A Birthday Boy

Abraham celebrated his birthday a few days back. He had a birthday card arrive the day before and he slept with it, not done fidgeting until after 11pm. At 7:30 I woke to find Abraham holding his card in front of my face. "Happy Mother's Day! Can I open my card?"

As soon as we were done milking, we let him open his presents. I love the excited, happy look that a simple gift can give.

Jadon not only made his birthday dinner pizza, he also whipped the whipped cream for the cake topping, and decorated the cakes.

He used a massive number of "healthy" M&Ms and Isaiah put "healthy" jelly beans on in the shape of a 7.

It's always a joy to celebrate a birthday!

Phil's Workshop with Our Orchard Hero

Friday was over 80. After much of a week of rain, the humidity was unpleasant. I am thankful it's not like that often.

And the flies came out in force for the first time. After months of leaving fried rice uncovered from breakfast to lunch, it was a jolt to remember that, no, that isn't a prudent idea in the warm months of the year. Little fly eggs are recognizable and too disgusting to contemplate.

Thankfully, I had a pretty good evening, and had the energy to clean the kitchen. Ha! There's not much for flies to eat in a clean kitchen.

Phil has been burning the midnight (or 2am) oil on various engineering projects, which means he needs to catch up on sleep during the day. Nevertheless, he laid two courses of blocks on Friday. He has something like eight corners to do each time, with the various window and door openings, so none of the block laying is quick. He's hopeful that another two or three days will finish those final six courses and get the lintels placed.

Friday night, a freak gust of wind came out of nowhere. It was uncanny, to be washing dishes in quiet and peace and suddenly have a gust shake the RV and knock down the awning. Usually there's some prelude to such violence, but not this time.

Saturday night we were getting ready to go and milk, watching storm clouds head our way. The storm broke right as we headed out, and it made me laugh to see how much smarter the calves are now. When they were born, they stood in the rain, drenched, while their little covered corner went unused. Today, I brought out the milk and neither calf made any move to come and drink. They stayed under their covered pen and stared at me like I was insane. "Who cares if it's time to eat? We want to be dry, unlike you, crazy lady." (The rain did taper off shortly, so I could have waited and spared myself the trouble.)

But the exciting news was that Phil went to a workshop at a local apple orchard that had brought in our apple orchard hero, Michael Phillips, author of The Holistic Orchard, The Apple Grower, and, with his wife, The Herbalist's Way. Farmers who do apples and herbs: I want to be them. (Of course, I also want to be Doug Flack of Vermont, who does milk and Milking Devons and fermented vegetables. And I wouldn't have minded being Joel Salatin, with his cow/chicken/rabbit/egg operation. Or Mark Shepard and his large scale permaculture farm.)

After numerous workshops where Phil comes home to say, "Well, that was okay," it was fabulous to have him come home and say, "That was worth it. I'm glad I went." He enjoyed meeting some of the other class participants and enjoyed the time in the field. He came away quite encouraged that we are doing well thus far, and with ideas to both improve and just to carry on for the future.

One of the amazing things: Michael Phillips loves comfrey and stinging nettles (both of which I have now!). He plants them at year two or three. In those early years, he heaps on hay and ramial wood chips (those made from small diameter branches, and so vibrant with recent life, unlike larger trees with more woody matter). When it's time to plant, he simply pushes the earth aside and drops in the comfrey root.

Having planted 10,000 daffodils in hard clay, the idea of planting so simply and easily both inspires and makes me gnash my teeth. How simple we could have made it for ourselves! (Maybe.)

Phil's favorite part: if the nutrition in the orchard is high, orchard pests are not a problem. We haven't read much in Michael Phillips books about orchard pests. The workshop covered them in greater depth, but it was hopeful to see that it might not be a problem, as long as we keep increasing fertility.

I had considered going, but am glad, on balance, that I didn't. Abraham wasn't feeling well, and I took an unexpected three hour nap in the afternoon. Pregnancy continues to wipe me out.

Rain Keeps Falling

We are thankful for our well cut-off switch. Someone who shall remain nameless forgot to turn off the water to the cows one night. The next morning I commented that we had horrible water pressure. The well had run almost dry and, as it should, cut off. Then it had the chance to recharge so by the time we turned off the hydrant, the well was ready to go again.

Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday it rained intermittently, sometimes heavily. Happily we only had to milk once in the rain. We pulled Belle into the big blue barn. She was not happy with the drum of the rain on the roof; she was not happy being tied to the concrete mixer. After ten minutes of fighting a dancing cow, Phil pulled her head right up to his chest and held her like that until I was done. Horns two inches from his face: a bit of an intense time.

Phil spent some time cutting down the rye. The boys put some of the cut rye into the calves' pen, and today Elle gummed some of it. She didn't swallow anything, just chewed it well and spit it back out. So cute!

What was less cute was my milking experience this morning. Belle had spent the night grazing the regrowth of the rye, all flush, green growth. Cows love this, but it gives them the runs.

Whether Belle couldn't quite get her tail out of the way, or because she spent the night resting in an old cow pie, or because the rain had left everything rather sopping, I eyed askance her soggy green tail end, usually a beautiful blonde.

I was right to be disgusted. Perhaps she decided to enjoy cow revenge, or perhaps the flies were biting especially early today, but for whatever reason, the tail hit the back of my head again and again. (Never had that happen before.) And right at the end she improved her aim and hit my face a few times for good measure.

I showered after I was done.

Today, with the sun out, he spent hours trying to finalize the purchase for flooring and ceiling materials. Once finished, he headed out to lay block, and finished the fourth corner. No more corners to do!

Our bull has decided to join an opera. He has been bellowing (what feels like) around the clock for the last three days. He looks fabulous; nothing appears to be wrong with him—he just feels the need to express himself. Loudly. Constantly.

The Episode of the Millipede

I had cleaned the bedroom yesterday and I left a pile of detritus on the table. The pile included the fly swatter, hidden away.

That night, I was eating a second or third dinner. Phil and Isaiah suddenly saw a millipede emerge from under the light fixture on the bedroom ceiling. They couldn't find the fly swatter. Bummer.

When I came back, Isaiah told me about the horror. "I don't think I'm going to sleep very well tonight. What if it comes out?"

A bit later: "Mom! It's emerging!" But when I shined my headlamp up, "If you do that, it will go back under the light! It freaks out when it sees the light."

So I went to find the flyswatter while the millipede started to scoot back. I steeled my nerves and whacked that bug!

It had a full-sized mattress to fall on. Unfortunately, it fell in the one worst possible place: the small area of sheets right next to sleeping Joe's gaping sleeve. It headed right up Joe's shirt!

Now I know that there are poisonous centipede/millipede bugs somewhere in the world. I was pretty sure that I would have heard about killer centipedes (I mean, I know about black widows and brown recluses, but not deathly centipedes); nonetheless, the idea that any multi-legged bug might be crawling around my son's shirt: ugh.

I pulled Joe up and grabbed that bug. Happily, Joe sleeps heavily. In that split second it started to pinch my finger, so I threw the bug across the room, and it landed in an open book. Should I smoosh it?

Then Isaiah yelled, "It's getting away!" There it headed under the dresser.

Whack, whack, whack. Finally it died.

"I still don't think I'm going to sleep well tonight," said Isaiah. "How did that thing get inside?!"

And Then Something Went Pop!

While I continue to spent most of my time convalescing (not a single good day this week, after five a week ago!), Phil has had two good days of block laying.

He came within three blocks of finishing the fourth corner this evening before he ran out of mortar. And since Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday look like rain, it might be a while yet before he finishes.

Abraham and Isaiah made a huge batch of chocolate chip cookies a few days ago. They got sick of baking them, so I wrapped the dough in parchment paper, put it in a plastic bag, and put it in the freezer.

Abraham asked if we could thaw it, so I pulled it out and left it on the table. When I came in this morning, the bag was open with some suspicious looking spoonfuls of dough out of the top. "Isaiah, did you like the dough?" He readily agreed that he did, but then said, "But I didn't have any today!"

So I looked at Abraham, who gave such a sweet, guilty, happy smile, Phil and I burst into laughter. There is something about a baby-faced blonde boy with a wide grin that is so irresistible.

Abraham made a batch of cookies and overcame his fear of turning on the toaster oven (turn past 40 minutes to activate, then set).

