We watched Fern all day long. She showed no symptoms of heat, which is promising! I'm not entirely persuaded yet, since one of the babies had been going into heat the same time as Fern, and she, too, showed no sign of heat. So maybe the warm weather today prevented heat. We'll keep an eye on her.
I went down to the pasture late this afternoon to see if Fern would stand for me, as she does when she's in heat. Phil was headed down to the pasture and we stopped to look at the animals.
"Is Annabelle dead?" he asked.
And, bizarrely enough, YES! Annabelle was dead. Very newly dead, but definitely dead.
Ten days short of a year since we got her.
Phil mentioned, in retrospect, that she hadn't seemed as chipper this morning. But still: just because a son has a little tummy ache doesn't mean that I expect him to turn up dead later in the day. Too surreal!
She had been laying in a dry water tank. When he moved her out, he noticed some milk in the tank. Her bag looked a bit larger than normal. If she had just given birth, we would have said milk fever, since she showed no sign of symptoms and then was dead. As far as I know, she was still nursing her two bucks. I've never heard of milk fever more than a day after giving birth.
Mastitis didn't appear to be a problem, as her udder was pliable and soft. She didn't have an obvious parasite load, and her pelt was luxurious and free of bare patches. She really looked perfectly healthy.
We spent the next several hours disposing of her into the compost pile. We took out her innards, both to see if we could determine the cause of death and to allow her to decompose more quickly.
Her innards looked perfect. All the right color, with a nice layer of fat, so she didn't starve to death. Her esophagus appeared clean, so it didn't look like she choked to death. Her skull wasn't deformed so, presumably, no cow stepped on her head. She did move off of lower pasture to the upper pasture, but that shouldn't be too bad a change in forage, as none of the other animals appear to be in bad shape after the move.
I don't think she died of poisoning, since none of the other animals are sick. I don't think she died of bloat, since she's had some fresh greens to eat and some hay.
Her black bucklings did not appear to be suffering from heat exhaustion, but perhaps, if she had a cold and was feeling a bit off, heat exhaustion killed her. That's our working theory, in absence of any better ones.
In any case, we're praying protection for the rest of our animals.
If we only knew what killed her, we'd feel much more secure. As it is: we don't know what to expect. Lord, please protect our cows!
Friday, August 20, 2010
Thursday, August 19, 2010
The Great Deluge That Didn't Happen
As Phil drove home Wednesday from his morning meeting with guys from church, he heard about a flood warning for our area. Since our cows were still in the lower pasture, in the flood plain, we brought them upslope when he got home. This is better for hay delivery, too: the road to them is awfully steep and slick, and the lower pasture gets soggy at times. With the daily rain we've had, we weren't sure how we'd get a hay bale to the cows.
The cows had done a good job cleaning up the pasture. If you look at the "Potato Harvest" entry on August 1, you can see the same view as the one above, just two weeks later. Below is the interior of that pasture, along one of the "cow trails." They really ate everything from about 5' down, except the wild roses.
Or another view. Before.
And after.
After we moved the cows (thankfully, without incident), we spent some time getting everything ready for the deluge. I planted some lettuce seeds, and we pitched hay to the animals.
But while it did rain a bit, we didn't have anything close to a flood. It strikes me now that I almost felt cheated at the time: where's a good natural disaster when you're prepared and ready?! Maybe I should be thankful instead that our fence remains standing. Goodness gracious.
Phil has been reluctant to clear the rest of the lower pasture. The truck has a leaky hydraulic fluid hose, which means he has no power steering and the brakes don't work that well. (!) Even if the ground were firm and dry, which it isn't.
But without the truck to haul his stuff, he was looking at carrying his chainsaw and protective gear (Kevlar chaps to keep him from cutting off his leg, hard hat to keep him from braining himself with a falling log, eye covers). Also fuel for the chainsaw and bar oil, so he can refill after an hour of heavy use. Then an ax and hatchet, a needed beverage (by appearance, I would not be surprised to find that he sweats quarts, if not gallons), a peavey to help roll logs out of the way, and probably another item or two I'm forgetting.
