Big Machines

The last two days I have milked Bianca single handedly. Towards the end, she gets fidgety, and almost upsets my bucket, but the board in front of her hind legs prevents her from moving too quickly.

She gave a little over 10 pounds of milk today, too! More than a full pound more than she has before.

Saturday was a day of big machinery. While I spent hours gradually picking up the disaster that had become my house, Phil and Butch again worked all day on the fenceline: Butch with his bulldozer and excavator, and Phil with his chainsaw.

Phil was one tired man by the time evening came. He fell asleep over his dinner even! (But he might be getting sick. Isaiah wasn't feeling well this evening, poor guy.)

They have done an amazing amount of clearing. Starting from our road, Old Green Mountain Road, they have opened up a trail as far as I can see into the woods ...

and further on.

The most difficult section to date is the gully that runs across the fence line. Butch has filled in the gully a bit, but he (rightfully) hesitates to fill it in too much, lest it create an unwelcome pond on the neighbor's land.

For a section there, the fence line was lined with large pines. Phil would drop them, then buck them (cut them into sections), and Butch would push them away.

Abraham was happy to go see Butch's equipment and the new road.

At the same time, our hay-man Tyson came over to rip the neighbor's land. His tractor is absolutely enormous.

He said that the field was one rough ride, maybe the roughest he's ever driven. The rip would clog with the bushhogged downed trees, so he would have to stop and push them aside.

Some of the soil he could rip to 18 inches; some he could rip to only six. That's a pretty big difference in soil quality, or in the size of rocks right beneath the surface!

What a difference there is between the ripped soil and the weedy sod.

(Side note for you who pray: Tyson took time away from harvesting his corn and beans in order to rip, as a favor to us. If you could pray that he is not financially hurt in any way because of this favor, I would really appreciate it.)

Sunday, Tyson came over to finish ripping. Not normally a church goer himself, he wondered if we were okay with him working on Sunday. I told him that Jesus himself said that it is good to do good on the Sabbath, and I figured ripping was doing good.

By the time we returned from church, he had finished ripping, and begun discing (you can see the disc in the foreground: it looks like a bunch of plates in a row). The ripping is like taking a bunch of knives and cutting slices in the ground; the discing makes a smoother bed.

Sadly, the disc soon broke, and he finished up the day coming to the orchard and ripping a few of our tree rows. When we go to spread minerals this year, they should end up in the rows much more readily than last year.

This was a pretty delicate balance, since our rows are not much wider than the tractor. (We hadn't known anyone who could rip last year, and we weren't convinced it would be good. By next year, we figured the apple tree roots would be too spread out to be able to rip, but we seem to have read something that said this year, a year later, would still be okay. We hope we didn't just murder our orchard entirely. That would be a bummer.)

But, with some incredible driving (note how he's turned backwards, looking behind him while driving forward!), he managed to rip rows between trees. Amazing.

The fall colors continue to be stunning.

Jadon raced in on Friday and said, "I found a walking stick!" We had seen one once in Texas. What strange, large bugs they are!

Bianca Milking, Day 3: Success!

Phil and I woke 20 minutes late, despite going to bed at a reasonable time. Phil went to tie up Bianca, and she kicked at him and ran away. Not encouraging.

Happily, though, when Phil went to get some dried molasses for her, she walked right up to the gate, and let me clip her to the lead and pulled her into the headgate. I tied her to a T-post this time (she couldn't pull the whole fence over on herself and me), Phil put a board in front of her hind legs, and she stood still, licking up molasses the whole time I milked.

Two quarters were noticeably more full (the two with the larger teats, actually). The other two quarters appeared to be absolutely empty, so I tried massaging her again with warm water, and then I was able to milk her.

She was peaceful; I was comfortable, on my little stool, head on her flank, not pressing my head really hard to prevent her from kicking. The board worked well. It was the way milking should be.

And it was 8 pounds, 14 ounces! Almost three full pounds more than yesterday. It filled two half-gallon jars, and another little jar. So much better emotionally.

Phil and Butch started to clear the fence line along the next door property. It's wooded the whole 1300 feet, so Phil took the chainsaw and cut down many of the larger trees, while Butch came with his claw on the mini-excavator, and the bulldozer to make a path for the equipment, and to knock down the stumps that Phil left.

