Ravenous Bees

Phil grazed the sheep around the beehives. They did a good job clearing the underbrush. (Look in the background down the row: the brown section immediately behind them was grazed about a week ago and hasn’t started growing back. Right beyond that, though, is the section grazed three weeks ago, and it is growing back quite well.)

I wonder if the electric netting affected the bees adversely. They seemed to be constantly starving. As in, the two hives ate over ten pounds of sugar (mixed with 20 cups of water) from 11am to 8pm today. Maybe they couldn’t leave the netting, and needed to rely on me alone for their food?

At first I expected it was just because we got about 3.5” of rain last week. Maybe all that rain washed away the pollen, and the bees were hungry. And I’ve heard that, in areas with bears (like our area), it’s a good idea to have electric netting up to keep the bears away.

I would turn the fence off, too, to access the bees, to feed them more sugar water. And they didn’t change their frenetic feeding at all.

But, as much as this thought tickled the back of my mind, it appeared to be confirmed this evening. I went to make up the next five pounds of sugar water solution, and in the five minutes I was away, Phil moved the energizer. When I let, hundreds of buzzing bees circled the feeders. When I came back, the more normal dozen or so remained, drinking their fill.

Coincidence? Perhaps. It was dusk; maybe the bees were simply all getting their evening snack before settling in for the night.

Somehow I doubt it, though. We’ll have to watch that energizer placement more carefully in the future.

Phil continues to move the cows to a new paddock every day. They don’t entirely strip the ground, but they do a good job clearing most of the organic matter, disturbing the earth with their hooves, adding their fertilizer. (Yes: in the photo below, the brown looked like the green only the day before. They really do a good job cleaning up.)

He moves the sheep, too, once or twice a day. He spends a lot of his time setting up and taking down fence.

I made my first loaf of sourdough bread in over a year today. Sourdough requires about a week of initial fermentation, where rye flour and water sit, loosely covered, so yeast spores from the air land and start to ferment. My version was dense, though flavorful. And how wonderful, to make bread with an ingredient list of spelt, rye, water, and salt.

Allergic to the Shovel

Saturday: It was a biodynamic fruit day, and I woke up with the intent to plant my large box of seeds with fruit/seed plants (tomatoes, peppers, corn, melons, pumpkins, squash). I did get a little bed of sweet corn planted, with Isaiah’s help, in the lasagna garden.

Phil had graciously scythed down a section of pasture where neither sheep nor cows will graze. But as I looked at it, I thought about all the digging required to get the seeds in the ground.

And then I thought about all the water-hauling, all the maintenance and weeding, all the hours spent on small crops that won’t be spent with the boys or Phil or the trees.

Though I didn’t (quite) start to cry, it was suddenly too much.

Add to that the "lovely" lecture I had begun while doing the dishes, in which the speaker said, “I’ve never come across a woman who didn’t have some stage of adrenal failure.” Which leads to many health and psychiatric issues.

Ah, the stress that comes from a little warning to avoid stress so as to keep your health. Gak.

I didn't plant anything else. I've grown allergic to the shovel.

I remember when my parents started Sonlight (twenty years ago tomorrow!). As a child, I remember only two disagreements between them, but after they started Sonlight, as they had to figure out so many new tasks, from marketing to customer relations, they had, in my memory, almost daily disagreements. Different ways of looking at the different facets of business; different strengths to bring to the table.

I suppose that’s encouraging for me. For a month or two now, Phil and I have felt like we’re cogs that aren’t quite meshing correctly. Since we’ve lived in, basically, perfect agreement for the first nine and a half years of marriage, we feel bewildered and sad by all the miscommunications.

On Saturday afternoon, I fumed, “I have no little pleasures in my life! I eat no chocolate! I read no books for fun! I do nothing just for me!”

So I made brownies for Sunday breakfast and felt a lot better. And then had the almost hysterically convicting passage during Sunday’s sermon: “Thou wilt shew me the path of life: in thy presence is fulness of joy; at thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore.” (Psalm 16:11)

What was I saying about “no pleasures”? When I am saved by the blood of the Lamb?

Touché.

How to Recognize Heat (Breeding, Not Temperature)

When I went outside this morning, I watched in amazement as one of the cows mounted one of the calves over and over again. Obviously that baby was in standing heat (which means the cow will stand still for a bull to mount her).

Two-year-old Fern, though, is the one we need to watch. Phil said that, when I was out of town, one of the cows mounted Fern over and over again. And she was giving a little sign of heat. Usually she’s the cows least favorite, but today they sniffed her backend, and one put her head over Fern’s rump. These are both interesting, and good to note, but not definitive, it seems to me.

I spoke with the friendly local vet, and she said that they can store straws for me. That is a great relief. She also said that we’re heading in to a bad time of year to try AI, since the hot weather makes the animals listless. And her husband, the AI technician, will be out of the country in three weeks. Oh, well—it can’t be helped. Until earlier this week, we were planning to get a bull. Phil even went and looked at bulls while I was out of town.

Then we decided to try AI. I take encouragement from our sermon a few weeks back: Be careful for nothing (as in, full of care, or anxious). Do what you can, and give it to God. That’s how I feel about this: I’ll order what I can, to arrive when it needs to, and line up storage and technicians (maybe the man who sold us our first sheep could do AI when the vet’s husband is out of town), but in the end, it’s up to God.

