First Doctor Visit

After fifteen months in the country, a domestic accident yesterday evening left Joe with his left pointer fingernail torn loose.

Thankfully, I'm no longer as squeamish; I was able to put the nail over the tender, exposed skin, bandaid it up, give him some Arnica for trauma and another remedy for hurt fingers and put Joe to sleep. After 14 hours, with only intermittent wakeful cries, he awoke cheerful and happy.

We stopped by our doctor friend Zach Bush's house on our way to church. I found out later that, despite being a family practitioner, nail injuries make him squirm even still (he refused to look at his sister-in-law's toe when she tore off her nail even!). He managed to get Joe to bend both joints, and if the tip of the bone broke off, there's nothing that can be done for that. The bruising underneath the nail has begun, without sign of pus or infection.

Joe bore with patience the gentle prodding. The skin at the tip will soon fall off, so it will be a long recovery, but it could be a good deal worse, and we are very thankful for such helpful care. (Zach said that if we had gone to the emergency room, that would have been an $1800 trip!)

In less dramatic news, we awoke on Saturday to a very chilly house. The space heater, in transit, had no reached us on Thursday (the day it was on the truck), nor Friday, and Saturday morning the thermometer said 20 outside and 40 inside.

Phil tried to start the heater in the motor home, but found that the propane heater had been damaged since we used it last, and without heat on the thermostat to get the temperature up to 55, the motor home heater wouldn't go on, either. He managed to be resourceful, though, and soon we were all happy and warm enough in the motor home. The sun came out, too; that helped a lot.

While Phil and Butch lumberjacked along the new fence line, I spent most of Saturday dealing with chickens. I checked to make sure I had removed all lungs, pulled off any extra feathers, and bagged the 24 birds up and put them in the freezer.

I also tried a new culinary adventure. I have read about the amazing health properties of chicken feet, but, when we processed chickens in Boulder, took one look (and smell) at the feet, with bits of dung and dirt pressed into the pads, and composted the feet.

Michelle Bessette mentioned that she had learned from a woman from Jamaica that, if the feet are dunked in boiling water for about ten seconds, they outer layer of nastiness peels away, leaving healthy, clean connective tissue underneath.

This worked! It is not a fast process, as I would estimate it took me three or four minutes per foot to peel. Then I had to chop off the yet-nasty toenails. Even now I'm only maybe halfway done. But I look forward to the rich, healthy broth I will make one day, and that sounds good.

As a random bit of trivia: based on the recommendation of a friend, I put a penny on a wasp sting and was surprised to see that I had no swelling the next day, and very little itch. So you might try that remedy, should you be stung.

Gallbladder Removal

In honor of two relatives who had their gallbladders removed this week, we decided to remove the gallbladders of our broilers.

Well, actually, we removed all their internal organs, after we had bled them out, scalded, and plucked them.

The day didn't start off well. I woke, for some reason, at 4:30am, and couldn't go back to sleep, which meant I got in good work time on notes for Macbeth, but it also meant that, by the time Phil got up (after going to bed at 2am), I was feeling tired.

The expensive scalder we bought back in Boulder, that we used there to process two batches of chickens, simply would not light. We tried playing with that thing for an hour: hold down the "lighter" switch. Run inside to check the online trouble-shooting guide. Call the company (which never called back). It could be that, if it were less windy, it would have worked, but it showed no signs of life, and gave off only very intermittent smell of propane.

By that time, I was about frantic. The birds run out of food today, and Phil has a solidly scheduled two weeks ahead of him. This really was the only day to process chickens. And we own no cooking pots big enough to hold a large meat bird.

Phil had a breakthrough moment, though. His parents had brought us an ancient galvanized tub. We propped that on the cookstove, lit the two burners, and had a very functional scalder. (So, if you're in the market for a scalder, let me offer a suggestion that will save you $1000. Buy a large galvanized tub, and the Costco propane camp cookstove instead of the name brand scalder. And both stove and tub are dual-purpose!)

