Two Days of Visits

Our dear friends Tim and Cathy Marcy arrived Monday evening. They return to northern Wisconsin tomorrow (what a drive!), but we've had a happy couple of days visiting with them. They are hardy homesteaders, and have happily camped out and shared our life. We hiked to the far side of the land yesterday morning, the first time I've been there since last November.

In the afternoon, they helped us plant six more apple trees in the huge holes, but due to heavy rainfall, the remainder of the holes were quite full of water, impractical to continue. Instead, we laid out the cherry orchard, and spray painted the spots where we need to dig. That took several hours, and it was such a help to have them, measuring, marking, tying.

Phil went to feed the animals some hay. He found an egg. In the hay outside the pen. A hen likes to escape, and wander the farm. Apparently, she's productive.



As he kept feeding hay, he almost forked another egg. He hadn't looked at the hay in that spot for a day, so she must have laid one a day the last two days.

Then a third egg rolled against his shoe. A real egg hunt! And maybe really TWO hens are getting out to lay in the (tarp covered) hay. So silly!

Breakfast today was eggs and bacon, all from our farm. We ate through 24 pullet eggs (they are smaller than average). It was a nice breakfast.

Then we planted cherries. I think the weather was bright sun, pushing 80. The cherry trees come with large roots, and, contrary to expectation, the Mazzard graft needs to be buried an inch below grade. This requires a hole several inches deeper than the apple trees (which need their graft several inches above grade). So we needed to dig deep and wide holes. (Where's the auger when you need it? Silly that we augered the holes for the smallest trees we're planting!)

We dug 20 holes, but only got 16 trees planted. The other four completely filled with perched water. We find it interesting: in a field of hundreds of tiny saplings, a huge tree sprung up. Now that it's cut down, the ground around it remains moist all the time. Perhaps we have a little spring there? Or a run-off spot?

In any case, we need to figure out what to do. it's a level of complexity that we had not anticipated. Perhaps we could put drainage tile in there, and have it siphon down between trees. Perhaps we just don't plant trees there. We just don't know. (And the clock is ticking. We have crabapples that are still heeled in that are not only leafing out but blooming!)

Phil had one tree left to cut down in the bottom of the cherry orchard. He cut it down today—and it fell heavily right across a section of our wonderful perimeter fence.

That's why we have sectional fence: if it was all high-tensile wire, that whole side would be gone. As it is, we can replace the damaged section, cut the damaged panel in half, and take an 8-foot loss. Not a big deal.

Cathy, incredibly patient with children, made play dough with them this afternoon. They made beads and experimented with colors. So fun!

And only one egg in the hay stack this afternoon.

This evening Phil talked to Doug Flack, where we're getting our cows. The bull we were hoping to get is not available, which, apparently, is just as well, because it would have been too closely related to the heifers we're getting.

At first I wondered if that means we're supposed to just do artificial insemination, but apparently Milking Devons are notoriously hard to track for estrus.

So now I pray that we get a bull. The right bull for our farm, at the right time to breed our new cow.

Three Forgotten Photos

Somehow we all managed to bathe Sunday morning. I heated water on the propane stove, and one after another six of us took a bath in a little blue plastic storage tub. It was the warmest bath I've had in recent memory.

We had a baptism service in the evening, so we ran errands around Charlottesville all afternoon. The service had a church dinner afterward, and that was quite fun. Phil dropped us off back home at about 7:30pm, then went to the laundromat to do three weeks' worth of laundry. What a guy!

Due to pouring rain, we left the kids with Annabelle (and the sole shelter) last night, so no milking this morning. And no planting, either: the heavy rain turned all the earth to sticky mud, and filled our enormous holes to the brim. Maybe tomorrow.

Phil spent most of the day dealing with wiring issues on the truck and trailer, trying to get all the turn signals and breaks functioning. I would have no idea how to go about that stuff.

A few photos from last week.

First, our orchard at the half-way point.



Second, Phil's ingenious cutting method: set guide logs up at three-foot spacing. Lay multiple smaller saplings on top. Cut through all saplings, keeping the chainsaw over the guide logs. When the chainsaw cuts through the sapling, it hits the log below, not the ground or other dangerous things. This makes the cutting go quickly.



Third, our fragile palisade, before the second batch of trees arrived. It was looking really sparse there for a few hours!

I Felt the Earth Move Under My Feet

Back in December, when we still thought the best planting method would be to auger enormous holes, we made about 80 gaping holes, three feet deep and three feet wide, in the hillside. After we backfilled the first foot a few months back, I dreaded the actual planting of the trees: the enormous holes mocked my feeble shoveling.

To bolster my spirits, we focused on the remaining apples. But those are virtually finished, so to continue planting meant either the cherries and peaches, or the enormous holes.

We chose the enormous holes. And it wasn't nearly as bad as we feared.

It's not easy work. I use the mattock to break up the red clay, which Phil uses the rake or shovel to scoop the loosened dirt back into the hole. Or we shovel together. Compared to the (much smaller) holes we have to dig, the enormous holes require more back-breaking labor.

They take longer, too. We can do about three an hour, when we work together. It's not too bad, but we have little hope of speeding up. The pace we set today feels like about our maximum. We did 19 today. Three more days of good effort should finish off these holes. That's a good feeling.

As we backfill, we frequently tamp the soil. It moves under our feet. Soil doesn't usually do that, so we enjoyed the sinking feeling and sang, "I felt the earth move under my feet."

After planting, I broadcast a biodynamic prep. Phil admired the buds on the planted trees; I admired my row of peas coming up, as well as several neat lines of greens. The boys found nine eggs in the hen house, and Annabelle gave us a quarter ounce shy of a full quart, a record for her.

Phil is reading Comeback Farms. Unlike most books we've read, that talk about how to improve a farm, this one talks about how to rejuvenate a worn-out, or fallow, farm. That's more in line with our needs right now, and it's fun to think about "our" cows coming this next week, and how to manage them, and our land, wisely.

Phil said at the end of this good workday, "I love my life."

Whoa-o, We're Halfway There!

March slips away. We planted 14 trees yesterday morning, and so are exactly 50% done. Phil chipped a large pile of pines in the afternoon, and cut other trees into three-foot sections ("the chainsaw really does make it go quickly" was his comment).

I noticed that I could see spaces in our mass of heeled in trees. Then the final box from the orchard came, and took up all those spaces. After taking trees out of wet sawdust, it sure felt odd to put trees back into the stuff.

Two hundred one trees to go.

I had a few errands to run in preparation for his trip to get the cows. I am thrilled to see how God puts the pieces together for us to get the cows. One little example: a promised check finally arrived yesterday, but when I went to deposit it, the teller said it would probably have a seven-day hold. As the receipt printed, she looked at it, and with surprise said, "They split the deposit. Some will be available next Tuesday." My impression was that she hadn't seen such a thing before. And the amount that will come available is exactly what we need by that date.

Today I woke to rain, and a mountain of unwashed dishes. And an ever more untidy house. And the realization that we still haven't mailed in our tax paperwork. Blech.