I guess it always is.

To reassure me that Fern is, truly in heat, she went into standing heat this afternoon! Three weeks from today, then, we’ll try to be ready. And if not in three, then in six. The Lord knows.

Phil went to look at John Deere Gators, the one larger vehicle we think we will need. It’s a bit like an ATV, but has a bed on the back like a mini-truck. He came away unsure of what we should get. It’s tricky because if you over-buy in power or design, you’re out some money, but if you under-buy, you’re out the total purchase price. (But no pressure.)

We picked up some old hay bales for cold frames, though it’s getting a bit late in the season for that. Maybe I can still use them, though.

After the two inches of rain last night, we were amazed to see another thunderstorm roll in. This one brought an incredible inch of rain in less than an hour. Phil said the water ran across our land in sheets. (One of the things we will hope to change over time: better water absorption!)

It knocked out our power, too, for a few hours.

And we think it may have panicked the sheep. Phil noticed that they kept bleating, so he went to check on them. He had left the fence off at one point today, and all three babies had gotten out, and one of the larger lambs had also entangled himself in the fencing. I’m thankful he went to check.

Our life is exciting, all the time!

We Become Graziers

Our book on calving recommended watching the cows for a half hour at dawn, to have the best chance to observe heat.

At 5:45 this morning, I woke to a cockroach crawling on my arm and was so completely disgusted, I decided I would watch the cows.

The cows weren’t even up yet. And when they did start to rouse themselves, Fern showed no signs of heat. (We know she did show signs while I was out of town, so about 21 days after the first ten days of May, she should come into heat. Meaning, any day, if we didn’t already miss it.)

A hummingbird whizzed by, so I didn’t entirely rue the early rising. And it was certainly cooler that early in the morning.

The heat soared to about 90, and with the humidity, it felt like 95, with a bright sun overhead. I have heard that “horses sweat, men perspire, and women glow,” but I’m pretty sure I was sweating today. Phil filled our stock tank/outdoor bathtub and plopped right in. A little later, I did the same thing.

Phil finished penning the meadow, and at 3pm, he opened the gate to let the cows in to their first taste of growing grass on our farm. (You can see the bare paddock, the swatch he scythed to put up the fence, and the tall forbs in the photo.)

Although the goats came right over, the cows refused. Finally Isaiah had to bribe one of the babies, and slowly, hesitantly, three others followed.

Bethany, though, resisted the appeal of fresh forage for FOUR HOURS. For four hours she paced on the wrong side of the fence, sour grapes style.

Phil finally pushed her into the new paddock, and she grazed with good will.

What a delicious sight, to see all those shiny red coats among the tall green forbs. (In the photo below, you can see the classic outline of a cow from behind, with one side a pear shape and the other side an apple.)

Tyson brought hay, and we rolled it out along the ground in their new paddock. Now they will have both the growing forage, and the extra hay, for them to eat, and trample the seeds into the ground, to fertilize with their manure, and enjoy.

Since the last big bales they’ve devoured in two days each (with probably a third of it sinking into the mire that has been their paddock), I’m interested to see how long the bales take them now.

I hope a lot longer.

I called the vet, and the AI tech will call me back tomorrow.

I pulled up the chicken netting around the cow paddock, which will now allow the chickens more free access to roam. Since many can and do escape each day, Phil and I were surprised to see that on the paddock side of the net, the chickens had scratched the ground bare. On the other side, lush growth covered the ground.

That netting was more effective than we realized!

I put the netting around my garden. Now the chickens will not scratch up all my seeds. (I lost all my turnips and radishes to chicken scratching.) I still need to surround the chickens with netting, though, I think; they will need protection from raccoons and weasels. I think.

I planted some herb seeds. I have a lot more planting to do in the next few days; June 1 is a big cutoff date here in the mid-Atlantic for things like corn, squash, melons, and direct-seeded tomatoes.

The spectacular sunset made Jadon comment, “Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight.” Phil had just spent a good bit of time covering equipment and bringing tools inside, because a thunderstorm was in the forecast. He was feeling a bit bemused, when a thunderstorm hit. And what a thunderstorm! Lightning directly overhead, pouring rain, incredible force. I’m glad I mulched my little herb seeds, but how can they withstand the onslaught of driving rain?

We shall see.

There is much to do, and it is mostly fun. Though I must say, there were moments today when I dreamed about taking a long drive in the air conditioned car. Phew!

Checkpoint Charlie

Phil needed to get more wire for his fencing project, so he ran to the hardware store. Unbelievably, there was a CHECKPOINT on the road right by our house. Really. Like we live in the West Bank or something. Is this a common rural practice? I can't imagine driving down any road in Boulder and having a checkpoint set up. Really.

He was cited for an unsafe vehicle (we have a broken windshield; we almost always have a broken windshield); for not updating his license in a timely manner, and for not updating his plates.

Incredibly frustrating. He has actually gone to the DMV multiple times since moving here. But because we don’t live in a permitted structure, we don’t have an address. Because we don’t have an address, we can’t register our vehicles. When he went to Vermont to get the cows, the clerk couldn’t figure out how to register the truck, so she put down our old Boulder address—in effect, she perjured herself.

As a rule follower in general, it ruined my afternoon. First, to be stopped at a checkpoint like we all are criminals living in a nanny state. Second, to have tried to do the right thing several times and be cited for lack of compliance, when we have no ability to comply.