That's quite the quantity to haul. So instead, we set up a tent in the lower pasture where he can leave his equipment overnight. So practical! Now he just has to haul liquid down.
He spent about four hours this afternoon cutting brush. He was stung again before he located the ground bees' hive. Now we know where it is and can leave it alone. It's maybe 18 inches from a small trio of trees. Phil wonders if they built their nest in the roots, so when he chainsawed the three trees down, the bees were not happy. Their entrance is maybe the size of a penny: really small.
After four hours, you can see, in the photo below, Phil walking down the path he'd just cleared. (What?! You can't tell there's a path there?)
He actually did make great progress clearing: the entire swath in this photo, plus a little more, now has a section of open land, so he can fence there along Hog Creek.
I love our creek.
Phil spent some time today putting all 21 ruminants in the same fencing. The sheep had escaped the triple strand wire, and were grazing at will in the upper pasture. No, no. So now we are trying out the cows in the sheep's electric netting. So far so good.
Speaking of babies, I was thrilled yesterday to read what is, I think, the solution to our calf problem. Should both calves live (as we hope), I had read and been advised to 1) pull the baby off the mom immediately and feed replacer (no way!) or 2) keep the baby on the mom and milk what you can. This is more natural, and I can understand the benefits to the calf. Obviously, mother's milk is the best for growing strong and lasting animals. But we sort of want milk for ourselves, too, and I think that gets more difficult as the calf continues to grow.
Well, Kate Yegerlehner of Illinois wrote an article on Nurse Cows. Basically, we would let both calves nurse their mothers for a few days. Then we would move, say, Bethany's cow to Bianca. Bianca would nurse the two babies and not milk at all. Bethany would be only a milk cow and not nurse at all.
This avoids all the hassle of trying to separate babies from mothers at night, and provides a (hopefully) constant supply of milk.
I LOVE this idea. I like it so much, I told Phil that we should get another bred cow so Fern will have company (and a nurse cow) when she gives birth. Phil stared at me in amazement: "We're trying to destock and you're looking at buying another heavy eater? We don't even know if we like dairying yet!"
Right.
And we are watching Fern like a hawk. She will be 21 days from previous heat tomorrow, so now we will know if her previous AI took. Oh, do we hope so.
P.S. Jadon is 3000 days old today, I believe, and I forgot to tell him while he was still awake. Blast!
The cows had done a good job cleaning up the pasture. If you look at the "Potato Harvest" entry on August 1, you can see the same view as the one above, just two weeks later. Below is the interior of that pasture, along one of the "cow trails." They really ate everything from about 5' down, except the wild roses.
Or another view. Before.
And after.
After we moved the cows (thankfully, without incident), we spent some time getting everything ready for the deluge. I planted some lettuce seeds, and we pitched hay to the animals.
But while it did rain a bit, we didn't have anything close to a flood. It strikes me now that I almost felt cheated at the time: where's a good natural disaster when you're prepared and ready?! Maybe I should be thankful instead that our fence remains standing. Goodness gracious.
Phil has been reluctant to clear the rest of the lower pasture. The truck has a leaky hydraulic fluid hose, which means he has no power steering and the brakes don't work that well. (!) Even if the ground were firm and dry, which it isn't.
But without the truck to haul his stuff, he was looking at carrying his chainsaw and protective gear (Kevlar chaps to keep him from cutting off his leg, hard hat to keep him from braining himself with a falling log, eye covers). Also fuel for the chainsaw and bar oil, so he can refill after an hour of heavy use. Then an ax and hatchet, a needed beverage (by appearance, I would not be surprised to find that he sweats quarts, if not gallons), a peavey to help roll logs out of the way, and probably another item or two I'm forgetting.
That's quite the quantity to haul. So instead, we set up a tent in the lower pasture where he can leave his equipment overnight. So practical! Now he just has to haul liquid down.
He spent about four hours this afternoon cutting brush. He was stung again before he located the ground bees' hive. Now we know where it is and can leave it alone. It's maybe 18 inches from a small trio of trees. Phil wonders if they built their nest in the roots, so when he chainsawed the three trees down, the bees were not happy. Their entrance is maybe the size of a penny: really small.
