While Ken and Cheri took the three older boys to Whole Foods, Chipotle, and the laundrymat, Phil and I planted the ten crabapple trees. I had originally purchased them for pollination, but they didn't fit well into the orchard, so we're using them as decoration, more or less. Eight peach trees left to plant, plus 20 trees on their way. We have to chip the final large brush pile before those peaches can go in the ground, so Phil spent a few hours doing that, until his arms vibrated of their own accord. (Well, maybe not quite.)
Yesterday's sting on my wrist caused my whole forearm to swell. In the future, I'll remember to scrape the stinger out, not pinch it (pinching pushes more venom into the skin). And I'll hope to have any stings through clothes, since I think they are less intense.
I spent a good bit of time trying to figure out how to help my poor bees. The banker's box of bees was humming aggressively when I picked it up this morning. After much thought, I wondered if the bees swarmed because they had chosen too small a section of hive for the doubled amount. I decided to expand the section where the bees had stayed, and then dump the swarm in the opposite end of the top bar hive, with two dividers between them, and an open section with the entrance. I hoped that would allow the bees to gradually become friendly again before combining entirely.
I dumped the swarm in, and checked in occasionally. At one point, I almost despaired, as the bees that remained had abandoned their perfect comb altogether, to advance to meet the returned swarm.
At another point, a smaller swarm of bees clustered on the outside of the hive.
But after much prayer, and a bit of patience, I think that all ends well, at least for today. Some bees returned to the comb. Some bees stayed in the newly opened section. Will they combine? Peacefully coexist? It remains to be seen.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Unexpected Swarm
My bees, after merging on Sunday, apparently decided that they couldn't live in peace, and so one group swarmed.
What?! I'm thankful that some bees remain in their hive; I checked the comb this morning and it looks quite nice. But why separate? I moved an extra top bar into their hive after the fact, wondering if they were feeling crowded. But who was feeling crowded? Who is leading this renegade contingent?
And whoever led it clearly didn't know the rules. A swarm is supposed to go into a tree, where the eager beekeeper can carefully knock it into a box and keep it covered overnight, so the bees calm and rest. My bees sat on the ground, where I would have to move them ... somehow.
I figured long sleeves, gardening gloves, and my bee mask would be prudent. Good thing, because as I brushed the bees into the banker's box, they weren't keen on going. Stung: wrist, arm, arm, arm. Retreat.
The stingers stayed in the fabric of my shirt, so they popped out easily. Four little workers, dead, protecting their swarm from the strange yellow glove.
At first, the bees moved into the box of their own accord. But the original spot I'd noticed had not moved. I suppose the queen (or queen-like bee) remained there, as the swarm gradually oozed out of the box and back onto the ground.
Well, if the mountain won't go to Mahomet, Mahomet must go to the mountain. I put the banker's box on the bees. After the sun set, I picked up the inverted box and set it on the lid, thankful that the swarm didn't remain on the ground.
So now I have a banker's box of bees, waiting in my storage trailer, for me to dispose of tomorrow—somehow.
It's always something exciting on the farm!
Phil and I were pleased today to get almost all the trees in the ground. We have eight peach trees yet to plant, but we must chip our final large pile before those can go in. And we have ten crabapples to beautify our parking area. And that's it (until the next order arrives). We're really getting close.
What?! I'm thankful that some bees remain in their hive; I checked the comb this morning and it looks quite nice. But why separate? I moved an extra top bar into their hive after the fact, wondering if they were feeling crowded. But who was feeling crowded? Who is leading this renegade contingent?
And whoever led it clearly didn't know the rules. A swarm is supposed to go into a tree, where the eager beekeeper can carefully knock it into a box and keep it covered overnight, so the bees calm and rest. My bees sat on the ground, where I would have to move them ... somehow.
I figured long sleeves, gardening gloves, and my bee mask would be prudent. Good thing, because as I brushed the bees into the banker's box, they weren't keen on going. Stung: wrist, arm, arm, arm. Retreat.
The stingers stayed in the fabric of my shirt, so they popped out easily. Four little workers, dead, protecting their swarm from the strange yellow glove.
At first, the bees moved into the box of their own accord. But the original spot I'd noticed had not moved. I suppose the queen (or queen-like bee) remained there, as the swarm gradually oozed out of the box and back onto the ground.
Well, if the mountain won't go to Mahomet, Mahomet must go to the mountain. I put the banker's box on the bees. After the sun set, I picked up the inverted box and set it on the lid, thankful that the swarm didn't remain on the ground.
So now I have a banker's box of bees, waiting in my storage trailer, for me to dispose of tomorrow—somehow.
It's always something exciting on the farm!
Phil and I were pleased today to get almost all the trees in the ground. We have eight peach trees yet to plant, but we must chip our final large pile before those can go in. And we have ten crabapples to beautify our parking area. And that's it (until the next order arrives). We're really getting close.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Abigail Goes Home
Phil saw frost this morning. Wow. Good thing I'm behind on planting beans and corn! No worries about Jack Frost killing all the little seedlings.
When I went to check on the bees, I first figured they had gone missing, they were so quiet and still. I can see inside the hive if I'm agile enough to bend low and look up through the mesh covering the bottom of the hive. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I could hardly believe what I was seeing: perfect, white comb peeking out below the thousands of tightly packed workers. I figure they have built down six inches of comb since they arrived five days ago. My beekeeping notes say that each comb takes between half a million and a million tiny flecks of wax, excreted from the bees' abdomen. Each bee can produce eight flecks a day. The volume of production makes me more certain that all the bees combined into one hive.
After Abigail took one last look around, she said her goodbyes and we drove her to a meeting place with her Dad in southern Virginia. During the 28 weeks she lived with us, she laughed and cried; she played with my boys and deeply missed her sister; she played with the goats and chased the chickens; she looked for eggs and climbed trees. She showed no fear of bugs or animal corpses. She watched the hiving of the bees and saw a sheep give birth to a little black lamb. She learned to enjoy the beans and rice at Chipotle, and always amazed us with her enthusiastic consumption of oatmeal.
She ran out of our car and buckled herself into her own car before we were even done unloading all her stuff. She was ready to go home and greet her family!
After we dropped her off, Phil and I had a good time of vision conversation for what should maybe happen here in the next few months. After the rest of the trees are in the ground, Phil will focus on the perimeter fence. When that's done, we'll start grazing the animals, who are currently more-or-less enjoying life in the drylot with lots of hay and supplemental minerals. It is easy to feed them, but pricey, too.
Then we think it is time to buy the long-considered sawmill, and saw lumber for our yurt. We decided a yurt is the housing structure we want, without a basement for the time being. Maybe if (when!) the farm starts to be profitable we can add some square footage, but for now, we'll focus on getting a yurt up before winter.
With the sawmill, we hope Phil can clear the lower pasture more rapidly and easily. (It's easier to move a board than a tree!)
We talked more about the classes we attended last week, and theology, and giving. We each came away with a list of things that must be done. Really a helpful day of connection for us before I leave in a couple of days. The three older boys enjoyed visiting with Grandma and Grandpa Super Far Away; Phil and I enjoyed a meal at Chipotle before we went to Costco.
And because the boys weren't all in the van, we fit a chest freezer in the van. Now we can kill the undesirable animals, and have a place to keep the meat! No more freeloaders on this farm!
Some days feel like a gift. This was one of those days.
When I went to check on the bees, I first figured they had gone missing, they were so quiet and still. I can see inside the hive if I'm agile enough to bend low and look up through the mesh covering the bottom of the hive. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I could hardly believe what I was seeing: perfect, white comb peeking out below the thousands of tightly packed workers. I figure they have built down six inches of comb since they arrived five days ago. My beekeeping notes say that each comb takes between half a million and a million tiny flecks of wax, excreted from the bees' abdomen. Each bee can produce eight flecks a day. The volume of production makes me more certain that all the bees combined into one hive.
After Abigail took one last look around, she said her goodbyes and we drove her to a meeting place with her Dad in southern Virginia. During the 28 weeks she lived with us, she laughed and cried; she played with my boys and deeply missed her sister; she played with the goats and chased the chickens; she looked for eggs and climbed trees. She showed no fear of bugs or animal corpses. She watched the hiving of the bees and saw a sheep give birth to a little black lamb. She learned to enjoy the beans and rice at Chipotle, and always amazed us with her enthusiastic consumption of oatmeal.
She ran out of our car and buckled herself into her own car before we were even done unloading all her stuff. She was ready to go home and greet her family!
After we dropped her off, Phil and I had a good time of vision conversation for what should maybe happen here in the next few months. After the rest of the trees are in the ground, Phil will focus on the perimeter fence. When that's done, we'll start grazing the animals, who are currently more-or-less enjoying life in the drylot with lots of hay and supplemental minerals. It is easy to feed them, but pricey, too.
Then we think it is time to buy the long-considered sawmill, and saw lumber for our yurt. We decided a yurt is the housing structure we want, without a basement for the time being. Maybe if (when!) the farm starts to be profitable we can add some square footage, but for now, we'll focus on getting a yurt up before winter.
