Shearing Continues

As Phil continues to shear sheep (two today!), he’s begun to enjoy it. (Note how bare Eve looks, above. The blades leave more wool than clippers would, but that's okay. It offers the sheep a little extra protection from the sun.) The blades are not so scary, and the technique not so impossible. We have a book titled Shearing Day, all about how to shear with blades. It didn’t make a lot of sense to read before attempting to shear, but now that he’s done seven sheep, he can read with insight. That’s good! Below, you can see Ewok. She hasn't been shorn yet.

I pulled out the remaining kale in my garden, and planted the bed to peanuts today. The peanuts have a 130 day growing requirement, so they’ll probably not quite make it before the frost comes (probably sometime in October). But they just might, in the end, and I’m excited to try.

A few cabbage seedlings poked through the soil in the cold frames. It’s only been four days since planting! Great! I’ve been thinking that, now that Butch has moved all the manure out of the winter paddock, I should turn that paddock into my fall and winter garden: grow massive quantities of garlic, onions, and cabbage. I will need to start making raised beds now, then, in faith that I will plant in a few months.

Butch came today and used his tractor bucket to move a large pile of wood chips from the parking area at the top of the driveway down to cover the composting windrow. Compost piles should, ideally, have a skin on them, so they stay moist and protected as they work. The wood chip covering is their protection.

He’s about to have knee-replacement surgery, and we are thankful he could help us with his equipment before he’s laid up for a short while.

I stripped the seed pods off all the kale I pulled. My single bed, grown from a single packet, yielded over a cup of seeds. The generosity of nature!

Jadon finished his first semester of math. It took him the last week. I love the “Better Late Than Early” philosophy of school. No tears, no trauma, almost 100%, and just a few hours of instruction.

As Phil learns more about rotational grazing, he’s moved the cows into smaller paddocks. The five cows are in an area about 24’ x 24’, and I don’t think we can go much lower. They all have horns, and they don’t always get along in perfect peace.

The chickens did a great job spreading the cows' manure. They scratched the cowpies flat.

I spent a little time working in my “kitchen” barn. I know the techniques of proper organization: is there a better place for this item? Does it need to take up the most “prime real estate” in my kitchen? Do I use this? Do I like this? It can be hard to implement, despite the head knowledge!

The small section I did, though, feels much more restful than it did.

Overall, much good.

(And much kombucha. I’m up to four gallons brewing, or will be, once I get enough water through the Berkey filter. When it’s available, we drink it down, from Phil to Joe. It's supposed to be very cleansing, which I suppose it is; we've had the physical effects to prove it.)

Happy 13th Birthday, Chloe!

I woke up in the night when the power came back. Joe felt feverish all over. I don’t remember ever actually feeling a feverish child with hot hands and feet, too; it seems that usually those stay cool. He woke up mellow, and dozed on and off all day.

An unexplained fever in the middle of tick season? I’ll be watching his wrists and ankles for spots, which would indicate Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever, a gift from ticks. More unlikely, it could be Lyme disease, although he doesn’t have the bulls eye pattern (I do realize that not everyone gets that pattern).

Or it could be that he inhaled too much chlorinated water at the pool, and simply has a depressed immunity right now. It’s hard to know, but easy to imagine the worst.

In the afternoon, we headed to the Bessettes for a short time for a pool party. Pool-hater Abraham refused to get in, but sat watching Jadon and Isaiah as they frolicked in the water. I admired Michelle’s garden; it’s coming along very nicely. And I got to see their adorable little heifer calf. She’s fawn colored, with white circles on her back.

On the way to the Bessettes, we waited for old, almost-deaf Chloe-the-dog to come with us. Her hearing is so bad, she doesn’t come when called, but if Phil turns on the truck, she hears the rumble and comes loping along. We realized that she is 13 today! We thought a year and a half ago that she was in imminent danger of death, but she keeps on keeping on.

I made a double batch of peanut butter cookies (1 C. peanut butter, 1 C. sugar, 1 egg, baked at 350 degrees for about 8 minutes) to celebrate. I didn’t give any to her, though; they were too yummy for that!

In sad tree news, I found many of the Stark Brothers trees covered with a beetle pest. Beautiful, jewel-tone beetles, that totally defoliated several trees.

