Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Our First Leap Day in Virginia

Tuesday was a great day of lower pasture effort. Phil sawed a log, then we went and chipped a swath of clearing in the afternoon. One big cedar blocked access, and those fanning, evergreen branches felt never ending! But in the end, the cedar was chipped, surrounding debris was chipped, and Phil spent the last hour before dark pushing new sections of trees near the mill, ready to saw them up.

Basically, he got all the tractor work done that he could.

And then today struck. Seven-tenths of an inch before noon, with a cessation afterwards, only to start again at dusk.

Sheets of water running down the driveway, orange clay running downhill; erosion, loss of "topsoil": we've seen this before.

I spent a bit of time in the greenhouse. Yesterday was a flat of onions seeded. Today I did two types of beets, green onions and turnips. And then, because I have not had good success with carrots or one type of radish, I seeded those in flats, too. Supposedly they don't grow well when roots are disturbed by transplanting. However, since I've never had a carrot grow, no matter how sown, I'm willing to try something new.

And without outdoor time, I made a lamb stew for dinner and a couple of guineas, thrown in for good measure.

There are times I wish I had simply to open a package of ground beef.

This lamb was extremely gamey flavored. I can hardly taste it, and the boys were not enthusiastic either.

The guinea had superb flavor. Abraham even called it, "That amazingly good chicken." But the connective tissues were ridiculously tough, which meant breaking it into pieces was a definite strain. I can see why guineas haven't taken off as a food of choice for the American public.

Happy Leap Day!

Monday, February 27, 2012

A Case of Hiccups

I made delicious french fries yesterday for dinner, cooking the potatoes in coconut oil and sprinkling with Celtic sea salt. Dipped in homemade mayo, it was a marvelous meal.

But when Phil came down with a bad case of hiccups that lasted most of the morning and left him with a raging headache (which may also have been a result of dealing with tax preparation—ick), I wondered if the hiccups were the result of the french fries. Maybe too rich for his digestive system?

After a several hour nap, Phil awoke, and ate the fries I had made for lunch.

The hiccups came back immediately. I tried homeopathic Nux vomica for rich food. That didn't seem to do anything, but the single dose of Magnesium phosphoricum both stopped the hiccups and immediately sent Phil back to sleep for hours in the afternoon.

While I may wish that Phil didn't have quite so strong a biofeedback system (since neither the boys nor I were affected by the rich food), I suppose it's a benefit that his body is quite clear about what he can tolerate and what he can't. Otherwise, he might eat fries and have deeper, more chronic reactions.

Around the farm, Babe and Denise are doing well. Denise had wandered under the single strand electric wire at one point, but Phil brought her back.

The puppies are fully mobile, and have expanded their territory to include the entire motor home. When Bitsy comes in, they are often so eager to eat that they stand on their hind legs to nurse, and Bitsy stands still, a picture of maternal resignation.

I planted a few "just for fun" tree seeds, too, just a single flat with olive, neem, Japanese raisin tree, kiwi, and pineapple guava. The raisin tree seeds may take, apparently, up to five months to sprout!

That's considerably longer than the greens I planted on Friday. They have green leaves showing already! Tomato and pepper seeds have little rootlets emerging now after four days. That's very fun!

Finally, Jadon made me smile today. We were reading in our history book about the beginning of social security. Jadon, somehow, already knew that there is no nice savings fund of social security waiting for all the contributors to be old enough. He already knew that the monies are used as they are taken in, and that it's basically a Ponzi scheme.

After I drew a diagram of what's happening for Isaiah, Jadon said, "I learned about all that from, well, eavesdropping."

Homeschooling at its finest.

Saturday, February 25, 2012

A Dozen Ladies


We had opted against bringing a hay bale to the cows yesterday evening. The ground was slick from sprinkles yesterday (and the snow and half inch of rain earlier in the week), and they could pick through the hay on spread on the ground as needed. Rather than risk another tractor incident, we figured the tremendous winds would dry the earth well by the morning.