After four hours, you can see, in the photo below, Phil walking down the path he'd just cleared. (What?! You can't tell there's a path there?)
He actually did make great progress clearing: the entire swath in this photo, plus a little more, now has a section of open land, so he can fence there along Hog Creek.
I love our creek.
Phil spent some time today putting all 21 ruminants in the same fencing. The sheep had escaped the triple strand wire, and were grazing at will in the upper pasture. No, no. So now we are trying out the cows in the sheep's electric netting. So far so good.
Speaking of babies, I was thrilled yesterday to read what is, I think, the solution to our calf problem. Should both calves live (as we hope), I had read and been advised to 1) pull the baby off the mom immediately and feed replacer (no way!) or 2) keep the baby on the mom and milk what you can. This is more natural, and I can understand the benefits to the calf. Obviously, mother's milk is the best for growing strong and lasting animals. But we sort of want milk for ourselves, too, and I think that gets more difficult as the calf continues to grow.
Well, Kate Yegerlehner of Illinois wrote an article on Nurse Cows. Basically, we would let both calves nurse their mothers for a few days. Then we would move, say, Bethany's cow to Bianca. Bianca would nurse the two babies and not milk at all. Bethany would be only a milk cow and not nurse at all.
This avoids all the hassle of trying to separate babies from mothers at night, and provides a (hopefully) constant supply of milk.
I LOVE this idea. I like it so much, I told Phil that we should get another bred cow so Fern will have company (and a nurse cow) when she gives birth. Phil stared at me in amazement: "We're trying to destock and you're looking at buying another heavy eater? We don't even know if we like dairying yet!"
Right.
And we are watching Fern like a hawk. She will be 21 days from previous heat tomorrow, so now we will know if her previous AI took. Oh, do we hope so.
P.S. Jadon is 3000 days old today, I believe, and I forgot to tell him while he was still awake. Blast!
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
To the Movies!
Ken treated us to Toy Story 3 (in 3D!), while Cheri took Joe and entertained him.
I laughed. I cried.
Would I want to watch it again? I don't know. Since the theme is growing up and the painful change that accompanies that, it's not light entertainment. And the bad guy is really, really bad, including imprisonment and interrogation by torture. That went a bit beyond.
It has a great caper escape, and a great, bittersweet ending.
But, my, was I tired when it ended.
I left with a profound thankfulness that I am not, by profession, a movie reviewer. I don't know how they do it.
The quote that I thought of, although not really related at all, comes from Newbery Medal book Elijah of Buxton.
I laughed. I cried.
Would I want to watch it again? I don't know. Since the theme is growing up and the painful change that accompanies that, it's not light entertainment. And the bad guy is really, really bad, including imprisonment and interrogation by torture. That went a bit beyond.
It has a great caper escape, and a great, bittersweet ending.
But, my, was I tired when it ended.
I left with a profound thankfulness that I am not, by profession, a movie reviewer. I don't know how they do it.
The quote that I thought of, although not really related at all, comes from Newbery Medal book Elijah of Buxton.
The body is not made to endure. There's something inside so strong it flies on forever.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Saturday, Sunday, Monday
Phil puttered around the farm on Saturday, doing little odd jobs that need to get done, like scything and mowing. In the late afternoon, he headed down to the unfenced section of lower pasture and began to clear along Hog Creek. I went down later to stand amazed at the dense thickets he hacked through, the junk trees he'd cut down.
His time was cut short by cutting through (near?) a stinging insect home. Whether ground bees or hornets or what, he didn't stay around to find out, but turned off the chainsaw and ran.
When we went back later, he cautiously grabbed the chainsaw, as angry stinging insects continued to fly about. How to proceed? We shall see.
I spent time continuing to clear up my poor, neglected garden. I picked a single cabbage plant and was astonished at the number of orange and black cabbage shield bugs. Blech! I squished and squished, and finally carried the whole plant to the compost bin, where I trust the chickens made short work of eggs and caterpillars.
I planted some winter greens (collard greens, mustard greens, kale), and planted another bed, today, to beets.