All afternoon Phil got the birds ready for me to process. By the end, I was completely physically spent. Pulling out guts is a lot of effort after the first twenty! And the stress of wondering if the gallbladder will break and spill its bile all over, spoiling the meat, or if the vent will shoot out some dung as I tug on the intestines ... yuck!

What's worse, with the trouble over the scalder, I was worried that the chickens would not get enough to eat and would start losing body condition. So I gave them some feed.

A few hours later we started processing. Chickens have an organ called a crop, right up above the breast. In the past, when we processed birds with empty stomachs, the crop was like a flattened balloon, easy to tug, and very clean.

Today, it was the size of a raquetball, filled with slightly moistened feed, liable to break in my hand at any moment. Yuck again!

It took us about five hours to process 25 birds. I have no idea how this could possibly be financially feasible as a farm income. My records show we spent $500 on chicks and feed, and probably have about 25 birds total, weighting, I expect, an average of just under 5 pounds. So we have $4/pound for whole chickens, not counting any labor or infrastructure.

I am happy to have soy-free, organic chicken, but, honestly, the meat was a bit tough, not terribly flavorful, and really just all-around disappointing. We didn't even finish our chicken dinner!

Ample Provision

Denise Bush stopped by today and commented that our soil looks better: "Not so orange." So encouraging, that an occasional outside observer would notice that. Phil and I were commenting just this last week over how much better our soil is: the tilth, the color, all of it!

We've seen some other little provisions of the Lord lately. An email from my Dad surprisingly reminded me that I had looked at a tax bill in the car at some point. It was a glancing impression, and I realized I had never seen it again. A frantic search through the massive stack of papers on my desk, ransacking several bags of trash, and looking into the crevices of the car yielded no bill.

But it turned up today. I am most thankful.

More humorously, Phil wondered where the keys to the riding mower were. Abraham said, "I know! I buried them!"

He had, actually, buried them. Better still, he was able to find them again! (Unlike Jadon, who last year buried a hammer, dug around for an hour looking for it, and never did recover it.)

Bianca had been such an easy milker, I had high hopes for her. Yesterday evening, I forgot the proper way to tie her tightly, and she managed to work her way a bit more loose. She, frustratingly, started dancing, and again whipping with the tail. This morning, as I was finally stripping her out, she even managed to get her foot onto the rim of my milk pail, but the cloven part caught, and I jerked the milk pail away. (It looked okay to me, but we'll make sure only Lykoshes drink that half gallon—or we'll spread it on the garden!!)

This evening, despite good tight tying, she continued to dance. Phil said I needed to just have patience. I took the half gallon she had milked out up to the house, and in the two minutes I was away from her, she managed to work herself backwards in the stall!

I untied her, led her around again (thankful she didn't bolt, as I don't have much traction in the sodden earth), and retied her. With an empty pail, I had all the time in the world.

She'd step forward, and I dug my head into her flank until she stepped back. She'd step back, pressing her bulky side into me to knock me off balance, and I dug my shoulder into her until she stepped forward.

After we did this a few times, she stood still for the remainder of the milking. Did I show her who's boss? We'll see tomorrow.

The other, most wonderful provision, is that we have been wishing for a tractor for a good long time. Especially for spraying the trees, but for skidding downed logs, for digging trenches for electric wire, for moving the chicken pen—the list goes on.

We had seriously considered a few, but when my Mom was visiting a month ago, she saw neighbor Butch's home and said, "If he ever wants to sell his tractor, you should buy it!"

Incredibly, today he offered! With all the features we would want or need, at a price we can afford.

The Lord has been so good to us. It reminds me of Samson, our dually pickup. We had priced used trucks in Colorado, and used trucks in Virginia, and Colorado offered more for your money, for some reason. One week we decided it was time, and Phil went on craigslist to look. Only half an hour before, Samson had come up for sale.