And that certainly happened! Phil brought a hay bale over, but returned so quickly I wondered if he had lost a bale again.

Nope! Babe was (finally) in labor. Hooves sticking out already and everything! Isaiah and Abraham got on jackets and the four of us headed over to see her.

I was thrilled to see that the front hooves were both presenting properly. A cleared nose was just visible, too. That meant no breech birth, and no danger of suffocation as the calf actually emerged (if the membranes stay intact, a calf can suffocate if the mother doesn't clear its nose quickly enough).

We watched through several incredible contractions. The baby didn't seem to progress at all. This was very strange. Calves should progress. Should we pull? Phil said we should wait, so we headed back home to research.

His instinct was correct. First-timers can use some extra time to stretch, and a baby can stay, nose out, one or two hours without danger. This was a great relief. We settled in for an hour, and I hoped to find Babe finished and up when we returned.

She was still down as we returned. What a relief, though: she had progressed! A little nose, with tongue, was showing.

But watching, Babe was reaching the end of her strength. She would grind her teeth into her pallet, moo in pain, and push almost constantly without any visible progress. I watched for about ten minutes, and a spot on the baby's jaw didn't come out at all.

I massaged her vulva a bit, and tugged to help open it. This is fairly standard midwife practice, and didn't feel intrusive. Within a few minutes, the enormous forehead broke free: progress at last!

But Babe was one pooped cow. After the head emerges, the rest of the baby is supposed to come out easily. But there was no progress. I took the baby's legs in my hands and tugged gently during each contraction, pulling down, not straight out, as I had read. And in this way, together, we birthed the baby.

The little baby sputtered and snorted, and seemed lively for a calf stuck in the birth canal for a couple of hours (meaning, she blinked and raised her head).

Phil and I got a peek: another girl!

We have a dozen females now (and three boys: a full-sized bull and a pair of bull babies born last summer).

But Babe didn't move. At all. Not only did she not stand up to lick her baby off, but she didn't even lift her head to see what had happened that caused her so much pain.

I covered the baby with towels against the wind (though Babe had chosen a well-secluded, protected site), and gave Babe Arnica for trauma, and dry molasses for energy. She licked half-heartedly, but mostly looked like she wanted a nap.

I then moved the baby closer to her mother. Babe appreciated that, and began to lick right away. She wasn't fully devoid of maternal instinct, just apparently lacking the strength to stand.

The baby, though, did not lack the strength.

She stood, looming over her mother, waiting for a chance to eat.

A bit later, I milked Babe (who had the most colossal plugs in her never-used teats: what a painful stripping out that must have been for her!) and fed the colostrum to the baby. Then we headed back to learn about birthing paralysis.

Apparently this happens when the mother is in the same position for a long time. The baby shuts off blood flow to a nerve, and the mother may (or may not) stand up again. After about twelve hours of being down, the odds are 50/50 that the cow will stand again. Some farmers opt to kill the mom for beef then; much longer, and the cow is a total loss.

Surprisingly, the book said that it's not best to let the mother rest. She really needs to stand up as soon as possible. If you poke the back leg gently with a pin and get no response, the prognosis is not good. Various recommendations: cover the nostrils so the cow feels like she's suffocating; the fear for her life will make her legs spring into action. Tug on her tail. One recommended hoisting, but another said that that is very traumatic for the hip tissues. (We don't have a hoist anyway.)

We made her a drench of 1 part aloe vera juice and 2 parts apple cider vinegar. With the Apis homeopathy added, I gave Babe an ounce or two. The pin test showed no response. The nose covering (as long as I could until I felt traumatized) provoked no response. I pushed at her backside. Nothing.

But when I went to milk again, she figured she might as well get up, and Babe stood without difficulty, and without swaying. She immediately began to eat, and I milked all teats without her moving away.

Once that colostrum was in the baby, baby Denise stood up and soon found the teats.

