We Start Them Young

The most important fact about a farm is that the work is never done. The first year I was here, I kept trying to 'finish' my work. By the second year I was committed to 'keeping up' with the work. Now, I settle for 'doing something' every day.

In order to keep even close to having this farm run properly, we all have to work: that includes the kids. All 3 of them. Alessia is 6 and 1/2, Naavah is 4 and 1/2, and Jesse is 2 and 1/3. Alessia has been opening gates, feeding chickens, gathering eggs, and in general being another pair of hands for 4 years. Naavah is a reluctant (to say the least) member of our human fence to help guide stock into the proper paddocks. She will also pull an occasional weed (under duress). Her future is destined to be living in a penthouse apartment in Manhattan and only breathing unfiltered air as she sweeps to her limo on the way to the ballet.

Jesse is the newest member to be introduced to farm labor. And easily the most enthusiastic and least fearful. Alessia would do anything required of her and often a lot more but she had to overcome her fear of chickens, of sheep, of cows, etc. It is just the opposite with Jesse. He has to be reined in. He will run headfirst into the flock of chickens, greeting them with rapture while I race behind him worried that he'll be pecked or clawed. So far they just move out of his way.

Yesterday Dan decided to move the sheep from the new barn paddock down to the quarantine paddock. Yael and the girls walked on down closing gates on the way. They then positioned themselves alongside the open gate as the human fence into the quarantine paddock and waited.

Dan started moving the sheep down to the gate leading to our driveway. This is a large paddock and very long. It dips significantly in the center and rises steeply at both ends. Since Dan couldn't both chase sheep and move at Jesse's small legged pace, he sent Jesse to stand in the middle of the paddock. Generally speaking the sheep will move along the fence line so the middle is the safest place to be. Dan called to Jesse.

"Are you all right?"

"Des." Translation - Yes in 2 year old.

Dan then spreads his arms wide and moves on the sheep. Jesse spreads his arms wide and plants his sturdy little legs deep in the wet grass. All 47 sheep race up to him.

"Are you all right", queries a slightly panicked father.

"Des." Lots of giggles and outright laughter as the sheep cluster even closer.

Dan then moves toward the sheep who obediently file out the gate. Guess who is right behind them? Not Dan! Nope, here comes Jesse following his new 47 best friends. The sheep cluster right outside the gate and begin munching. Jesse runs right up to them, waves his arms and yells "RUN!"

And they do. All the way to the curve in the road. Dan is panting his way far behind. Jesse is galloping down ecstatically yelling "RUN!" This happens all the way down to the quarantine paddock where Jesse's terrified mother is not amused when he announces, "I move de sheep all by myself." I bet there was an interesting discussion in the parental bedroom that evening.

Until next time.

Suzukis Are Not Pursuit Cars

Dan and I both own Suzuki cars. They are fine as basic transportation. I refer to mine as "the lawnmower". It is extremely economical, easy to turn, and has almost no power whatsoever. And that brings me to the latest farm saga.

Our rural communities have been infested with thieves and arsonists. This is not a laughing matter. Some crazies have taken chain saws to cows, burned, pillaged and stolen everything that is or is not nailed down.

We have been warned repeatedly by the police to keep a vigilant eye out for the unusual or unexpected guest. So when we were sedately driving the Suzuki down our driveway, it was not hard to spot the intruder. Of course it could have been an innocent sightseer who had managed to leave the road and wander half a mile up our driveway (which is posted prominently as "Private Driveway").

But we gave up any benefit of the doubt idea when the intruder ran back to the car parked on the verge, bolted into the driver's seat and raced away at a speed never before seen on that driveway. I use the term 'intruder' because we genuinely have no idea of this person's sex. The figure had shoulder length dark hair, wore a unisex sweatshirt (I think with a hood), baggy pants and country shoes. Could have been anybody.

Once we grasped that the cloud of dust ahead of us was trying to escape, we raced off in pursuit. We tried; we really tried. Our Suzuki gave its all. We zipped down the mountain, over the railroad tracks and around and around the twisty mountain roads. But we never even got close enough to get the license plate. Sukuzis are not pursuit cars.

So if anybody knows of a black or dark green station wagon owned by a unisex sweatshirt wearer in the Rodney district of New Zealand, let us know. We want to have a chat.

For the Butcher

This is what a steer looks like when cut into usable meat. We couldn't even have fit half of one of the boys in the trunk (aka boot) when he was alive. And we take all possible parts. Still, the boys gave us beyond-prime meat.

The butcher raved on and on and on about how our meat was the best he had ever seen. "You can't buy quality like that!" And he's right. You can't. But we don't have to. All we have to do is buy yearlings, baby them for 2 years, give them lots of room, a calm environment, plenty of grass and fresh water and wait. No hormones, no nothing, But try telling that to people who have spent their lives on supermarket sirloins.

Yael was so thrilled to have our boys appreciated that way that she gave some cuts of meat to the butcher. It sounds funny. Sort of like giving shoes to the cobbler but he was very appreciative.

Once again I am going through my angst. The boys were an important part of my day and I miss them. I find that I am eating less and less beef and I don't know if it's an increasingly delicate digestive system or this nagging sense of guilt. And yet I have to admit that our beef is really, really good!