Later I noticed that my roll of parchment paper looked like it had been crumpled. I picked it up and it was dripping! Too weird! Abraham said, "Well, I dropped it outside. Then I had to wash it off because it was dirty!" (This might sound odd, but it makes sense: he must have been using it on the kitchen table right next to the RV door, and lost his grip, since the paper is longer than his arm, when it rolled down the steps and outside.)

Perhaps that's not exactly how I would have dealt with it, but I appreciate his initiative and desire to make things right.

Speaking of making things right ... Phil's finger has never been right since his ligament damage last November. He never regained full range of motion; the joint, though not swollen, was significantly misshapen, and he couldn't put his hand flat.

When he brought the tractor in for the evening, he banged his hand and something went Pop! That's not usually a good sound as related to the body, but in this case, it restored full range of motion, allows him to lay his hand flat, and reshaped the finger so it looks as it should.

Apparently the doctor missed a slight dislocation. The idea of bopping the finger into place at the time of the accident was inconceivable due to pain, but how nice that the finger is restored now with a simple bang.

Improved Biology!

Last week, when we had the first dozen small bantam eggs, Isaiah asked if he could make deviled eggs. His Grandma had showed him how, and he loved them enough to attempt them solo. He hard boiled the eggs alone, peeled those tiny, fresh eggs alone, mixed the ingredients, and brought me a plate of them when he was finished.

It's hard to give a sense of how tiny these birds really are.

They are almost like well-feathered pigeons in size, and their eggs, when cracked, are mostly yolk with a bit of white.

We like having the different colors, though we have mostly the reddish-orange birds, with a few white and a few black (with specks of color here and there).

Joe fetched the two eggs out of the nesting box and carried them with him as we explored the farm together.

Abraham helped demonstrate the eggs' size.

Without a full-size egg for comparison, though, there's not enough contrast.

As we walked, Joe dropped an egg a few times. He fell a few times. And once he dropped the egg in the orchard and, despite knowing where he was standing, and looking for an off-white egg in tall green grass, we spent several minutes searching. We could not find it, and we didn't want to walk too far. Finally Abraham spotted it. The grass is a lot taller than it looks, and the egg had nestled down in the vegetation, almost like in a nest. The egg eventually made it back, with only a small dent.

Joe reminded me that I should use "all the dented ones" first, before getting started on the whole ones.

After milking this morning, Phil moved Belle out of her rye patch and up above the apple orchard, next to the road. She was ecstatic. The mooing she had done, grumpily, off and on all day yesterday ceased. And when we went up to see her after a day of grazing, the area looked untouched. She has a few more days there.

Phil brought her down for milking, and back up when the milking was done.

After 24 hours in the first paddock, Phil moved the cows to the next. We went over to see this fabulous pasture Phil mentioned. The grass looked good, as little Elvis, firstborn this year, showed off his new hornbuds.

Charlemagne was ready to mount Fern, though she wasn't ready for such attention. (Phil also noticed him wishing and hoping with Catherine yesterday, and Clover was wishing and hoping with Charity today.) Spring is in the air!

A straight-down photo of the previous paddock shows that they did a good job grazing, but there is enough grass to hopefully grow back quickly. That's known as "stockpiling," and Phil is getting a better eye for what that means.

And while I'm talking cows, I could mention that the calves we have penned are so friendly and fun.

No longer the size of Shadow, they are growing well.

Shadow is a good dog. We tie her up before milking, but she still willingly comes when we call, knowing that she will be restricted in movement for 20 minutes or so.

One of the more disgusting things we found on our stroll around the farm was a web that we hadn't seen here before.

It took me a bit to realize that the leaves on that tree had been completely defoliated.

The eastern tent caterpillars had taken over. We clawed open their tent with sticks, and smooshed the caterpillars we could get. Disgusting!

A regular spider web is quite different.

The biggest amazement here, though, is the growth. Not so much in construction, though Phil did do a full batch today for the first time in a few weeks.

The biology is growing. It feels, really, like it's exploding. That's what most of my photos were about today.
The comfrey in the greenhouse, en masse and humming with bees.

And close up, beautifully flowered.

My comfrey patch in the orchard.

The boys enjoyed flipping from the person-less comfrey photo to the one with Abraham. Pop! There he is!