At day's end, the tax paperwork is in transit, the dishes clean (minus those used for dinner, as I refuse to wash dishes in the cold and the dark, alone in the barn), the house more tidy than this morning, the rain ended.

The funniest thing today? Phil is trying to make it to a veterinary workshop with Dr. Paul Detloff, the head veterinarian for the Organic Valley family of farms. This workshop, though, isn't in a major city or thriving metropolis (perhaps there are not many people interested in homeopathy for the herd and the ill-effects of stray currents). Rather, it is in Viroqua, Wisconsin. Never heard of it.

I spent about two minutes looking for flights, but since I don't know anything about Wisconsin, I figured I would call our travel agent extraordinaire, Deedee.

I prefaced the conversation saying, "You'll need all your amazing travel agent powers, because Phil wants to go to Viroqua, Wisconsin."

"Oh, I know where Viroqua is," she said. "My husband goes there every year to play golf."

The population of the place is only about 3500, but Deedee knows where it is. What do you know about that!

The Price of Soy-Free Eggs

While I worked toward a deadline, Phil cut a pile of downed trees into rounds before he went to run semi-productive errands all afternoon.

I am so happy to have milk again. We've eaten the same spelt bread two meals a day since mid-October. Now I can branch out again into quick breads. Quick bread of the day: scones. Yum.

The boys and I set out to plant trees on our own. We'd only gotten three in the ground when Phil returned at 5:30. With his energy (and the extra holes I'd already dug but not planted), we quickly got another 12 in the ground: the 12 bitter apples. Why bitter? Well, the best quality cider apparently requires a mix of sweet, tart, and bitter apples. So we planted some bitter apples.

This evening I was surprised to read an advertisement for "Soy-Free Eggs!" My Dad taught me to keep good sales copy on file for ideas and inspiration, so I read this ad. Besides reminding the reader of the dangers of soy, it mentioned free range hens, top quality feed, no genetically modified ingredients, happy birds ... all like ours.

But their price? Well, they're on sale now, but usually: $35 for 4 dozen.

That's $.73. Per egg.

And since I can easily eat six eggs at a sitting, I guess I'll just say that I'm glad I'm raising my own. Wow.

Garlic Dewormer

We're figuring out this life in the country. Most months, we've had to drive an hour away to get the non-genetically modified ("organic") feed for our animals. I would try to calculate what the animals would need, because during the last week of the month, a truck delivers to drop points in the area, but I never calculated enough. Argh!

But this month, now that the voracious pigs are feeding us, I timed the order just right, and Phil simply drove the 4.2 miles to the top of our road and met the delivery man. So easy!

Michelle Bessette wondered if our animals with skin problems might have parasites of some sort. Most farms use chemical dewormers regularly, which we'd prefer not to do, so Phil used his shepherd's crook and caught eight sheep (the two lambs were too small and speedy) and I drenched them with garlic juice. That's smelly stuff! (Oh, and "drench" doesn't mean that I sprayed them all over, but that I stuck 10 mL into a syringe-type "drench" and forced it down their throats.) The whole process only too about 15 minutes. If we had hundreds of sheep, though, that would sure be an unpleasant chore. A benefit of starting out small.

We spent the morning laying out a few more rows of apple trees. It's been a mind-bender trying to calculate best tree spacing, and where to put specific trees for maximum productivity and ease of mobility. But in the end, we managed to find a spot for every one of the 300 apple trees, something I had despaired of even yesterday.

With Jadon and Isaiah's (begrudging) help, we almost finished our seventh row of trees, bringing the total in the ground to 172, or 43%. So exciting! As the ground greens over, and the cut-to-nothing kale resprouts as fast as I can cut it down, I'm enjoying the spring immensely. I like being outside most of the day without a sunburn; I like hearing the little cock-a-doodle-doo from our little rooster (roosters?). I like the cloud formations overhead and the yellow dandelions smiling from the orchard floor.

What a great season!

And after a full day of planting, our house might not look orderly, and the baby might be missing his pants, but we're well fed and happy, and just a bit dirty.



What a great life!

Hopeful: The Best Is Yet to Come

Intermittent rain and thunder spoiled our hopes for morning planting. But we found a handy use for the cattle trailer: workshop. Phil did a test run for our wheel hoe. (We purchased parts and directions from Herrick Kimball, saving about half the price of a commercial wheel hoe.) We still need to paint and seal it, but that can fit in with the next hardware store run.

He took apart the shipping pallet from our chipper: he will transform that wood into a top bar bee hive. So many tasks to get done during this start up season!

When the rain slacked off, we planted more apple trees, for a total of 156 in the ground. Some of the cherries are leafing out, and all the apple trees have little feeder roots poking out. We're not desperate, but we certainly feel driven. Phil had us lie down in the field for a couple minutes while we were planting: listen to the owl hoot; spy the sliver moon through the budding forest tree; feel the new green "weeds" under the back.

That's all well and good, but I preferred running down a green row of orchard trees, jumping and screaming. Or maybe that was just Spring Forth. It weirded Isaiah out: perhaps he thinks I should move with more gravitas.

I set out kelp this morning. The animals lined up to get it. Poor babies. I gave them a second bowlful. A third bowlful. A fourth bowlful. They kept eating. I finally filled their mineral bucket, and still they lined up. They must have really needed some trace elements. Even the chickens joined the party. Maybe it helped—we collected a record four eggs today.

Phil found some wild chives growing, which enhanced our kale. Added to the milk, eggs, and pork from our land, we feel a good bit more self-sufficient than we ever have before.

Spring is a season of hope. I have hope: that our garden will grow. That our trees will grow. That our children will grow. That our love will grow

We Meet Butch's Friends

After church, we had a little downtime and went to Scottsville where we found a park! A little community park with swings and playset. We had three such parks in walking distance in Boulder, and I think the children missed that play equipment; they enjoyed themselves immensely.

Then we went to a party with the Rotary Club, guests of neighbor Butch. I've never been to such a party, but Phil thought it similar to parties his parents went to in the military. A lot of talking and laughing, open bar, live band and occasional dancing. Oysters and clams, both fried and steamed on the shell.

We were close to the youngest ones there. Butch is in charge of the parties this year (I think he was invited back because his parties last year were so good). For the littles he had rented a jumping castle complete with little climbing wall and slide. The children all went around and around—even Joe, who chortled with glee as Jadon helped boost him up the climbing wall, and chortled some more as he plunged headfirst to the bottom of the slide.

Bubbles, funny putty, potato chips, and strawberries rounded out the happy times for children.

I understand why celebrity farmer Joel Salatin always tried to get speaking engagements at the Rotary Club. Should the Lord allow us to grow copious quantities of top quality food, the Rotarians we met have the money to pay for it.

Back home, Abraham won the egg hunt. He proclaimed, "I found an egg!" about twenty times before he went to bed. And since it was the only egg, and he found it just lying on the ground, I understand his excitement.

Isaiah gladly told me that "Strangey is a rooster!" He heard him crow. I've suspected it for some time (would a hen have fancy iridescent feathers on her tail?), but he had restrained his signature call until this evening.