During my first birth, I had my friend Denise there to help, and Abraham thought that would be most appropriate. So Abraham named this calf, the first of our D-year cows. We are so thankful for a good outcome.

What a lot there is to learn on a farm!

Friday, February 24, 2012

Phil's Runaway Bale


Phil was bringing a bale of hay to the cows at midday. After last time, when one of the big wheels actually lost contact with the earth as he went around a corner (very terrifying!), he carefully, safely maneuvered around the corner. He was going over a dip, and to keep equilibrium had the bale a bit lower than normal. The slight rise apparently was enough to knock the bale loose, and since the bale was on a slope, it rolled downhill, through the electric fence, and was lost in the woods.

For me, the loss of the $40 hay bale was too bad, but Phil's safety and the tractor's intactness were much to be thankful for.

For Phil, a bale, unrecoverable in the woods, lost to usefulness, without hope of repair, was just a bit too much.

He went to bed and slept for a few hours.

With scattered showers and constant wind all afternoon, it wasn't a great day to be outside.

Several weeks ago, I was looking up methods of planting sweet potatoes and stumbled across a website of a farm that grows market vegetables using hand power and no tiller. One thing they mentioned is that they plan to start some seedlings every day. When they're ready to transplant, they move them out into well mulched raised beds. I like the idea of just expecting to plant something every day.

Today I planted a flat of greens: about six soil blocks of 13 different varieties. And next time there's a biodynamic leaf day, in about a week, I plan to start another flat.

The boys and I read most of the afternoon. We've been racing through the Elementary Life of Fred math books. Even Abraham gives a belly laugh at times, though only the older two boys actually do the practice problems.

One of the questions today dealt with similes. "Reading is as fun as ____"? Jadon said, "Ice cream!" (Which makes sense; he's my reader.) Isaiah said, "Jelly beans sealed in a tin can that you have to open with your teeth." Translation: it's not my favorite thing to start, but there is usually something worthwhile inside.

Abraham: "Pulling teeth." Abraham's reading is getting better all the time, but clearly he's struggling a bit still.

Thursday, February 23, 2012

Family-Scale Vegetable Planting

While Phil ran errands yesterday, I took advantage of the sunny weather and attempted to prune the apple trees. I soon gave up. Too many decisions! Too much margin for error!

Phil took over again today, and finished the entire orchard in a couple of hours. Apparently he does not struggle with indecisiveness.

I had a great time following along, gathering appropriately-sized (1/3 to about 1/2 an inch), 2011 growth twigs. It took me a couple of hours, but I finally had them labeled, cut to size, and put in the refrigerator. I'm pleased that I have enough to try a couple different types of root stalks, to see what does best in our soil environment. (Earlier this year, I had planned to take advantage of the great savings of bulk purchases. When I mentioned to Phil that I was planning to order 1000 root stalks, he blanched, but kept his cool. "That's probably a bit more than we really want this year," he said. And it turns out, he was absolutely right. Not only was I extremely bored by the time I had finished gathering proper-sized twigs, the entire orchard only yielded a little over 200 scions.)

Phil also hiked around with a forester who may harvest some timber. It's sobering to think that an orchard of 30-year-old pine will only net the owner perhaps $300/acre. True, you don't need to do a whole lot with an acre of pine (unlike cows, they don't require moving, supplemental watering, or birthing assistance), but certainly there must be something better to do on steep hillsides of degraded red clay than pine. We just have to figure out what.

Speaking of birthing assistance, after carefully watching Babe's backside far into the night (until I actually saw something that looked like a pink tennis ball coming out, though I wasn't sure what that was, as it didn't really match any book description), apparently I'm not very good at predicting calving, as there has been no sign of a calf yet. And all the indicators that I thought I saw are, apparently, unchanged. Since the bull was only rogue for a week last May, and the last due date possible from that rogue week was yesterday, either she's really late delivering (an indicator of a baby bull), or she'll deliver sometime in late April or May, having fooled us well.