Looking very handsome.

And in the next row up, such a lush carpet of my beloved crimson clover.

And a bit above that, the lush carpet of grass and clover, where Joe lost his egg.

Down from there, in the lane of orchard that has plenty of broom grass and where I've noticed the last holdouts of the previously pervasive poison ivy, there is no poison ivy to be seen.

But there are little wild strawberry blossoms!

The baby apples are smaller than peas.

Some trees have quite a few coming.

And a couple trees are just now flowering!

In a different sort of fruitfulness, the rye that Belle finally gave up grazing is fully headed out now, and grew amazingly tall, four feet and more.

In one section, you can see how the rye overshadows the peach trees in the foreground. Those trees have been transplanted at least once in their three years on the farm, but that rye looms large behind them.

I think Phil plans to scythe the rye down. (He mentioned today, though, that as much as he loves the scythe, he's eying a weed whacker.)

I love how grain catches the setting sun and glows luminous.

I was thrilled today to spot a few young comfrey plants poking up near the apples we planted last fall. We had tried to do a small guild, with daffodils and comfrey and peastone around the tree, but I hadn't seen any sign of the comfrey until today.

And the last fruitfulness: asparagus, which I haven't harvested at all. I was so eager, and I pulled a stalk or two, but the idea of odd-smelling urine was a bit too much for my pregnant nose and brain to deal with.

So much fun on the farm!

The Free Spirit Strikes Again

In high school I had a very scheduled life. My senior year of high school I did marching band as section leader, made all-state band, and went to state in four individual sports (cross country, swimming, tennis, and track). I had a thriving social life, was active in my youth group, played the flute at church, and spent time with my family. And maintained As in honors classes.

In college, I kept track of how every hour was spent. I still have those four journals somewhere, that will tell me who I talked to, what homework assignments I did (and when) and what classes I went to. My junior year I attended two colleges full time and again maintained As. (And got engaged and began to plan my wedding.)

Since I graduated, though, I haven't been too fond of schedules. Some days we eat two meals; some days we eat three. Some days we have snacks and smoothies all day, then dinner. Some days we do school in the morning. Some days we do it in the afternoon. We sometimes school on Saturday.

Part of that is perhaps because I had four children in six years, and, as I'm not a baby scheduler, our life flowed from one day to the next. (I think I tried to schedule at one point, but it felt like either we were going to visit my parents, or we had company, or the baby grew and his needs changed so rapidly, I felt constantly out of sync.)

Part of that is perhaps that starting a farm from scratch involves new challenges almost daily.

Which is a drawn out way of saying that I am finding the twice a day milking, around 8am and 8pm, to be extremely restricting! My free spirit has begun to rebel.

At one point I thought I would be a perfect dairy farmer. I'm not big into leaving home. But I am not a perfect dairy farmer. I like variation too much.

It didn't help that milking tonight was ... unusual. I had given Einstein his bucket of milk replacer. Elle was not happy about being second again, and after a few seconds she managed to bop it off the fence (apparently they are growing!). Milk replacer all over two sheepish calves.

So I fixed some more, herded Belle from the farthest corner of her paddock, and began to milk.

But Phil moved the rest of the cows upslope today, and Belle could see them. For the first time, she didn't just tug forward and back; she tugged to the side, trying to pull the cattle panel off so she could be free. Except lugging a cattle panel from her halter doesn't sound like great freedom to me. (Mayhem, yes.)

Happily, we finished.

Another little averted disaster involved another calf. When Phil herded the bulk of the herd uphill, one calf refused to join the group, preferring the shelter of the trees. For six hours or so she stayed down there, despite Phil's hour-long effort to corral her upslope to her mother.

By evening, though, Phil heard a mama cow mooing, and an answering baby mooing back. They found each other at last, mama and baby together.

Speaking of babies, I first felt little baby movements last Thursday. That seemed awfully early, but since I've felt it every day since, in the same place, and since quickening can come at 16 weeks (which I now am), that is very fun. Apparently the baby is almost four ounces and the height of an avocado. Grow on, baby.

In my always weird pregnancy dreams, I dreamed I had twin girls, and we named the unexpected one Danae Rose. Since I've never considered either name for any child, I think it's funny that my subconscious was so definite.