With the sawmill, we hope Phil can clear the lower pasture more rapidly and easily. (It's easier to move a board than a tree!)
We talked more about the classes we attended last week, and theology, and giving. We each came away with a list of things that must be done. Really a helpful day of connection for us before I leave in a couple of days. The three older boys enjoyed visiting with Grandma and Grandpa Super Far Away; Phil and I enjoyed a meal at Chipotle before we went to Costco.
And because the boys weren't all in the van, we fit a chest freezer in the van. Now we can kill the undesirable animals, and have a place to keep the meat! No more freeloaders on this farm!
Some days feel like a gift. This was one of those days.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Nine Months and One Day
Yesterday marked nine months from the day we arrived on our land. It's been a growthful time for us all.
Phil worked on a proposal for work. He shoveled a truck load of wood chips and spread them around the animal's pen, so they would have a more pleasant lot to live in.
I dug holes and grieved. We planted eight trees (34 in house to go). The apiary owner called me, because vanishing bees right away like that is unusual. He left a message, because I was away from the phone. I don't know that I want another queen and the trauma to the hive of dividing whatever bees remain. That almost seems mean.
The remaining colony appears to be well. That Queen Esther is one smart cookie. I think that bees don't much like wind. It's been a breezy few days, and the two door holes opened into her living space. I had a horrible moment yesterday where I feared she, too, had vanished. But no, she had moved into the corner of the hive without any openings. No wind reaches her now! Brilliant.
The beautiful bees fly around the red clover, pollinating. They eat the sugar syrup. I hope they do well.
Abigail's Easter butterflies are doing well. As they emerge, we briefly hold them, then let them fly away.
Phil and I rolled a round bale into the animal pen this morning, rather than tossing forkfuls of hay over the fence. The animals enjoyed it. But rather than eating through a round bale in three or four days, I think they'll finish it by tomorrow morning. Twenty-four hours for 1200 pounds of feed seems a bit quick to me.
Today was a day of visitation. Our friend Faith (below, in red) came to visit one last time before she goes to get married, and she brought our friend Jenny (below, in green), from church. We had bacon and eggs and vegetables from the farm, and picked some tiny Alpine strawberries growing wild on the land.
They helped me plant four peach trees. Thirty to go (plus the 20 on order, making 50 trees altogether).
When they left, I climbed on the wood chip pile in our parking area, and waved goodbye while I sang a blessing over them. That felt like the right thing to do. I think that would be good to do whenever someone comes to visit.
While they were here, Phil's parents arrived in their motor home for a projected stay of several weeks.
As Faith and Jenny left, our friend Mollie Bush came to see the farm for the first time since the day we arrived. Funny: the day we arrived was the last time Phil's parents were here, too. How fun to show what we've been up to for the last nine months.
Among other errands, Phil redid the electrical wiring in the barn. He added a light switch and outlets. I've been working off of a plastic work light. This evening, I simply had to flip a switch and the barn was ... illuminated. Amazing.
Phil worked on a proposal for work. He shoveled a truck load of wood chips and spread them around the animal's pen, so they would have a more pleasant lot to live in.
I dug holes and grieved. We planted eight trees (34 in house to go). The apiary owner called me, because vanishing bees right away like that is unusual. He left a message, because I was away from the phone. I don't know that I want another queen and the trauma to the hive of dividing whatever bees remain. That almost seems mean.
The remaining colony appears to be well. That Queen Esther is one smart cookie. I think that bees don't much like wind. It's been a breezy few days, and the two door holes opened into her living space. I had a horrible moment yesterday where I feared she, too, had vanished. But no, she had moved into the corner of the hive without any openings. No wind reaches her now! Brilliant.
The beautiful bees fly around the red clover, pollinating. They eat the sugar syrup. I hope they do well.
Abigail's Easter butterflies are doing well. As they emerge, we briefly hold them, then let them fly away.
Phil and I rolled a round bale into the animal pen this morning, rather than tossing forkfuls of hay over the fence. The animals enjoyed it. But rather than eating through a round bale in three or four days, I think they'll finish it by tomorrow morning. Twenty-four hours for 1200 pounds of feed seems a bit quick to me.
Today was a day of visitation. Our friend Faith (below, in red) came to visit one last time before she goes to get married, and she brought our friend Jenny (below, in green), from church. We had bacon and eggs and vegetables from the farm, and picked some tiny Alpine strawberries growing wild on the land.
They helped me plant four peach trees. Thirty to go (plus the 20 on order, making 50 trees altogether).
When they left, I climbed on the wood chip pile in our parking area, and waved goodbye while I sang a blessing over them. That felt like the right thing to do. I think that would be good to do whenever someone comes to visit.
While they were here, Phil's parents arrived in their motor home for a projected stay of several weeks.
As Faith and Jenny left, our friend Mollie Bush came to see the farm for the first time since the day we arrived. Funny: the day we arrived was the last time Phil's parents were here, too. How fun to show what we've been up to for the last nine months.
Among other errands, Phil redid the electrical wiring in the barn. He added a light switch and outlets. I've been working off of a plastic work light. This evening, I simply had to flip a switch and the barn was ... illuminated. Amazing.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Grace Louise Lilly: April 16 to April 26, 2010
Jonelle called me this morning after she and Dave spent an exhausting night in the hospital. "We asked God that this would be the day of decision. Either he would miraculously heal her, which would be so wonderful, or take her home. She is so tired, and the machine wracks her body, and I want her to be at peace. Before we felt we were praying against darkness, but now we don't feel like that. We are at peace."
Soon after we spoke, she went to Gracie Lou and told her daughter that Gracie Lou could go to be with Jesus if she wanted, that the Lillys left on earth would be okay, though they would miss her so much.
Then they took her off all machines, and in the sudden quiet, Jonelle and Dave held their daughter for a precious couple of hours until Gracie Lou fell asleep, after an earthly stay of about 240 hours.
From mother's heartbeat to angel's song. From the face of earthly parents to the face of the heavenly Father.
"It was as beautiful as it could be."
But I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope.
Soon after we spoke, she went to Gracie Lou and told her daughter that Gracie Lou could go to be with Jesus if she wanted, that the Lillys left on earth would be okay, though they would miss her so much.
Then they took her off all machines, and in the sudden quiet, Jonelle and Dave held their daughter for a precious couple of hours until Gracie Lou fell asleep, after an earthly stay of about 240 hours.
From mother's heartbeat to angel's song. From the face of earthly parents to the face of the heavenly Father.
"It was as beautiful as it could be."
But I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Absconded Queen
I drove down to Floyd, Virginia on Saturday morning for a workshop on beekeeping with Gunther Hauk. What a fun day it was! I took six pages of notes. At the beginning, Gunther asked us to tell our beekeeping experience. When I said, "I got my bees yesterday!" he said, "You cannot see it, but she is aglow." I felt aglow.
And I listened to Ralph Vaughn Williams' Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis on the way home, perhaps the most sublime piece of music ever. I turned up the volume and felt like the top of my head was removed. Ahh, so good. (Do a web search: my internet is too slow today to link directly.)
I returned after dark, and the hives were quiet.
I woke at 6:30am and my first thought was, "The bees are hungry." It rained through the night, and Phil said that the bees hadn't eaten much yesterday. I spent the next hour or so trying to make them food. I was supposed to make a sugar candy with sugar and water cooked to the soft ball stage. Unfortunately, my candy thermometer must be packed, and I was misremembering my candy-making experience, so I cooked the five pounds of nasty white sugar almost to the hard ball stage. What should have been easily formable balls were hard little rocks.
But we needed to get ready for church. Queen Esther's hive was abuzz with purposeful activity, but the Queen of Sheba's hive seemed ominously quiet. I put some sugar candy in their hive and left, hoping for the best.
We talked for a long time after church, and we drove a couple hours out of our way, looking for a John Deere Gator that Phil had seen for sale a few days before. But since he didn't remember quite where the Gator was, the trip took a good long time.
Back home: I found the Queen of Sheba absconded. No bees left in her hive. She wasn't dead—she was out of the queen box, and I sifted the dead bees on the floor of the hive to try to find her.
Our sermon this morning was on Matthew 6:25-34, summarized as "Do not be anxious." Bill said that he usually has a point of testing about whatever he preaches on, to see if he's actually believing what he says. I think this was my first little test.
I had hundreds (thousands) of bees crawling on the outside of Queen Esther's hive; all these lost Queen of Sheba workers, in need of direction, in need of hope. But the Queen Esther bees carefully guarded their home; they only wanted the appropriate phermones.
I remembered Gunther's words of yesterday: "If my bees are too aggressive, I tell them, 'If you do not get nicer, I will have to requeen you.' And nine times out of ten, it works."
So I said, "Queen Esther, there are a lot of bees out here who need a queen to guide them. You should take them in. They will make you stronger; they will work hard for you. Let them come in."
Then I walked away.