On Sunday, we carted, as usual, many dozens of eggs up to church. We have faithful purchasers there, and that is a great encouragement, to have friends who buy our eggs and love our eggs.
We stopped at Whole Paycheck (er, Whole Foods) while we were in town, and I found a homeopathic remedy for bladder incontinence/bed wetting. Alone among our children, Joe has struggled with bed wetting. I do realize that children grow out of it at some point in their first decade, but if a homeopathic pill will help him, I would appreciate a less-stinky mattress. I'll keep you posted on whether it works.
I've been amazed at times with the immediate efficacy of homeopathy. Whether oscillococcinum (ah sill o COX i num) for the flu, or aconitum for general ill; whether arnica for trauma or arsenicum for food poisoning (for our roommate in Boulder, not for us!); whether apis mellifca for bee stings or nux vomica for stomach upsets: these are inexpensive remedies that do no harm and do much good.
Today started blazing hot. We've had a few cooler days, and we huddled inside. I went out around noon to get some fruit, and wondered if I should water my garden.
Within fifteen minutes, we were having an incredible downpour. I mean, I know it rains in Virginia, but we got over an inch in about half an hour. Water was streaming through our A/C, running down the walls. We could look through the sheets of water on the windows at the woods, tossed by the most wind we've had since we've been here.
And then, a half hour later, the sun came out and the heat was gone.
For dinner, we had rice bowls, with garlic, onions, and okra from our garden, pork and eggs from our animals.
I am getting chubby, eating so much delicious food. I keep thinking, "I am really only hungry enough for one small helping." But then I'll have three. Or four.
I've never been prone to gluttony, but I am becoming acquainted with that vice, I fear!
His time was cut short by cutting through (near?) a stinging insect home. Whether ground bees or hornets or what, he didn't stay around to find out, but turned off the chainsaw and ran.
When we went back later, he cautiously grabbed the chainsaw, as angry stinging insects continued to fly about. How to proceed? We shall see.
I spent time continuing to clear up my poor, neglected garden. I picked a single cabbage plant and was astonished at the number of orange and black cabbage shield bugs. Blech! I squished and squished, and finally carried the whole plant to the compost bin, where I trust the chickens made short work of eggs and caterpillars.
I planted some winter greens (collard greens, mustard greens, kale), and planted another bed, today, to beets.
On Sunday, we carted, as usual, many dozens of eggs up to church. We have faithful purchasers there, and that is a great encouragement, to have friends who buy our eggs and love our eggs.
We stopped at Whole Paycheck (er, Whole Foods) while we were in town, and I found a homeopathic remedy for bladder incontinence/bed wetting. Alone among our children, Joe has struggled with bed wetting. I do realize that children grow out of it at some point in their first decade, but if a homeopathic pill will help him, I would appreciate a less-stinky mattress. I'll keep you posted on whether it works.
I've been amazed at times with the immediate efficacy of homeopathy. Whether oscillococcinum (ah sill o COX i num) for the flu, or aconitum for general ill; whether arnica for trauma or arsenicum for food poisoning (for our roommate in Boulder, not for us!); whether apis mellifca for bee stings or nux vomica for stomach upsets: these are inexpensive remedies that do no harm and do much good.
Today started blazing hot. We've had a few cooler days, and we huddled inside. I went out around noon to get some fruit, and wondered if I should water my garden.
Within fifteen minutes, we were having an incredible downpour. I mean, I know it rains in Virginia, but we got over an inch in about half an hour. Water was streaming through our A/C, running down the walls. We could look through the sheets of water on the windows at the woods, tossed by the most wind we've had since we've been here.
And then, a half hour later, the sun came out and the heat was gone.
For dinner, we had rice bowls, with garlic, onions, and okra from our garden, pork and eggs from our animals.
I am getting chubby, eating so much delicious food. I keep thinking, "I am really only hungry enough for one small helping." But then I'll have three. Or four.
I've never been prone to gluttony, but I am becoming acquainted with that vice, I fear!
Friday, August 13, 2010
Late Breaking News: The Snake Is Dead
Phil ran in at 10:30 and said, "Hey, Amy, come see this snake!"
Why would I want to do that?!
"You should tell me if I ought to kill it!"