As he left to look at the truck, I said privately to the Lord, "I will really know this is the truck for us if the man kept records of his maintenance." Buying used, you can never be sure how well a person cares for the vehicle, and I really hoped for some extra reassurance.

What joy when Phil came home and said, "The man who owned this truck was an engineer," and he showed me the record the man had kept of every mile driven, every gas fill-up, every maintenance done. (When he got slightly less miles per gallon, he would make a note: "Brought sand from quarry.")

How precious of the Lord to be so clear that that was the truck for us.

And how wonderful of the Lord to be so clear in His provision of a tractor for us.

Black Widow and Big Decisions

On Monday Phil finished spreading minerals on the orchard (I overbought, so we have about 1500 pounds leftover; which means that Phil spread 8500 pounds, or thereabouts, by hand!), and I planted 2 pounds, 12 ounces of hardneck garlic.

We looked over at one point, and saw Abraham sitting in Butch's mineral spreader, taking handfuls of minerals out and tossing them on the ground. Joe was pretend driving. We sure laughed!

The boys have enjoyed the perfect, 70s weather. Even though they get very dirty, I am happy they have such fun together. All four will go up to the well head and play in the tailings for hours. And this morning, when I come into the trailer after doing some dishes, Jadon was reading aloud to Isaiah, while Abraham and Joe played Playmobil nearby. So idyllic!

I forgot to mention that last Saturday, I was moving a few bags of minerals at the end of the day, getting them under cover in case of rain. I was headed over to get the last bag, and Phil offered to get it. He hoisted it on his shoulder, then set it on the truck bed.

Isaiah looked at it and said, "Hey, Dad, there's a black spider there."

A black widow. Phil killed it—after it had been inches from his head and hands.

It struck me that I had prayed for protection that morning, which I don't often remember to do anymore. I remember feeling sheepish: how dangerous could mineral spreading be, anyway?

How great is the Spirit's guidance, that gives us what we need, even to the point of nudging me to pray, that the spider wouldn't strike.

Tyson had hoped to disc the neighbor's land on Monday, but he called with strep throat. We didn't have the seed in hand yet, anyway, and now it has rained well over an inch, so I don't know when Tyson will be able to work, nor when we will be able to broadcast the seed (which arrives tomorrow).

On Monday, we also got an unexpected phone call from the farmer with Berkshires and the market garden. He wondered if we'd be willing to meet again, since, really, we are just about perfect for that place. (As Phil said: if not for the community we have here, and the orchard and the work we've put into our land, it would be an easy decision.)

When we met before, I had an either/or idea in my mind: we would either take over Richard's, or stay here. Between those options, we chose to stay here.

But maybe the option would be both/and. Would it be possible to continue grazing on this land, to continue to do maintenance here, and maybe run some pigs, while also working Richard's?

That's the question of the hour, and we're really back-and-forth in our minds. How many hours are there in a day—how many trips to Spring Forth would we drive before we absolutely hated the commute?

And yet our home equity, savings, and inheritance money won't last forever. What if we could build the farm out of farm earnings?! How great would that be!

We've done so much simply by reading books. Richard would be a mentor and teacher: animal conformation, market garden rotation, pig butchering, marketing techniques (not to mention built in market!). There is so much more to learn, and to have a teacher sounds so appealing.

On the other hand, Phil feels pretty confident that it wouldn't take us 10 years to get to

We could, potentially, hire workers for the orchard and the garden. That's an appealing thought: it wouldn't have to all be us.

So, the possibility of moving is again on the table. And there hasn't been an easy answer forthcoming.

We unloaded what we hope is the last of the large shipments today: three large pallets of cedar posts, for fencing. Phil maneuvered deftly in order to unload the ridiculously long pallets. The driver was also quite competent, directing the raising and lowering of the gate.

First Frost = Summer Gardening Just About Over

Saturday morning we went out for chores and found the full moon just setting over the cherry orchard. We milk about 7am, and it's not very light yet, obviously.