I had a little time to sit and think about our animals this evening. Annabelle has a sore teat; it looks like a kid has been chewing on her. (Her other teat is not quite as "chewed up" looking, though it has spots that look sore.) I don't think it's the dreaded mastitis, as her bag (udder) feels fine to the touch. But the scabs can't feel good. I tried a salve and athletic tape wrap in the night, but I don't know that it did much good.

Then I thought about black ewe Isabella. She has three bald patches. The book said that wool loss comes from a nasty internal parasite; she has none of the other symptoms, though. Phil and I have the gut feeling that she's simply having late pregnancy hormonal issues.

And, to prepare for the arrival of the animals, I watched a DVD on linear measurement. I was curious how stockman actually measure the circumference and length of a bull's testicles. It seems a dangerous proposition.

They put the bull in a headgate: a tiny fenced spot where the bull cannot move in any direction. I'm not sure how they persuade the bull not to kick them as they palpate the testicles from the rear, but they managed it somehow.

The DVD also showed the collection of sperm so they could analyze the quality of the semen. There is nothing natural about that practice. Phew!

The Dolly and the Log

When we went to milk Annabelle this morning, I told the chickens that they needed to lay me eggs. They are happy, healthy chickens with a very nice life, and there is no reason for them not to lay for us.

Thankfully, one in thirteen birds took my suggestion to heart, so we ended the day with three eggs. Which quickly became three pans of cornbread. (If you like cornbread, you should try this recipe!)

Speaking of recipes, our bacon is about cured. If you ever find yourself the proud owners of pork belly, you might consider the Saveur recipe, made with standard kitchen spices. Easy!

Annabelle's milk production has leveled off at a little more than three cups a day. I entertain small hope that she will gradually build up to better production, but a little more than a gallon of milk a week is more than much of the world enjoys, and 21 cups more than we've had since we moved here. It's a provision I enjoy.

Another provision: with planting taking up at least six hours of my time most days this week, I came up quite short on my work hours. But Phil had a little job, which made up the exact amount I was short. In my life, I have always seen God's exact provision. (One favorite example from the past: despite my best efforts, travel to my brother's wedding cost our family $498 and fifty-some cents more than we had budgeted for the month. My nonChristian uncle had sold his house for a good profit and sent us a much belated wedding gift--for $500. Less than $1.50 more than exactly what we needed to cover our costs. I told my uncle this story, because to me that says "God's handiwork," but I don't think it made much impression on him.)

Our goal today was to clear the cherry orchard. Since the pigs turned over that soil, and it is close to our current dwelling, I want my garden planted there, interspersed with the trees. But until we have at least the tree lines laid out (more than just a few intermittent lines that we laid out last Saturday), I don't know where the garden is safe to plant, or where to put my cold frames.

Before we can lay out the cherries, though, we needed to remove the large trees that Phil hopes to use building a pole barn: a simple structure with logs as the supports for a roof, useful for storing hay. As we have little good pasture, hay storage could be quite helpful.



Phil designed and made a little log dolly to pull the logs out of the pasture.



Thankfully we've had no rain for a week, so the ground was firm enough to drive on. He spent a couple of hours getting the first tree out of the pasture: how to keep the dolly from flipping, how to maneuver the logs into place. The dolly actually worked better with just the wheels and axle, with the log tied both to dolly and to truck.

After he worked out the kinks of the first log, I spent the day helping him in any way I could.



When we stopped for lunch at 2pm, Phil had pulled four logs. By the end of the (interminably long) day, we had pulled three more, and cut up three oaks into three foot sections. Those sections (or "rounds") needed to be stacked, and the branches piled, ready for chipping.

We had two sequential visitors, too: we gave Doug Bush a tour, and talked with Butch.

And run over Jadon's bicycle. He had propped it up against the truck during all those visits, and after the truck ran over it, it was totaled. Helmet, too. While there is plenty in the world more distressing than a bicycle destroyed, I grieve that I won't see him rough riding along the orchard lanes, and up and down the driveway. He has delighted in riding this last week or so, and he doesn't fit Isaiah's bike any more. Too bad.

I worried that this disappointment might crush his spirit. At dinner, Phil mentioned that he learns to drive more every day. Jadon questioned the tense of the verb ("You LEARN more every day?") and Phil asked if Jadon learns more every day.

"Today I learned not to prop my bike against a vehicle!" said Jadon in a cheerful voice. I think he's going to be fine.

No Cows Next Week

We passed the "one-third of an orchard" mark yesterday, having 138 trees in the ground. Phil had work for pay, and we were both physically exhausted, so we knocked off earlier than we have been: dirty, tired, sunburned.

And without the wished-for cornbread, as the hens have refused to lay any more eggs thus far. Humph!

My first thought on waking this morning was, "We're not ready to get the cows early next week." I've begun to wonder if I'm most receptive to the moving of the Spirit in those early waking moments: events of the day proved that thought correct.

First, the deposit that we needed to pay for three cows came in today, but our bank needs five (!) days before we can withdraw cash. Second, after talking to cow owner Doug, he advised against artificial insemination, so we again wonder about purchasing a bull. We should have money coming in for a bull in the next few weeks, but it wasn't waiting at the bank today.

We eagerly await the cows, but plan now to wait until the first few days of April. This actually works better for our orchard planting. We'll get to press through over the next couple of weeks, and then he'll be gone on Good Friday and Easter Saturday. Which has an unexpected benefit: we won't work the land at a bad time.

Maria Thun, in her beautiful book The Biodynamic Year, has this interesting observation.

From Good Friday to Easter Saturday we do no work in the garden at all. In numerous trials we have repeatedly found that garden work of any kind during this period, including harvest, does plants and people no good. Fewer seeds germinate, fruits are smaller, produce quality is diminished and medicinal herbs have less healing power. However we ponder this question, ultimately we always come back to the conviction that the cosmic event at Golgotha penetrated and imbued the earth, and plants annually participate in this.

Phil ran errands in town. I spent much of the day doing my least-favorite parenting task: changing children's clothes from winter to summer outfits, which includes trying on various pieces and trying to figure out how to store/what to do with the other clothes. Today was Abigail's day, and it was nice to try clothes on a willing child (the boys don't view dress up as a pleasant chore).

And I played catch-up on neglected home pick-up. Joe took advantage of Phil's boots on the floor to play dress up of his own.



In our noodles for dinner, I put in some of the just-about-finished bacon. It was delicious.

The $930 Egg

In less than fifteen minutes, with Phil doing nothing but watching while I milked Annabelle and Isaiah held her in place, I milked out 24 ounces. Three whole cups! (Up from 12 ounces the first day and 14 ounces yesterday.) I used a cup for cornbread, which I was able to make because ...

Today we got our first egg! We don't even have laying boxes built yet, because we've been a bit busy with other things, but Isaiah found a little brown pullet egg. It had a perfect shell, and every time I looked at it throughout the afternoon I had a happy feeling. Beautiful orange yolk on cracking it, too. We had laying hens, purchased as adults, in Boulder, but this was our first "raised from chick" egg.

After $800 in feed, plus $130 to buy the chicks, I hope the rest start laying soon. At this point, this was one expensive egg!