Our first broody chicken and chicks had started a racket. Phil went out with his headlamp and gathered up a frantic chick. As he was about to set it down, he realized that the surface of the pallet perch was moving. (Shiver shiver!)
I didn't want to get very close, but with ax and shovel, headlamp and flashlight in Ken's hand, Phil killed the five-foot snake.
A Google search showed it was a black ratsnake, a common snake in this area, usually about 5 feet long, black with faint markings left over from juvenile days, happy eater of small birds (harumph!), active on hot summer nights, able to climb trees (eww!), with a strong constriction ability (as Phil found when he knocked it off the pallet with the ax. Shiver shiver!).
Perhaps a 5-foot-long snake could have had some benefit, but I really didn't want it alive. If it's trying to eat my chickens, it's life is forfeit.
I had a similar moment earlier today. I had dumped a bucket of compost on a garden bed when something about toad-size scuttled away.
An enormous brown spider, egg sac under belly, was hiding from me. Years ago, I had read a Reader's Digest article about Brown Recluse spiders, and how their bites turn necrotic (disgusting!). I remembered the article saying they had a violin-like shape on their back. As did this spider.
I sought to kill it with a stick, but it moved away. As a good mother ought, she didn't abandon her eggs. I became a Charlotte-killer, because I thought, "If this spider's babies hatch, and my boys are bit by a brown recluse, who would be to blame?"
But this evening, I realized that a brown recluse is, well, plain brown, with a distended abdomen.
What I had feared was a wolf spider, which may have a mildly venomous bite, but usually does not. From Wikipedia: "Wolf spiders are unique in carrying their eggs along with them in a round silken globe, or egg sac, which they attach to the spinnerets at the end of their abdomen. The abdomen must be held in a raised position to keep the egg case from dragging on the ground, but they are still capable of hunting while so encumbered. Also unique to wolf spiders is their method of infant care. Immediately after the little spiders hatch and emerge from their protective silken case, they clamber up their mother's legs and all crowd onto her abdomen."
Next time I see one, I will let her live.
Knowledge is a wonderful thing.
(Speaking of which, my beautiful yellow barn friend spider, now gone for several weeks, was an orb weaver.)
Why would I want to do that?!
"You should tell me if I ought to kill it!"
Our first broody chicken and chicks had started a racket. Phil went out with his headlamp and gathered up a frantic chick. As he was about to set it down, he realized that the surface of the pallet perch was moving. (Shiver shiver!)
I didn't want to get very close, but with ax and shovel, headlamp and flashlight in Ken's hand, Phil killed the five-foot snake.
A Google search showed it was a black ratsnake, a common snake in this area, usually about 5 feet long, black with faint markings left over from juvenile days, happy eater of small birds (harumph!), active on hot summer nights, able to climb trees (eww!), with a strong constriction ability (as Phil found when he knocked it off the pallet with the ax. Shiver shiver!).
Perhaps a 5-foot-long snake could have had some benefit, but I really didn't want it alive. If it's trying to eat my chickens, it's life is forfeit.
I had a similar moment earlier today. I had dumped a bucket of compost on a garden bed when something about toad-size scuttled away.
An enormous brown spider, egg sac under belly, was hiding from me. Years ago, I had read a Reader's Digest article about Brown Recluse spiders, and how their bites turn necrotic (disgusting!). I remembered the article saying they had a violin-like shape on their back. As did this spider.
I sought to kill it with a stick, but it moved away. As a good mother ought, she didn't abandon her eggs. I became a Charlotte-killer, because I thought, "If this spider's babies hatch, and my boys are bit by a brown recluse, who would be to blame?"
But this evening, I realized that a brown recluse is, well, plain brown, with a distended abdomen.
What I had feared was a wolf spider, which may have a mildly venomous bite, but usually does not. From Wikipedia: "Wolf spiders are unique in carrying their eggs along with them in a round silken globe, or egg sac, which they attach to the spinnerets at the end of their abdomen. The abdomen must be held in a raised position to keep the egg case from dragging on the ground, but they are still capable of hunting while so encumbered. Also unique to wolf spiders is their method of infant care. Immediately after the little spiders hatch and emerge from their protective silken case, they clamber up their mother's legs and all crowd onto her abdomen."