My Cummins Nursery trees, thankfully the vast majority of my orchard, appear to be doing just fine. Buy beautiful fruit trees, for an unbeatable price, from Cummins!

We had hoped to attempt to artificially inseminate Fern today, but our ordered semen didn’t arrive in time. We think she was in heat, as she tried to mount one of the other cows, but it certainly wasn’t as obvious as three weeks ago. I think the heat (temperature) saps the energy for heat (breeding).

And our pancake patch (field of spelt) is close to harvest-ready: a little field of gold.

I Momentarily Fear for Joe's Life

I was working toward my deadline this morning, when Joe suddenly doubled up in front of me and starting crying, while pressing on his stomach. Back in third grade, I read a Sunday school paper about a boy whose appendix exploded and poisoned his body and he almost died. Ever since, any stomach discomfort really concerns me.

I went to ask Phil about this disconcerting behavior. He was shearing another sheep, and did not appear unduly worried. Joe had stopped crying and watched Phil’s blades with interest.

But by the time I’d walked back to the trailers with Joe, he slipped out of my arms, crawled under the office trailer, and crouched there, on his hands and knees, crying uncontrollably. He didn’t seem to need to poop; he was just really uncomfortable. And greenish in hue. No one else had any symptoms of food poisoning, and I checked on botulism, and it didn’t sound like that.

I forced him to ingest some acidophilus. No change. I didn’t have the homeopathic Arsenicum, which is for food poisoning; in desperation I gave him some Arnica, for trauma.

He vehemently protested the little round pills, attempting to spit them out over and over, while I pushed them back in for half a minute. Then I dragged him out from under the trailer and put him inside on the bed.

He appeared somewhat better: he let me hold him, let me lie him on his back. I tried to massage his tummy, but he was clearly uncomfortable. I turned him over, and massaged his lower back, and he immediately fell asleep. Or was he unconscious? Skin: cold, clammy; color: pale, green.

In truth, I was so scared he was about to die, I didn’t want to leave the room to summon Phil, lest he completely stop breathing while I was away. I watched him take each breath, and picked him up about every minute to make sure he could still open his eyes and respond to my voice.

About that time, Phil was done with shearing, and came of his own accord down to the trailer. He is more laid back than I am, and didn’t appear too concerned. He suggested we take our sweating son to the motor home, where he could rest in air conditioning. Shortly after we transported him, he started to smile when we said his name. Within ten minutes, he was laughing and running around with Abraham.

He never did poop, either, and has shown no further symptoms of pain.

So bizarre!

I’m not sure we ever remembered to put him on our family health insurance plan. He might yet be uninsured. It’s an interesting phenomenon, to have the niggling concern of medical bills hanging overhead, when a son might be dying—or might just have painful gas. Insurance … what a headache!

In the evening, we headed to a church-wide pool party. We had a good time, and even water-hating Abraham sat on the steps in the pool.

When we returned home, we found the power out. Apparently, an inch and a half of rain fell in the few hours we were away. Wow.

Children Come to Visit

We had our first children visitors today. How delightful to see the farm, and the animals, through their eyes. To remember the excitement of holding a chicken, or finding an egg hidden in the hay. Adult visitors tend to be more interested in the workings of the farm; the children were all about the animals (and the trampoline). And our cows were very patient with the quick-moving, excited little ones. I kept thinking, "I prayed for protection today; I hope the animals are listening to their Creator, and don't use their horns untowardly!"

But no problems, and one cow let us pet her back, as she didn't bother to stand up. No accidents with bees, either, despite one little person picking daisies, in happy unconcern, right at the entrance to their hive.

Phil and I moved the sheep this afternoon. The last time he set up fencing for the sheep, he broke one of the new branches off one tree, and the central leader off of another tree. He needed a little help to just keep the netting from snagging on the trees.

The way we rotate the sheep right now is really not sustainable. We were both out there for an hour, so that the sheep could mow a little section of land. "Real" farmers talk about time as money, and how if you spend time doing one thing, you're not doing another. So my stress level increased. As I looked at the trees, too, they continue to have little spots on their leaves, perhaps little "rust" spots. What spray would take care of that? What additional nutrition can we give them? How can we help?