After we planted 23 trees (!) today, dinner was a celebration: sage pork chops (from our farm); kale (from our farm); cornbread (with egg and milk from our farm); and milk to drink (from our farm). After months with almost no milk, having a couple cups to drink a day, even among seven people, feels like an embarrassment of riches.



And now, in honor of our first egg, a few little facts about eggs.

Good quality eggs should have three parts within the shell: a watery part; a thicker, opaque part around the yolk; and the yolk itself. Yolks should ideally be dark yellow, almost orange, if the hen has enjoyed a healthy diet of bugs, growing plants, and good feed. If you have the opportunity to buy eggs from a farm, or to raise your own, you will probably be disturbed to see the difference between grocery store eggs and the home-grown type. There's really no comparison.

Battery-raised hens live in tiny cages (some so small that the hen cannot even turn around), under lights that artificially stimulate production. This seems quite inhumane. The next level of production is the "cage free" eggs. These hens probably do not ever see the outdoors, but they run around in large rooms. (A dead giveaway that the hens live indoors is when the box advertises "Vegetarian fed!" Hens are naturally omnivores, enjoying bugs and even meat. A hen that has only eaten vegetarian feed has been kept away from bugs. It's not a natural diet for a hen!) "Organic" eggs were simply raised from organic certified feed: it says nothing about the quality of life that the birds enjoyed.

A hen will lay about 600 eggs in her lifetime. Leghorns lay white eggs, and they lay almost all in the first two years of production. The cheapest eggs in the US are white because Leghorns are the most efficient layers. Rhode Island Reds (our type) lay brown eggs. It takes them a little longer to lay all 600 eggs, but they are not bad. Under identical conditions, the nutrients in white and brown eggs are identical; brown cost more not because of healthier eggs, but because of longer time (and higher feed costs) for similar production.

Eggs have a protective membrane around them. Washing the egg takes this away and makes it more susceptible to bacteria and spoilage. With the membrane, though, eggs don't need to be refrigerated, but will keep for months at room temperature. This has been a great help to me over the last few months, as we've lived without a refrigerator.

I like eggs as a great source of protein. I like egg whites in angel food cake and egg yolks in smoothies. I like their shape and their versatility.



Eat good eggs!

Cattle Trailer Acquisition

We left just after 9am for a full day of errands in Charlottesville and beyond. Besides a Costco run (always at least a five hour excursion), we also went to a glass store where we bought some storm windows to use as coverings for cold frames (though Phil will have to pick them up later).

We took all five children as we went through Costco. And we received two "May God bless you and your beautiful family" comments, and I will take all the blessings I can get.

In Boulder, we usually received several compliments on the well-behaved children or the happiness/intelligence/friendliness of our family. But we wouldn't get the blessings—I like it all.

After we reached home, with our heavily laden van, the children helped unload. Even Joe carried boxes of raisins (4.5 pounds each!) from the car to the barn, grunting as he walked along. What good children!

Also, happily, after many months of looking for a reasonably priced used cattle trailer, we bought one today. The pieces are falling in to place for Phil to get cows next week!

The trailer will win no beauty contests, appearing on first glance to be a hunk of rusty metal. We have joined the ranks of the junkyard farms. But Phil said the rust is superficial, with all welds still intact, and with a sanding and a coat of paint, it will look just fine.

Farming aesthetics: they're not what I imagined. I think of the great Southern estates, or even the Thoroughbred farms in Kentucky, and our meager efforts in red clay have little beauty by comparison. But the Southern estates grew up with slave labor, and the Kentucky farms "employ" immigrant workers (and we all know they don't earn much per hour).

I suppose there is beauty in building up a living by sweat, energy, and the grace of God; it's just not instant beauty, nor beauty readily evident to the eye.

First Milk

Last evening Phil set up an extra fence in order to separate Annabelle from her kids overnight. The kids cried most piteously (and LOUDLY) through much of the night. But by morning, Annabelle's udder bulged. Phil held her with the halter, and I tried milking her tiny teats.

This was not easy. She's not trained to stand still, and I had Joe on my back. After 10 minutes of milking, I came away with six ounces. I weighed it, so I know. We let the kids back in, but decided to try feeding her grain to keep her in place. I improved my technique, she stood happily while munching, and we got another six ounces.

Now 12 ounces of milk is only a cup and a half. A good goat can give fourteen or fifteen pounds of milk a day (about two gallons), and, of course, a good family milk cow can give three to five gallons. (Modern Holsteins can give up to ten, but they pay for such incredible production in extremely short lives and extremely low fat. I've read that you can take five gallons of Jersey milk, add five gallons of water, and come up with the same product as a Holstein gives, at a greatly reduced price, since Jerseys are much more economical in their feed needs.)

BUT—this was the first milk we drank on our farm. A bit of milk towards a land of milk and honey. (Next month: the bees arrive. Stay tuned.)

One of our neighbors drives by daily. Since we've been close to the road planting, he has offered Phil bread a few times. (He has a connection with someone who works at Whole Foods.) The loaves are beautiful, artisanal loaves of sourdough, or just white bread. Phil, the only one who eats wheat, enjoys them.

This morning, though, he had sour dough for breakfast. All the rest of us ate my spelt bread. We went out to dig, and within ten minutes, Phil felt like all the strength drained from his body, to the point where he sat down with his head in his hands. "I've never felt like this," he said.

After some pork cracklings and kale, and then some goat milk, he felt remarkably better. Nothing like good fats and some protein to help the body function.

I suppose I relate this primarily as a cautionary tale: white flour does not sustain life! Eat food that nourishes! (Read Nourishing Traditions!)

The weather forecast said sunny, but the chilly drizzle and, more unpleasantly, the wind, drove us inside after only six trees. Phil went to pick up our chipper, and returned, filled with energy, at 5:30. We planted six more trees, and then realized that it was 7:30pm, and the As (Abraham and Abigail) are usually in bed. Oops!

This row we're planting now is the first row that wasn't scraped, so instead of digging through all subsoil, we pull up sod. And there are worms! So many tree holes had no worms at all; we rejoice to see those little workers, those little signs of health and life in the soil. We enjoy noticing the differences between rows, and between holes. Some holes are more pebbly; some more solid clay. Some have dandelions growing on top; some have grass.

Ninety-six trees in the ground, and their rootlets are growing.

And our little potted lemon tree, coddled inside during the cold months, happily grows buds outside once again.

Stone Fruit Orchard

With continued rainfall, the ground is too soggy to dig holes. Or at least, so we tell ourselves.

We spent yesterday laying out the stone fruit (cherries, peaches, and plums) orchard. The topography of that part of our land is quite rolling, and the shape, too, is not an even rectangle as the upper part of the apple orchard is. So I've been hard pressed to complete even a paper sketch of where the trees will go. However, I think now we've got a rough plan made up, as well as string lines stretched for some of the rows.

Since the stone fruit orchard will also be my garden, and since garden season is kicking in here in zone 7, I also need to know where I can plant, so I don't plant kale and chard where I will need to plant a peach tree. There's always plenty to do.