Next time I see one, I will let her live.
Knowledge is a wonderful thing.
(Speaking of which, my beautiful yellow barn friend spider, now gone for several weeks, was an orb weaver.)
We Have Visitors
Yesterday Phil's parents came for a visit. It is a nice break for me, as the boys have uninterrupted grandparent time, which leaves me a bit of extra time to work and putter.
Phil walked around the lower pasture and realized that he couldn't see the goats. We hadn't seen them the day before, either, so presumably they got out. Somewhere. Oh, well.
Today we rolled a large hay bale all the way from the top of the upper pasture to the lower pasture. Ken, my father-in-law, drove the truck in front of the hay bale: it was our bumper. Phil pushed the hay a bit from behind, and tried to steer it. I helped with that a bit and managed the gates.
But with all of us working together, we did it! The 2000 pound hay bale really did make it into the cow pen without taking out any fencing, without running away down the wrong slope, without any animals getting out of their appropriate pens. Wonderful!
I spent a little extra time in the garden today, and managed to get two of the beds ready for fall planting. My root crops of a week ago have come up nicely. I think I prefer fall gardening to spring or summer: maybe because it feels like I actually have some success?
We had a very Lykosh farm intensive dinner: burrito bowls with pork, onions, garlic, okra, limes, and lard from our land. (Beans, rice, and spices were not.) Great!
In a bizarre final note to the court case: we received a bill from the county for $10. The judge had fined Phil $100. Somehow, in the checkout process, someone added on a $70 court fee. How that happened, we're not sure, but there was plenty about this kangaroo court that smacks of extortion.
Phil went to pay the $10 fee, but the man at the desk said, "No. You owe $170." So had we only paid the $10 bill via the mail, we would have been in arrears. After all, we did hear the right amount, and therefore should have known that we owed the full amount.
The whole thing leaves a very bad taste in my mouth. Overall, I have loved living in Virginia this last year, but this experience: maybe not so much.
Phil walked around the lower pasture and realized that he couldn't see the goats. We hadn't seen them the day before, either, so presumably they got out. Somewhere. Oh, well.
Today we rolled a large hay bale all the way from the top of the upper pasture to the lower pasture. Ken, my father-in-law, drove the truck in front of the hay bale: it was our bumper. Phil pushed the hay a bit from behind, and tried to steer it. I helped with that a bit and managed the gates.
But with all of us working together, we did it! The 2000 pound hay bale really did make it into the cow pen without taking out any fencing, without running away down the wrong slope, without any animals getting out of their appropriate pens. Wonderful!
I spent a little extra time in the garden today, and managed to get two of the beds ready for fall planting. My root crops of a week ago have come up nicely. I think I prefer fall gardening to spring or summer: maybe because it feels like I actually have some success?
We had a very Lykosh farm intensive dinner: burrito bowls with pork, onions, garlic, okra, limes, and lard from our land. (Beans, rice, and spices were not.) Great!
In a bizarre final note to the court case: we received a bill from the county for $10. The judge had fined Phil $100. Somehow, in the checkout process, someone added on a $70 court fee. How that happened, we're not sure, but there was plenty about this kangaroo court that smacks of extortion.
Phil went to pay the $10 fee, but the man at the desk said, "No. You owe $170." So had we only paid the $10 bill via the mail, we would have been in arrears. After all, we did hear the right amount, and therefore should have known that we owed the full amount.
The whole thing leaves a very bad taste in my mouth. Overall, I have loved living in Virginia this last year, but this experience: maybe not so much.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Jadon and Isaiah: Champion Weight Lifters
Shortly after the boys woke up, Jadon went out to get an apple and Isaiah followed shortly afterwards. I had taken the fruit boxes out of the car, but hadn't moved them inside. Really, there isn't much space for me to move them inside.
I was hard at work, and vaguely realized they had been outside for some time. Perhaps they had gone to play in the well tailings or something, so I didn't think much about it.