So maybe I need to say, “We do our best to live rightly, and that doesn’t always mean legally.”

Enough on that depressing topic.

Phil almost finished surrounding the meadow with fence. (By the way, a “meadow’ is a field for grazing, not intended for haying. Hay is simply grass that is cut, dried, and baled in order to use as feed at a later date.) It was a long, hot day, but he is ready for the cows to be more comfortable.

With the strawberry rains of last week, their paddock quickly became inches deep muck. It had been a fairly solid surface until the strawberry rains, but we were both surprised at how unpleasant the terrain became, almost overnight. We aren’t thrilled with the number of flies breeding there. On the other hand, composted organic matter absorbs water quite well, so the fact that the paddock retains water is, perhaps, a good thing in the end. Just not for the cows right now.

I spent a good hour on the phone with the talkative expert on the genetics of the American Milking Devon. He, too, said that the Milking Devons are extremely challenging to artificially inseminate, but, if we wanted good milky lines (and, oh, we do!), there are a few good straws available. And, if we wanted to improve our chances, we could try to use AI twice in the same heat, about six hours apart.

Sadly, Milking Devons don’t have obvious heats, and their heats are shorter than average, running less than 12 hours usually. Most Milking Devon owners also own a bull.

Our plan at the moment is this: we’ll pray we see when Fern, our only cow to breed, is in heat in mid-June, and have the technician come twice that day. We’ll have two more straws ready, though, for three weeks later (early July), when we’ll try twice more.

If that one, also, doesn’t take (and we ask the Lord that it PLEASE will), we will hopefully know by the end of July. At that point, we’ll reassess.

So I know where to order straws, and I know what straws I want. Next step: how to store straws. And, not surprisingly, you can’t just keep them in the freezer (more’s the pity).

No, you need to keep them in a liquid nitrogen tank. And since we don’t have one of those lying around, we’ll need to find a place to store them. I called the vet, but they close early on Wednesday. Wait until tomorrow.

To round out this day of many new experiences, I finished spraying the apple trees with kelp; I mulched my strawberries; and I weeded several of my garden beds (my dear, neglected garden). I pulled up this monstrous example of a single bolted spinach. The chickens were happy to have it.

We also have both oats and spelt growing. Oats have the weeping willow look, while the spelt looks more like wheat. Both very pretty.

When we look out our trailer window, we can see a lot of spelt growing. It’s taken over, out grown the weeds! And outgrown the trees, too, just about, so it’s good that the spelt will be ripening here soon. I’m amazed at what a great stand we have!

Fruit Planting: All Done; Fruit Maintenance: Begun

After I finished planting all the strawberries this afternoon, I looked at a few apple trees, really for the first time since they went in the ground.

Some leaves have spots, perhaps with rust or some other bad-for-apple-trees thing. Bugs chomped some leaves.

Hmm. Now that fruit planting is ended, fruit maintenance begins.

I soaked some kelp granules, and sprayed half the trees with the water. I hope that foliar feeding will help; we'll see. Until I have a spare moment to research more in depth, the trees will have to survive with prayer and seaweed.

Really, most trees look great. Some have grown over my head already. I have one cherry that I think drowned; one pear that never leafed out; one apple that looks very bad, almost like bugs and deer both attacked it; and one apple that the sheep chewed (we'll see if it lives). And the other 400+ trees are doing well. Thanks be to God.

Phil did yeoman's work today, putting up fence around the lower pasture. He looks to be more than halfway done, so by later this week, we hope the cows will get to start rotational grazing.

I thought today about our needed bull, and considered anew that we should probably just artificially inseminate. I mean, we could spend a couple thousand to get a bull here for our one cow, and he could impregnate her. Our vague idea was that we woud then put him on the other side of the creek (maybe with the two babydoll rams for company?) until we need him again at the end of the year.

But then the logistics expert in me wondered how will we get him to the other side of the creek? We have no ford (yet). And I doubt we could put a 1200 pound ball of testosterone on a leash and lead him merrily away from his harem. That doesn't sound practical at all. Maybe tie him to the back of the truck and let the truck do the heavy pulling? (That's a trick our hay guy mentioned. Let the livestock fight the vehicle, not the man.) But then we're at the unfordable creek, into a nonexistent paddock, with, um, what to eat?

Yes, please, let's try to artificially inseminate! We are motivated to watch for signs of heat! And I am on the hunt for the best bull genetics I can find. Stay tuned.

The one female guinea had gone broody on us, and sat on eggs for the last week. Today she wandered off, and Isaiah collected 38 eggs from the hen house. (Fifteen or 20 would be a normal gathering, so you can imagine what a hoard she had collected!) I have separated those eggs from our for sale eggs—nothing like cracking an egg to find a dead chick inside. That would sour me from local farm food pretty quickly! (I have no idea if that would actually happen, but what a horrific thought!)

I renewed my dedication to cook like Nourishing Traditions. I am soaking grains, soaking beans, using the garden vegetables we have, planning what garden vegetables to put in now that fruit planting is done.

And that makes me feel like I'm at home. Not so harried that dinner is a package of rice noodles with a can of tuna and some garlic for "tuna noodle casserole," thrown together at the end of an eight hour planting session, but a thoughtfully prepared lentil salad with leftover ham after a couple of pleasant hours of planting and spraying. Hopefully no more quick-rise yeast breads, but in a week or so, delicious sourdough.