With regret, yesterday afternoon Phil cut down two remaining oaks. We liked those oaks in our pasture field, but the oaks had no place in the orchard. And, clearly, before we plant little saplings, we need to remove the heavy giants.

In the evening, the air was warm enough, I managed to bathe the children in a washtub outside. Poor Jadon, who went first, got into the rainwater bath with only one pot of boiling water added. He was mighty cold, but a good sport. Every child after that got another pot of water added, as my stove heated the pots, until Joe got in last and refused to get up. He even held on to the sides in protest!

Today I spent a few restful hours in the kitchen. My lard rendering technique is much improved; I can go from globs of fat to rendered lard in perhaps twenty minutes now, and didn't scorch a batch all day. I used the cracklings in our refried beans tonight and Isaiah rewarded me with an enthusiastic thumbs up without any prompting.

Even Phil, who does not like beans, stated that he could eat them like that every day.

One of Those Days

Today was one of those days. It began innocuously enough, curing 13 pounds of pork belly for bacon, needy Joe on my back. While I got the cure going, I rendered some lard, which went great—until I spilled half a jar of perfect lard all over the bottom of my camp stove. Bummer.

After getting all the readily accessible lard, I wondered if the cracklings might cook out some more, so I put the pot back on the burner. Not two minutes later, I had a smoking, horrible mess on my hands; more lard rendered, yes, but darkened, unappealing. Blah.

Phil had taken the truck to get the tires rotated, so in absence of anything much to do outside in the alternating drizzle/rain, I set out to organize my seeds by what would need to be planted when. I divided them by approximate week, so that I will know what needs to go in the ground; the specifics I'll have to figure out as time goes by.

I was surprised to learn about herb seeds. I have several packets ready to go in the ground, and was having a hard time figuring out when they needed to be planted. One book mentioned that herb seeds do not have a high rate of germination, especially without treating the seeds correctly. I sure noticed that with my fall herb bed; I had some cilantro, a bit of milk thistle, and that was it, out of about ten varieties planted.

The important thing, said the book, was to notice how nature treats the seeds. If seeds need to be frozen and thawed, as they would in soil through the winter, then "stratify" the seed, by adding a little water, then putting them in the freezer. Take them out every few weeks to thaw, then return them.

So I spent time today stratifying my seeds. Never done that before

In the meantime, Joe found the CDs and took three out and rubbed them on our linoleum. Did I mention this was one of those days?

When I found him, he had also somehow managed to free himself from his diaper just enough to soak all his clothes. He sure looked surprised! He is low on clothes, as it's now three weeks since we did all our laundry, but I found him something.

Our pork took up most of the space in our freezer, so we have some frozen corn thawing. I decided to make pinto beans. Distracted, I left them, where they boiled quite merrily on high for an hour, until Jadon came and asked what the funny smell was. Scorched beans and scorched pot.

Now I only remember burning one meal the entire time we've been married. So to burn two things in one day was more than I could abide.

I grew so despondent I figured the deer had probably chewed up our orchard. Closer inspection thankfully proved me wrong (I think), and I spent an hour alone, flipping over sod in the rain. I saw night crawlers and little salamanders, and I felt somewhat better.

Until I realized it was 5pm. I had not started any bread, I had not marinated the pork chops. I was tempted to look in the chicken house for eggs, since we're out of that one bastion of convenience food available to us. My pots were scorched and dirty, and the nearest Chipotle is an hour away.

Apocalyptic, I tell you!

So I did the dishes, cooked the chops, made bread for breakfast, and did a "Super-Hard" sudoku with Jadon until we gave up, because it was, indeed, super hard. The end of the day was better than the time that had gone before.

Twenty-One Percent of an Orchard

Yesterday Phil and I managed to plant six trees in the afternoon after he ran errands all morning. He and Ara finished processing the pig last night, and the total tally of usable meat was significantly less than anticipated: 265 pounds, which includes all lard, chops, sausage meat, and better cuts. The tenderloin for the two animals was less than three pounds! Our total bacon weight ended up around 25 pounds; I plan to start curing the first 13 pounds tomorrow. This makes our meat price per pound, just for production, an incredible $4.53. Ouch.

But, as Phil reminds me, that was tuition on Pig Raising 101. We found that we mostly enjoyed pigs, but need a variety that thrives better on forages, rather than expensive purchased feed. We learned basic pig care (thankfully, pretty easy), and successfully brought them from small weaned pigs to sows. Besides the basic knowledge, we got more than a ton of manure out of the pigs, they plowed up our field so we don't have to, and we get to eat the end result.

After a very slight rain in the night, we prepared for a solid day of digging holes. The extra moisture was just enough to make the soil easy to work with—by yesterday it had become quite caked, so we were thankful.

Incredibly, we got the next 18 trees planted. In one day! We're getting faster and better, and we're now 21 percent done.

Besides that, Phil also burned our huge pile of roots during the lunch break. (In the photo below, you can see my garlic sprouts in the foreground.)



And he gave the boys sticks to whittle, and brought them a box of Band-Aids, just in case.



And this morning he drove over some hay we'd used to mulch our field. The mower chopped the hay and flung it wide. The residues should break down more readily, and the soil has a more thorough layer of mulch.

(Speaking of mulch: I didn't know what it was a couple of years ago. Basically, no soil in nature is naked. Either grass or fallen leaves or weeds cover the soil, protecting it from erosion. Farmers and gardeners, to imitate nature, also cover their soil, with mulch, to protect it. Mulch can be anything: grass clippings, wood chips, hay or straw. Some city folk even use rocks or plastic.)

After the 18 trees were in the ground, I went to make dinner (pork chops from our own pigs! Phil thinks we have 64 of them—well, now 60 of them). While cooking, the forecast rain began to sprinkle. It has fallen steadily all evening, and the forecast says it will rain until Monday. That seems a very long time from now.

As for the pork chops, I have never been a big fan. Like T-bone steaks, meat with bones requires a lot of effort for not a lot of meat. I actually don't remember ever purchasing or eating pork chops in all my married life.

But the Sage Pork Chops I prepared turned out amazingly well. Phil said, "This is the best pork chop I've ever had." I'm not even sad to have 60 more to cook. What a wonderful surprise!

I include the photo below as a salute to Hans Holbein the Younger, who painted The Ambassadors with a mysterious smear in the front, that turns out to be a fantastic foreshortened skull. My photo also has a mysterious object in the front, but mine turn out to be only two pig heads, complete with snouts and brains.



It's not everyone who gets to have such interesting frontyard decor!

Finding Just the Right Name

For our wedding, in keeping with tradition, we chose three passages of Scripture: an Old Testament, a New Testament, and a Gospel. Phil wanted I John 1:1-4:

That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked upon, and our hands have handled, of the Word of life; (For the life was manifested, and we have seen it, and bear witness, and show unto you that eternal life, which was with the Father, and was manifested unto us;) That which we have seen and heard declare we unto you, that ye also may have fellowship with us: and truly our fellowship is with the Father, and with his Son Jesus Christ. And these things write we unto you, that your joy may be full.