The usual thing to do when a hive is queenless is to get a new queen from a local keeper. Each hive grows multiple queens in a year, so a good beekeeper can have some extras. Sadly, it's too early in the season for queens to hatch. And the internet had absolutely no help on queenless new hives.
Bill said this morning, "You do the best you can, and then leave the results to God." That was a helpful reminder today. I called all I could think of. Rachel Bush (whose bees arrive tomorrow) said that she'd learned that you can combine two (normal) hives, just by putting a piece of newspaper between them. By the time the bees eat through the paper, they are used to each other's smell.
I found a few sheets of newspaper and went to the hive, only to find: no more bees crawling and circling. No need for the newspaper.
Which was really just as well: how would i have caught and introduced thousands of bees into a hive? It's one thing to dump them from a container, another thing altogether to catch them in flight.
I checked the trees and didn't see bees swarming anywhere. I hope Queen Esther let them join her. I suppose I have no way to know whether she did or not. Be anxious for nothing. (Or is that, BEE anxious for nothing?)
The apiary's guarantee is that they'll resend once, if the queen is dead on arrival. The queen definitely wasn't dead, but she wasn't thriving. And since the hive was over $100, I will call tomorrow and pray for favor. That's a big financial hit to sustain in a day. Especially when the vigorous hive continues healthy and well. (Thankfully, at least in this case, I'm pretty sure this wasn't a management issue.)
Gracie Lou: not a good update. After a close call last night, the doctor told Dave, "I've never seen such bad lungs in such a young child." Jonelle called tonight as they headed up to a summons from the hospital. Gracie Lou's blood pressure was plummeting.
And so we wait. Without anxiety, trusting in a God who cares for his children. His child Gracie Lou; his children Dave, Jonelle, and Natalia.
And I listened to Ralph Vaughn Williams' Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis on the way home, perhaps the most sublime piece of music ever. I turned up the volume and felt like the top of my head was removed. Ahh, so good. (Do a web search: my internet is too slow today to link directly.)
I returned after dark, and the hives were quiet.
I woke at 6:30am and my first thought was, "The bees are hungry." It rained through the night, and Phil said that the bees hadn't eaten much yesterday. I spent the next hour or so trying to make them food. I was supposed to make a sugar candy with sugar and water cooked to the soft ball stage. Unfortunately, my candy thermometer must be packed, and I was misremembering my candy-making experience, so I cooked the five pounds of nasty white sugar almost to the hard ball stage. What should have been easily formable balls were hard little rocks.
But we needed to get ready for church. Queen Esther's hive was abuzz with purposeful activity, but the Queen of Sheba's hive seemed ominously quiet. I put some sugar candy in their hive and left, hoping for the best.
We talked for a long time after church, and we drove a couple hours out of our way, looking for a John Deere Gator that Phil had seen for sale a few days before. But since he didn't remember quite where the Gator was, the trip took a good long time.
Back home: I found the Queen of Sheba absconded. No bees left in her hive. She wasn't dead—she was out of the queen box, and I sifted the dead bees on the floor of the hive to try to find her.
Our sermon this morning was on Matthew 6:25-34, summarized as "Do not be anxious." Bill said that he usually has a point of testing about whatever he preaches on, to see if he's actually believing what he says. I think this was my first little test.
I had hundreds (thousands) of bees crawling on the outside of Queen Esther's hive; all these lost Queen of Sheba workers, in need of direction, in need of hope. But the Queen Esther bees carefully guarded their home; they only wanted the appropriate phermones.
I remembered Gunther's words of yesterday: "If my bees are too aggressive, I tell them, 'If you do not get nicer, I will have to requeen you.' And nine times out of ten, it works."
So I said, "Queen Esther, there are a lot of bees out here who need a queen to guide them. You should take them in. They will make you stronger; they will work hard for you. Let them come in."
Then I walked away.
The usual thing to do when a hive is queenless is to get a new queen from a local keeper. Each hive grows multiple queens in a year, so a good beekeeper can have some extras. Sadly, it's too early in the season for queens to hatch. And the internet had absolutely no help on queenless new hives.
Bill said this morning, "You do the best you can, and then leave the results to God." That was a helpful reminder today. I called all I could think of. Rachel Bush (whose bees arrive tomorrow) said that she'd learned that you can combine two (normal) hives, just by putting a piece of newspaper between them. By the time the bees eat through the paper, they are used to each other's smell.
I found a few sheets of newspaper and went to the hive, only to find: no more bees crawling and circling. No need for the newspaper.
Which was really just as well: how would i have caught and introduced thousands of bees into a hive? It's one thing to dump them from a container, another thing altogether to catch them in flight.
I checked the trees and didn't see bees swarming anywhere. I hope Queen Esther let them join her. I suppose I have no way to know whether she did or not. Be anxious for nothing. (Or is that, BEE anxious for nothing?)
The apiary's guarantee is that they'll resend once, if the queen is dead on arrival. The queen definitely wasn't dead, but she wasn't thriving. And since the hive was over $100, I will call tomorrow and pray for favor. That's a big financial hit to sustain in a day. Especially when the vigorous hive continues healthy and well. (Thankfully, at least in this case, I'm pretty sure this wasn't a management issue.)
Gracie Lou: not a good update. After a close call last night, the doctor told Dave, "I've never seen such bad lungs in such a young child." Jonelle called tonight as they headed up to a summons from the hospital. Gracie Lou's blood pressure was plummeting.
And so we wait. Without anxiety, trusting in a God who cares for his children. His child Gracie Lou; his children Dave, Jonelle, and Natalia.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Royalty Arrives
The post office called during morning chores: my two hives of bees were ready for pickup. One book claims that each of those three pounds of bees has 18,000 to 20,000 individuals. I don't know if I believe it, but it was certainly a humming package!
We put the bees on the table during breakfast, and talked about the three different types of bees. The sole queen lays the eggs. The male drones have no stinger, and, apparently, do little around the hive but eat. When a virgin queen from one hive flies out on her matrimonial flight, drones in another hive fly to catch her. The strongest and fastest mate with her, then fall to the earth, dead. (One wag said, "What a way to go!") As far as I know, that's the only mating the queen ever has: that one flight.
Some beekeepers, looking for maximum honey production, kill the drones and artiificially inseminate the queen. I think that's being penny-wise, pound-foolish. It seems that the natural way allows only the three or four best drones to reproduce, but no one can predict which those are. By killing off "extra" drones, the keeper may be weakening the future hive's genetics. So we won't kill off our drones.
Third type of bee is the worker, the stinging, honey and wax making "bees" you usually see. Most of my hives were worker bees. As you probably know, they don't want to sting, as stinging kills them, but they will sting if provoked. And, once stung, the smell of the venom attracts other bees: they want to eliminate the perceived threat.
I had sort of hoped to wait to hive the bees until after tomorrow's first beekeeping class. But the bees need to be indoors if not hived, and I couldn't imagine how stressful it would be in our little home, with five children yelling at times, and the CD player singing about the states in the Union. After about an hour, I think their hum became more aggressive.
On rereading the beekeeping book, I realized I hadn't purchased the needed white sugar to make a syrup (1 to 1 ratio of water to sugar). This disgusts me, as I do not feed my children white sugar. But honey can carry residual diseases and medications; unless the honey came from their own bodies, I musn't feed it to them. (One website did say that I could boil honey for 20 minutes, but it seems to me that anything possibly good in the honey would be well gone after 20 minutes!)
So I drove back down our road for the second time today, surprised that it was still before 10am. If felt much later. Our local convenience store had one 2-pound box of real cane sugar, and I figured that should be enough to last the next day or two.
Back home, Abigail, Isaiah, and Abraham joined me in the hiving experience. After posing (see above), I had to somehow get the two colonies apart. Using the multipurpose hive tool, I finally managed to pry the wood for shipping off, leaving each hive separate.
Cardboard covered the top of each.
Under the cardboard was the top of a can (holding sugar syrup, for the bees to eat during transit. They ship USPS ground, and left Texas on Monday). And a little metal tab, which leads to the queen. Using the hive tool, I pried out the can, and quickly removed the box holding the queen, then replaced the can so the workers couldn't get out.
The first time, the queen's box was covered with bees. This makes me think she has stronger phermones (the smell that bees use to tell which queen is theirs). I named her Queen Esther.
Here you can see Queen Esther, with a worker bee on the outside for comparison. The queen is bigger, but not MUCH bigger.
The second time, the queen's box wasn't nearly so thickly coated.
I named her the Queen of Sheba. You might be able to see the blue dots on the backs of the queens, which go on queens in years ending in 0 or 5. Years ending in 1 or 6 have a different color, and so on.
I had to brush the bees off the box into the beehive. The bottom of the queen's compartment was sealed with a cork.
Using a nail, I scraped that out.
Underneath was a sugar "candy" that the workers will eat through to release the queen. Then she can start laying her "brood," or eggs. First, though, the bees need to make some wax cells. I'm not using the standard pre-pressed wax sheets. (The theory behind that is that, ideally, the bees make their own cells; larger drones need larger cells. And the wax foundation can contain harmful chemicals. With all the Colony Collapse Disorder, I want to give these bees every chance possible to live well.)
