Phil's Day to Shine

On Thursday, I delivered our ewes Eve and Zara, and our black ram Bouncy, to their new home about 70 miles away. While I was away, Phil fixed the water pump in the motor home. For the last several months, we've had the water line hooked up directly and perpetually to the spigot. This is fine in summer, but once the weather freezes, this will halt our running water, so Phil was prudent to fix that now.

He also fixed the little greenhouse (partially dismantled back in June to allow some chicks a stress-free environment while we took the cattle trailer to pick up a cow) and moved his table saw in there. A workspace for bad weather: another timely task completed.

Today, Phil had a brilliant idea. Well, first he had to return the escaped pigs to their proper pen, and re-establish the electric line all the way around. We don't think the big ones will get out again, and maybe not the little ones, either. It didn't take him long, and for a time, we enjoyed the pastoral aspect of the stone fruit with pigs grazing clover and loafing in the sunshine.

We had lent our tiller out for a bit, and it came back unusable. We had looked into replacing the broken part, but after I stood at Tractor Supply for the better part of an hour yesterday and came away no closer to a repair than I began, Phil figured out a fix on his own.

What a relief! We have plenty we want to till.

First, Phil tilled the uphill slope by the big greenhouse. We have lost a good portion of that slope to erosion, and we want to grow a good stand of rye grass, oats, and buckwheat.

Phil broadcast the seeds by hand, while first one chicken, then several, came to eat the seeds frantically.

Phil raked them in.

Joe ran his truck around the seed bed.

With this project done, Phil had another great thought. The T-Tape we had put down for our failed market garden needed to come up. I had tried to roll the sections, one by one, around sticks. This took forever, because I had to free the tape inch by inch from a claustrophobic mass of dense grass.

Worse, the neat rolls did not stay neat for long. Whether through the inquisitiveness of chickens, or perhaps just chance, the rolls ended up horribly entangled. Such a discouraging mess. Should we just chuck it all?

Then Phil looked at our hose roller. We never use it for hose: all our hoses are joined to make 300' and more. But the hose winder makes a great T-Tape roller! So with Phil managing the rolling, and I doing whatever I could to free the lines from their entanglements, we rolled 16 lengths in a reasonably short time, and Phil was able to begin tilling the garden.

He didn't finish with the tilling before dark fell. Some of the sections tilled were not plowed back in the spring, and they were slow going.

I took a few last photos of flowers.

One plant produced both pink and yellow flowers.

Quite nice.

And while no man is an island, some chard may be: we didn't quite have the heart to turn under our intrepid chard, steadily producing since May. Of course, we haven't eaten much of it, as chard isn't high on my list of favorite vegetables, but it is so pretty, and maybe one of these days I will deeply desire some pink vegetable with a slightly bitter flavor. Stranger things have happened.

I picked a few final peppers, before the pepper plants return to the soil.

Oh: and whether it was from Phil's good cleaning of the chicken house, or from the calcium supplement we began feeding the hens on the same day, we jumped from 12 eggs yesterday to 28 this morning. Any day we more than double production is a good day in my book.

And, just for good measure: you never know what you'll find around the farm! Today, the trotters turned up in a few random locations.

More Clearing Opened Up

During breakfast, Phil was reading in our beloved Husbandry when he had an epiphany. Nathan Griffith, apparently, had a flock of wonderful laying hens, but needed to expand his operation after a couple years. He ordered some new birds, and when the new chicks were introduced to the original flock, the older birds quit laying. Obviously, some pestilence was introduced with the chicks to make the older birds unproductive.

This was a complete epiphany, but like a missing puzzle piece. As I remember it, when we added our layer chicks to our layers, the diminution in eggs was so immediate and startling, that I initially thought the chicks were eating the eggs. Then, naive neophyte that I am, I assumed that the layers were simply having a second molting period, but when it stretched to two months, until the new chicks began laying, it seemed like simply one more added insult to injury.

