"The Flaw of the Excluded Middle"

When I woke up this morning, it was sunny—and 5 degrees outside. As Phil bundled up to do the chores, he said, “I bet you’re glad I couldn’t fly out yesterday.” Yup. (Though morning comfort was not the only reason; I still had to head out to bake today’s bread.)

With church canceled for the day, we just hung around the house. I spent some time outside with the sheep. Tsarina, one of the babydoll ewes, cannot get enough attention, which I really appreciate, among so many skittish sheep.

I also continued to look at buying a milk cow; it’s proving more challenging (and disappointing) than I expected. The idea that we may be another year without a good milk cow is both the reality and the disappointment of the moment. But as I think about it every few minutes, I’m trying to just remind God that we are really ready for a slightly wider diet, really ready for the manure and the butter, the whey for animal feed and the milk to drink. May he grant us the right animal in his time. (And may his time be soon.)

Totally off topic: I’ve been meaning to write about “The Flaw of the Excluded Middle,” an article I read about in The Celtic Way of Evangelism. Western Christianity deals with the bottom level, the empirical, the things we can see and touch. If our senses can sense it, we’re good. Western Christianity also deals with the top level, the big questions of God and good and evil, the sacred.

What it doesn’t deal with is the middle: the immediate future, the recent past, the present, and all the little non-guarantees there are. As a fledgling farmer, I recognize such middles every day: once we plant the tree, will it grow? What about these seeds? I know that, in general, a carrot seed produces a carrot, but what about THIS carrot seed? Or these ingredients? Will they form a good loaf of bread? Or will it burn, or dry too quickly? Will Phil safely reach his destination or meet with misfortune? What about this little sore throat I’m fighting? Will it get better, or worse?

These questions all seem to be the realm of the medicine man, or shaman. I found that interesting; it made sense to me that traditional societies would try to integrate Christianity with their tribal religions. If Christianity can’t offer anything for that middle, the old ways would be appealing, I suppose.

The Celtic Christians solved this by praying over everything. When they fed the animals: thank God for the feed, bless these animals in my care. For the bread: thank him for the bread of life, give us this day our daily bread. And the list goes on.

Elegant, don’t you think? I incorporated such prayers in my daily life for a few days last fall, but then forgot about them. Maybe February will be my chance to make the Middle a new habit of prayer.

Starting with the cow. May the Lord grant our land be a place of milk and honey.

A Frost Day

Phil dealt with tire fixing and paperwork much of Friday. Despite an unconventional life, we still deal with balancing checkbooks and laundry. Happily, Phil thought to keep the busted truck tire; he’s promised to make the children a tire swing once the weather improves.

He faithfully left home before 7am this morning, off to catch a flight. Snow dusted the ground, and he made it safely to the airport. Sadly, Charlottesville Airport is not DIA, and apparently own no de-icing equipment or plows; the airline cancelled his flight last night, long before the snow started to fall. All three departing flights today were cancelled by 10am, so he began the time-consuming drive home. By the time he hit our road, the front of the Corolla was plowing the snow up over the windshield.



I went out to do the chores and found snow-encrusted sheep munching hay. Good advertisement for the warmth of wool!



I was heating some dinner tonight and experienced the underside of an avalanche. I think the rising heat from the propane stove warmed the roof of the barn, so that large sections of 9-inch snow slid off the roof onto the ground, with a louder crash than I would have expected. I’m thankful that I didn’t experience the mini-avalanche directly.

And as I returned to the trailer, I noticed that Phil has fenced along the border far enough that I can see our boundary fence opposite our door. In the dead center of this photo, were it blown up to full-screen size, you could see it, too.



It is cold, but "The woods are lovely, dark and deep," and I know that spring will come soon.