Anyway, after making a dent in the candy with my nail, I taped the queen's box so it hangs down into the hive.
Then I sprinkled (organic) powdered sugar over the bees to calm them and make them interested in licking each other off. (This, apparently, is nicer than using smoke. Smoke makes the bees think their home is on fire, so they take a big swallow of food as they prepare to flee for their lives. That's pretty mean, I think. And tricky, apparently, to deal with the smoker.)
Then there was nothing else to do but remove the can and shake the colony into its new home.
It's pretty intense. Here's another photo.
I did it the first time without a veil. The second time, though, was a bit more disconcerting, because the bees from the first hive were meeting the bees from the second hive. Now there were bees on both the inside and outside of the shipping crate.
I was concerned that the bees from the first hive might get in my hair, so I did put on the bee veil for the second shaking.
Once most of the bees were in the hive, I replaced the top bars and then the roof. The bees still in the crate gradually found their way out.
They hummed a lot, but none acted the least bit aggressive toward us. We watched as the bees remaining in their shipping containers gradually exited into their new homes. (Isaiah took this beautiful photo.)
We were horrified to see that some of our bees appeared to be drowning in sugar water, so we put some forbs (er, weeds) into the water. Problem solved.
We also managed to find a few drones mixed in with the workers. Isaiah here is pointing to one.
By the midafternoon, the bees had gone through the entire two pounds of sugar, as their syrup was basically gone. I refilled their water containers with syrup from the cans of sugar syrup they shipped with, then drove down my road for the THIRD time today, to get sugar at the grocery store. (And since driving one way down my road takes 10 minutes, this was a day in the car.)
In other news, I realized today that six of the peach trees didn't make it out of the nursery. (I probably should have paid more attention while unloading, but life feels a bit hectic at times.) I wasn't sure how to arrange the further planting, though, so I decided to defer until Phil gets home. That leaves me with 42 trees to get in the ground, but I do need to order more. An orchard with 395 trees doesn't sound nearly so impressive as 401.
I went to make dinner and realized that the propane must have run out. On the same trip to town, I picked up more propane, but that didn't make a difference. The stove worked at lunchtime, when we had honey popcorn to celebrate the coming of the bees. (Recipe: 1 1/4 cups of butter and 1 1/4 cups of butter with a pinch of salt. Heat until boiling, then boil one minute, stirring constantly. Remove from heat, add 2 teaspoons vanilla and pour over 20 cups popcorn. Then bake about 25 minutes at about 325, stirring every 5 minutes, but I can't bake it because I don't have a large enough oven right now. So we ate it unbaked, with twice the amount of popcorn. This is a really nice recipe.)
What is wrong with the propane stove? Phil will have to figure it out. He's on his way home from a veterinary conference with some of the best vets in the country. He's been out of cell range since Tuesday night, but as he drove to the airport tonight, he called and talked for a solid hour about how amazing these people were. The best part? When he got there, everyone was choosing seats, and he thought, "Amy would sit in the front row. I probably should, too." So he did, and then Dr. Paul Detloff, the main speaker, sat next to him! And those were the seats for the rest of the conference (which included meals!). So, so great!
Really good day here. And good day for Gracie Lou, who remained stable most of the day.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
I Will Bring Praise
In church last Sunday, we sang a new (to me) song: Desert Song. I liked the first verse; I liked the second. I sang through the chorus and reached the words, "he is here." And I remembered that my parents were supposed to be with me, that is, until their trip was delayed.
That brought tears to my eyes, but the words of the third verse
When Jonelle called today to say that the doctors figured Gracie Lou had 10 minutes or a bit more yet to live ("So please come to the hospital right away"), it was hard to process. It was hard to know that I'd never met that little one-pound neice. Never gave my sister a hug during this hard time.
I had a lamb die in my hands. I've had that shock of a form that breathed one minute just stop. I could imagine my sister holding her pound of love and ....
"I will bring praise. I will bring praise. No weapon formed against me shall remain. I will rejoice. I will declare God is my victory and he is here."
For today, Gracie Lou survives.
Thanks be to God.
And I am down to only 48 trees left to get in the ground. All apples, all pears, all plums are done. Leaving three apricots, one cherry, ten crabapples, and 34 peaches.
That brought tears to my eyes, but the words of the third verse
This is my prayer in the battlemade me really break down.
When triumph is still on its way
I am a conqueror and co-heir with Christ
So firm on his promise I'll stand
When Jonelle called today to say that the doctors figured Gracie Lou had 10 minutes or a bit more yet to live ("So please come to the hospital right away"), it was hard to process. It was hard to know that I'd never met that little one-pound neice. Never gave my sister a hug during this hard time.
I had a lamb die in my hands. I've had that shock of a form that breathed one minute just stop. I could imagine my sister holding her pound of love and ....
"I will bring praise. I will bring praise. No weapon formed against me shall remain. I will rejoice. I will declare God is my victory and he is here."
For today, Gracie Lou survives.
Thanks be to God.
And I am down to only 48 trees left to get in the ground. All apples, all pears, all plums are done. Leaving three apricots, one cherry, ten crabapples, and 34 peaches.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Maybe 401 Trees Isn't Quite Enough
As today was a work-for-pay deadline day, I didn't get much accomplished outside. I half-expected a call from the post office to "come get your bees," but when I awoke to a light rain, and looked at the five children in various stages of dress and undress (Joe wore only a diaper; Abraham's clothes are best described as "none too clean"), I hoped the 30 minute or so round-trip drive to the post office could be delayed another day. Since my last attempt at backing out of the driveway in a rain left me desperately stuck-in-the-mud, I'm perfectly content to stay home when rain falls.
After the rain cleared, the weather reminded me of my lovely summer vacation visits to Grandma's house in Michigan. Warm, humid, clean-smelling, joyful weather.
I hoped to plant at least some of the ten plum trees. As I attempted to retrieve them from their heeled-in damp sawdust bed, only three trees came out individually. The other seven determinedly stuck together, roots entwined. Once free, I put them in our plastic "bathtub" (blue Rubbermaid) with water, and started the 24 hour countdown. Longer than that, and the trees drown.
By nightfall, I had eight in the ground (56 total to go!). Incredibly, my beautiful lasagna garden almost perfectly straddles the rows of plums. I will need to displace about a square foot of garlic for the one tree that's placed in the garden, but that's all! And how nice to know "for sure" where the trees go; it gives me the opportunity to plant squash and melons, corn and beans in the open spaces, and to expand the lasagna beds as I find time.
As the end of tree-planting approaches, I casually opened the Stark Bro's catalog. (Small advertisement: my Mom has gardened longer than I, and her experience shows that Stark Bro's offers the best quality for reasonable prices.) Maybe I shouldn't have looked in the catalog: there is plenty to, well, not covet, as that would be a sin, but, um, LONG FOR. Persimmons and pawpaws ("Tastes like vanilla custard"), almonds and chestnuts, grapes and blueberries—strawberries and blackberries that would bear THIS YEAR.
I may have only 56 trees left to plant right now, but I won't be surprised if that number increases again. I love fruit!
After the rain cleared, the weather reminded me of my lovely summer vacation visits to Grandma's house in Michigan. Warm, humid, clean-smelling, joyful weather.
I hoped to plant at least some of the ten plum trees. As I attempted to retrieve them from their heeled-in damp sawdust bed, only three trees came out individually. The other seven determinedly stuck together, roots entwined. Once free, I put them in our plastic "bathtub" (blue Rubbermaid) with water, and started the 24 hour countdown. Longer than that, and the trees drown.
By nightfall, I had eight in the ground (56 total to go!). Incredibly, my beautiful lasagna garden almost perfectly straddles the rows of plums. I will need to displace about a square foot of garlic for the one tree that's placed in the garden, but that's all! And how nice to know "for sure" where the trees go; it gives me the opportunity to plant squash and melons, corn and beans in the open spaces, and to expand the lasagna beds as I find time.
As the end of tree-planting approaches, I casually opened the Stark Bro's catalog. (Small advertisement: my Mom has gardened longer than I, and her experience shows that Stark Bro's offers the best quality for reasonable prices.) Maybe I shouldn't have looked in the catalog: there is plenty to, well, not covet, as that would be a sin, but, um, LONG FOR. Persimmons and pawpaws ("Tastes like vanilla custard"), almonds and chestnuts, grapes and blueberries—strawberries and blackberries that would bear THIS YEAR.
I may have only 56 trees left to plant right now, but I won't be surprised if that number increases again. I love fruit!
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Colors and Shapes of Growing Things
I planted all the pear trees before lunch (nine: one fewer than I expected). It was a late lunch, but what a thrill: the pomes are all in the ground!
In the afternoon, I finished the rows of cherries. And got the John Deere tractor hopelessly stuck. I even had Jadon come and try to back it up while I pushed, but I had no success. Ah, well.
A few photos of the beautiful growing things.
The trees leafing out—it's spring!