Before we moved the chicks outside, we were getting a good dozen and a half eggs a day. That dropped to just about none (so that we didn't even have enough for eggs for breakfast). And now that the new chicks are laying, we are back to 18 on a good day. I don't think the older birds ever resumed.

Except for the free-ranging ones, that have, apparently, escaped the scourge of mystery. They have consistently laid an egg a day, usually somewhere in the barn.

The signs are very obvious in retrospect, but not at all clear while living. What to do? Kill the old birds, probably, and start with birds from a new hatchery at some later date. (Preferably next October, because I prefer to raise layers starting in fall, not the spring: let them overwinter while growing, and wait to have their first molt until they've been productive most of a year.)

After reading this, Phil was inspired to scour the layer boxes. So he scraped and washed and disinfected, then moved their house to a new location in their current pen. I think there was a lot of unmentionables; it took him several hours.

Next, Phil was heading to the lower pasture when he noticed a little section of thick, new growth. He had been meaning to clear that dense patch for some months, and suddenly thought, "I will just do it a minute."

The base of our finger now looks much more open, more free.

I like this spot now!

The saplings he laid out along the road to the lower pasture as a little corduroy road. While it doesn't offer much additional traction in dry weather, in damp weather, we hope it will help.

And since the road has been compacting drastically in the two years we've been here (either that or washing away), it is good to get some protective cover on it. Keep that soil where it belongs.

I finished weeding the greenhouse today, and planted raspberries until every spot was taken. It astounds me how much more foliage the plants have that were planted into tilled and amended soil, rather than into untilled soil. In retrospect, I should have planted the most vigorous raspberries into the good greenhouse soil, not the runts. It could be I end up transplanting the greenhouse plants out and better plants in.

Argh! More repeated work!

I don't know if it's allergies, or the occasional 3am wake-up, but I felt absolutely ill when I finished weeding.

I went down to the chicken's patch, and started to dig up some of the more pernicious weeds. It looks like we have a few enormous burr-plants, and some other nasty pricker bushes. Not to mention the finite-but-growing clumps of Johnson grass.

It's a mess. I sank into the depths of despair: why are we trying this endeavor, with our 1-gallon-a-minute well, our depleted soils, and our fast-growing weeds?

Phil offered hope: the asparagus, which we've weeded only a few times this year, is thriving and beautiful. It's a bummer to have a garden replenished with weed seeds and grass rootlets, so we'll have to be diligent in the future, and not bite off too much. But we can do it!

And then we had a debate about what to do with the very nasty weeds. Most sources say to send them to the dump, or burn the nontoxic ones (i.e. don't burn poison ivy). But Phil wondered if it was better to keep all that organic matter on the farm. After all, if nature composts, wouldn't weed seed carbon compost just like any other, assuming a hot enough pile?

Our book references (Eliot Coleman and such) apparently don't deal with noxious weeds, being perpetually on top of their weed problems, so they offered no solution to the conundrum.

Our five pigs are yet with us. Chunky looks a bit wild, with his hair standing up.

Buttercup remains watchful of us, the piglet snatchers.

And if you were ever curious what pig courtship looks like, now you know. The boar tries to dominate the female, who demurs until she is good and ready.

Tree Climber

I decided to really focus on cleaning up the greenhouse edges. In the morning, I had a few more raspberries to transplant out of the swales, and I had a 9' swath down the 72' length of greenhouse that needed some TLC. I figured I would weed and transplant raspberries.

Several hours later, I looked up and felt pleased with how much I had done. I estimated that I had finished two-thirds of the length. The section completed looked crisp and sharp (except for a few stray kale I am loathe to pull).

The section to go looked overgrown, but do-able.

Then I looked at the measuring tape, pulled for even spacing of raspberries. I was exactly half way.

I stopped for the day.

Phil lumber-jacked some more, enjoying the feeling of actual accomplishment, noticeable change at the end of the day.