They made good progress after a full day of heavy labor, perhaps finishing one-third of the route.

Towards the end of the day, they came across on old dump. The junk is mostly just past the boundary line, not on the neighbor's land. Phil figured it was probably the farm dump, back before the land was subdivided. White-walled tires, an old refrigerator and window A/C unit, chairs of a '60s vintage, glass bottles, plastic bottles, metal barrels.

It was a sobering place, to see what, really, all our land should look like, were it not for landfills.

And it was sobering to ponder how we would clean it up (not that we need to, as it's not on the land we manage). How do you get rid of dozens of old tires? Hundreds of old jars?

Phil's big issue was the 700 feet or so of rusty barbed wire, stretched on "our" side of the boundary. How to clean it up? Butch said to cut it into lengths, and then dispose of it somehow.

For myself, several of the boys had a rough day. Jadon was on the highest bunk, about five feet off the ground, and fell on his head. The thud was so loud, and the delay so long, I was just about to comment that I was thankful that no one got hurt. But then Jadon started to sob.

Not a good sign when there's a delay like that. Maybe he passed out for a bit? Arnica for trauma, and a restful afternoon helped him out.

Then another boy pulled the metal shelving off the dresser, the shelving that stores the boys' toys, puzzles, and games. Great was the fall thereof. Both the sound of the crash, and the conk on Isaiah's head. More Arnica for trauma, and then a grumpy momma and intentionally cheerful, helpful children cleaned up the amazing mess.

There are times the size of our dwelling seems really, really small. Or maybe we just have too much stuff.

One day at a time, and more than a gallon of milk, so the day wasn't all bad.

The Bianca Milking: Day Two

After researching yesterday, I found that I needed to "enter my cows' emotional state" and be more relaxed and happy when milking, that I should massage her udder with warm water to encourage let down, and that I could hobble her leg if needed.

All things I faithfully carried out this morning. It still took an hour. Phil hobbled her, but then had to stand on the headgate, because at one point she lunged, and pulled the whole thing off the ground. So I was on the bottom on the stool, had the cow pressing on me, and the gate pressing on her. (It wasn't imminent death or anything, more like lots of pressure in a crowded space.)

When she wasn't dancing, backing, or kicking, she milked out very easily and nicely. My clothes stayed relatively clean, despite a drizzle falling, and a rainfall in the night. I didn't cry once, and remained cheerful throughout.

Only one problem. After 24 hours, she gave 6 pounds of milk. Three-quarters of a gallon. About as much as a mediocre goat.

And this may be her peak flow!?

How depressing!

It is extremely rich and good, though, and we polished off all six pounds today without difficulty.

In other news, the captured chickens remain penned (glory be!), and they showed their hand this morning, when we gathered five eggs from their pen. All previous days we've gathered two or three, but now we know what they are capable of producing, and we know that those chickens are slacking off!

They better watch out, because otherwise: processing time comes soon.

We tried to train Beatrice to a halter. She's probably well over 100 pounds at this point, and quite strong, but we managed to capture her and put the calf halter on. It was still too big, and she was quite stubborn. After playing tug-of-war for some time, I finally tied her to the fence, and let her pull against that. (I'm already sore from the milking!)

Sadly, after what felt like a ridiculous amount of time spent in needless stubbornness, she managed to worm her way out of the halter (it was too big for her).

I know that Milking Devons are brilliant, and that they remember everything, and that, even more than children, you don't ever want them to win an argument. So this is quite distressing.

Phil brought the chicken litter from their cattle-trailer pen up to the area for the new garlic bed. He also brought up some of the compost. You can see the normal red Virginia clay, the white wood chip/chicken litter, and the black compost from our dry lot last year.

Phil realized that the compost was rather mucky, without good tilth, so he's spent some time turning it. By hand.

Bianca: Not Yet an Easy Milker

Instead of sleeping and reading the Bible, my hour from 7am to 8am was spent doing something much less pleasant.

Buoyed by the easy milking of Bethany last week, I set out at 7am, hopeful that I could manage milking her on my own, but I had Phil come, just in case.