I opened the bee hive today. Apparently, early warm weather is the time most likely to starve bees, since they lay more eggs earlier, which require more food, and foraging can be spotty so early in the season: rain (or snow) washes away what little pollen there is.

Compared with a month ago, the hive bodies did feel noticeably lighter, and there didn't seem to be as many bees. Probably a good many were out foraging.

I am finding the whole "examine the hive" concept really difficult. First, I've never had a hive overwinter. Hives seal all cracks with propolis, a sticky substance they create from pine sap and their bodies. Apparently, it hardens quite well, as the frames which moved with alacrity last fall are not glued in place, requiring a great deal of force (and time) to extract a single one. Last time, I didn't manage to remove a single frame. This time, I got a frame out, and it broke open several cells of honey. This did not endear me to the bees.

I moved a couple more frames, enough to see that they are not full, but not empty enough for removal. (My mentor generally removes the bottom hive body in February, since it is fairly empty. That gives him a chance to remove the wax and clean the frames. Get rid of some of that propolis!)

Then, as the bees whine turned positively shrill, I hastily replaced the frame. Two bees then stung me through my gloves, and I put the upper hive body and cover on as swiftly as I could (which probably smooshed some bees—too bad!), and, for the second time in as many openings, ran as fast as I could to elude the persistent defenders trying to penetrate my veil. Yuck!

The thought crosses my mind that maybe I'm not as enamored with beekeeping as I once was.

It's not nice to be rejected by insects, you know?

To improve my day, though, I headed to the greenhouse. Yesterday I planted the tree seeds. Today it was time for peppers (jalapeno, cayenne, and bell), tomatoes (my favorite Roma, mostly), a few fun tomato-like plants (the exquisite ground cherry, wonderberry that didn't grow at all last year, and beet berry, which is supposed to be like a mulberry). I finished the planting with broccoli, three types of seeds from the last three years.

What an amazing experience! I had been dreading "the tomato planting," because last year, planting about 700 little tomato seeds, then pricking them out into 2" pots, and pricking them out again into 4" pots, and watering them all for a couple of months, only to transplant them outside, lovingly stake and tie them, only to have them set fruit once and die: it was a lot of effort for an extremely little reward.

But to plant 24 little tomato seeds, and not even expect them all to live, or to plant 30 broccolis, realizing that perhaps some of the seeds were too extremely old, but that's fine—this was a new experience. It felt, well, manageable! Like maybe I could try to garden this year and actually succeed.

I like that.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Happy (Non-US) Palindrome Day: 21/2/12!


As we seek for things to do indoors while we wait for the wet ground to dry a little, Phil cleaned part of the little greenhouse for me. He set up one of the four grow mats (probably all I'll get this year, unless he does another reshuffling of tools and random equipment), and I have the poor, neglected, cold seedlings started almost a month (hardly sprouted), and the tray of stinging nettle that had been in the shower (trying to get warmth from the puppies, but not sprouted at all) now resting in warm bliss.

Now, let the planting begin!

I am currently soaking elderberry, black cherry, medlar, and coffee seeds for a day. Tomorrow I'll plant them out into flats, and see if they grow. (The medlar is a tree more common in Europe. Permaculturists over there mention it regularly. Apparently, the fruit is quite sweet once it rots; not hard to see why it's not more popular in the States.)

While he was cleaning, Phil also sorted and hung his tools. Looks good!

He sawed another section of tree, but that might be all he can do easily without a tractor: rolling a log is not hard, but sliding a log is difficult, especially on water-soaked ground.

I was making dinner and thought I should check on Babe the heifer. I hadn't seen her since Saturday. What a difference! One of her teats was almost smooth, rather than wrinkly and small: impending labor. Her backend was, I suppose, more flabby. At one point, she appeared to be about to poop, but nothing came out: early pushing? And, most telling, the tendon around her tail was softened (I compared it with her half-sister's tail, which felt like a rock: very startling).