He wasn't the only Lykosh enjoying the trees. Jadon rediscovered his latent love of climbing, and ended up calling to me when I opened the trailer door. "I can see you, Mommy!" From over the top of the trailer. He was really up there!

Cattle Roundup and Tree Hang Up

Phil was finishing his morning chores, and I had just started breakfast when Butch came up in the tractor. "Your cattle are out in the field next to mine," he said. "They aren't doing any harm, so there's no hurry, but I thought you should know."

Without knowing how many were out, we figured it would be good to feed everyone before we went to drive the cattle.

Phil quickly found the breakout place. A small section of electric line was only about two feet above grade due to a natural rise in the terrain. Then, incredibly, a tree limb had fallen on that precise spot, which both shorted out the electric line and offered a free pass to all who wanted to traverse the barrier.

Our original five cows were all still in the pen, periodically bawling. The five calves, plus Snowman the bull and Catherine the stubborn, had all wandered through forest and across path to reach the neighbor's hay field. Butch has a small view of the field from his house, and must have noticed the seven red cows against the brilliant green field.

They knew they had been naughty. We approached them: Phil in front with the kelp, and I from behind, pushing them. It is a bit odd to interact with Snowman in a completely unprotected environment, but, as always, he was a complete gentleman, and acted as he should, without a hint of aggressive behavior.

I was also thrilled to see him sniff Catherine's backside. She gave birth 82 days ago, so she is right about ready for breeding back (most dairies expect 60 to 90 days).

Though the cows tried evasive action once, in which we got them all headed in roughly the right direction before they ducked back into the hay field, it didn't take us that long to drive them home. The reunion of cows was a happy occasion, and the whole process went quite smoothly, really. I helped Phil set the next paddock and pull up the old one, and we moved the water trailer. And with all that, I was still back to the house just before 11am.

Phil spent the afternoon lumberjacking. After a few hours in the lower pasture, he came up: he had hung up a large tree on another one: it had started to fall almost exactly where he wanted it to go, but had caught on another tree way up at the top.

Unfortunately, he wanted to use the caught tree. And he planned to down the tree it was stuck on. Furthermore, he had other downed trees for lumber underneath the leaning tree. So, basically, the entire lower pasture ground to a halt until the leaning tree landed on the ground.

After some internet research to confirm his ideas about how to proceed, he went back down. First, he cut through the last tiny bit of bark and tree, to ensure it was fully free to fall.

Then he looped a sling around the trunk a few times, and connected the sling to the tractor.

He used the tractor to pull the tree. Isaiah and I watched as the tree turned a bit, again and again. But the tractor would go a bit, and then stop. Phil would back up and try another angle. I prayed that the Lord's strength would help push the tree.

After multiple attempts, he stopped and we went to look. The tree had certainly moved over on the stump!

Phil tried to dislodge it manually, laughing at himself for even attempting such a feat. He didn't dislodge it, but he did shake it, which I thought was pretty impressive.

Back on the tractor for more of the same. Phil said later he was just about to give up when

the tree fell.

Marvelous.

We celebrated.

I am glad Phil planned to cut down the tree it had stuck on. The branches on its side were entirely stripped by the fall of its companion.

For now, the tree stands alone, for another day.

This day, too, ended only after adrenaline-pumping, dangerous tasks were met and overcome.

***

In less dramatic news, the trees are turning gold.

The collection of already safely cut logs rests in a row in the lower pasture, waiting for the sawmill.

I see new fungi every day. Someday I plan to learn about mushrooms, but for now I enjoy their incredibly diverse colors, shapes, and sizes. The orange is especially appropriate for October, I think.

The bees have chewed through the paper between hives, leaving a soft wood pulp beneath the hive.

Abraham loves his "fur" lined booties. He calls them his rocket boots, and does amazing feats against imaginary enemies.

A productive, pleasant day.

Goodbye to Three Babydolls

A nice young family came to look at the Babydolls late Sunday afternoon. They ended up taking our white ram, our most beautiful ewe (black, but unpapered), and Isabella.