Phil and I had finally ordered a space heater, as the heater for the trailer is broken. Good thing, since we had our first frost Saturday morning, and the temperature in the trailer was 45! Wow! (Jadon asked, "Is the door open?!") Thankfully, the day turned fine, and the weather for the next few days is supposed to be warmer.

I had intended to dig up the basil before the first frost, as well as the jalapeno. The basil isn't looking very good, though the pepper looked okay. I transplanted them into a five-gallon bucket, and moved that one, and my lemon tree inside.

My tomatoes did not look entirely decimated, but I was ready to clean them up to make room for this year's garlic. It took a surprisingly long time to strip the vines of their tomatoes. I ended up with three 5-gallon buckets full. (I spent 90 minutes in the night trying to get them ready for the freezer, but about went buggy: that's a LOT of tomatoes, and most of them green!)

Phil spent the day spreading minerals, and he has spread 6500 pounds, until his fingers could not hold the bag any longer. His arm muscles are extremely large now!

Our piglets are about ready to come off whey. I have heard that they need about four weeks before processing without whey, lest their meat get a little too soft. Fox, shown above and below, is the largest of the lot, and he is looking good.

Phil is reading a book on pig rearing, and the author spoke with an old-timer, who had farmed through two World Wars and the Great Depression. This old-timer said a man needs 10 sows, 10 cows, 10 ewes, and 100 acres in row crops (corn and beans, not market garden!), debt free, to make it.

I think I read that three years ago, and was overwhelmed.

While I'm still overwhelmed, we have certainly made progress! To think that a year ago we had only had electricity and running water for a few weeks, and now we actually have a little extra milk: what a blessing.

(We went to a baptism service this evening, and had an extra half gallon to share with our friends. One friend said, "It tastes like melted ice cream," which I thought was high praise indeed!)

Minerals Spread: Easy and Not So Easy

Last year, when we tried to spread minerals, we rented a broken-down hopper, and had an incredibly stressful few days trying to get our ten tons of minerals spread.

Well, it's the October full moon again, the best time of year to spread minerals, since the full moon flocculates the soil and makes it more receptive to additions.

We were certain we had it all figured out. Due to cost, we are only mineralizing our orchard, so we have only five tons to spread. And we were better-educated, and had the minerals delivered in 50-pound bags. The bags looked like standard feed bags (two layers of thick paper), but turned out to be a plastic weave covered in brown paper: very sturdy.

Phil carried bags to the hopper we borrowed from Butch, and after we'd loaded 150 pounds, he started off.

We figured it would take a while, but he had calculated how many bags would be needed for each row, and was ready to drive back and forth as often as needed until the proper quantity was spread.

Except it didn't work. The ripped soil was extremely bumpy, and for some reason, even though the hopper was fully open, the minerals wouldn't flow out well. After an excruciating few passes, bouncing along, I think about 20 pounds of minerals were gone, and Phil was ready for a new method to spread.

We tried a few options. He poked open a bag with a shovel and flung it around. That wasn't an even spread, as the minerals plopped at the zenith.

I opened a bag halfway and walked, letting the minerals flow freely. That was too stripey.

Phil cut some slits in the bottom of a sack and swung it as he walked. Eventually, he figured out the best size of holes, and that if we pour a bag halfway in, it's easier to manage (and only 25 pounds at the max).

He used our minted-this-year garden cart to push 300 pounds of minerals around at a time (I tried to push, but didn't get far on the uneven ground).

We got 600 pounds done before dark fell: 6% of the total.

Phil intended to do more of that today, and he did get some done. I would guess we're now about a quarter of the way done. We loaded the truck with 2000 pounds of minerals, and dropped them at 24' on center spacing. Slow going.

***

The faster method happened today next door. Twenty-five tons of minerals arrived, in a truck-hopper with a towed storage container. The driver, incredibly, managed to park in our driveway. He then took his truck-hopper to the neighbor's land and spread the minerals.

