A Box of Quackers

Phil went to pick up ducklings at the post office this morning. The box of quackers, filled with five varieties of ducks (four of each type) amused us. The ducklings were very vigorous, jumping around, drinking greedily, running into each other. The chicks we got last week are a bit bigger. The ducklings' fluff is a bit more coarse than the down on the chicks; they feel a bit like bunnies. I was surprised that the don't really quack, but trill high pitched cheeps, like the chicks.

Isaiah managed to catch Tux the Hen. She is too quick for me, so Isaiah proves his athleticism.

Phil and I took a walk over to the neighbor's land. A small section, seeded last fall, has a good stand of rye grass.

The peas and triticale, planted just three weeks ago, has sprouted admirably. Which makes sense, because we've had, in my limited experience, ideal moisture and warmth. God has been very gracious.

The chestnuts are budding out, too. They still look like little twigs, but living twigs now.

Overall, we were pleased to see large swaths with sprouted greens (Phil is standing in one of the better ones).

One section has almost no peas and triticale, but a small stand of grasses. In the background, you can see redbuds (purple) and dogwoods (white). Last year I don't remember seeing the dogwoods at all, so that is quite pleasant!

As we circled back home, we stopped to see our heifers and calves in the lower pasture.

Little Cleo tends to be always on the outside. I sidled up to her and she didn't bolt. She let me scratch her behind the ears, then let me rub her neck. She took a few steps away, but then stood while I scratched her and loved on her. What a joy!

Joe proudly helped carry hay.

Isaiah and I finished planting out the other three varieties of unusual potatoes. I heeled in 100 raspberries, but am not sure where to put the other 250.

When I went to water the greenhouse plants, I was astonished to see that the tomatoes appeared to have grown about three inches overnight.

And I have a new friend in the greenhouse. Watering, I noticed what looked like a clod of clay.

Life everywhere!

Planting and Blooms

The expected rain had not come when I woke at 7am. An hour later, we had almost half an inch.

By the time the boys and I had finished school, the rain had ceased, so I went to pot on more tomatoes. I actually finished 99 out of 100 of my trays!

I was heading inside, but suddenly realized that I shouldn't plan my day based on the forecast, but based on the reality. And the reality was, the sun was coming out. So I transplanted broccoli, Asian greens, a few tiny spinach plants (the spinach has not worked well for me!). Then I planted a few pounds of unusual potato varieties. It was fun. I wasn't sure how to trench my little corner of the garden. Phil had used a hoedad to plant raspberries last week; a hoedad is sort of like an axe for soil. I dragged it through our tilled garden and made a three inch trench. I dropped the cut up seed potatoes into it (perhaps not quite properly cut up: we'll see!).

And, thankfully, as evening came, a rain fell and watered my new seedlings. Hallelujah.

We have a pear in bloom.

And a few apples.

I love spring!

An A.E. Housman Moment

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.

The Great Blackberry Planting of '11

With thunderstorms predicted tomorrow, I wanted to try to get all 100 blackberries planted along one of our fences. At 3:30, I had only 45 planted, so I determined to be more focused, and as the sun set, I got the 100th in the ground. We ate late (and the boys just had self-serve fruit for lunch), but the great blackberry planting of '11 is complete.

It was one of the most pleasurable days I've had on the farm. Although the temperature was in the 80s, a gentle breeze blew enough that it didn't feel overbearing. Joe tagged along some of the time, telling me interesting facts in his ever-expanding vocabulary (including that he was stung by a bee last year. I must have blocked that out, if it did happen. But assuming it did, for him to be able to tell now, a year later, an event that happened before he had words to describe it—that's pretty impressive!).

Mostly, though, my heart sang because the soil that I had expected to be hard as clay pots and sharp-edged was actually delightful. My shovel sank in easily, and the top half inch or so was usually darker colored than the clay, showing that the animal impact (both manure and hoof) had added organic matter to the soil. I was happy, too, that the fence was already in place, so I didn't have to wait for Phil or try to drive T-posts in myself.

It was a moment of fruition (though not LITERALLY, yet): we put up the fence to contain the animals; we grazed the animals, and they took out the weeds and small trees. Now the animals are moving on, as we use their former paddocks for vegetables and small fruit. The soil is ready, the infrastructure in place.

And now 100 blackberries are growing, with bees nearby, ready to pollinate. (Celestial hive is on the left, Celadon on the right.)