The other two passages, I was surprised to realize, both involve agriculture! Years before we considered farming as vocation. John 15: 1-14 speaks of the Father as the husbandman, who makes his vineyard grow fruit. When we abide in Him, we bring forth much fruit and our joy is full. What a prophetic passage! (Or, at least, I hope that we will bear much fruit, both literal and figurative!)

I don't have any recollection of how we found Isaiah 61:10-11. Perhaps I had read it recently. I remember even at the time feeling pleased with how perfect it was:

I will greatly rejoice in the LORD, my soul shall be joyful in my God; for he hath clothed me with the garments of salvation, he hath covered me with the robe of righteousness, as a bridegroom decketh himself with ornaments, and as a bride adorneth herself with her jewels. For as the earth bringeth forth her bud, and as the garden causeth the things that are sown in it to spring forth; so the Lord GOD will cause righteousness and praise to spring forth before all the nations.

Another passage about fruit! Another passage about joy! (Perhaps because my middle name is Joy and I like to eat fruit, I especially liked those two passages.)

As I reread the second verse in the Isaiah passage today, I had a hopeful thought about our farm's name.

See, our poor farm is still nameless. How do we market any products without a name? From Lavish Abundance to Rest and Be Thankful, from Green Pastures (from Psalm 23) to Olive Plant Farm (because the children will be like olive plants around the table, as Psalm 128 says); even Phil and Amy's Farm or Lykosh Family Farm or Fruit Full Farm—I've thought about the name a lot.

But none have been quite right. Lavish Abundance sounds too health and wealth. I love Rest and Be Thankful, but Phil hates it, and, to be honest, I don't rest a whole bunch, preferring to be active. Green Pastures doesn't really encompass the fruit trees, and is too Green Acres. Olive Plant Farm is awkward because we can't easily grow olives here. And Fruit Full Farm is too cute. But what about

Spring Forth Farm!

I think that suits ME perfectly. I like the motion, I like the season, I like the trampoline, the energy, and the activity. I like the three short syllables, and the alliteration. It sounds hopeful, and happy, a place people would like to go.

I like that it has a prophetic meaning, but it's not overtly Christian (the way "Psalm 1 Farm" would be). I can imagine an unchurched person saying, "Hey, let's go get some fruit from Spring Forth."

And I especially like that the springing forth of the fruit is a picture of how righteousness and praise will spring forth before all nations! I love righteousness and praise! Those two "Christian" words really fit Phil and I more than, say, "Peace and Mercy." (Those who know me well, I can hear your laughter from here.)

Spring Forth Farm—this might be the name. I think we'll wait a bit, just to make sure. But if Spring Forth is the name, the seeds of the name were sown at our wedding. That's pretty cool!

First "New Friend" Visitor!

Today we had our first "new friend" visitor (meaning, someone we've met and befriended since moving here). Faith from church came to see our farm and help in any way she could. She went to Texas A&M, and worked for a bull semen-processing center for a year out of college. Her employer was the only lab in the world able to cell straws (the holder for the semen that's put into the cow) that could supply a specific gender.

So we got to hear a bit about how the artificial inseminators gather the semen. I've wondered. They can either put a little electric shock into the bull's rectum, or they put a steer in with the bull and somehow get the bull to mount the steer. A man with an artificial vagina jumps in and collects the semen. That's pretty amazing.

And then the lab checks for the number of sperm with motility (forward movement) and morphology (proper shape), as well as rough live v. dead count.

We planted 15 trees and finished our second row. Sixty done, or 15 percent!

I planted a full package of poppy seeds. I love poppyseed cake and poppyseed muffins, but have a hard time finding them for a reasonable price. I will try to grow my own.

Phil went to the Bessettes this evening to process the meat with Ara. I went over to bring Ziplocs and buckets for bones, and got sucked in to watching Ara's artistry. He took the 20 pound or so haunch and cut it just so, and out popped the hip. Cut again and there's a ham. And another. And another. There was the beautiful ball joint staring up at me, a little round grey ball in the midst of pink flesh. Cut again and there's two small yellowish sacs: the lymph nodes.

There may be a small part of me that hopes to butcher my own meat at some point, but Ara's speed and dexterity amaze me. I'll let him do it, as long as I can.

Trotters, Liver, and Lard

While Phil drove our chipper to the fix-it shop, I determined to process the parts of the pig we took home.

First, the trotters, or feet. In San Francisco's China town, pre-children, I had pig's feet soup (the waiter seemed surprised that I ordered it). I remember it was delicious, at least until I began to wonder if the floating globules were fat. I ate most of it, though. (No, the floating globules were not fat, but gelatin.)

Before I could eat the pigs' feet, though, I needed to clean them. Disgusting. I scrubbed them to get the dirt and blood off. An online site said to scald four times. After the first scald, the smell was so foul, I wanted to give up. I tried scraping the skin, but the bristles, though, somewhat loosened, made me want to tear out my own hair—I'm too impatient to spend half a day scraping pigs' feet, when we might not even like the eventual soup anyway!

Another book claimed that, after scalding, simply twist down, and the hair would come off. Ha!

I gave up.



Next I started to chop the liver. But there's something about the texture of liver, and the quiver as I cut, that makes my insides shiver. I stopped.

Bypassed the kidneys, spleen, and heart for the time being, though I did put the hearts in the freezer for potential sausage later, and the kidneys in the freezer for steak and kidney pie.

That left the cheeks, er, jowls. I weighed them, and the four jowls came to over six and a half pounds. Wow!

Maybe a pound of it was membranes, happy food for Chloe and not for me. I got about three and a half pounds of stir-fry meat. And I got a goodly amount of fat (some people have jowl bacon--I could have done that, but I want the lard more).

When we first purchased a half cow (located through the handy eatwild.com website), I tried to render the fat. Tallow had many uses for the pioneers, I think. But my fat didn't render.

Today I got to try again, this time with lard. It took a ridiculously long time—maybe two hours. I may have started off with too much water (the instructions I used called for two cups of water for half a pot of fat. I used the water, with much less fat, because I was so paranoid about burning the stuff). But in the end, my barn smelled like a healthy fast food joint (which is to say, greasy but enticing), I had a jar of cracklings and a jar and a third of pure lard.



By this time, Phil was home. We tried Ara's recipe of sliced liver and onions wrapped in the "spiderweb" fat near the spleen.



We all tried it. I think it was LOADED with vitamins, because it made me feel like I'd had five cups of coffee. (Or maybe that was just the realization that I had liver in my mouth that made my heart pound oddly.) Phil said it was the best liver he'd ever had—but it was still liver. We both managed a few more bites, but that's it.

We'll give the spleen and liver to the dog.

I went back to the trotters. Once cooled, I was able to strip the skin off fairly easily with my fingers. And, with a little more effort, I popped the toenails off. Chloe loved the skin, but not the toenails. This took a good bit of time and a good bit of strength, so I did two trotters and am saving the rest for tomorrow.

In the afternoon, Phil planted four more trees, almost single-handedly (I helped hold them in place in the hole while he shoveled dirt). And he watered the 41 trees already planted. We should probably get some irrigation going, because hand watering 400 trees every week isn't going to be much fun.