The latter I can do long-term. The former—that was an exhausting season.

What else makes me feel at home? Having a sink with running hot water (in the motor home).

And having Phil home. That's very good.

Strawberry Rain

My sheep magazine's almanac called the rain we've had lately "Strawberry Rain," as it falls when the strawberries ripen. Delightful name, I tell you. The little wild strawberries we have all over are delightful, too.

Strawberry planting continues, but I hope to finish tomorrow. The garlic sent up scapes, the flower stalks in the center of the leaves. I pulled the scapes because we want the garlic to grow larger root bulbs, not put out flowers and seeds. Most of the time the scapes broke off in my hand, but sometimes I could pull them from deep inside, and they'd emerge with a pop. Very satisfying, and impressively long!

"A lot of farming is just planting something, watching it die, figuring out why, and planting it again." Local farmer Whitney Critzer said this, and he's an older man who's been farming all his life. It helps me to know that even "real" farmers struggle with growing things. Almost all of our trees appear to be doing well, though, leafing out and growing. So hopeful!

Phil's trip out of town was more-or-less a bust. I realized that the policy of "we don't turn down work" is a bit too much like the main character in the movie Yes Man, who says yes to everything without considering the pros and cons. This ill-advised trip to Colorado meant that I missed my beloved beekeeping class, and Phil spent four days out of town with little (not nothing!) to show for it. And probably didn't pay for the price of his ticket. Wisdom, Lord, we need wisdom.

The bees are hanging in there, despite my lack of class attendance. In fact, the Queen of Sheba hive appears to be thriving, though the queen herself is not yet out of her cage (she's getting there--the bees who are eating her out have to tunnel so deep inside the box, they almost vanish). There are always more bees on the feeder, more humming noise from the hive than the Queen Esther hive. I hope the Queen Esther hive will have babies coming soon. The time is running out for them both. Worker bees don't live forever, and if no new workers are born, that's the end. (Be anxious for nothing, I tell myself.)

Isaiah spent all day Sunday throwing up. As our pastor's wife said, "These things always seem to happen when the husband's out of town!" Blech! Abraham started, too, and kept it up all evening. Where did it come from? I have no idea.

We had a good time continuing to read through our picture book collection. I've been surprised that even Jadon listens in. He seems so old and mature. Then I remember that he's not even eight, and his age resumes proper perspective.

Jadon is down to single digits until his birthday, and of his own volition made a paper chain so he could count down properly. This seems a bit too high pressure. What can I possibly get him that would live up to a paper chain countdown?!

I've decided I need to eat through the meats in my freezer. So I pulled out a ham today, brined it, rubbed it, and baked it. The baking part took forever (a couple of hours, when I was expecting only one), but the end product was absolutely delightful, albeit a bit dry. I'm okay with dry—I'm a white meat kind of girl.

Since Phil returned home after midnight last night, he reset the sheep pens, rolled a big bale of hay into the cow pen, scooped up the stinky kitty litter that Abraham had spread around, loaded the truck to do a dump run (and did the dump run), and started to put up fencing around our pasture. He got six panels up in what felt like very short order. We're excited for the cows to graze our meadow. I'm sure the cows are ready to get out of the paddock. The rain has turned it into quite the mucky place.

But I won't think about my mucky paddock. I'll think about the joy of the Strawberry Rains falling on my baby strawberries, keeping the temperature mild and the air moist.

Leaf Comb

Last November, when we got our orchard trees, we heeled them in, using the trench just dug for our water and electric line, and a load of sawdust from a local sawmill.

Now that the trees are planted, I want to use the trench again, this time for asparagus crowns. But first I have to remove the sawdust.

The boys and I worked together for a time. It was hot in the sun, but somewhat happy to see the progress we made. I am so thankful for the garden cart! How nice not to have to haul the sawdust in buckets!

And I did plant one-sixth of the asparagus crowns. Fifty to go.

In the afternoon, I planted another set of strawberries. Two down, four to go.

I also weeded the garden a bit, moved the sheep, and checked on the bees.

The bees are not anxious to free their caged queen. A few bees are always on her cage, and the errant swarming bees have not swarmed again. In fact, they moved across the hive to join their companions. I am hopeful that the queen's pheromones are already exercising a cohesive influence on the hive.

I found today why the bees did not all fly away when I began to dig. On emptying their abandoned part of the hive, I came across comb they built on a leaf. Crazy bees.

The Queen of Sheba II

Jonadab, in keeping with his middle name Asaph, the writer of Psalms, entertains us with his singing. He strums the grate in the door between rooms, scrunches up his face, and sings in a thin falsetto, a wordless song of (I hope) praise. I always enjoy hearing it, though the decibel level sometimes fills our home (and then some).

Our replacement queen bee arrived today. I headed to the post office, wondering what fantastic, adorable package she would be in. Surprisingly, she was in a standard mailer, and fit easily in my post office box.

It seemed so, well, unimportant! But even that small envelope dwarfed the little queen box.

After much thought and some prayer, I ended up doing the following. I left the Queen Esther hive alone. I opened the Queen of Sheba hive and looked at the comb that the few bees have been building, just to make absolutely sure that the original queen was not around. No blue-dotted abdomens showed themselves, so I pulled the cork out of the new queen's cage, and set her on the bottom of the hive. If no bees eat their way to her by Sunday afternoon, I'll tape the box to the top of the hive and hope they do more for her. (If I can wait that long—we'll see.)