Twenty minutes later or so, Jadon came in and said, "The chickens were getting the fruit. Isaiah and I moved a box into the barn." Yes. My 8-year-old and 6-year-old had carried an almost 50-pound box of fruit the length of the barn, and hoisted it up onto a table over waist high. (First they had thrown out all the fruit with massive pecks taken out of them.) What dear, dear boys.
The weather continues hot. I made bread, and went to check the temperature; as I picked up the thermometer, I noticed it read 112 degrees. Ambient air temperature; not in the bread.
Isaiah was climbing up onto the top bunk, and fell hard on his back, right onto the plastic bucket we use for storing toy cars. But, once again, the Lord's protection covered him, and he stood up, bawling, with nothing worse than a raspberry.
I made a BLT for Phil and I: bacon from our pig, bug-eaten lettuce from the lone remaining head in our garden (it was quite bitter), and almost-ripe tomatoes from my garden. Even though I burned the bacon, I still enjoyed it.
Phil opened the compost pile to add more material, and we were stunned to see nothing but a few bleached bones from Chrystal. The microbes went to work very quickly. The pile was hotter than we'd ever measured before, too: over 130 degrees.
We moved the four big sheep from the apple orchard down slope. We had hoped to combine them in the lower pasture with the cows and goats, but they are quite difficult to herd; we were fortunate to move them at all. Those big sheep had been eating the apple trees, and that makes my blood boil. We are ready to dispatch at least one of them once the weather cools a bit.
The final note from this day of interesting events is that we are cutting gluten entirely. We had avoided it for a couple of weeks, but I find it hard to give up the ease of baked bread for breakfast or lunch. But within three days of bread consumption, the boys were picking at each other and weepy. Joe, usually Mr. Sunshine himself, cried for almost three hours. Unheard of. And I felt despair.
No thanks. I can figure out alternative menus in exchange for emotional stability.
I wondered about gluten over the winter when we had our foster daughter, but at the time, I couldn't add one more level of complexity. It may have made our lives easier, though, had we avoided bread.
I was hard at work, and vaguely realized they had been outside for some time. Perhaps they had gone to play in the well tailings or something, so I didn't think much about it.
Twenty minutes later or so, Jadon came in and said, "The chickens were getting the fruit. Isaiah and I moved a box into the barn." Yes. My 8-year-old and 6-year-old had carried an almost 50-pound box of fruit the length of the barn, and hoisted it up onto a table over waist high. (First they had thrown out all the fruit with massive pecks taken out of them.) What dear, dear boys.
The weather continues hot. I made bread, and went to check the temperature; as I picked up the thermometer, I noticed it read 112 degrees. Ambient air temperature; not in the bread.
Isaiah was climbing up onto the top bunk, and fell hard on his back, right onto the plastic bucket we use for storing toy cars. But, once again, the Lord's protection covered him, and he stood up, bawling, with nothing worse than a raspberry.
I made a BLT for Phil and I: bacon from our pig, bug-eaten lettuce from the lone remaining head in our garden (it was quite bitter), and almost-ripe tomatoes from my garden. Even though I burned the bacon, I still enjoyed it.
Phil opened the compost pile to add more material, and we were stunned to see nothing but a few bleached bones from Chrystal. The microbes went to work very quickly. The pile was hotter than we'd ever measured before, too: over 130 degrees.
We moved the four big sheep from the apple orchard down slope. We had hoped to combine them in the lower pasture with the cows and goats, but they are quite difficult to herd; we were fortunate to move them at all. Those big sheep had been eating the apple trees, and that makes my blood boil. We are ready to dispatch at least one of them once the weather cools a bit.
The final note from this day of interesting events is that we are cutting gluten entirely. We had avoided it for a couple of weeks, but I find it hard to give up the ease of baked bread for breakfast or lunch. But within three days of bread consumption, the boys were picking at each other and weepy. Joe, usually Mr. Sunshine himself, cried for almost three hours. Unheard of. And I felt despair.
No thanks. I can figure out alternative menus in exchange for emotional stability.
I wondered about gluten over the winter when we had our foster daughter, but at the time, I couldn't add one more level of complexity. It may have made our lives easier, though, had we avoided bread.
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