Phil had been quite concerned about the slope, the ripping, and the rainfall: could the mineral truck drive without getting stuck?

Not really. In the first pass, which only took about twenty minutes to spread 6 tons (I could not believe it!), there was a good bit of stopping on the hillside, backing for a running start, and driving up the hill. Back and forth. So the driver put chains on.

Then he loaded the truck-hopper with more minerals from his conveyor-belt storage container, and drove off blithely through our orchard to spread a small, not easily accessed area.

And he promptly got totally stuck. Sliding down the hillside with 6 tons of minerals in the hopper stuck.

We thank the Lord for Butch, who again saved the day. His bulldozer with treads managed to pull the truck-hopper out of the danger zone. The driver finished that pass without any more difficulty (this time in maybe 15 minutes), did two more runs, and was gone, back to Pennsylvania with a considerably lighter load.

***

Very briefly, in other news: Bianca has become my good friend. And, by milking twice a day, I got about 14 pounds each yesterday and today: 1.75 gallons. If I hit two gallons, I will be a very happy farmer. There's no way we can drink that much!

Our brix level, too, was over 12 today. All that kelp is paying off, and the reduced-stress milking. Glory!

My Gift Day

Some days are gifts, and this was one.

We went to milk Bianca without any restraints other than a collar and lead, tied close to the fence, and she planted her feet and didn't move. I couldn't believe it. Was the strain of nursing two babies for a day so transformative? Did Belle, finally forcing her way in to eat, break Bianca to milking? Or was she just so happy to have no board tickling her legs, no pressure on her tail? I don't know, but I am very glad.

She didn't milk much more, still only 9 pounds, but we're experimenting with twice a day milking, so her total for today was 13 pounds, but some of that probably was taken from tomorrow morning's milking.

After my peaceful, pleasant time with Bianca, I entered the house to find four little blonde heads under the sleeping bag, listening to Jadon reading aloud. How precious!

My dear friend Melanie from Charlottesville stopped by (while I was indisposed, sadly, so I didn't even see her!) and delivered both needle and thread, which I have been sorely missing, and an incredible bouquet from her garden. I think she could go into flower growing and arranging—what an array!

(My friend Tamara once said I reminded her of an orange dahlia, so there you go: see if you can see the resemblance.)

Phil came in while the boys and I were doing school, and suggested we come out and help him weed. In the spring, I had planted 150 strawberry plants, and about 30 berry bushes, in hopes of farm fresh fruit, this year even.

Much of it died within a week or two, which was extremely discouraging. Phil haphazardly kept it mown, but I didn't even look at the desolate mess. The area looked like this.

But Phil found strawberries today! Of the six varieties I planted, he found a row that had 22 yet-living plants in it! And two other rows had over twenty. (Three rows had only about 10, and they look a bit scarce, for sure.) Each plant we found was like buried treasure, or a little prodigal son returning home (that which we thought was dead is alive!).

Jadon and Isaiah came and weeded a row apiece, and Phil and I weeded a good bit. Then Phil got out the wheelhoe he made earlier this year. I had tried to use it, but I think it takes a good bit of effort, as Phil got several blisters on his hands.

But it worked! the horribly overgrown area is now cleared, ready for, well, whatever needs to happen to strawberries in the winter. (I should probably look that up.) And really ready for sending runners next spring.

This evening, Phil and I cut up and ground the rest of BB the lamb. We got 20 pounds of usable meat off that little guy, which, if lamb sausage sells for $15 a pound, could be $300. Of course, the ridiculous amount of effort to kill, cut up, and grind the meat, as well as the hay feed and the trauma of his birth on January 2 this year doesn't really make for any profit at all, but we have meat now for a couple of weeks, raised entirely on our farm. I like that.

We also got 6% of the way through spreading this year's minerals, but that is a story in itself, and I am heading to bed. It's been a long day.