Bianca had passed a rough night, lowing for her baby across the fence periodically.

She allowed me to lead her and tie her, but she began to dance around as soon as I began to milk her. Phil adjusted her tie; she danced some more. And pooped. A lot.

Phil went to get more molasses to appease her, and I tried to milk in his absence. She knocked me over on my side. We moved her into a head gate; she refused to allow me to sit on her right side. Trying to milk from the left, she continued to dance. Milk spilled all over my jeans.

It helped us persevere that we knew that she had to be milked out, lest mastitis strike.

But after I knelt in some older dung, then had fresh dung pooped on me, I stripped off my soggy, filthy jeans (so clean only a few minutes before), and milked in my underwear.

A few tears, a few silent screams, some sore muscles from pushing her, and tugging stubborn legs into place. . . . It can only get better, I suppose.

After we took a breather, and I tried to project calm, happy thoughts, she allowed me to milk her, though as I examined the milk later in the day, I think she withheld all the rich hindmilk (the cream). The rascal.

And to add insult to injury, after I was done, I went to hang the pail on a T-post, to prevent her from knocking it over while I massaged salve on her teats. I poured almost half the milk onto me. I couldn't believe it.

Both of us, working hard for an hour, managed to produce 6 cups of milk.

And we're not sure what to do differently tomorrow, to have a better experience.

Nurse Cow and Babies

A year ago today, we got an offer on our Boulder house, thus ending the nightmare stress of the first few months after we moved. What a great relief that was!

Today was a great day. The Indian Summer has continued, with glorious weather in the 80s, and cool nights in the 40s. The fall leaves sift down on the pigs and the trailers, and the colors around the clearing grow more vibrant daily. Truly, the most perfect weather imaginable.

Phil somehow managed to maneuver a round bale all by himself into the new paddock for the nurse cow and calves. We never did come to a good conclusion about which cow should be the nurse cow, so we finally flipped a coin (hey—there's biblical precedent in Proverbs 16:33: "The lot is cast into the lap; but the whole disposing thereof is of the LORD").

Bethany won the coin toss, so she'll be the nurse cow. I like that choice. Although I loved milking her those two days, since she just stood calmly and peaceably, I think both calves gravitate to her, and I noticed they had no difficulty nursing, even both at once.

Both babies are resting and hiding in the sparse grass. We watched them nibble at the greens, which is very sweet: they're learning to be good cows.

Tomorrow morning, we'll start once-a-day milking for Bianca. Although big dairies even do three-times-a-day milking now, for most grass-fed cows, they don't produce a whole lot, and once-a-day milking is enough. There is about a 15% reduction in quantity, but that is mostly water. The solids are the same.

For half the labor, to get 15% less (not to mention being free in the evenings), I think it's a good trade.

To get Bethany and calves separated was an experience in itself. Phil put Bethany on a leader and walked her calmly over. Belle is, perhaps, feeling a bit under the weather. He carried her most of the way before she scampered off.

That little Beatrice, though—she's a firecracker! She would not be guided or corralled into the proper pen! She would hop the water trough, dance through tight openings, charge around the chicken's electric netting, anything!

Meanwhile the other cows noticed the sparse greenery, and especially the stripped cornstalks, so they all walked through to Bethany and Belle. Even Bianca, and then Beatrice. And one sheep.

The sheep was easily manhandled back. Phil tugged Bianca back, and then we used the polywire to guide the remaining three cows back to the appropriate corral. Just as the three cows went back where they should go, two more sheep squeezed to the wrong side. Phil, crouching, with Isaiah at his side, cornered them, and at last: all animals in their proper pens! And, hopefully, milk tomorrow!

We moved the chickens today, and none got out. Phil worked on a more permanent roof (rather than just sheet metal laid on top). Part of the roof is chicken netting wrapped around a wooden frame. I love that we can pour water into their waterer just through the top! So awesome!

And the cow feeder is so wonderful, I made Phil make a new one for Bethany and babies. We were getting 2.5 or 3 days per bale. Now, we're at the end of day 4, and think we have another day to go. What a money saver! (You can see that it looks like about a third of the hay is left in the feeder!)

