I think driver Dave was relieved when we were done. I was relieved and thankful that no car tried to get by during the hour unloading.

Dave called a bit later to say that the totes didn’t contain a ton a piece; it was actually closer to 3000 pounds each. No wonder the poor bobcat was having issues!

Next challenge: spreading!

Other things of note: I realized that just about all the apples I ordered are in the dessert spectrum. I added the “world’s best cooking apple,” the Bramley (after all, who wants to make substandard pies?!). And I added a few sharp and a few bitter trees, because to get a good cider (um, hard cider I mean), there should be a mix of sweet, sharp, and bitter. Who knew? Now you and I both!

The nursery also put together an order for me of ten pear trees and ten plum trees, one each of then types. Also three apricots and forty each of peaches and cherries, all with various ripening times and good flavors.

It brings my total tree order to 408. I need to stop reading catalogs, because I could probably keep adding more indefinitely. Sometime in the next few weeks, now that I have an order “set,” with all the different rootstocks in place, I will try to plan on paper the proper spacing, and then drive in stakes, so we can get an idea of how much of our clearing is going to be orchard. Sounds good to me!

In the goat realm, our goats are still quite jumpy of people. When they go into heat, at any time now, we plan to bring the Bessettes nice Nubian buck over. He is gentle and friendly, and the Nubian will add good butterfat to the Alpine productivity that we have. It might be nice to continue to have purebred Alpines, but I would like a stronger butterfat content, and ease of transporting. (To find out when the ladies are in heat, I plan to get a buck rag, where I’ll rub a rag on Buddy to get his scent, then keep it in a jar. When I suspect the ladies are in heat, I let them smell the rag, and they should quickly confirm whether they are ready or not.)

I ran a little goat experiment this week. I thought one of the hay bales was giving off too much powder as I pulled hay out (mold, I’m guessing), so I gave them some of that hay and some of the “spoiled” hay that we’re using for mulch that appeared, to me, to be better quality and not moldy. I put the two hays on different sides of their pen, and they went for the “spoiled” hay only, so I think they know what they need. Good to know: trust the goats.

In the boy realm, Monday was a turning point for Joe. He is really walking now, all the way across the room. He took a bath that evening at the Bessettes, and walked all over their living room in his birthday suit. Michelle, a physical therapist, said, “Look at him really working all those muscles!” It was beautiful to see. And he is sure proud of himself!