I admit to hoping for a palindrome birthdate for the little calf, but when I just went to check on Babe, she was simply lying with her legs tucked under her, in exactly the same position Phil had seen her earlier in the evening. She's a heifer, which means slow labor. (My first birth took 25 hours, start to finish; my last took right about two.)

Truthfully, other than the coolness of a palindrome date, tomorrow morning would be a much better time to birth. It's supposed to hit the upper 30s tonight, whereas tomorrow should be in the 60s. If I was a little calf, I know what weather I'd prefer for my first glimpse of the world!

In other news, I have started, with some reluctance, to read Growing Great Garlic. A few pages of homestead continuing ed at night puts me to sleep quickly. But the first chapter captivated me so much, I wished I could stay up all night.

For example: is garlic a food, a spice, or an herb? Hmm ... it's just garlic.

It grows in the fall, when plants are supposed to be dead. And it never actually dies. it rests (not "dormant," but "resting"). Somehow they are fertile, but never fertilized.

And did you know that stalk is white and underground? That the cloves are actually swollen leaves? That technically the cloves are bulbs within a bulb, but they aren't called bulbs, and no one knows why they are called cloves?

I love learning stuff like this!

Monday, February 20, 2012

Our Little Snow


As we drove home late yesterday afternoon, a thick, wet snow was falling fast. Since I wasn't driving, I loved to gaze on the white trees out the window: so rural, so pristine, so beautiful.

Happily, we had no calf waiting for us; Phil wonders now if the cow wasn't actually bred during Snowman's rogue week last year. That wouldn't hurt our feelings if she needs a couple extra months. (I'm not usually pleased about delays in birthing, but with a half foot of wet snow, how could I be anything but pleased?)

We woke to a white wonderland. Phil, good snow driver that he is, bundled Abraham off to get his stitches out at 8:15 (of all the days of the year to have an early appointment!). It turned out that, though he had only about a 2cm laceration, he had seven stitches, just like Isaiah, who had a 6cm laceration.

The boys pulled on snow gear and went out for most of the morning, just romping in the snow. They threw snowballs, cleared the trampoline and tractor by hand, ran around, and just generally had a ball.

Since the sun was out and the snow was melting rapidly, it was good they played while they could: by night, the branches were clear and about half the ground was visible.

The puppies had a groundbreaking day. Their eyes opened partway, though I don't think they can actually see anything yet. And they started actually walking on their feet, which is, I must admit, one of the cuter things I've seen in my life. I brought the two little boys over to watch, and they laughed from their bellies to see these little, fat rolly-pollies wobbling around.

Saturday, February 18, 2012

A Puppy Interlude: Growing Quickly









Real Pruning Begins


I have been reluctant to check on the bees: even pulling out the monitor under the hive to see where they are clustering seems a bit risky to me. But with beautiful weather today, I put on my bee veil and one of Phil's white t-shirts over my clothes, and headed down.

Pollen-laden bees were flying into the back of the hive, as if to deposit their hard-gained bounty there. And the screen had, incredibly, several wax flakes on it, those tiny bits of beeswax that each been secretes in periods flush with food, heat, and energy (eight tiny wax flakes per bee per day). This seems awfully early in the season for bees to be building!

At the front of the hive, I realized why bees were going in the back. Fruitless though that endeavor was, the number of bees attempting to access the small entrance was incredible. I suited up fully and went down to remove that mouse reducer.

A boiling of bees emerged, humming loudly. Clearly, there was pent up energy lined up, waiting to get out.

It was beautiful. Hundreds of bees hovered about two feet from the entrance. I've been reading the fascinating Hive Management: A Seasonal Guide. Author Richard Bonney says that when baby bees are grown enough to become foragers, they make triangulation flights at first, flying out a few feet, facing the hive, and hovering. Later, they'll go out a bit further and hover, before taking on foraging responsibilities.

So exciting: here were hundreds of baby bees, born in 2012, making their inaugural flight while I stood there and watched! I was mesmerized by the hum, the newness: it was the first touch of sun for hundreds of bees, and I was there to share it.