The bees that had been a ground swarm since last weekend, I actually shoveled up. I was wearing my bee hat for protection, and dug with trepidation, concerned that once I started digging, they would all fly up and circle around me. But I first sprinkled them with powdered sugar, and they remained clustered on the weeds while I shoveled them up. I put the bee-covered weeds in the opposite side of the Queen of Sheba hive, and I do hope they will all integrate.

I feel confident now that I have done everything I can to help these bees. If they live, it will be the mercy of God, since they have had a rocky start!

I think the bees took more effort and time than I realized, as the only other thing I accomplished today was gathering up some saplings and hauling them, in the wonderful garden cart, to the cows. The cows come running; so gratifying!

While I was gathering up the downed saplings, Isaiah came up. He had been "strawberrying," picking the little Alpine strawberries around the land. He said, "I have a surprise for you, Mommy." I was pretty sure it was a berry, but acted like I had no idea. And it turned out to be a perfect little wildflower. I put it behind my ear, and he picked another so I would be well balanced. What a sweet gift.

(And note the new glasses! I had my last prescription for two months before I got pregnant with Joe and my prescription changed. I was too mad about spending all that money needlessly to get glasses that worked well, but I bought new ones while in Colorado. I'm loving how all the grasses and leaves have such perfect definition!)

Sheep on the Move; Phil on the Move

Yesterday was the first time in seven months, four days that we had just the Lykosh Six here on the farm. (Phil drove Gramps up to the airport in the morning.)

I've been reading picture book after picture book to the two middle boys. How fun, to rediscover so many jewels on our shelves. (And a few books I figure I can box up, which will free up valuable shelf space.) The steady rain continued, leaving us with almost two inches so far this week. How nice to have both cooler weather, and an excuse to read inside.

Yesterday was also my first day to wash dishes at a sink here. Since we have the motor home, I brought a week's worth of dishes (or thereabouts) and washed them with a faucet and hot water. What great, great inventions were the water heater, sink, and faucet.

Phil decided that, since we're fencing the trees outside of the paddocks, there's no reason to keep the larger sheep away from the Babydolls, so he brought the four bigger sheep over, bringing the total in the orchard to 13. I watched him capture and drag the last of the recalcitrant sheep, BB, the wether (castrated ram) born on Palindrome Day, 01/02/2010.

BB was quite cagey. He evaded capture for quite some time, even though Phil had the shepherd's crook, and used his lightning fast reflexes. (My muscles are slow-twitch, so I don't react well. I keep going forever, though!) Phil could, perhaps, have caught the sheep more quickly had he not been wearing Crocs in the three-inch deep muck in the paddock. Somehow, he emerged quite clean. Amazing.

Once Phil finally caught BB and put the halter on him, BB would flop over, as if dead. Phil would pull on the halter, and BB would roll, from one side to the other. I would push BB's bottom, and he might stand up and move forward a few feet before falling on the ground again. What a stubborn fellow! He would even baaaa for his mother, who would respond, but he gave no joyful leaps in her general direction.

With all the sheep finally enclosed, Phil created more paddocks. Somehow he can create paddocks between the trees, so that the sheep don't graze the new leaves. Most of our apple trees have 10 or 12 feet spacing between trees, and 14 or 16 feet between rows, so Phil makes paddocks that are about 12' x 30', and then just makes sure to move the sheep once or twice a day.

They eat just about everything in their paddock before they move. One day we noticed they had left one particular type of weed growing, with all else around that weed mowed completely. We left them a little longer, and next thing we knew, they had overcome their distaste for the weed and eaten that one, too. (In the photo below, they have a few more hours of good grazing before they'll be ready to move.)

One grazier advises using at least 90 paddocks, rotating once a day, which gives the pasture a three month rest. We'll see how we do—maybe grazing through both the pomes (apples and pears) and the stone fruits (cherries, peaches, plums, apricots) will allow 90 days.

I still have dreams of planting the cherry orchard to corn and beans, but that seems a pipe dream more and more as the days pass.

I did manage to plant 25 strawberry plants today, all in a row. Several more rows to go.

In lieu of other pressing needs, Phil began to chainsaw a pathway for fencing the clearing. Soon we can start to rotational craze the cows! He started by clearing the smaller trees around the clearing, in order to use all the flatter land we have, but soon decided against that. The cows will clean it up better than he can.

So today he started to fence within the tree line, in order to just get the cows moving. We'll do more with the trees and flat land a bit later.

Our grazing land, though growing well, does not have a good thatch. A look straight down shows plenty of red clay soil. A good grazing meadow will not show any dirt, so we have a ways to go.

The cows should help, though, as they manure the land, and spread their nose exudates on the plants. I can hardly wait!

After a short time of clearing, however, he got a call this afternoon from a favorite client in Colorado, wondering if Phil could meet him tomorrow at a job site. Well, since it is physically possible (there were four tickets left), and since we do our best not to turn down work, Phil flew out this evening.

Happily, although the meeting tomorrow is just a meeting, Phil has another small job or two in Colorado that he can do while there. (He was asked about one small project just yesterday, and hadn't called them back yet.)