A great starter flock.

They had such a creative method to contain the animals: a wooden crate they had for tiles, which they flipped up, put in hay, and then, when all three animals were loaded, screwed down a sheet of plywood. Simple, brilliant, used what they had: epitome of farm ingenuity.

So goodbye to Ewok, Benny, and (Rotten) Isabella. You taught us much, and we were glad of your presence.

***

The weather was cold enough, we got out our heater. The first year here, we didn't need supplemental heat until about the 16th, so we are two weeks ahead in chilliness.

After dinner, we all sat in the clean motor home and read aloud in front of the heater. It was very cozy.

Only Five Pigs Left!

Since I have been shifting my sleep habits earlier, my poor body has been very confused. I am shooting for 4am, which actually happened once this week (the latest I awoke was 5:30), but today I roused at 3am, after only a little more than three hours of sleep. After a couple of hours I went back to bed, and got up happily at 8am. It meant I was not grumpy, which is happy for all.

And I was prepared to face the disaster zone that was my kitchen. Bits of unrendered pig fat, knife and cutting board white with grease, pots with crackling residue caked to the bottom. I had felt bad that I pooped out last night, but when it took me three hours to clean up, I figured it was just as well I had waited.

Our friend Creigh had come for the morning, and he and Phil were in the lower pasture cutting down trees when a neighbor stopped by to buy pigs and a couple laying hens. Phil and I were so pleased: we managed to get the piglets and Buttercup in the catching pen, and Chunky was stuck far from the rest in a separate part of the paddock. Then we cut out Buttercup, who left her piglets for the allure of 20 pounds of feed all to herself. It all looked so professional ... until the piglets suddenly spooked and charged right the the cattle panel which we had neglected to fasten (and, indeed, had no idea was not connected).

The cattle panel smacked Phil in the forehead, which seemed uncomfortable, but no worse than Phil sustains on a regular basis. Creigh's reaction was much stronger: it turns out that Phil had dropped a tree limb, larger than his arm, directly on his head while cutting down trees. Creigh felt the leaves whoosh past his face, but Phil was on the ground. So two head injuries in the space of an hour was a bit much.

Hmm. How to corral five piglets without a protective mama, now that they were all spooked and in the wrong place, gorging themselves on 20 pounds of feed. Chunky had joined them by now, and the four adults and some children stood around watching them, making desultory conversation. (Okay, actually we were having a nice conversation, but it had to last a long time, because even with pigs, it takes a while to eat 20 pounds of dry matter.)

Somehow the pigs ended up in the corral. Phil's crouching action was most impressive, and I think they gave up resisting.

But now all seven pigs were in the small corral, and it was pretty clear that if Buttercup left, her babies would be squeezing out in front of, beside, and behind her.

So we wired them in, and Phil had the brilliant idea to take another cattle panel to cut Buttercup out. Happily, that worked. Charles and Buttercup stood on one side the panel, and watched as Phil grabbed a piglet. Three piglets somehow then squeezed out to join their mother, but the last one was by herself, so Phil grabbed and held, and then both piglets were in their traveling pen, and all was well.

Catching two Barred Rock hens was simple and low-stress after the shrieking of the piglets.

Phil went in to sit and drink a cup of tea.

***

This first day of October was quite cool. I went hunting in the storage trailer for winter clothes; I'm not sure I found them all, but should it be only in the 50s now, the boys will have pants and long sleeves to wear. That's good.

***

We are selling our Babydoll sheep. We had a couple come and look at them today; we'll see if they end up buying any. The sheep have such cute faces, I vacillate a bit even now, but overall, I am jealous for that half hour of Phil's day: no more putting up fence! Work on longer-term projects! May they all go to good homes.

***

Phil was moving the cows on the neighbor's land when he came across an apple that was not an apple.

We think it is a walnut.

Maybe an immature walnut, as his hands didn't turn black.