Five Panel Day

Last night I found an A2 Dexter bull for sale—here in Virginia! I fell asleep dreaming about buying him. He’s not even THAT expensive, since he’s a calf (and, therefore, unproven). However, I don’t think this is the week to buy a bull. I am beginning to wonder if part of the joy of beginning farming is the acquisition: acquire some sheep; acquire some chickens; acquire some new knowledge; acquire some new equipment.

Phil spent most of the day working on the fence. He first had to clear about a 5 foot path through dense, bushy growth. We think he’s heading through about the worse terrain of the perimeter right now, with the growth and the constantly changing elevation. The cattle panels are ideal fencing for the strange slope we have; I cannot imagine trying to fence any other way.

I ran support: clearing brush and firewood; bringing T-posts over; laying out the measuring line; feeding the family. We got five panels up (80 feet), and that finishes twenty percent of the panels we bought. That’s an accomplishment!

The children took advantage of the great weather. Jadon climbed about twenty feet up a vine after he swung, Tarzan-style. Joe found a little place where rain run-off had created a “sand” box (really just fine clay globules). Abraham pulled the wagon into the woods and deserted it; Jadon picked up Joe and put him into the wagon, then hauled him up to the trailer. Abigail and Abraham slid down the tarp covered hay bales.

At the end of the day, Phil went up to fix our van tire. Yup—second flat in a week. We think it’s just a little puncture, and fixable, so he’ll take it in tomorrow.

100 Year Flood

As soon as Phil woke up, he suited up and drove the truck out of its mud trap. Amazing how easy it is when the ground is frozen solid (and, thus, solid!). Then he did the chores.

After breakfast, he changed the tire. He couldn’t find his hydraulic lift (the result of living a life with little storage space), so had to resort to the one included with the truck, which took a long time spinning. But he got the tire changed before lunch, and that was a huge load off his mind.



We walked down near the creek and saw that the creek had jumped the bank into the 100-Year Flood Plain. (In the photo above, you can see the line in the woods where the water came.)

So the rain on Sunday night WAS unusual. It was a 100-Year Flood. (On checked the Weather Underground website, I was shocked to see that we had just about two inches of rain, actually. This makes no sense to me, since our 5-gallon buckets in the middle of the yard were filled to four or six inches depth, but I suppose 5-gallon buckets are not official gauges, so we’ll go with the official reading.)



The waters have receded, leaving behind a scrubbed earth, with some leaves piled against obstacles like small downed trees. Moss and grasses poke greenly through the springy earth.



The shape of the river is new, with the banks denuded of vegetation and new gravel spits and sand deposits instead.

Phil loves it. “I love this land more every time I walk on it,” he said. That was a relief to me; with the land next door currently selling for less per acre than ours, I have second guessed our purchase at times, wondering if we were too hasty. (But what price can I put on neighbors like the Bessettes and Butch … and all the Bush clan?) So to hear Phil remain so pleased with our purchase is a great relief.

Thankfulness is becoming on anyone, I think.

Phil put up four more cattle panels this afternoon, after repositioning the last few he had put up. Then he hacked out the path for the next few panels; adjusted the new feeder he made for the sheep, cut Isaiah’s hair, and held B.B. the ram while I castrated him.

Real farmers use a knife to open the scrotum and pull the cords. I am not there yet. I had a hard enough time opening the elastrator and putting two rubber bands at the top of the scrotum. Supposedly, these bands will, over the next two weeks, cut off the blood supply until the scrotum falls off.

Continuing Ed with Dr. Paul

Phil left before 7:30am this morning for a seminar put on by Lancaster Ag, the company that blended our minerals. Dr. Paul Detloff, head veterinarian for the Organic Valley milk co-op, presented. I have heard several lectures by Dr. Paul—what an interesting man! He uses homeopathic medicines on the herds under his care, as well as paying attention to things such as stray currents.

Phil said that he pulled up to the home where it was held and there were only about three cars in the parking lot, and he thought, “Am I the only one here? These three cars could all belong to the residents. How awkward!”