I ask the Lord to continue to provide for our needs. May these projects not only cover the cost of the trip, but help with our expenses as well.

The pasture will have to wait.

Better Food for a Healthier Family: Our Journey's Beginning

My eye's swelling finally decreased enough to slit open around noon today. It felt like a long time to live without 3D vision. Made me feel empathetic towards all who have to wear an eye patch for life. (And I do have a photo of my swollen eye, but it's gruesome and the computer is actually refusing to load it, so I'll leave it out.)

Rain kept me from working outside. I was thrilled to stay inside and read to Abraham and Isaiah, picture book after picture book, hour after hour. Jadon played games with Gramps, the Skip-Bo expert. In the afternoon, the family went to mail off a water sample. I'll be interested to see what contaminants, if any, we have.

I also have us now registered at Local Harvest, apparently the premier website for finding locally grown foods. That's a bit of marketing finally completed.

And now, a brief history of our dietary journey, or, why we eat as we do.

Shortly after we got married, Phil made me quit the Pill. I was relieved: it had been a rough couple of months feeling so crazy-emotional. Since then, I have talked to maybe one woman who didn't feel the Pill made her crazy; almost universally, women feel like it's a harsh drug. (I've since learned that hormones in the body are measured in parts per trillion. I wonder how heavy the doses in the Pill are.)

After marriage, I also had odd rages at odd times. Those rages were really odd—I wouldn't feel particularly angry one minute, then would hit the roof, but still have a little voice in the back of my head saying, "Amy, you're not acting rationally. This isn't like you." I would say it felt almost like demon-possession, like something took over my body.

My brother, too, had rages. We both tried eliminating wheat. The rages ceased.

Was it psychosomatic? Well, my brother once ate teriyaki chicken and went off running around the hills, screaming for three hours. The teriyaki sauce had soy sauce, and soy sauce has wheat. No kidding.

And I would take communion until I realized I had rages every Sunday afternoon. No more communion for me. (Only for a short time, though. By the time we left Boulder, though, eight families of about 15 also had at least one person avoiding wheat, so we took rice crackers instead of bread.)

My oldest son had night terrors. This, too, looked a bit like demon-possession. He would shriek in the middle of the night, sometimes for an hour or two, eyes open, but no cognition. And so, no comfort. I took him off wheat, and from that day on he's had no night terrors.

As an extra benefit, my sister, who had only seen Jadon on rare occasions, said two weeks later, "When did Jadon become so nice?" She noticed an entire personality change that I hadn't really noticed.

For a time, grandparents would treat the boys with cheese puffs or candy. The boys cries changed, becoming more high-pitched and pervasive. They became more aggressive, more unhappy. We cut off such treats, and the emotions stayed normal.

Most dramatically, perhaps, was Phil's change. He suffered debilitating migraines several times a month since junior high. He would miss work, staying in bed for days at a time. We hadn't suspected MSG until I came across a link to Hidden Names of MSG. Apparently MSG has many names, and is difficult to peg down.

Once we started to eat primarily whole foods, it became easy to peg which foods still triggered migraines, whether hot sauce or salad dressing or Mexican take out. Chocolate and red wine also triggered them on occasion, but migraines hurt enough, he was willing to give those up, too.

Which is all to say, we are happy to eat mostly whole foods. We like being (mostly) emotionally stable and (mostly) healthy people.

This wasn't the only reason we started a farm, but the lifestyle of eating better quality food was the beginning of our farming journey, I think.

Photos from a Fun Three Weeks

I awoke unable to see out of my left eye due to swelling. I had expected that, but was still a bit disappointed to endure the day partially handicapped. Treasure your eyes!

Phil's parents left this morning shortly before church. They cared for my family while I was away, and it was quite a relief to have left them in such capable hands.

Cheri took some good photos while visiting. Below are some of my favorites.

Forget what I said about the cows not being friendly. Isaiah managed to get them to kiss him by simply feeding them handfuls of weeds. So cute!

This photo shows four generations: the boys, Phil, his mother, and her father.

Boy Wonder Gramps, age 87, wears no hearing aid, needs no prescription glasses, thinks clearly, digs holes, cuts down saplings, helps with woodworking, and looks great driving the John Deere.

Phil's parents left their motor home with us. All the boys, including Joe, love to run out and play inside. We'll see if they love it quite so much now that Grandma and Grandpa are gone.

Here are the few remaining fruit trees, heeled in. Ha! No longer, as now they're all in the ground.

Here's Phil in his "shop" between the construction trailers. He loves the straw hat; in hot weather, he soaks it in water and it keeps his head cold.

Abraham rides his "horse" and holds his "whip." He runs up and down the driveway all day.

Phil scything.

And Isaiah biking down the drive.

Stung Between the Eyes

A good day today. Other than Phil almost running over Chloe (we think she bounced off the bumper, because he felt the car hit her, but she walked away), and other than me getting stung between the eyes. Twice. More on that in a minute.

I finished planting all berry bushes, as well as a couple currants and some decorative bulbs. The 4" berry bushes aren't very noticeable, but the mulch helps us avoid stepping on them. (Notice the free range chicken—I hope she doesn't help herself to succulent blueberry leaves.)



Phil finished the Whizbang Garden Cart he's been working on. It's holding capacity is considerably more than I expected, but the large wheels make it handy to move around.