I planted peas: Sugar Snap peas, snow peas, and shelling peas.

It was the most satisfying garden event in my life to date.

In Boulder, I had a very limited garden space. I purchased a large packet of sugar snap seeds and dutifully wrote on the outside of the package: "used 20." Which left me with about 380 unplanted seeds. There just wasn't space.

So today I went crazy. I have cattle panel fencing I can use as trellising, so I planted the remainder of that package of seeds, and the entire (smaller) packages of the rest. I just dug a little trench with my claw, dropped them in, covered them up, stepped on the row (which many books say not to do, but my gardening workshop man said should happen), and mulched with some hay.

But this I say, He which soweth sparingly shall reap also sparingly; and he which soweth bountifully shall reap also bountifully.

After the months when we didn't have sun, when we couldn't see the earth, the chance to plant bountifully, to work with our hands in the sun, to hear the children laughing and playing, riding bikes and holding kids—this was a great day.

We even got to eat turnips planted last fall that overwintered pretty well. Wow!

Pig Processing

Warning: If intestines are not your thing, you might want to skip today's post. The above photo, with Joe next to Alice-the-pig's skin, gives a foretaste of what's to come.

Ara, our friend from Armenia who knows how to process pigs, came today to help us kill Alice and Abby.

When we bought our pigs, I heard them scream. I think everyone's life would be complete without hearing a pig scream, and I know the expression, "Squealing like a stuck pig." So I wasn't sure how traumatic or loud this butchering would be.

It wasn't loud or traumatic at all. I was eating a piece of bread and heard a little pop. Phil came down a few minutes later to say that one pig was dead. The pop was a .22 stun bullet to the head, and Ara slit the throat without a sound. There was some blood on the ground, but the other pig walked all around without any sense of terror or even vague concern.

Charlotte's Web did not portray reality! What a relief!

To butcher, Ara cut off the head and cut out the vent (or poop chute or anus). He carefully slit open the stomach. Immediately underneath the skin is about an inch-thick layer of fat. That's bacon. ("Full of energy," Ara said.) Below you can see the liver as the dark bit poking out of the stomach slit. Notice the nice inch or so of snow-white lard!



He put both hands in the body cavity. After he pulled out the poop chute, he loosened (and cut) the tendons or membranes that hold the inner organs in place. That was a strange sight!

Of those organs, he said that the spleen and the liver are edible. The rest are not. That large mass flopped into a bucket.

Oh--there is a membrane around the internal organs; very beautiful, like a spider's web.



Ara said that he will sometimes chop up the liver with some onions and salt, and wrap it, like dolmades, in this membrane, and grill. The membrane keeps the liver moist, which, since it has no fat, can be challenging. I might try it!

Next came the chest cavity. The frothy lungs come out, with the heart.



The heart, too, is edible. Ara said he had a friend who got diabetes and could no longer eat meat. His doctor said that he could eat heart, though.

After he dropped (killed) the second pig, and did the same thing, the pigs went to the Bessettes for further processing and butchering.



Legs off; skin off (pull the skin down while making small slicing motions with the knife--the skin peels away).



Hang for a few days to age.



I wasn't present for the removal of the kidneys, but those, too, are good to eat (apparently).

Phil cut the ears off the pig heads, and he skinned the pigs faces to get their cheek meat.

The amount of meat astounds me: Ara figured we'd have about 200 pounds of usable meat from each pig. The weight of the cheeks alone makes me think we'll have four meals out of them.

Dennis asked me how much these pigs cost, with their fancy organic (non-GM) feed. I think they were $160 to purchase, plus $880 or so to feed, plus $120 for butchering. So they cost about $1200, for about 400 pounds of usable meat, or $3 a pound.

That's less than organic pork would cost in the store, but we haven't yet done any converting into actual sausage or hams. It doesn't include any of the considerable cost for operation start up (fencing, feeder, waterer). And no labor.

So if you're buying organic pork from a producer, pay the price they're asking. You're getting a good product, and they're really not making bank, even at $6 a pound (or whatever they charge).

Of course, whether you should eat pork or not is a valid question. Today I came across this passage in my beloved Nourishing Traditions by Sally Fallon.

Investigation into the effects of pork consumption on blood chemistry has revealed serious changes for several hours after pork is consumed. The pork used was organic, free of trichinosis, so the changes that occurred in the blood were due to some other factor, possibly a protein unique to pork. In the laboratory, pork is one of the bet mediums for feeding the growth of cancer cells. The prohibitions against pork found in the Bible and the Koran thus may derive from something other than a concern for parasite contamination. However, in fairness it must be noted that many groups noted for longevity, such as the inhabitants of Soviet Georgia and Okinawa, consume pork meat and lard in their diet on a daily basis. Lard is an excellent source of vitamin D.

For now, we'll eat at our own risk, with thanksgiving.

Productive (Exhausted)

Our ewe Isabella continues to lose wool. The large bare patch on her side that I hoped was due to mean goat Annabelle now accompanies bare patches on her tailbone and her other side. Somehow, I doubt Annabelle could spear her tailbone. The angle isn't quite right.

Is it nutrition? (The sheep have their fancy nutrients still.) Or, perhaps, small bugs? Phil spread Diatomaceous Earth on her. DE comes from the fossilized remains of a hard-shelled algae. My understanding is that it gets into the soft parts of insects and lacerates them to death. Thus, it's an effective pest control in the garden. We're hoping it's effective for our ewe, too.

Phil and I planted eight trees before noon. Then we drove to the mechanic's to get our truck (the transfer case had lost all its bolts!). Before we took the truck in, Phil had filled it with much trash (Christmas wrapping paper, empty food cans, and all the non-organic detritus that builds up). There was a landfill on the way home, so he dumped the stuff.

After a quick lunch, we headed back up the hill to plant some more trees. Eight more, bringing the total to 41 (ten percent!). The children all played happily in the red clay, until the very end when Joe accidentally stepped in a wet hole, and the middle three children, all barefoot, all got cold feet at about the same time. Of course, their feet were very dirty, and the well water remains very cold to bathe in.

Jadon had a great day riding his bike all over the property. Uphill and down, along the cleared rows for trees, over the furrows Phil dug in the fall of 2008. He took a spill, but kept his smile.

Then to the Bessettes for our Saturday evening bath, and home for some final paperwork/work.

The sunny weather stayed in the low 40s, apparently, but it feels like marvelous spring. Apparently, December and much of January are more like this. How lovely!

I am thankful that tomorrow is a day of rest. I am tired out.

No digging for us tomorrow!

Six and a Quarter Percent

Phil dug holes before breakfast this morning, so by the time I got outside, we were ready to plant.

Then neighbor Butch delivered hay, and Phil got sucked in to a conversation (regretfully shooing Butch away after almost an hour!). By lunchtime we had finished seven more trees.

After lunch, Phil had errands to run. Our van's tire has continued to leak air, often offering less than 15 minutes of drive time before needing the air compressor. Not an efficient way to travel. So Phil got that tire patched (along with the already-in-use plug). He drove far and far south to get the replacement starter for the chipper, then drove far to the north to get a block and tackle (or something like that) to hang the pigs after slaughter.