When he walked in, there were about 20 guys sitting in the room. He couldn’t figure out how they all got there until lunchtime, when he walked by an outbuilding and saw dozens of bikes. Amish or Mennonite! In Boulder world-class athletes bike to train for major races; in Virginia, religious farmers bike for higher education.

I had pushed for him to attend, and was a bit concerned about the whole thing. Would it be just an extended sales meeting? How distressing! After a quick stop at Costco (fairly close to the seminar), he came home and told me about it. And it was worth it!

Some of the new or good review thoughts: the most important natural resource on the farm: water. If you have hard water, your minerals won’t be able to penetrate the soil. Action: we should at least test our water’s softness, and if it’s hard, we should consider a reverse osmosis system for the farm. This would help in crop irrigation, animal and human drinking water, foliar sprays, and probably some other applications I’m forgetting. (Rain water, in general, doesn’t need softening. It’s long descent from heaven makes it well suited for irrigation and drinking.)

Good nutrition will improve your animals’ genetics. Almost impossible to believe, if we improve the babydolls’ nutrition, their offspring will be closer to the ideal babydoll. Exciting! And disconcerting, as the opposite is also true: poor nutrition quickly degrades the offspring. We have more to learn about this, but I am pleased to know that good food helps the animals so much.

Aloe vera: the miracle juice. Useful generally for animals and humans. Action: get aloe vera juice!

Most farms need five to eight years to really heal from non-organic agricultural practices. Lancaster Ag sees many farms that go organic for three or four years, and their yields and crops are just not that good, so they give up, just a bit too early. Phil came home encouraged that we aren’t trying to heal poisoned soil, but simply rebuild naturally eroded and exhausted soil. It seems less daunting.

Marketing: “Never fall in love with your product: fall in love with your customer.”

Biochemistry trivia: Dr. Paul wondered at one time why we are carbon life forms, and not, say, selenium life forms. A younger vet said, “That’s easy, Dr. Paul. Carbon is the only element that can bond to itself.”

Most important: Dr. Paul mentioned the book Devil in the Milk, a book on the connection between certain milk and autism, type 1 diabetes, heart disease and schizophrenia. Most European and North American cows produce A1 milk, which has a protein fragment (a beta-casein), that studies link to all those maladies.

The great thing is, cows in other parts of the world are A2, which means that their milk doesn’t have that bad fragment, and is safe and good for humanity. Even better, the trait is dominant. So if a person had an A2-A2 bull, all the progeny he bred would be A2, with good milk. And animals can be tested by sending 20 hairs in a Ziploc bag, so we would know what we’re buying.

Can you imagine the marketing potential? With one in every 150 children today in the US diagnosed with autism, there is a huge market! (Not to mention heart disease!)

Needless to say, Phil came home energized and happy. The children and I had a good, if uneventful day, too.

After the Great Deluge

I fell asleep Sunday night with no trouble, but Phil had not quite drifted off when the rains came. And came. And came. He thinks we got perhaps four inches between 1am and 8am.

By the time I went outside, the rain had tapered off. But much of the dirt slope next to our barn slid down over our gravel driveway. A hose lying along the drive contained the dirt—barely. The dirt came up to the top of the hose. (Thus, almost an inch of topsoil slid down in those few hours.)



The sawdust around the tree roots washed away in spots. The 80 tree holes were all filled almost to the brim.

Michelle Bessette called to say that she could not believe the amount of rain.

Thankfully, our good hay stayed dry under the tarp. The sheep and goats continue to waste a ridiculous amount of hay, so Phil tied together a few pallets, like the prow of a ship, on the side of the chicken house. Now we have a temporary feeder. (While Phil was getting twine, a pallet fell on little B.B., but he scampered off unscathed once Phil lifted it. That was a bad moment, though.)



With everything saturated, Phil figured he could move the pigs into the newly cleared land. A pile of poles stood in the path of the new electric line. (Poles: saplings too big to chip but too small for firewood, set aside for small construction projects.) He brought the truck over the basically level ground to load the poles.