By the time I got the camera, the flurry was about done, with only a few dozen bees hovering, hard to see against the brushy backdrop.

A year ago right now, I had no bees, only two packages that wouldn't arrive for a couple of months. It feels so right to have the bees here already, gathering dandelion pollen, on site for the daffodil surge that will come soon.

***

After my frustrating minor pruning on Tuesday, Phil and I talked about whether we wanted to prune more. Several permaculture teachers we respect plant thousands of trees on their land, and then don't do much to manage them, thankful for the fruit they produce. If you have no input costs, any output is a bonus. Last year, in the midst of our market garden chaos, the idea of one less task to learn and execute was very appealing. "Why prune?" sounded like a decent motto, and we left it at that.

This year, as I trimmed my way through the most egregious of branches, I realized that I'm not a big fan of untrimmed trees, especially trees that were initially supposed to be our main source of income, and that border the road. While a few of the trees naturally developed a beautiful central leader with radiating branches, most grew unevenly, gangly, forked. I could imagine these poor trees with fruit, breaking from their overextended branches. Horrible.

So Phil started to research how to prune, and after a few hours, came away with a good understanding of both pruning and training.

He spent part of the morning cutting little wood blocks for training the branches to the angles we want, but the sap is not rising enough to insert them easily; after a few attempts, he gave up.

The pruning part makes a lot of sense, really. About four feet off the ground, the tree puts out the first layer of radials. Ideally, these three or four main branches are evenly spaced around the tree, a few inches apart vertically. (The ideal is very rare. We got as close as we could.) The center of the tree continues to grow up, and one or two feet above the top radial, you let a second set of radials grow.

In pruning apple trees, then, you first figure out which vertical is the central leader. If there are two competing, cut the smaller one off (usually). Try to get the radials spaced evenly, pruning off any with too small an angle to the trunk, or that crowd. Then cut off about a quarter or so of each branch and the central leader, which makes the trees proportionate.

It also makes them smaller. The eighty we did today went from spindle-shanked ...

to compact.

I love it.

Happily, too, I was able to quickly go through the piles of debris and cut off the new growth I thought might be large enough for grafting. The large piles of brush yielded a fair number of possible grafting branches.

Of those, a good many were still too small (though not by much), and two of the larger bundles ended up being plant patent protected, but I have about 40 scions that will hopefully be good, and legal, for grafting.

***

And while I was cutting scions, Phil watered the cows, and then we both went to watch them. The little calves were adorable. They were butting each other and jumping through trees. Charlemagne squared off with Fern, his mother (whose horns are a good foot longer than his). Then five little calves would run together to the other side of the paddock, then turn and run back. Sometimes they would kick off their back feet. It was so joyous and, well, spring!

When Snowman got in with the cows a bit early last May, I wrote that we suspected he had bred one of the two-year-olds. The due date would be tomorrow, and we've been watching both two-year-olds all week. This evening, Babe's backend was floppy, and she was standing more still than usual.

Since we've had no snow all winter, and four inches or so are predicted for tomorrow, I can't say I'm surprised. That's how it happens sometimes.

May Babe the heifer have an uneventful birth and a healthy baby.

Friday, February 17, 2012

Sicknesses and Remedies

On Friday morning, the seventh morning after Phil fell sick, he woke up and said, "I feel infinitely better!" Apparently, his sinuses had drained overnight, which woke him regularly, but also, finally, helped him feel restored.

Joe, on the other hand, had what appeared to be a fever. Homeopathic Aconite, commonly used for colds, hadn't helped him earlier in the week. This day, he took a dose and would sleep for several hours (despite three brothers playing on the bed all around him—since the bed takes up the whole floor in our only bedroom, that makes sense). By the afternoon, Joe was better.

Only to have Isaiah and Abraham complain of ear aches by nightfall! I pressed some garlic into olive oil, added a few drops of grapefruit seed extract, and dropped it in. They weren't huge fans of drops in the ears, but they woke ear ache free. Garlic is good stuff!