Continued Progress, and Open Pollinated Corn

When we moved the chickens first thing this morning, seven feral chickens escaped. Argh! We were all looking forward to a day without any barn visitors. Bah! Oh, well. Tomorrow we will try a new method of pen movement, without lifting one side up with a dolly.

I spent some time last week rearranging clothes for the changing seasons. I have to do that for five people, and started to clean out the toys area, and the toys in the motor home. And I woke this morning to find a house that does not have a place for everything. I fear I fall a bit further behind in the "possessions over-running life" category every day.

Jadon began to dig a hole a few days ago.

It has grown, so that he can fit himself into it (like a contortionist, but still!).

Today the boys spent quite some time transporting all their trucks and Little People from the well tailings to their new pen. It is right behind our house, next to the pig pen. I wonder what the pigs think!

Phil spent much of the day putting together the tow package for the mill. He's sawn all the logs up in this section of land, and we want to use the paddock where the sawmill has been set up. After we talked about it, we figured it would be good to put the nurse cow and the two babies there.

Yet another task that only needs to be done once, but sure took a while. Every day, though, we are a little more established here, and from now on, he can tow the mill easily and quickly where it needs to go.

As he worked on the tow package, he noticed bees flying about the ubiquitous white weeds. They sure look like my Buckfast bees. I wonder where the Queen moved, and I hope they continue to thrive in their home.

Phil hit on a good solution for the bucks: he put them out of the electric netting. They cannot impregnate the sheep, are eating the broadleaf weeds we don't want, and are gradually working through rutting season so their meat will again be more palatable.

(When we were children, my Mom would say, "Bucky, bucky, poo!" when we did something particularly gross. A blowout diaper, for example. I wonder now: was that a cultural Dutch expression? Or was that a throwback to her mother? My grandmother, and all her eight siblings, would get a kid each year, raise it, and sell it to pay for school books. They must have experienced the less pleasant aspects of goats—perhaps she started to say that? I know I am!)

My task, to prepare for the arrival of the cows, was to harvest the corn growing in one corner of the paddock. There isn't much: the planting date in May or June (or was it the 4th of July?!) meant that I wasn't expecting much. And I didn't water the patch at all: any growth was simply from nature. The yield wasn't great, but enough that I think it could upset the cow's rumen. And I want to eat it, anyway.

I planted a heritage (older than 50 years), open pollinated variety.

"Open pollinated" varieties of vegetables "breed true," which means their seed will be identical to the parent. You can use it year after year. "Hybrid" varieties do not breed true (they are produced, my Eco-Farm primer tells me, through forced inbreeding). With hybrids, use the purchased seeds to grow a crop, then discard any seeds from the crop, since the offspring will not be at all similar.

Eco-Farm also informs me that "OP [open pollinated] corn could contain an average of over 400 percent more of these nutrients [calcium, sodium, magnesium, zinc, copper, iron, manganese]." We heard similar information at a marvelous lecture by William Woys Weaver: it took 2.5 pounds of conventional tomatoes to equal the nutrients in one pound of his heirloom tomatoes.

My sister mentioned yesterday that, though she's allergic to raw tomatoes (even organic), she's able to eat the heirloom varieties she's growing in her garden.

Why would anyone bother with hybrids? Hybrid varieties usually offer greater yield potential, and often greater pest resistance. They store well, ship well, and suit modern growing/grocery/transportation needs. They generally are short on flavor, short on nutrients, and, at least for my sister, less palatable.

So if you want an heirloom, you'll either need to shop at a small farm or farmer's market, or grow it yourself. Modern groceries don't carry heirlooms.

October Hike

Friday night, right as darkness fell, we tagged both heifers. Beatrice is 21, and Belle is 22. It was extremely easy: disinfected applicator and tag goes between cartilage strips in the ear, and I quickly punched through and the process was done. No major squirming, no blood: what a great system!

I also tried extra teat removal, which is supposed to be an easy snip, not painful, with no blood (or at least, very little). Beatrice had a little extra, almost more like a mole, but the surgical shears I had didn't cut. Neither did the scissors I tried next. I'm not sure where to order sharp enough scissors, but that was one of the most distressing things I've done this year: to attempt what should have been a simple procedure without any success at all.

