We Work with a Will

I got up to make breakfast, and the bucket of eggs that I've been collecting since I returned from my Colorado vacation, the bucket that I haven't wanted to touch because some eggs we found in odd places and don't know how old they are, yes, the bucket of eggs I don't want to sell or give away, that same bucket said, "Empty me!"

So I cracked about 20 dozen eggs, one at a time, onto a plate. If it passed muster, I put it into a Ziploc, and every dozen, I'd put into the freezer. So I have twenty dozen frozen eggs, ready for scrambling.

And I found about six totally rotten ones, and maybe another dozen that were on their way out. Isaiah was with me when I cracked an egg that EXPLODED with toxic fumes. (Not really toxic, but definitely gag-worthy!)

I had naively expected, when starting egg production, that by not washing the protective membrane off the eggs, they would remain in unadulterated, unrefrigerated, happy complete food perfection ... indefinitely.

Well, not really, or at least, not entirely. I would do my best to make sure only the most fresh eggs went off the farm; I made my family eat the older ones. But it does make me wonder—did an older egg slip by my eagle eye? Have gifted rotten eggs exploded across Albemarle County, to the detriment of the "Farm Fresh" movement (and, more to my heart, the Lykosh farm specifically)?

Time will tell.

For now, we have fresh, lovely eggs in our little refrigerator, and unless we know the eggs are only about a day old at collecting, we'll use them ourselves, with great care.

And, should we ever come across the stash of 100 eggs that we know the chickens have laid somewhere in the woods, we shall use them ourselves.

After the great egg-cracking extravaganza, I had to clean my campstove. The rotten egg residue had to go before I would do any food preparation. And besides, it has been 11 months without a good cleaning, and it was time.

Phil assembled our new fly catcher. Although the cows are rotating through the pasture, and I had hoped the chickens would take care of all the flies, that has not happened. So we bought an ugly, industrial-looking structure that, basically, entices flies to hit, then fall into soapy water where they die. I can't say it seems quite as effective as advertised ("kills a pound of flies a day!"), but maybe it'll work better as time passes.

Wonderful neighbor Butch came and scraped our winter paddock into a compost windrow. He first came with his skidsteer, but realized within a few minutes that it did not have enough horsepower. Indeed, he almost had to be towed out! We had almost a foot of compacted manure in spots, and the skidsteer couldn't push that weight uphill.

But, as a man with many tools, he soon returned with a bulldozer.

In the space of an hour, had built a four-foot tall pile, about 48 feet long.

Wow! Phil and I are thrilled! So much lovely manure to turn to compost! I purchased compost last year, and I know how expensive it is. And this will be even better, because besides the bovine microbes, we added biodynamic preps to help it compost well, and some kelp for a full range of elements, and some of our minerals, to bump up the level of awesomeness even more.

Phil figures that the pile will be ready for use this fall. Our garden can grow! Our fertility will improve! The process is starting.

Moving on from the compost pile building, I planted the 16 tomato plants given to me over the weekend. Now I don’t have to wait for my two-inch tall tomato plants to mature. Wonderful!

I harvested potato onions. From 8oz of starters, I had almost six pounds of onions, or a 6 to 1 return. I can’t even fathom what a 100-fold expansion would look like.

I harvest a little more garlic, too. I think I should have watered more, since most heads so far are grocery-store size or smaller. It is good to have a crop, though, even if it’s not perfect.

After harvesting fun, Phil helped me assemble the long-anticipated cold frames. We bought the windows back in March; we picked up old hay bales these last few weeks; the cardboard box as a weed barrier came in early May.

Phil hauled the 50-pound hay bales uphill for me. I’m glad he was there. Then, while he sheared another sheep, I filled the haybales like a lasagna gardening bed: layers of old, moldly hay, peat moss, some bone meal, the old purchased compost from last year; repeat.

After a thorough wetting, I scattered on top three varieties of cabbage, then pressed the seeds to the soil with my bare feet. I pray these seeds grow into many luscious cabbage heads, so that I can make sauerkraut enough to satisfy Phil’s craving every day this winter.

Such a productive day!