The clover, planted on a bare hillside to keep the soil in place, is about to set seed. I don't remember if it's red clover or crimson clover, but it's sure beautiful!
Last November I planted a pancake patch. (Actually, I sowed some spelt on the ground where the pigs first plowed and turned over the soil.) As you may be able to see from the photo below, the left of the photo is weeds. The right is grass.
The "grass" came up so precisely where I sowed the spelt, I wondered if it could be spelt. But it certainly seemed just like regular grass. Until I noticed the seed heads. Looks like wheat—but this "wheat," the Lykoshes can eat. Spelt!
Finally, the beautiful form of growing hardneck garlic.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Time for What We Need to Do
Several weeks ago Phil prayed, "Thank you, Lord, that there is time to do everything that needs to get done."
At that time, I wasn't sure I believed him. That prayer sounded nice in theory, but in practice? Really? Will everything get done that needs to get done?
As time passes, I think it just might all get done.
We milked today, for what may be the last time for a while. The 24 ounces of milk hardly justify the time spent. Phil had the good idea to test the brix (pronounced "bricks") level. The brix level measures sugars in a food; the higher the sugars, the more nutrients are in the food. (Why? It just is.) The better food tastes, the better it is for you. So those mealy apples you've sometimes bit into? Not worth eating for the nutrients: the nutrients aren't there.
Great milk, apparently, has a brix level of about 16. We haven't purchased pasteurized milk in several years, but all the raw milk I've tested has been in the 9s and 10s. I appreciate that the raw milk is a living food, but a brix of 9 or 10 isn't worth getting excited about.
Our milk, straight from the cow, was 12.1. Which makes it, I suppose, the best milk we've ever had—scientifically verified, with the refractometer, our tool that measures brix. Fun! (After setting, the cream rose, and the cream's brix was 16.2. Yes!)
For Easter, Abigail got a jar of caterpillars. All grew fat and made chrysalises. I made the box for the remainder of the project. What an amazing moment, when the butterflies emerge. I look forward to it.
We planted five cherry trees today, and marked the sites for the remaining 79 trees. I purchased 408 trees the first few weeks we were here, long before we had the area mapped. Six of my trees didn't make it out of the nursery, but I am amazed to see, as we marked the spots for the final trees, that every tree should fit in the upper pasture: all the pomes (apples and pears) on the north, all the stone fruits (cherries, peaches, plums, and apricots) on the south. With no space left over. But no trees left out.
Who planned this orchard, anyway? "Unless the LORD builds the house, they labor in vain that build it."
Phil finished the second beehive. That looming task: completed. On time.
Phil finished chipping another brush pile. Another big one in the south orchard; a small amount of downed trees in tne north orchard.
We docked the tails of the three babydoll lambs. Little Bo Peep may have wanted to find the sheep's lost tails, but on most wool sheep, the long tail they are born with is a liability. Fecal material gets trapped underneath, and flies lay eggs there, and maggots and horrors ensue.
As folks who like to be in sync with nature, we wondered about docking tails. Why would God create tails that needed docking, anyway? I read a possible answer in sheep! magazine: basically, the tails sheep have today have probably been bred into wool breeds over centuries. Sort of an unintended consequence of breeding for wool production.
Some "heritage" breeds, the sheep that can trace their lineage back quite some time, have almost hairless, skinny tails. And there are "hair" sheep, that don't produce wool, that don't need docking at all.
I'm not sure about docking. One book said to do it at about 24 hours, but when we tried that with our first sheep, I thought they seemed too fragile. But now, docking at ten days and older, I think that's too old. I think their nerve endings were more developed. We'll figure it out. I'm glad Phil did it. (I held the lambs while Phil did the docking with the emasculator.)
The children kept busy. In the middle of planting, we looked down the hill and saw Jadon, Isaiah, and Abigail carrying a 40-foot tree through the homestead, and down into the woods. (Note in the first photo, you can't even see Abigail yet!) What were they doing with it? I'm not sure. But they were having a good time.
On a really disgusting note, Phil discovered some ticks on Chloe yesterday. We do tick checks daily, and usually find one or two among the seven of us. They are small, maybe like a grain of millet, and, so far as we know, don't carry Lyme disease this far South. Thus, a nuisance more than a threat.
But poor Chloe had some ticks for a long time. Incredibly, they swelled from the size of a grain of millet to the size of an almond. One was even as large as a grape. As I said: disgusting.
Finally, as far as I know, Jonelle and Gracie both are doing pretty well. She is one tiny baby.
At that time, I wasn't sure I believed him. That prayer sounded nice in theory, but in practice? Really? Will everything get done that needs to get done?
As time passes, I think it just might all get done.
We milked today, for what may be the last time for a while. The 24 ounces of milk hardly justify the time spent. Phil had the good idea to test the brix (pronounced "bricks") level. The brix level measures sugars in a food; the higher the sugars, the more nutrients are in the food. (Why? It just is.) The better food tastes, the better it is for you. So those mealy apples you've sometimes bit into? Not worth eating for the nutrients: the nutrients aren't there.
Great milk, apparently, has a brix level of about 16. We haven't purchased pasteurized milk in several years, but all the raw milk I've tested has been in the 9s and 10s. I appreciate that the raw milk is a living food, but a brix of 9 or 10 isn't worth getting excited about.
Our milk, straight from the cow, was 12.1. Which makes it, I suppose, the best milk we've ever had—scientifically verified, with the refractometer, our tool that measures brix. Fun! (After setting, the cream rose, and the cream's brix was 16.2. Yes!)
For Easter, Abigail got a jar of caterpillars. All grew fat and made chrysalises. I made the box for the remainder of the project. What an amazing moment, when the butterflies emerge. I look forward to it.
We planted five cherry trees today, and marked the sites for the remaining 79 trees. I purchased 408 trees the first few weeks we were here, long before we had the area mapped. Six of my trees didn't make it out of the nursery, but I am amazed to see, as we marked the spots for the final trees, that every tree should fit in the upper pasture: all the pomes (apples and pears) on the north, all the stone fruits (cherries, peaches, plums, and apricots) on the south. With no space left over. But no trees left out.
Who planned this orchard, anyway? "Unless the LORD builds the house, they labor in vain that build it."
Phil finished the second beehive. That looming task: completed. On time.
Phil finished chipping another brush pile. Another big one in the south orchard; a small amount of downed trees in tne north orchard.
We docked the tails of the three babydoll lambs. Little Bo Peep may have wanted to find the sheep's lost tails, but on most wool sheep, the long tail they are born with is a liability. Fecal material gets trapped underneath, and flies lay eggs there, and maggots and horrors ensue.
As folks who like to be in sync with nature, we wondered about docking tails. Why would God create tails that needed docking, anyway? I read a possible answer in sheep! magazine: basically, the tails sheep have today have probably been bred into wool breeds over centuries. Sort of an unintended consequence of breeding for wool production.
Some "heritage" breeds, the sheep that can trace their lineage back quite some time, have almost hairless, skinny tails. And there are "hair" sheep, that don't produce wool, that don't need docking at all.
I'm not sure about docking. One book said to do it at about 24 hours, but when we tried that with our first sheep, I thought they seemed too fragile. But now, docking at ten days and older, I think that's too old. I think their nerve endings were more developed. We'll figure it out. I'm glad Phil did it. (I held the lambs while Phil did the docking with the emasculator.)
The children kept busy. In the middle of planting, we looked down the hill and saw Jadon, Isaiah, and Abigail carrying a 40-foot tree through the homestead, and down into the woods. (Note in the first photo, you can't even see Abigail yet!) What were they doing with it? I'm not sure. But they were having a good time.
On a really disgusting note, Phil discovered some ticks on Chloe yesterday. We do tick checks daily, and usually find one or two among the seven of us. They are small, maybe like a grain of millet, and, so far as we know, don't carry Lyme disease this far South. Thus, a nuisance more than a threat.
But poor Chloe had some ticks for a long time. Incredibly, they swelled from the size of a grain of millet to the size of an almond. One was even as large as a grape. As I said: disgusting.
Finally, as far as I know, Jonelle and Gracie both are doing pretty well. She is one tiny baby.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Finished Beehive
Grace lived through Saturday with no trauma; Jonelle sounded good on the phone.
Phil finished the first top bar beehive. I had sort of hoped to have just one beehive for both colonies, putting in a divider between the two.
Phil urged me to make sure that that would work, so I called Gunther Hauk (who wrote the lovely Towards Saving the Honeybee) and asked his wife if one hive would work.
"Oh, no! The queens would kill each other!" was her horrified reply.
Good thing Phil made me ask.
So he built a second hive (almost all the way) in just a few hours, and our bees will have a lovely home waiting for them in the orchard when they arrive.
I felt like I had been puttering all week, sort of waiting to plant trees with Phil. It's a lot of effort to do by oneself. But yesterday I could not handle waiting another day. And I managed to get 13 trees in the ground, with a little support help from Jadon and Isaiah. (I had dug most of the holes earlier in the week, and Tim and Cathy had marked where to dig when they were visiting. This was such a big help!)