And skidded dozens of feet as he drove out, finally getting completely stuck. And frustrated.



Worse, on exiting the cab, he heard “sssss.” Yup. Sidewall of the front tire punctured; irreparable.



Wet, muddy, frustrated, stuck; he went back and finished the pig pen. I was so proud of him.

And I think the pigs grew overnight; all of a sudden they look big to me. Maybe not big enough to EAT, but they are getting close. They’re seven months old now; the Bessettes killed theirs at eight months. We haven’t fed ours as consistently as they did, but ours also haven’t had to contend with the stress of the summer. Maybe ours aren’t the world’s slowest growing pigs after all!



While Phil dealt with difficult circumstances, I was in IPod euphoria in the barn. Before we put our house on the market in Colorado, I had a CD player that let me listen to agricultural lectures and sermons, so I felt like my mind expanded. During the stressful house-on-the-market and living-in-a-tent phases of my life over the last year, I didn’t miss the lectures. My brain was full.

But yesterday I realized I could listen to lectures on the IPod. I didn’t need to unplug my computer and gingerly carry it between house and barn, balancing it as I maneuver the step-stool stairs! And, better yet, I had the brain capacity and desire to do so.

I hadn’t done dishes since before the family got sick; most of us didn’t eat a whole lot last week. So while I caught up by doing just about every dish, pot, and utensil I own, I listened to a couple hours’ worth of lectures, and LOVED it. Grow high brix food! Take your vitamins! Agriculture and nutrients determine sickness and health more than genetics! So encouraging. So uplifting. So heady. Ahh. (Acres USA, perhaps the Economist of the agriculture world, publishes a monthly magazine and puts on an annual conference. I buy the back conferences and listen to 40 or so hours of lectures for about $3 per hour lecture. An incredible deal.)

While Phil succumbed to temporary and unusual sorrow, I became the cheery voice of hope. Role reversal! But how good of God, too, to not let us both hit a bad spot at the same time. How distressing that would be.

Totally different note: Isaiah and I tried to pollenize the lemon tree today, using a Q-tip to move the pollen between the stamen and the pistil. That was fun!

Lots o' Laundry

After church, we brought Mt. Laundry to the laundrymat. Five loads (and 2 hours) later, the clothes were incredibly, marvelously clean. Not every garment has been permanently stained orange! They just needed hot water to actually get the dirt out. Back home, I put the sheets back on the bed and the pillowcases, which avoided vomit, didn’t make it into the dirty clothes bags. The pillowcases stood in stark contrast to the clean sheets, as you can see below.



In the meantime, we stopped at Country Blessings, a store that sells mainly local foods. We enjoyed Dr. Pepper with sugar (not high fructose corn syrup!), amazing Tahitian Vanilla Bean gelato, and a pepperoni sausage while we waited for the laundry. A fun little treat.

Then we went to the Bessettes and had a pleasant afternoon and evening.

Finally, a note about our sheep. You know, we started with goats, and bought them expensive minerals to keep them healthy. Then we bought the big sheep. I knew that sheep should not have copper: all the books say so. But I asked the guys at the high-end mineral/supplement store whether they agreed. One said, “I would not risk it.” And the other said, “I have always done it, and it has been fine.”

So I fed the sheep the old goat minerals. But when we bought the Babydolls, I wanted them to have the best, so I bought sheep minerals, sans copper. Over time, though, I would occasionally put goat minerals in the feeder. After all, none of the sheep have shown the slightest problem.

In reading back issues of sheep!, however, I came across a heart-rending tidbit. Sheep store excess copper, until a stressor triggers its release. Then they quickly die.

And I remembered that that same reassuring man at another time had mentioned that his sheep tended to die easily and unexpectedly.

The horror! I may have doomed my six Babydolls to sudden death.

Further bulletins as events warrant.