Holons and Horrors

This morning I woke up at 5am, milked a reluctant (but obedient) Bianca an hour or so earlier than usual, and drove three hours to a workshop.

Only to arrive to find that it had been rescheduled for next week.

There was a time when I would have indulged in loud sobs in the car, and nursed my grievance and irritation for a long time. Perhaps living on the farm has changed me (or maybe it's merely maturity), but I realized I had had some good time of prayer in the car on the way down, had another three or so hours for prayer on the way back, and, in the scheme of life, the $45 needlessly spent on gas was not that important.

Still, there are things I'd rather do than spend 6 1/2 hours in the car with no purpose. I was glad to be home.

Phil was out of town most of this week, attending a conference in Mississippi on building a business. We think the conference itself was a little mismarketed—the topics discussed were not quite what we expected, and, as such, Phil said he knew most everything presented—but the people Phil met, he enjoyed thoroughly. The peanut farmer, the cheesemaker, the small orchardist, and more.

He came away excited about "holons." A holon is an enterprise that ties into your centerpiece enterprise. So if the orchard is our centerpiece enterprise, maybe we have an excess of downed apples. Pigs to eat the apples would be a good holon.

Then maybe the pigs produced a lot of manure. We could add worms to the manure to make it fertilizer (another holon), and then maybe start seedlings with the vermicompost (worm manure).

Holons seem an elegant way to manage a farm, compared to, say, cows for milk; sheep for wool; apples because I like fruit. Those are all separate enterprises.

I have had an interesting couple of days, managing all while Phil was away. Yesterday morning, for example, I got up and milked, did the chores. I tried to refill the motor home's water tank, and came out to find the area between trailers flooded, and no water in the holding tank. Could our pump have sprung a leak? And Phil out of town!

The idea of a winter without running water close to the kitchen had me almost in tears. Chloe is probably entering her last few weeks of life—every day I wake up and check to see if she has died in the night. Since she slept with me, that was a bit awkward. And I came in to find some of her fecal material on my blanket. Stripped the bed.

Jadon, apparently, hadn't eaten enough the day before, so he was groaning in agony. Soon after I stripped the bed, he threw up all over my mattress.

Isaiah was hungry, but Bethany the cow was hungry, too. We hadn't calculated properly when Phil left, and she ate through her hay. I had an extra bale, but I can't move a 1000 pound bale by myself, so I fed it, handful by handful, all day to Bethany and calves. It was fairly moldly, so she wasn't enthusiastic. Not quite a hunger strike, but large, reproachful eyes and an occasional moo let me know her feelings.

I was immensely cheered, however, when a closer inspection revealed that our pump was not broken, but, rather, a hose had been left half turned on and had sprayed for half an hour or so to create the impressive puddle in my living space. Easily mended!

That was the turning point. A few homemade caramels, with cream from our cow, and Jadon was feeling a good bit better. Isaiah finally got his breakfast, Bethany suffered through her day with sparse feed and Tyson brought her good hay today. Chloe slept in the car, and remains alive.

Even though disaster was averted, I am so relieved to have Phil back home!