Total yet to get in the ground: 84. We're getting there.
I bathed the children in the blue plastic bin, and that closed out our focused Saturday.
Today our milking continued disappointing. Just over three cups for over an hour of man-time. Phil and I tried to talk through how to better organize our systems. In some ways, though, it feels like we're just treading water until the orchard is in and we can focus elsewhere.
We stopped at the Bessettes, but they weren't home. We haven't seen them since the end of February, and it looks like things go well there: home-hatched chickens out eating on the pasture; piglets growing and turning over the ground; larger mammals grazing.
Back at our house, we had a mellow, refreshing afternoon.
Friday, April 16, 2010
We Welcome Grace
It's not a good sign when your sister calls you at 5:15am and asks for prayer because of "all night cramping." Especially when that could be code for "labor contractions all night." And the total gestation is 26 weeks.
My parents were on their way to the airport to visit us when Jonelle called them from the hospital: "Please don't go. The baby is measuring 22 weeks, but they're going to take it out to save my life. And maybe take my uterus, too. It's looking grim."
Devastating, devastating news.
By early afternoon, Grace (weight: 440 grams, or just under a pound) was out. And, for the time being, stable. Jonelle kept her uterus; her blood pressure returned to normal almost immediately. For all these things, we are so very thankful.
Amidst life-and-death drama, the mundane tasks we accomplished are small. The three cups of milk from Bianca yielded almost half cream, and we enjoyed a peanut butter shake (milk, raw eggs, vanilla, peanut butter, honey in the blender). The irrigation finally worked: all our trees are watered. I could imagine them saying, "Thank you; I was thirsty" as I walked down the rows. We almost finished the first beehive and got started on the second.
But mostly we prayed, and groaned, and wept.
And rejoiced.
My parents were on their way to the airport to visit us when Jonelle called them from the hospital: "Please don't go. The baby is measuring 22 weeks, but they're going to take it out to save my life. And maybe take my uterus, too. It's looking grim."
Devastating, devastating news.
By early afternoon, Grace (weight: 440 grams, or just under a pound) was out. And, for the time being, stable. Jonelle kept her uterus; her blood pressure returned to normal almost immediately. For all these things, we are so very thankful.
Amidst life-and-death drama, the mundane tasks we accomplished are small. The three cups of milk from Bianca yielded almost half cream, and we enjoyed a peanut butter shake (milk, raw eggs, vanilla, peanut butter, honey in the blender). The irrigation finally worked: all our trees are watered. I could imagine them saying, "Thank you; I was thirsty" as I walked down the rows. We almost finished the first beehive and got started on the second.
But mostly we prayed, and groaned, and wept.
And rejoiced.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Beehive Building and Irritating Irrigation
Next week our bees ship to us. They need a home. So Phil spent the day building a beehive. He'll probably finish tomorrow.
It took longer than expected because of the inevitable trip to the hardware store. Then, while running the table saw and the toaster oven at the same time, we popped a breaker which required some rewiring and checking. ("Nothing is ever easy," as my Mom would say.)
It frosted last night. Unbelievable. Then hit in the mid-80s. Good thing I had no tomatoes out (I have no tomatoes growing at all.)
We milked Bianca today. She gave less than three cups of milk. Is she drying up? How frustrating to have five large animals, all milk-producers, and to get less from them than a mediocre goat.
The UPS man also finally brought the remaining pieces of irrigation line. Sadly, it didn't work on the apple orchard. Oh, the grief! My poor, thirsty trees! Phil, though, having dealt with crazy-high pressure on the sprinkler line in Boulder (for those in the know: 140psi, instead of 40psi, which is more normal). So he figured that the issue was that 288 emitters on one line was too much. He broke the line into zones, and that seemed to work better. It got dark, though, before we figured it all out.
Tomorrow is another day. May the Lord sustain the trees!
It took longer than expected because of the inevitable trip to the hardware store. Then, while running the table saw and the toaster oven at the same time, we popped a breaker which required some rewiring and checking. ("Nothing is ever easy," as my Mom would say.)
It frosted last night. Unbelievable. Then hit in the mid-80s. Good thing I had no tomatoes out (I have no tomatoes growing at all.)
We milked Bianca today. She gave less than three cups of milk. Is she drying up? How frustrating to have five large animals, all milk-producers, and to get less from them than a mediocre goat.
The UPS man also finally brought the remaining pieces of irrigation line. Sadly, it didn't work on the apple orchard. Oh, the grief! My poor, thirsty trees! Phil, though, having dealt with crazy-high pressure on the sprinkler line in Boulder (for those in the know: 140psi, instead of 40psi, which is more normal). So he figured that the issue was that 288 emitters on one line was too much. He broke the line into zones, and that seemed to work better. It got dark, though, before we figured it all out.
Tomorrow is another day. May the Lord sustain the trees!
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
A Hint of Drought
I pulled poison ivy until I saw vines when I closed my eyes. Although the task is unfinished, I am done for now.
Phil spent most of the day chipping saplings. The enormous pile we built when we first camped here in October 2008 we finally finished today. What a relief.
After the disasterous milking attempt yesterday, we tried milking again today. Bethany gave four ounces of yellow-colored milk, so we assume she's dried up and not worth the time to milk her. Bianca, though, gave 44 ounces, despite not being milked yesterday. She's able to milk 44 ounces after a day on the road, a day being milked by hand, and a day without milking at all—after such a rough week, we're proud of her intrepid milking!
The weather continues dry. I understand now, in my gut, the deep horror of drought. The hopeful seedlings poke through the ground, and the earth around them bakes harder. Phil sees beauty in the landscape; I see sorrow in the dry cracks in the clay soil and the crunch of dry grass underfoot.
And we fight bugs (a tick between the toes; a cockroach on the floor), and injuries (Acorn limps from what appears to be a broken hoof; sons have random scratches on face and legs).
And my sister fights for her life and the life of her unborn child, as she battles high blood pressure through bedrest, diet and drugs. Fourteen weeks till full-term for her; plenty of time for prayer.
So the world turns.
Phil spent most of the day chipping saplings. The enormous pile we built when we first camped here in October 2008 we finally finished today. What a relief.
After the disasterous milking attempt yesterday, we tried milking again today. Bethany gave four ounces of yellow-colored milk, so we assume she's dried up and not worth the time to milk her. Bianca, though, gave 44 ounces, despite not being milked yesterday. She's able to milk 44 ounces after a day on the road, a day being milked by hand, and a day without milking at all—after such a rough week, we're proud of her intrepid milking!
The weather continues dry. I understand now, in my gut, the deep horror of drought. The hopeful seedlings poke through the ground, and the earth around them bakes harder. Phil sees beauty in the landscape; I see sorrow in the dry cracks in the clay soil and the crunch of dry grass underfoot.
And we fight bugs (a tick between the toes; a cockroach on the floor), and injuries (Acorn limps from what appears to be a broken hoof; sons have random scratches on face and legs).
And my sister fights for her life and the life of her unborn child, as she battles high blood pressure through bedrest, diet and drugs. Fourteen weeks till full-term for her; plenty of time for prayer.
So the world turns.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Just Call Me Batman
Batman battled Poison Ivy. So did I.
Last Friday I was walking through the orchard and noticed the telltale shiny leaves. After pulling vines last summer and fall, I had conveniently forgotten their presence. What a bummer to have them return!
But as I pulled vines today, I grew encouraged. Areas near the house that I remember pulling last year show no signs of return growth this year. So, at least in some spots, I have eradicated the painful plant.
My method today was to take the area between two rows of trees and pull all I could find. This way I could measurably track my progress. I didn't finish the task, but I would estimate I finished half of it. That's good!
Phil spent some time chipping one wood pile that lies on the path of a row of peaches. So we didn't actually get any more trees in the ground, but we're doing the necessary support stuff so that the trees will go in quickly one of these days.
Today had a few rough spots. We went to milk the cows this morning, but two decided to enter the milking headgate at once. And those two aren't good friends. While Bianca tried to gore Fern, their writhing bodies finally took out our perimeter cattle panel. And we couldn't get the headgate open (my inexpert knots tightened rock-hard under the strain of 1200 pounds of bovine), so Fern made good her escape.
The two hours that followed were same-old, same-old of Lykosh animal escapes: extremely aggravating, and slightly humorous. Fern got close to the gate, so I opened it. Chrystal escaped. I told Phil to get his gun and shoot that nasty goat. He didn't. (He told me later that he didn't save her life due to her value, but simply because that wasn't the best time to process her!) We got her back in, but Fern remained loose.
Another try. Chrystal escaped again. Captured again. We would have put the goat halter on her, but the As played with it yesterday and we couldn't figure out what they'd done to it. So we slipped it around Chrystal's neck and tied her up. Phil found her a few minutes later right before she asphyxiated. He thought she'd broken her neck. I vacillated between glee that she was no longer on my hands, and sorrow at an unpleasant way to go. Sadly/gladly she was on her feet and persnickety as ever within a few minutes.