Even Gramps took a turn, and he's 87!

This afternoon we finally made it to visit our lovely neighbors the Bessettes. We haven't seen them since the end of February, and we've missed them. To top off Old Home Week, great neighbor Butch also stopped by, so Phil's parents were able to meet all our helpful neighbors.

Our orchard looks especially lovely right now, filled with many flowering herbs and blooming wild flowers. Walking through, we find dozens of tiny ripe Alpine strawberries, which eases my craving for fresh fruit.


Now, for the horrible bee stings.


First the queenless hive bees swarmed for the fifth time. I was nearby when suddenly thousands of loudly buzzing bees rose up and flew in every direction. I kept my head low, and within seconds all were gone. I have a queen somewhere in transit, and felt bummed out by my beekeeping failure, as well as the bottomless money pit that the bees have turned out to be (so far).

Phil reminded me: it's all tuition. We're doing plenty that we've never done before. And though it's not fun to spend money that feels "wasted," I need to not be too frustrated, but simply learn from what I've done and move on. (Some did eventually return to a spot near their hive. The swarm grows smaller every time.)

After speaking to the beekeeper a few days ago, he seemed to think that I should have three or four frames of brood, or baby bees gestating. In retrospect, that would make more sense in a regular hive, where the cells are already provided and the bees don't have to build from scratch. But I began to be concerned about my "healthy" hive. I'm not sure there is any brood! And I wanted to do some rearranging, to put the built comb closer to the queen.

So I needed to open the hive and take out brood comb.

Thinking about it now, I know that humans handling brood stresses the bees. However, I haven't ever looked at brood comb up close, and, truthfully, didn't even consider putting on my bee veil. I'd forgotten I had it.

At some point in the handling, an angry bee flew right up between the eyes. Or maybe two. The sting (stings?) were so light, I was hoping the noise and angry vibrating was simply a threat, but when it (they?) finally flew off (after crawling all over my eyelid&Mdash;ugh!), I could see the stinger in my nose out of the corner of my eye.

I've been fighting the swelling ever since.

Also in retrospect, I remember that my mentor didn't just start right away wearing no protection. He got to know his bees for a time. Prudence probably dictates I should do the same.

A Quick Summary for New Readers

My husband Phil and I will have been married a decade this June 24. If someone had told me on my wedding day that ten years later I would live on a fledgling farm with five cows and bees and a little orchard, I would have stared, dumbfounded. It's not that I had anything against farming—I just had never considered it as a potential occupation.

By background, I have a liberal arts degree (double major in English and Humanities). As a young 20-something I loved the classics and opera, classical music and art. If a city defined me then, it would probably have been Florence, Italy. I am now in my early 30s, and savor the moments of beauty as I find them, though man-made beauty, whether literary or aural, comes rarely.

God-made beauty surrounds us.

My husband Philip is a structural engineer by trade. Shortly after he got his graduate degree, he left his employer of 13 years and started his own business.

My parents, too, began a business. I've worked for (with) them, to greater or lesser degree, since early on. So we both have some entrepreneurial background.

We moved to unimproved land last summer. We have about 44 acres, which is about 176 times the amount of land we had in Boulder, but still quite small by "farm" standards.

Forty of our acres are wooded, and much of it is steep. As we considered how we could earn a living, we realized that cattle could not support us. Four acres of good pasture can support, perhaps, four cows, and cows might bring $1000 each. Clearly, not enough to live on.

A four-acre market garden could possibly provide enough income, and we looked at that for some time. Vegetables, though, require a great deal of effort, and since neither of us desires 100 hour work weeks, and our four sons probably wouldn't appreciate it, either, we opted against that.

One of the great joys of my life is fruit. My Bible study leader in college said, "I've never met anyone who eats as much fruit as you." So the idea of an orchard seemed good. We have outside income to live on while the trees grow, and at some point, Lord willing, we will harvest delicious fruit, enough for ourselves and many others.

Our four sons, soon to be ages 8, 6, 4, and 2, walk around now saying, "Two, four, six, eight, who do we appreciate? Lykosh Boys! Lykosh Boys! Goooo Team!"

How we came to farm, and how we came to farm in Virginia is another story. I suppose the story before that is how and why we changed our diet (to sum up: we were sick and all got better). And there are stories of God's faithfulness, and God calling us to himself. . . .

But those will wait for another day.

I leave you with a beautiful poem from today, by Irish poet W.B. Yeats. The recording of the poet reading it (available on YouTube) speaks with power.

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honeybee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.

Raspberry Patch

After several days of rainy weather, I put on a sweater this morning. And quickly took it off as the temperature went to the mid-80s with high humidity. Phew! I felt soggy all over!

It's taken me a few days to readjust to being back on the farm. With all the changes, I felt like I was not quite in sync with the pattern of life here.

As much as I (usually) enjoy our life, it was a bit of a shock to return to a 224 square foot construction trailer home, without running water or a standard bathtub (Rubbermaid storage container or dedicated cattle trough are the current options, though I did shower in my in-laws motor home, and that was VERY NICE). It was a shock to remember that my kitchen has no cabinets, that I have no sink for dirty dishes (let alone a dishwasher), that dirty laundry requires a trip to the laundrymat and not just a trip to the basement.

It's taken a bit to remember that, despite these "hardships," we are still better off than most of the world. Amazing, really. And how foolish of me to be ungrateful.