Lest you think Phil was slacking: not at all. He spent a day doing the mundane, necessary tasks that keep the farm running: calls about hay, and concrete, and extra help; errands for whey and hardware and bank; spreading peat moss for the greenhouse, watering the cows, making a new chick feeder, paperwork. Less fulfilling than blackberries, I expect, and nothing very tangible to see at the end of the day. But the cows don't die of starvation or dehydration; the pigs are fed, the metal building will (eventually) get done.

Life is good.

Bees: Doing Well!

As we awoke to another grey morning, I hoped the weather would change after church got out. Happily, by the time we returned home, the sun had come out, and bees were emerging from both hives and buzzing happily!

Phil finished the last frames so both bottom "brooder" boxes are full, and made new entrance bars. I suited up with a bee hood and long sleeves (with sleeves rubber-banded at the wrists), and we went down to do our first check.

The empty can on top: off. Lift off the wrong-sized inner cover: completely covered with bees. Inside the hive, the box the bees came in was empty, and the bees appeared to be doing their "daisy-chaining," where they somehow measure, using their bodies, the appropriate size and shape of the wax comb they are building. I removed the queen cage, snipped the rubber band that had held it in place, and put in the new frames.

After adding two of the four frames, the intensity of the bees' buzz increased dramatically. They were agitated and confused. I added the last two frames, put on the proper-sized inner cover, and the outer cover. Then Phil helped me remove the entrance bar, and I added a new one that had space for the feeder as well as a little entrance and exit. I refilled their sugar-water feeder, and the Celestial hive was taken care of.

Then we did the same for Celadon, and all was right in the bee world.

The bees were swarming all over, but they must be quite good tempered, because I didn't have any buzz my head. I had two crawl up the piece I was moving, but I brushed them off with hay. None landed on my arms, none took much interest in me at all. I appreciated that.

The Celadon hive has noticeably made new comb already. Perhaps that extra day of vigor yesterday gave them a little boost. But, checking their feeders this evening, the Celestial hive has finished more of their sugar water, so they might catch up quickly.

I'm curious: with mild temperatures this evening, and a feeder they can access without leaving the hive, will they continue their work around the clock? Or are they sun-lovers, who will resume activity in the morning. I look forward to finding out.

A Grey Day with a Sparkling End

When I went out to milk Bianca today, it was like I had a new cow. She stood right up as I approached, headed to the gate for milking, had a strong let down, and gave five cups. The five pounds or so of kelp I give her and the others continues to be empty each day, but to go from wondering whether we needed to put her down to a healthy, chipper animal amazes me.

Joe has been my frequent companion while planting. He will scoop the mycorrhizal fungi and dribble it on the roots. I say, "Thank you, Joe!" and he says, "No, plant say 'Tink ew, Mommy!'" It makes me smile every time. Maybe we all could use more kudos. My kudos today came from thankful plants calling me Mommy.

In a spare moment, Phil and I went to dock the last three lambs' tails. We are a few days late, but I sprayed Arnica on the lambs' noses, and they didn't seem unduly traumatized.

Chestnut the lamb has become quite a pet. She follows Joe and Abraham around the lamb pen ("Well, sometimes she follows Ewok [her mom]," Abraham allowed).

I was surprised, though, that when docking was done, and we were sitting in the hay looking at the lambs, I suddenly had little hoofs on my back. Catechism had come to greet me! I have never had a lamb come and want to sit in my lap like a kitten. I kind of like it! No wonder the boys go to the sheep pen so many times a day! We are all really enjoying them right now.

When Isaiah was in the pen yesterday, he noticed a hen nesting in the sheep's hay. He thought that was quite funny.

The living area hasn't changed much: still two construction trailers, an RV, and a metal "barn." But the greenhouse and trailer/brooder are in heavy use. And the trees in the distance are just greening over.

While Phil spent the day indoors, typing frantically to meet a writing deadline, I finished planting all the raspberries I could in the subsoiled swathes in the market garden. I finished another 150. I need to find a home for almost half the total raspberry plants. I have ideas, but most won't allow subsoiling. Eek!

I had wished for rain yesterday after my 200. Phil had done the watering (bless him), but the hoses we have didn't reach to many of the newly planted raspberries. A sprinkle fell, just a trace in the water gauge, but enough to keep the soil loose and moist, the temperature cool, the sky grey.