Phil continues to work his way through sheep shearing, as he did another one today. I didn't recognize her, she looked so different. He also tried to encircle the chickens with netting, to keep them in their pen so they will lay eggs in the nesting boxes where we can locate them. Sadly, they all flew out, so we still are missing quite a few eggs (or so we think).

We Work with a Will

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

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

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

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

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

Time will tell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Such a productive day!

Kombucha

Saturday was another workshop on biodynamics. I drove the six hours and had such a refreshing time. I put one CDs of the Psalms and sing, and then I'd feel the urge to pray for a while. Then I'd confess, and sing some more. What a refreshing little mini-retreat.

The class itself had a fascinating lecture, and then an explanation and demonstration of how to crush quartz into a talcum-like powder. This silica is specially treated and sprayed on crops and has many beneficial affects on crops. The demonstration went on a little long for my taste, but overall I had a good time.

We headed up to church this morning, then took an extended lunch break at Chipotle with friends from church. My patient sons, despite having no real entertainment, sat for about two hours. What good boys.

It was over 100 degrees in Charlottesville. We were happy to eat in air conditioning, and then happy to attend Bible study with a group from church; another house with cool air circulating! And so nice to have a little extra time to get to know the beautiful believers we worship with every week.

Before Bible study, we stopped and bought another eight watermelon for the coming week (all eight from last Sunday having been eaten with great joy). And I bought another 106 pounds of sugar; that should last at least this next week. Every cashier I have expresses astonishment at the quantity of sugar I purchase. No kidding.

Some of that sugar has gone to kombucha production. Have you ever had kombucha? It's a health food, a cleansing, detox drink that's naturally fizzy. I like it better than soda, and definitely more than beer, though I think from a "refreshing" standpoint, it could take the place of either. To make it, I bought a couple bottles of GT's kombucha from the health food store. Using GT's as a starter, I added sweet tea and let the mixture sit for about a week. It transforms into a completely different drink. Some day, I suppose, I'll have enough on hand, but for now, all six of us wish we had more.

I've been doubling my production every week (there's a "mother" culture in every bottle of GT's, and as it grows, I can make more), so it won't be long until we have enough for us all every day. Very exciting!

My encouraging thought for today: I've been struggling the last few weeks. But Pastor Bill read from James 1, how the testing of your faith works patience, and patience must finish her work, so you may be mature and complete, lacking nothing. He said, "The scariest place to be is off in the corner where Satan doesn't bother you; it means you're totally ineffectual for God, so powerless that Satan doesn't even have you on his radar."

That was helpful, in some ways, to hear. The frustration and hopelessness I feel is a testing of my faith; but even that will grow something good—patience. And what a relief that even Satan's attacks mean that something good is going on in me and on this farm.

Which is all to say, YAY!

Inordinate Frustration Over Lost Labor

After working on a project for Sonlight much of the week, I went to send it off, completed, when the program crashed, and it turned out that, for whatever reason, none of my work had been saved.

Doggedly, I began again, only to realize after about 90 minutes that, despite appearances to the contrary, the program was still not saving my work.

This made me almost frantic, and I think I had a little taste of what it would be like to do something, day in and day out, that I felt had no purpose. To work for a week on a project that doesn’t come to fruition frustrated me inordinately; to work for a lifetime on a job that served no one—that would be more devastating than I can imagine.

This has been a weepy week for me. I suppose that happens sometimes. I realized this evening that, since visiting Colorado, there's been a little wish within that we weren't here doing this crazy thing, that I had countertops free of thousands of flies and one muddy cat, with kitchen cabinets and Costco, with sister and brother and family. Once I acknowledged that, the next words that came to mind were from a Keith Green song:

"So you want to go back to Egypt, where you're warm and secure?"

Oof, these moments of spiritual growth. Not always comfortable.

This is a little taste, perhaps, of how the Israelites felt. They had a spiritual high while leaving Egypt, saw God's amazing faithfulness and experienced freedom. But as they wandered in a hard place, the memories of slavery faded, and they remembered only the fresh green vegetables and, probably, their hovels.

I haven't really understood the appeal before. They were eating manna from heaven, for pete's sake, following a physical manifestation of God in the cloud.

But transition and change, week after week, no real settlement, no real home—that is wearying.

That said, they were stupid to want to return to slavery. I, too, am not smart to long for ease, when I'm called to be here.