Walking away from the mixed-up bees, I crossed the swath of just-grazed land, minutes after Phil had moved the Babydoll sheep off that part of the pasture. There was almost nothing but bare ground, nicely fertilized, devoid of stalks or prickers. Our plan to graze the sheep to avoid Monsanto's RoundUp around the trees is working! A thrill of joy.

I went out to begin my raspberry and blackberry planting. As I dug a few small holes, Phil pointed out that I should probably clear the 12" weeds before planting canes that need to be pruned to 4" (nothing like shading out the plants before I even begin!). So Phil scythed, and mother-in-law Cheri raked the forbs (usually called weeds, but used for cattle feed). She became quite the popular lady with the cows! Gramps cut off the 6" trees, and I started to plant.

This all took much longer than I expected. We got 12 raspberry plants in the ground, and five hours had somehow passed.

We took a break and drove an hour to the Frontier Culture Museum in Staunton.

I planted four more raspberries before dark fell.

And that's the story today.

All Trees Planted; All Berries Await

Late this afternoon, following a steady drizzle, we finished planting the trees. Phil immediately said, "No more trees for two years!" But, when asked about such an arbitrary determination, he commuted the moratorium to just a year. What a relief!

I immediately turned my thoughts to the next planting: various berries and such. On totaling the remaining plants, I was stunned to see that I have 290 growing things yet to get in the ground: 150 strawberries, 60 asparagus crowns, 27 raspberries, and on from there. Many of these plants will fit well between the newly planted trees, so Phil won't lose too much more of his grazing area. Gramps and I spray painted the planting spots for most of the larger berry bushes. I like just going out to dig, without wondering where I should put my shovel.

In the continuing trauma of odd behaving bees, I finally ordered another queen. When I spoke with him today, the owner of the apiary said something odd like, "I don't want to sell you a queen if there's no hope of the hive surviving." And I was thinking, "I already ordered a hive with queen from you, and there's no hope that the hive will survive without a queen. So if I have to buy a queen to have a chance at a living hive, at least I'll have done all I can."

The Queen of Sheba II should arrive soon.

But I am a bit worried now about the Queen Esther hive: they appear to be split in the two opposite ends of the top bar hive. What's the verse? A house divided against itself cannot stand? Maybe this should just be "a house not working together cannot thrive."

Ten Days Away

I was away for ten days. I came back to find all changed.

The beautiful red clover I left had turned to seed pods.

The two or three heads of spelt multiplied into dozens. (I don't know if I'll eat any, though, as the chickens range there and nip the grains out of the stalk very neatly.

In my herb garden, the two that came up, milk thistle and cilantro, both went to flower. They'll set seed soon.

The kale finished flowering and began growing seed pods.

The spinach finished growing leaves and set seed.

The chickens dug up all of my turnip bed.

The elephant garlic sent up scapes, beautiful central stalks that would flower and set seed, except the grower pinches them off so the root develops strong cloves. The scapes are edible, a potent mix between green onion and garlic.

One walking onion started developing a bulbous second tier. Eventually it will fall over (and "walk," as the bulbous part grows roots).

The stone fruit orchard shifted from almost bare ground (I had hoped to plant peas and corn between trees) to a flowering bed of wild herbs (er, weeds).

In my absence, Phil started rotating the Babydoll sheep through the orchard. They did a great job the last week. (In the photo below, you can clearly see the demarcation of where they grazed v. where they didn't.)

This morning, I walked out to find a horror: one of the apple trees lying flat, enthusiastic sheep tearing its leaves off. Thankfully the tree was not uprooted, so it sprang back without apparent damage, and I must have come across the sheep almost immediately, as they had not even finished devouring the leaves.

Unhappily, this affects future grazing: for a time, the trees will have to be outside the fencing, which makes rotations a bit of a puzzle. I think there are methods to train sheep not to eat desirables (spray trees with pepper spray perhaps?), but I have not learned those yet. There is plenty of organic matter for the sheep to graze, though: baby Benny and yearling Joseph romp through new pasture.

Also in my absence, Phil finished his enormous piles of chipping, and he, mother-in-law Cheri, and Phil's grandpa Gramps all planted the remaining eight apple trees. My fragile palisade vanished. And then was immediately replaced by the next round of planting: 13 trees, many berries (see below for the few heeled in plants). We got 13 of those trees in the ground today, pushing us over the 400 tree mark. (We're at 408!)

Despite Phil's heroic efforts, the egg consumption fell behind, and we still are not good at marketing, so we have a backlog of delicious, organic eggs.

And, speaking of eggs, while planting trees today, we came across a chicken hiding in tall grass. An hour later, after she moved, we discovered she was sitting on, not four eggs as we thought, but 25 eggs! What a cache!

In other news, the bees swarmed twice more while I was away. Phil bravely captured them each time, once trying to replace them in the populated hive, and the second time putting them into the empty hive. I came home to find a swarm once again on the ground. This time, they didn't move into the box, so when I dumped them into the empty hive this morning, most remained on the ground.

I dumped them into the hive again in the early afternoon, and felt encouraged to watch nine bees fly into the hive and none exit. Minutes before our afternoon thunderstorm began, I checked to find all bees in hives. Phew! What a relief!

Abraham turned four today. He is a cheerful, affectionate fellow and we are glad he's part of our family.