(Parenthetically, I think it interesting that antibiotics are generally prescribed for ear infections. For the first time in his life, Abraham has been on antibiotics this week. He also got his first ear ache.)

Phil took Abraham to get his stitches out around midday. After the first one came out, Abraham started to cry. Too much swelling yet, so they'll go back on Monday.

In the afternoon, Phil headed to the lower pasture to sawmill, a sure sign that he had recovered his vitality. The one huge log he finished, though, almost gave him a hernia. He said that, though he managed to get the log up on the sawmill just fine, the actual boards he cut, those same 2"x12"x15' that he did a week ago, were almost too heavy for him to lift. He did say that the wood appeared darker. Was the heartwood more dense? Did he really lose so much muscle mass in a week that what he could manhandle with little apparent effort now required such strength he could barely move it?

In any case, after a few hours and six boards, he was wiped out, and called it quits for the day.

Thursday, February 16, 2012

Dress Up


On Valentine's Day, we opened a box from Phil's parents that included a robe his grandma had made for him as a boy. Jadon commandeered it immediately and went around as Obi Wan Kenobi. This reminded me of the dress up box, in deep storage since we moved. I uncovered it at last, and the boys were amazed at the array of textures and colors.

Jadon preferred a face mask with pirate hat; Isaiah liked various scarves and wraps as turbans. After we watched a clip of Superman, Abraham and Joe happily put on (and took off—over and over) Superman outfits.

This was a good thing, as I came down with the never-ending cold yesterday and hardly left the bed. I got in some good reading to the boys (since a mother's work is never done), and some good reading for myself, in between naps. Happily, I felt better today. (Or, as Phil said, "You look like you are alive now. Yesterday you looked ... dead.")

Phil, though, has the lingering cold from a very bad place. Today, the sixth day, he still was not really back to himself.

Yesterday he had gone out to do some light work pulling fencing, and noticed the clutch was slipping. I don't know much about cards, but that didn't sound good. He and the older boys tried to bleed the hydraulic system for the clutch, but it didn't quite go as it should.

After some internet research, he came across a piece of advice that said to pump the clutch 500 times. "You'll feel like an idiot even past 350 pumps, but somewhere around 400, you'll start to feel a change." So Phil went up and pumped the clutch 700 times, and, sure enough, it was working better at the end than it had before he started working on it.

Monday, February 13, 2012

How Ironic

I was talking to my sister last week, and she mentioned how amazing it is that we've had almost a decade of boy-rearing, and only one emergency room trip in all that time.

Thus, it was ironic today that Abraham fell (or something—I had gone with Phil to check the cows, and was coming back when I heard his screams). Somehow he hit his head on the coffee table hard enough to draw blood.

After giving him a compress of toilet paper to staunch the bleeding and giving him homeopathic arnica for trauma, I looked at the back of his head.

We needed a doctor.

The bleeding stopped quickly, so I didn't want to go to the emergency room. Happily our friend Dr. Zach had a time available about two hours later, so Phil took Abraham in.

Abraham had actually hit through to the skull (what a fall it must have been, on the rounded edge of our coffee table), and Zach was able to clean it out properly, then numb the area with injections all around (poor guy—I remember how much that part hurt Isaiah, and can only imagine on the back of head). It looks like he needed three stitches, as I predicted.

Then, since he had hit through to the skull, and since infections can set in and rapidly spread through the body, he also has a prescription for antibiotics.

I'm not a fan of antibiotics for general purposes (low-dosage for cows, pigs, or chickens: no; antibiotics for ear infections: no, I prefer garlic oil; antibiotics for sore throats: no, I prefer homeopathy). But antibiotics to prevent full body infection, starting near the brain? Yes, thank you, I'll give that to my son with thanksgiving.