At last I wondered if we could guide her into place just with a strand of electric wire, not turned on and gradually tightened around her until she'd be forced into the paddock. Thankfully that worked. We were all ready for breakfast.
The chickens had also made a break during the fence's opening. After breakfast, Phil promised the children a quarter for any chicken they caught and put back. They had done the same task last week without promise of gain, and all involved ended up frustrated. This time, the three older children worked with good will. Phil was amazed at their efficiency and dedication!
The worst moment came when the UPS man stopped at our house and didn't deliver our expected irrigation parts. Phil had spent the remainder of the morning laying out our irrigation, laying out line and putting in emitters. We had looked for the proper parts as early as last Friday. A call to the company sadly informed me that the box hadn't even shipped yet. It has shipped now.
This left me in tears. Our trees have the slightly wrinkled, dry leaves of thirsty trees. Our irrigation was supposed to be in place last Wednesday! If only I had called the company earlier; if only I had ordered irrigation over the winter. The forecast had a possibility of thunderstorms today; would it rain? Do I spend the next six hours watering the trees by hand? What is the most faithful option? Keep working on pulling poison ivy so all future walks through the orchard will be pain free? Try to dig more holes in the clay-solid, parched ground so I can get more trees planted? Or care for the trees we already have in the ground, put there with such effort and exhaustion?
I opted for pulling poison ivy, and asked the Lord to water the trees however he chose: rain, wicked water from the ground, dew, or simply sustain the trees until the irrigation parts arrive on Thursday. May he be faithful; I don't know how much more I can do and keep my sanity and sleep at night.
Last Friday I was walking through the orchard and noticed the telltale shiny leaves. After pulling vines last summer and fall, I had conveniently forgotten their presence. What a bummer to have them return!
But as I pulled vines today, I grew encouraged. Areas near the house that I remember pulling last year show no signs of return growth this year. So, at least in some spots, I have eradicated the painful plant.
My method today was to take the area between two rows of trees and pull all I could find. This way I could measurably track my progress. I didn't finish the task, but I would estimate I finished half of it. That's good!
Phil spent some time chipping one wood pile that lies on the path of a row of peaches. So we didn't actually get any more trees in the ground, but we're doing the necessary support stuff so that the trees will go in quickly one of these days.
Today had a few rough spots. We went to milk the cows this morning, but two decided to enter the milking headgate at once. And those two aren't good friends. While Bianca tried to gore Fern, their writhing bodies finally took out our perimeter cattle panel. And we couldn't get the headgate open (my inexpert knots tightened rock-hard under the strain of 1200 pounds of bovine), so Fern made good her escape.
The two hours that followed were same-old, same-old of Lykosh animal escapes: extremely aggravating, and slightly humorous. Fern got close to the gate, so I opened it. Chrystal escaped. I told Phil to get his gun and shoot that nasty goat. He didn't. (He told me later that he didn't save her life due to her value, but simply because that wasn't the best time to process her!) We got her back in, but Fern remained loose.
Another try. Chrystal escaped again. Captured again. We would have put the goat halter on her, but the As played with it yesterday and we couldn't figure out what they'd done to it. So we slipped it around Chrystal's neck and tied her up. Phil found her a few minutes later right before she asphyxiated. He thought she'd broken her neck. I vacillated between glee that she was no longer on my hands, and sorrow at an unpleasant way to go. Sadly/gladly she was on her feet and persnickety as ever within a few minutes.
At last I wondered if we could guide her into place just with a strand of electric wire, not turned on and gradually tightened around her until she'd be forced into the paddock. Thankfully that worked. We were all ready for breakfast.
The chickens had also made a break during the fence's opening. After breakfast, Phil promised the children a quarter for any chicken they caught and put back. They had done the same task last week without promise of gain, and all involved ended up frustrated. This time, the three older children worked with good will. Phil was amazed at their efficiency and dedication!
The worst moment came when the UPS man stopped at our house and didn't deliver our expected irrigation parts. Phil had spent the remainder of the morning laying out our irrigation, laying out line and putting in emitters. We had looked for the proper parts as early as last Friday. A call to the company sadly informed me that the box hadn't even shipped yet. It has shipped now.
This left me in tears. Our trees have the slightly wrinkled, dry leaves of thirsty trees. Our irrigation was supposed to be in place last Wednesday! If only I had called the company earlier; if only I had ordered irrigation over the winter. The forecast had a possibility of thunderstorms today; would it rain? Do I spend the next six hours watering the trees by hand? What is the most faithful option? Keep working on pulling poison ivy so all future walks through the orchard will be pain free? Try to dig more holes in the clay-solid, parched ground so I can get more trees planted? Or care for the trees we already have in the ground, put there with such effort and exhaustion?
I opted for pulling poison ivy, and asked the Lord to water the trees however he chose: rain, wicked water from the ground, dew, or simply sustain the trees until the irrigation parts arrive on Thursday. May he be faithful; I don't know how much more I can do and keep my sanity and sleep at night.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Three Cows Good, Five Cows Better
While the boys and I went to church yesterday, then headed to the laundrymat and the park (where we had an unconventional lunch: we ate a whole package of Newman-Os, the wheat-free, organic variety of Oreo-Os!). After we got home at 3pm, we all puttered until bed.
Phil, on the other hand, woke up in south Tennessee. He had kept heading south after his composting workshop, going to pick up two more cows outside of Chattanooga. Google promised about a six-hour trip Saturday evening; it took him eight. So he was up, driving, learning, and driving more from 4:30am to 2am the next day. What a guy.
After sleeping through him alarm clock, he made it to another biodynamic, grass-fed farm with Milking Devons for sale. He had more time to talk to the farmers, and had an enjoyable conversation. Doug Flack in Vermont has been farming 30 years; these men have been at it for about five. I think it's good to get perspective on what a person can accomplish in half a decade, and half a lifetime.
He left the Chattanooga area around 1pm, and reached home around 1am, completely exhausted. But we have two more cows!
What prompted this greed for bovines? Well, these two ladies are both lactating: real cow milk. And they are both bred, set to give birth in September or October. Unlike Fern, who probably won't be bred for a few more months, and then we'll have nine more months of milk-free living before she calves, we have the promise of milk coming soon.
The new cows are not top-of-the-line producers. But their offspring should be. They have been milked mechanically, and are used to people. They did not exit the cattle trailer like the bulls of Pamplona; they walked out and bellowed a greeting to their new paddock-mates.
This morning we woke and went to milk. Abigail has a favorite joke right now: "Do cows give milk? No—you have to take it from them!"
This went through my head repeatedly during the next two hours. First we had to cut the two cows away from the rest of their paddock-mates, and get them into the chute. Then we had to move them, one-by-one, into our rough head-gate. One was too cagey and tricky to trap; one broke through the head-gate and we had to begin again. The cows were used to coming to the promise of a little grain snack, but having heard in the last few weeks that even one feeding of grain destroys the cow's ability to make the good conjugated linoleic acids (CLAs) for a month or more, I'm not willing to feed any grain. So we had to tough out the animal management with our wits and our patience.
Incredibly, these girls, despite the stress of a 12-hour move to a strange place, came into the head gate and let me milk them. We weren't even sure we'd get any milk; the stress of the trip could have dried them up completely. Not only that, but I'd read recently that the placement of cows' eyes gives them lines of sight almost all the way around. And they have excellent foot control. So cows do not "accidentally" step into a milk pail. It's purposeful.
I hoped that our cows would be kind. And even though I remembered incorrectly which side of the cow I was supposed to milk on (for the record, milk on the RIGHT side of the cow), the cows patiently let me milk them out. Squeeze the top of the teat between thumb and first finger to keep the milk in the teat; then use the other fingers to squeeze the milk out. A few times I didn't grip the teat top tightly enough, and I could feel the milk flowing back up into the udder. Surely not a pleasant sensation for the cow.
And milking a cow is not like milking a goat. For one thing, a cow teat is actually large enough to fit in the hand, maybe like half a hot dog. Our goat teat fits only two of my fingers, with a much smaller circumference, too. For another, there's a much larger gap between the teat the bucket. And the cow's tail is actually a manure-laden whip, as I had read but only half-believed. Thankfully, these cows were kind, and I had only the threat and not the experience.
We didn't get much milk for our two hours of effort. Fifteen ounces of either straight cream or strange yellow milk from one (I tried to make butter in the blender, but it didn't work; either it wasn't actually cream, or the blender over-heated the cream; Chloe enjoyed it); 43 ounces of good white milk from the other.
I made chocolate chip cookies to celebrate (cookies with goat milk just isn't quite right; we need cow milk for the true culinary treat).
We named one cow Bianca, after the opera singer in the Tintin books. She lows loud and long (see photo below)!
The other is Bethany. Isaiah has been waiting for a Bethany. "After all, Mom, that name's in the Bible."
The chickens are really coming into their own. We had enough excess eggs to give away three dozen at church yesterday; our first real excess of production! Great!
Abigail was thrilled when she looked in the hen house. Today we found 32 eggs! I guess the pullets continue to come into production. It's hard to believe that the small and the great are from chickens the same age.