Back home, he found that the starter was not, apparently, the piece of the chipper that is malfunctioning, as the new starter did not start the machine. So, whenever we get our truck in working order, Phil will bring the chipper in to the shop. But for now: no chipping.

We planted three more trees in the remaining daylight. Twenty-five done, or about 6.25% of the total.

This afternoon, I spread chips around the bases of the trees and tried to water them. By putting the hose on one hydrant, and then switching the hose to the other hydrant, I was able to water all but four of the trees (they got the bucket treatment). I marveled that half a year ago, there was no running water on the land. So although moving the hose was not very efficient, I'm thankful to have running water at all!

As I was going about my tasks today, I thought about what we hope to get done this year: plant the orchard. Get bees. Grow a large garden to feed ourselves and our animals. Get specific cows and pigs. Create pasture. Fence this side of the creek.

And somehow my part in all of this has to fit in between homeschooling the boys, reading to the As, playing with Joe, feeding everyone, managing laundry without a washer and dishes without a sink, and working half time. I half-prayed for something, for aid, for employment for Phil, for our needs to be met. I'm reading a book about Cameron Townsend, founder of Wycliffe Bible Translators. He said, "If we will do the possible, God will do the impossible."

I trust in Townsend's God, too. He will do—He is doing—the impossible.

Speaking of the impossible, I think I am supposed to pray that we (well, Phil, specifically) would get our cows later this month. At this point, that does seem impossible. We don't have the money in hand quite yet; we don't have a functioning truck; we don't have a livestock trailer.

But I pray in hope. God is able.

We Plant Trees!

We have spent these last couple months waiting for the snow to melt, trying to clear the pasture for the cherry orchard. I plan to have my garden interspersed with the cherries, so we need to get those trees in the ground. Besides, the apple orchard, with its 80 enormous holes that we no longer plan to use, depresses me.

But yesterday, Phil and I decided that we should go ahead with the apples. The land is cleared; we have all the accoutrements we need; we could get in a bunch in a day.

So today, rejoice!, we put our first trees in the ground.

Tools needed: pick ax, two shovels, garden fork, pole driver (to get the fiberglass stakes two feet into our clay soil); hose, watering can, knife (general cutting), pruning sheers, measuring tape.

After I determine which tree comes next—all planned out multiple times and divers ways over the last several months&mdashI dig out the trees from their sawdust hibernation and put them into a bucket of rain water with some kelp added.

Phil digs the holes.

We decided to run our own experiments on our planting. On some holes, once Phil digs out a hole large enough for the rootball (a varied size, as each rootball is different), we add a couple cups of hydrogen peroxide. This is supposed to help flocculate the soil. Hydrogen peroxide supposedly also helps produce more abundant crops, but I know nothing about that. Sometimes we skip this step.

Next I dip the roots into a mycorrhizal fungi mix, which is supposed to help the root gain nutrients from the surrounding soil much better.

I hold the tree in place, measuring it against the tape so that we don't get more than a few inches out of our eight foot spacing. Phil backfills, while I try to keep the roots spread. The largest root points to the magnetic north. On the one tree that didn't have a strongest root, we put the absence of roots to the magnetic south and called it good.

At some point during the backfill (either immediately, midway, or near the top), I add a cupful of either our minerals (mostly soft rock phosphate, with some other things thrown in), or a cupful of kelp. I'm interested to see if there is any difference.

Really, though, every tree is so unique, I'll be surprised if there are conclusive results. I made notes not only of what our planting method was, but also notes about the roots of the trees, or how vigorous they appeared initially. I like having that record of what we did. I play at being Scientist Farmer.

Then we water each tree, tamp down the dirt, prune each tree, put a protective wrapper around each tree, put gravel directly at the base (to keep voles away), and tamp again.

The whole process takes a half hour per tree. Or, since Phil and I are both working on this all the time, a full hour per tree. So we have 200 hours of working together to get these trees in the ground. It's going to be a busy few months.

The fifteen we planted today make us so proud!



Also, our pigs have grown. Below, you can see Phil "riding" one, as the girls eat their food with complete absorption.

Animals Enjoy Their Dry Land

Wednesday morning Phil burned many of the roots Butch pulled up last year. Because of their radial growth, roots don't shred easily, so he spent an hour or two burning a huge pile of them.



He then went to chip some more saplings to make room for the orchard. Our durable, made of metal chipper has a plastic starter. The plastic starter broke. So he spent several hours researching the part needed, the place to take it to (thankfully there's a dealer in Scottsville). Although he remained in good spirits, it was a wasted day.

The animals, having spent much of the last few months on an ever-deepening bed of hay, happily chew their cud further afield.



Rachel Bush came by briefly with her two children and sister. They loved the kids, who jump and kick.



Embarrassing for me, though, was Annabelle's tale: we think either she cut it, or was having some sort of bloody discharge. She appeared in good health other than a bloody hiney, but how unpleasant!

And THEN, poor black ewe Isabella had a large bald spot on her side. It looked to me like Annabelle had caught her with her horns and tore off the hair. Mortifying! Thankfully the skin wasn't broken, but two animals in less than stellar condition—no good.

While I was taking the gardening class last Saturday, Rachel took my place at the pruning workshop. She brought me a gallon of unpasteurized apple cider, which, I think, is one of the world's special treats. Rachel never comes to visit without bringing a gift. I could learn from her—that is sure a nice practice!.

We Need a Mechanic

The gloomy morning turned to snow by evening. My gloomy mood turned to frivolity, though—I am not, and never have been a morning person. (I asked my Mom in high school why she didn't get up to talk to me before I left for school. "The conversation's not good enough," she replied.)

Phil finished his annual major engineering report. He drove his truck to a mechanic, and I followed behind. Coming home from his grafting workshop on Saturday, the truck began to make a horrible noise, and his attempts at diagnosis were ineffective. If he went over 30mph, the truck started to shake, and though the sound was not as bad as it had been, what should have been a 30 minute drive took about an hour.

Before we left, we realized that one of my tires was low, so we refilled it. Halfway to the mechanic, my "deflated tire" light came on again, so I pulled over and put my new-found ability with an air compressor to good use. Thankfully the leak was not on the sidewall, but I could hear its hiss as I filled the tire. And, sure enough, a minute from the mechanic, the light came on again.

The mechanic told Phil that the truck issue was not immediately obvious, which encouraged Phil in that he hadn't made a diagnosis, but discouraged him in that, well, we still don't know what the issue is. They did something to my tire so it's not leaking anymore, and then we drove into Charlottesville. Phil printed off and mailed his report. "Now I can get back to farming!" he said.

Our hope is that, as soon as the truck is fixed, we can buy a livestock trailer. Then, as soon as we have truck and trailer, Phil will head up to Vermont on his own to buy some cows. Other people strongly desire those cows, too, and we are hoping to get to Vermont before all the best ones are sold out. It feels a bit like the Gold Rush to me: hurry, hurry, hurry!