First thing Saturday morning, as we finished chores, Phil and I rolled a new hay bale into the pen (no animals escaped this time, thankfully). Phil then took a warped cattle panel, and a shorter piece, wired one side together, bent the whole wire around the bale, and used climbing carabiners for the other side. He snipped some sections off around the top for the cows, and cut little holes in the middle and bottom for the sheep, and we have a very effective feeder.

Unbelievable. After all that time, wasting 40% of our hay, to have a solution that worked in 15 minutes of time and maybe $25 in materials. Again, unbelievable.

We all spent the midday on our traditional October hike (we did one when we were camping in October 2008, when Joe was seven weeks old; one last year when we had Abigail, and now this year, too). We don't often make it to the back of the property, so it's always an adventure.

I made the mistake of showing the treats I was packing (lollipops and chocolate chips), so very soon after we left, the steady reminders of hunger and fatigue began. It made me laugh a little, and we did enjoy the treats: eventually.

With Phil hacking a trail with the machete (notice Isaiah holding it, below), we crossed onto the neighbor's land, and found an abandoned homestead, now just a fallen chimney. There's actually two chimneys on the neighbor's land, and an old wall on ours. It makes me wonder about the residents. Why did they choose this random location? For the fallen chimney, there is no immediately obvious source of water. Maybe they dug a well?

On the way back, we walked a trail Butch cut on his land. It was nicely cleared, but very steep, both up and down. Some of the sections felt like roller coasters: very steep. The division between his bottom land, in hay, is so pastoral.

Quite different than the neighbor's unused land.

Lots of room for improvement.

The October hike usually leaves me feeling overwhelmed. How little we've accomplished in a year: so little cleared, no home, so little fence. The to-do list feels endless.

I mentioned this to Michelle Bessette today, and she said, "Amy, what if you only had five acres? You'd get the five acres the way you'd like, and then there'd be nothing more to do. This way, you could spend the rest of your life making the land more productive."

That was an encouraging thought. I think, though, there's a part of me that wonders how much more we could pour into five acres. (Greenhouse? Raised beds?)

In the afternoon, I worked in the garden a bit. I realized I had neglected to plant cilantro, so I took my super-special bed I had begun earlier this year, the bed I put 200 pounds of sand in, the bed I had intended to double dig, though I didn't get around to it: I took this bed and planted it to cilantro. (For good measure, I added a few perennial Egyptian walking onions and a few elephant garlic bulblets. We'll see if they come up.)

To finish the bed, I dug into our compost pile, made from the last winter's dry lot.

I was pretty excited to see what alchemy occurred this summer, so I was disappointed to open the bed and find that the compost was filled with partially decomposed wood chips. The color was a rich black, but as I dug in, a few spots seemed to be mucky. One little spot was stinky.

Maybe not enough air? Maybe it needed more turning? It did hold water beautifully: still moist and spongy after our six inches of rain about ten days ago.

I put some over the cilantro, so disappointed in the texture. But as I spread, a feeling of joy and health sprang up. I wasn't expecting that. (Maybe that was the biodynamic preps, doing their job?) It made me quite enthusiastic for the compost for my garlic beds.

Phil finished the chicken pen, and we moved the broilers into it, only a week or two after they really should have moved. Then, we happily tried to catch our naughty feral chickens, that have been scratching up my soap on my barn-kitchen-counter, that have been eating cat and dog food, that have knocked jars off my table (and broken them). Bah! No more chickens in the kitchen!

Feral chickens are hard to catch until darkness fell. Then we could grab them off their roost.

One or two did manage to get out of the pen this morning (so resourceful), but how delightful to have them contained. The cat will be grateful, too.

Today, we had time to stop at the Bessettes for a while this afternoon. How delightful. We have missed them, and a little break from Bible study gave us the long-awaited opportunity to visit.

As we drove home from church, we followed up a tip and found downed road apples, or Osage Oranges. I have read several articles about living fences, the most recent in Mother Earth News. As I gathered some fallen "brains" into my car, a man stopped and asked, "Are they good to eat?"

No, but they should make a very nice living fence. Eventually.