And enough to keep the bees inside. Celadon hive had a steady trickle of bees in and out during our grey, chilly weather today. I watched Celestial hive for some time and finally a bee emerged! With a lame leg. She crawled to the edge of the pallet and practically fell off the edge, then crawled away to die. If Hemingway was to write about bees, this would be the story. Not a happy story.

Phil and I talked over the options: remove the lids today, with weather at 51 degrees, and unfavorable biodynamic time, to add extra frames? Or wait until tomorrow, when weather should be twenty degrees warmer, and the biodynamic calendar is a flower day? We debated, but, all things considered, we're waiting to open the hives until tomorrow. (I did lift the can of sugar syrup on top of Celestial hive for a split second, just to see if the queen had absconded. I saw a huddled mass of bees, so they are still there, just not moving. And their can of syrup is totally empty. May the Lord grant them life, health, and vitality, despite my inexperience and ignorance.)

I didn't bother to water the raspberries planted today. No rain was forecast for the next five days, but late on a Saturday, I had greenhouse work to do (I potted on 80 more tomatoes; a new record!), dinner to prepare, children to bathe, and the raspberries would have to do their best in less than optimum conditions.

As I finished up bathing the boys, the rains came. Gentle, steady, soaking, for several hours. It makes me cry even now: I had wished for rain, begged for rain. But when my labor for the week was done, when it wasn't predicted or expected, the Lord blessed this farm with the life-giving water it needed. Praise Him.

(Special thanks to Isaiah, guest photographer on today's blog.)

Four Hundred Raspberries

Yesterday morning, Bianca's raspy breathing had entirely cleared up, though her milk production had dropped to two cups. Her throat swelling had gone down, too. I've been leaving five pounds or so of kelp for her every day, and she (and the bucks, other cow, and bull) clean it up every day. Phil, standing down slope of her, noticed round, hairless patches on her belly. On probing, she didn't act as if they bothered her; I wonder if she had some form of itchy bug that she scratched with her hoof.

Today she seemed better yet, and doubled her milk production to her more standard four cups. (Which is about half of what we were getting before we switched hay two weeks ago, but four cups is worth milking; two cups is hardly anything.)

Phil and I spent a few hours yesterday planting raspberries. With both of us working, we probably only had about three hours each before 200 were in the ground and watered.

I had been wondering earlier in the day what we could do for fruit until we go grocery shopping. My friend Melanie stopped by that afternoon, and she brought a box of pineapple chunks, which we devoured with thanksgiving. What does James say? "Every good and perfect gift is from above." I am often amazed at how the Lord takes care of even little wishes.

Yesterday we moved the 42 surviving layer chicks outside. They are having a great time scratching, but the older hens look at them sideways and the babies jump away. I think the littles realize they have no hope of winning the pecking order war. Not yet at least.

Today we got another box of cheeping broilers. Our trailer brooder house is certainly put to good use. After I picked them up, I planted 200 raspberries single-handedly. It took most of the day. (By comparison, last year it took us two months, both Phil and I working long days, to plant 400 fruit trees. This year, we got 400 raspberries planted in less than two days.)

Last year, this was the day I realized my bees were in trouble; one of the queens had absconded. I watched the hives today. It was chilly and cloudy, and few bees were out. But I watched the front entrances and bees flew in and out of both. Not many, but a constant stream. It looks hopeful!

My intrepid market garden seems constantly thirsty. At the end of yesterday, Phil took a hoe and scuffled the surface of the soil to break up the surface compaction. The water certainly penetrated better, and still looked damp this morning. The plants stood upright and happy. I, with the heavy, filthy length of hose, though, was almost in tears.

Farming transforms character, or at least reveals character flaws. Watering is my issue of the week. I don't have the patience to make sure the hose will properly uncoil. As I reach the end of a row and head back, no matter how careful I am, it seems that the hose crushes some of the tender plants. And I tend to spray my shoes and jeans, and get mud all over.

The worst, though, is that I feel like my mind is going numb. I noticed recently that Phil usually has the iPod on, listening to sermons or the Bible read aloud. My Dad, too, had his earplugs in, and listened to lectures. I do not; mostly I don't mind. But there's something about watering, standing over little plants with a hose, that puts me in a foul mood.

It makes me think about a shepherd I read about in Mountain Born. He was content to sit and watch the sheep because his mind and heart were full of good. Out of the overflow of his heart, his mind was filled with good.

That's not me, yet.