When they got back, Phil said that he was so embarrassed by how dirty Abraham and Isaiah were. If I were there, I would have said, "Wow, I'm totally embarrassed by how dirty the boys are. Two weeks ago on Saturday, when we usually bathe, we had run out of propane. (Phil had gone to buy some, but the man who filled the canisters had gone home early). So we skipped a week, because we really had no choice. Then this last Saturday, the boys were sick, and we weren't heading to town, so I didn't haul them out into the cold wind to make them clean off. And Sunday we had no running water most of the day because our pilot light burned out, and now it's Monday, and bathing for a doctor's appointment wasn't on the list of things to do. So we really aren't ever this dirty, and I just want to make that clear."

But he suffered his mortification in silence. We'll bathe the boys soon.

While Abraham was being brave during that painful hour at the doctor's, I read in a paper I rather randomly picked up that it's good to get scion wood for grafting in January and February here in Virginia. This shocked me, and, since this was the last of the really favorable days in the biodynamic calendar in February, I headed out to prune as many apple trees as I could.

It just took the afternoon, but I ended up with a nice pile of trimmings. I was looking for scion wood between 3/8 and 1/2 inch in diameter.

When I measured with calipers, all but 46 pieces were too tiny. That's not much to practice grafting. It was a disappointing show.

As Phil and I looked into it a little more, perhaps I could have saved pieces down to a quarter inch. But I had not kept the detritus separated by tree variety. Any pieces I went to gather from the pile outside would be mystery twigs.

It's all part of the education here on the farm. Sometimes I wish the educational process wasn't quite so painful.

On the bright side, they are memorable!

Sunday, February 12, 2012

Crafty Day

Since I worked with the children at church last Sunday, I was not at all surprised when a few of the boys felt ill by midweek. (The petrie dish of child contagion gets us every time.) Phil succumbed to the cold on Saturday, and slept all day. The boys were feeling mellow, so we read a few books and they watched four (eek!) movies. It was a bit ridiculous.

But it was terribly windy outside, so we wouldn't have wanted to be out, even if everyone was happy and healthy. Wind is our least favorite weather.

We had decided Saturday that we would lay low on Sunday, too, which ended up being good. The wind brought a temperature drop, and the bulb in our heat lamp, that keeps our water thawed, burned out. So we had no running water, which meant no showers. The cows' water had also frozen, so by the time we had fed ourselves and the cows, and watered everyone, and bathed, it was night.

In the meantime, Jadon read to his younger brothers.

The older boys were ready to do something interesting, so they worked with Phil on their Christmas kits: birdhouses. Phil needed to help them, as my woodworking skills are nonexistent.

Jadon's is fairly traditional.

Isaiah's a bit more unusual. (It even has a hinged door so you can open it to clean it.)

Then they started tying hemp bracelets.

They made a clock that runs on the juice of potatoes (no, really: the zinc and copper strips somehow turn two potatoes into a battery that powers a little LED clock). The younger boys amused themselves with books. And they played horse.

Friday, February 10, 2012

Lumberjack, Sore Back


Phil headed down to the sawmill this morning and worked there most of the day. He sawed probably about 300' of boards, mostly fifteen feet long 2"x12" planks.

He's learning about how to manage the sawmill effectively. One of the things he noticed is that sections of mostly straight trees have segments where branches connected that can create a lot of waste. He explained his idea for a workaround, but I didn't fully understand it. (I'm not gifted in seeing descriptions without an actual image or example. And I'm not mechanical at all.)

He came up late in the afternoon, pleased with his efforts, but sore. It takes a lot of strength and leverage to move a stationary, waterlogged tree.

My homesteading accomplishment for the day was getting sweet potatoes started making slips. I have heard that if you put a chunk of sweet potato in a glass, half covered with water, after some time, the sweet potato will start sending up shoots and roots. One chunk can, apparently, produce 50 slips!

Since slips are about half a buck each, I would prefer to grow my own. (Especially since the $200 I planted last year produced absolutely no sweet potatoes for me.) I just bought some at the store. We'll see if it works.