And I don't think the egg-shaped ones are from the guineas, either. I think they are the tear-drop shaped ones. So even the guineas are (a little) productive.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
What I've Been Hoping For
Phil left at 5am to attend a conference on compost making. I had been planning to go up until yesterday, when I realized that compost is really more Phil's passion than mine (though it may sound strange, he LOVES compost!). So off he went. Overall, he found it interesting, though one member of the audience interjected himself too much and made Phil "want to bang my head against the wall."
When I went to do chores, I was thrilled to see Zara in labor. We've been watching her all week, wondering each day (and every evening) if her tail was actually out, if her backside was swollen. And we couldn't quite tell.
Well, in this case, there was no doubt. She was ready to give birth. Our last lambing experience this year. I tried not to watch; I had a feeling it wouldn't be long.
After we ate, Abigail said, "Can I watch? I've never seen anything give birth." So I perched her outside the pen, with the warning that it could be some time before anything happened.
Two minutes later she said, "I think she just gave birth. I saw something come out of her."
Sure enough, there was a little black lamb (photo taken some time after birth).
I was determined to do everything in my power to save this lamb. So I gave it a vitamin boost in the mouth, then toweled it off. Zara was purposefully licking off the lamb, but the chickens were pestering her, and so I moved her and the ewe lamb into the jug. The ewe lamb tried several times to get up, and after a few attempts, I tried to prop the girl up to the teat, but Zara would have none of it, preferring to lick her shivering baby off some more.
Frustrated, I went to get the one precious jar with a quarter cup of colostrum and goat milk. This week I've seen how quickly the energy reserves vanish, and I wanted that ewe.
I returned half a minute later to find Zara pushing out a second lamb. (Considering none of the three ewes ever had twins before, I suppose we're doing something right to have twins from all three!) This little ram lamb came out, and I took over his immediate care, while Zara helped the ewe. (This photo, too, taken sometime after birth. Note that he has a white patch on his forehead, making the two easy to tell apart.)
That little ram lamb was something else. As soon as I got his mouth and nose cleared out, he tried to stand up. I mean, within a minute or two. I haven't seen that level of vigor before, and I was pleased. He also weighed 6lb, 9oz, and he felt hefty. His older sister was only 5lb, 10oz. I gave her all the colostrum, figuring she was both smaller and (sad to say) more valuable to me, as an ewe.
So followed a happy couple of hours, where I played midwife to healthy babies. I helped them both find the teat; I helped them both dry off; I fed the Mom when she seemed ready. I petted and cuddled Blessing (the ewe) and Bouncy (the ram). Perhaps because I was the first to really touch him after birth, Bouncy loved me from the beginning. Perhaps because I am a lactating mother myself, he tried to bond with me. I'm guessing that will have bad RAMifications someday, since a six pound baby is different than a 150 pound ram-of-steel, but for the moment, I enjoyed it.
And it gave me perspective on the five lambs we've lost. (To review: 1) The deformed boy born during a blizzard. 2) The stillborn lamb born during lengthy labor, that I had to pull. 3) The ewe that was born without the strength to raise her head. Maybe now, with another week's experience, I could have saved that one (or maybe in a few years I will have the knowledge). I learned from that death. 4) The stillborn lamb that never broke out of its sac. 5) The ewe that lived 24 hours, the miracle baby, whose mother should have been culled years ago.) Some of them were, perhaps, my fault. But it's a steep learning curve, trying to keep babies alive. It helped, too, to clarify what I expect my management practices to be for these sheep. They haven't been bred to drop a couple lambs in the field and care for them entirely by themselves. For me to expect that is a bit unkind. But to spend a couple of hours a couple times a year, so I can have a healthy flock grazing my orchard floor: that's not a bad or wrong decision.
Having (on the sixth try) a fully healthy birth gave me such a relief. And such a joy, to have such a birth from my favorite ewe.
The joy of that good birth stayed with me all day. Since today was, biodynamically-speaking, a flower day, I planted flower seeds in spots for decoration. I had large quantities of herb seeds (like 600 Valerian seeds). I think I read somewhere that, in order to get good coverage with large quanitites, you should mix them with sand. I have no sand, so I used well-tailings, and flung the combination around me. We'll see how that method works. I didn't even plow or rake or anything in advance. Had I waited until I got to that, I might never have sown seeds. Broccoli, surprisingly, also should go in the ground on flower days (I suppose the florets are rather floral), so I planted some broccoli, too. I've never grown broccoli before, and hope it comes up.
Phil asked if I was less grumpy today. Apparently, I've been more than a little grumpy for the last week or so (culminating yesterday, when I was so grumpy I could hardly remember another time I felt so down). I think the death of the lambs was really bothering me. To have living lambs is a great joy.
Week-old Benny looks huge to me by comparison!
When I went to do chores, I was thrilled to see Zara in labor. We've been watching her all week, wondering each day (and every evening) if her tail was actually out, if her backside was swollen. And we couldn't quite tell.
Well, in this case, there was no doubt. She was ready to give birth. Our last lambing experience this year. I tried not to watch; I had a feeling it wouldn't be long.
After we ate, Abigail said, "Can I watch? I've never seen anything give birth." So I perched her outside the pen, with the warning that it could be some time before anything happened.
Two minutes later she said, "I think she just gave birth. I saw something come out of her."
Sure enough, there was a little black lamb (photo taken some time after birth).
I was determined to do everything in my power to save this lamb. So I gave it a vitamin boost in the mouth, then toweled it off. Zara was purposefully licking off the lamb, but the chickens were pestering her, and so I moved her and the ewe lamb into the jug. The ewe lamb tried several times to get up, and after a few attempts, I tried to prop the girl up to the teat, but Zara would have none of it, preferring to lick her shivering baby off some more.
Frustrated, I went to get the one precious jar with a quarter cup of colostrum and goat milk. This week I've seen how quickly the energy reserves vanish, and I wanted that ewe.
I returned half a minute later to find Zara pushing out a second lamb. (Considering none of the three ewes ever had twins before, I suppose we're doing something right to have twins from all three!) This little ram lamb came out, and I took over his immediate care, while Zara helped the ewe. (This photo, too, taken sometime after birth. Note that he has a white patch on his forehead, making the two easy to tell apart.)
That little ram lamb was something else. As soon as I got his mouth and nose cleared out, he tried to stand up. I mean, within a minute or two. I haven't seen that level of vigor before, and I was pleased. He also weighed 6lb, 9oz, and he felt hefty. His older sister was only 5lb, 10oz. I gave her all the colostrum, figuring she was both smaller and (sad to say) more valuable to me, as an ewe.
So followed a happy couple of hours, where I played midwife to healthy babies. I helped them both find the teat; I helped them both dry off; I fed the Mom when she seemed ready. I petted and cuddled Blessing (the ewe) and Bouncy (the ram). Perhaps because I was the first to really touch him after birth, Bouncy loved me from the beginning. Perhaps because I am a lactating mother myself, he tried to bond with me. I'm guessing that will have bad RAMifications someday, since a six pound baby is different than a 150 pound ram-of-steel, but for the moment, I enjoyed it.
And it gave me perspective on the five lambs we've lost. (To review: 1) The deformed boy born during a blizzard. 2) The stillborn lamb born during lengthy labor, that I had to pull. 3) The ewe that was born without the strength to raise her head. Maybe now, with another week's experience, I could have saved that one (or maybe in a few years I will have the knowledge). I learned from that death. 4) The stillborn lamb that never broke out of its sac. 5) The ewe that lived 24 hours, the miracle baby, whose mother should have been culled years ago.) Some of them were, perhaps, my fault. But it's a steep learning curve, trying to keep babies alive. It helped, too, to clarify what I expect my management practices to be for these sheep. They haven't been bred to drop a couple lambs in the field and care for them entirely by themselves. For me to expect that is a bit unkind. But to spend a couple of hours a couple times a year, so I can have a healthy flock grazing my orchard floor: that's not a bad or wrong decision.
Having (on the sixth try) a fully healthy birth gave me such a relief. And such a joy, to have such a birth from my favorite ewe.
The joy of that good birth stayed with me all day. Since today was, biodynamically-speaking, a flower day, I planted flower seeds in spots for decoration. I had large quantities of herb seeds (like 600 Valerian seeds). I think I read somewhere that, in order to get good coverage with large quanitites, you should mix them with sand. I have no sand, so I used well-tailings, and flung the combination around me. We'll see how that method works. I didn't even plow or rake or anything in advance. Had I waited until I got to that, I might never have sown seeds. Broccoli, surprisingly, also should go in the ground on flower days (I suppose the florets are rather floral), so I planted some broccoli, too. I've never grown broccoli before, and hope it comes up.
Phil asked if I was less grumpy today. Apparently, I've been more than a little grumpy for the last week or so (culminating yesterday, when I was so grumpy I could hardly remember another time I felt so down). I think the death of the lambs was really bothering me. To have living lambs is a great joy.
Week-old Benny looks huge to me by comparison!
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