A Fish Tale

I came back to the farm last Tuesday evening laden with goodies from the apartment. Dan had given me the kitchen scraps for the compost pile, the table scraps for the chickens and  a broccoli for me. I plopped everything on my kitchen counter and went to bed.

In the morning I composted the kitchen scraps, gave the chickens the table scraps and ignored the broccoli. Big mistake! The rest of Wednesday was spent running errands, etc. But when I got back home in the late afternoon, every square inch (or metre as they say here) reeked of fish - old fish. I did the bloodhound sniffing thing and circled in on the broccoli. I lifted it up and lo and behold there lay a fish head happily rotting away on my counter.

I muttered angrily to myself (expletives deleted) and gave the fish head to its intended recipients: the chickens. You can see how thrilled they were at this largesse. That is the ignored fish head on the right.

 Thursday I spent in Auckland and when I got back I was too tired to track down the continuing fish smell. I figured it was lingering since I had the apartment shut up. On Friday morning my disillusionment was complete. The fish smell was pretty darned strong. So I did the bloodhound thing again and finally found a large pool of fish blood that had spilled down the back of the counter and pooled on the floor underneath. It was big enough for Smudge to swim in. All I can figure is that the fish head was frozen on Tuesday, thawed on Wednesday and dripped, dripped, dripped. I'm not sure about the time line. Whenever I question Dan all that happens is that he has another laughing fit. Wasn't that funny to me.

Until next time.

Yay, Spring!

Things are looking up around the farm. Today is warm and sunny. We even had 1 day last week that also was warm and sunny. It has me itching to start propagating seeds and it has spurred our chickens to greater egg-laying efforts. They now average 6 per day and even Dora contributes her bit. That is Dora looking the opposite way from the other chickens at chow time. She also has not figured out the whole roost thing and will squat and drop her egg in the mud, on the coop floor, etc. The other chickens now treat her with distain but not the active hostility that caused her to be featherless and henpecked (sorry, I really, really couldn't resist).

The sheep have been busy too. Laying lambs, not eggs. So far we have 21 new lambs and had only one death. I am concerned about Starlight and her twin black lambs. They seem spry enough but are awfully thin. Everybody else seems to be thriving. Dan has agreed to move the flock (all 50!!) into the new barn paddock which has the horse stalls and greater protection from the elements. Also I will be able to keep a closer eye on them and see if they need some kind of intervention.

I have been watching but don't see much nursing going on. I just hope that they get enough of what they need that they will be able to move into grass eating and start filling out. I am not sure what the problem is but this is Starlight's 3rd year and it may be her last. I'm not sure how I feel about that but this is a farm and we do raise the sheep as meat. But on the other hand, Starlight was my first lamb and the only one I named. Well, I'll just wait until I figure out what is the least painful option for me and go from there.

Until next time.

Better Butter

The above picture is compliments of my son. The massively yellow thing is real butter made with real raw milk. Remember I told you that he had made it once before and it took forever! Well, this week he tried again and it only took a few minutes. A bit of reflection told us that the difference was that the butterfat was very, very fresh - only a few hours from udder to us.

It also tastes good. I prefer my butter with a bit of salt added but since the shaker is on my table, I add some when no one else is around. We are becoming so successful at feeding ourselves that we are thinking of ways to try to recoup some costs. So far I have come up with a bunch of ideas that have been rapidly shot down. My latest is growing Manuka wood and starting some bee hives. It seems that Manuka honey is a superfood and has great health properties to it. Sounds good to me. Unfortunately my son (the same one who made the butter) pointed out that I have to carry an ephedrine kit since a bee sting could kill me. Perhaps being surrounded by hundreds of bees is not the smartest possible life decision. Still, if I had life insurance, they could make out all around.

So I am back to dreaming of raising ducks or meat chickens. Right now our egg chickens are putting on a splashy display of 5-7 eggs per day from 10 chickens. Pretty impressive since they aren't supposed to lay in the winter. Luckily the family loves eggs (I don't). I will eat them but I don't go out of my way for one.

The steers are still porking up even though the grass is not too good but winter will come to an end soon and I shudder to think how big they'll grow once they get into new grass.

In the meantime the Suffolk sheep continue to do their duty. We are up to 14 lambs with 6 of them sets of twins. That comes to 11  Suffolk moms. We are waiting on the other 3. And then it should be the Romneys turn. The Suffolk were covered by a Romney ram but hopefully the Romneys waited for the stud Suffolk ram. I'm not sure though since 1 Romney has already given birth and not a Suffolk characteristic to be found in her offspring.

All in all there is abundance all over this farm. I just have to figure out how to make some money at it. Perhaps I could offer the farming experience for a day at $100 per  head. Some lucky people could weed, feed chickens, mend fences, shovel manure, chase ewes, haul water and pay for the privilege. Perhaps I need to refine the concept a tad.

Til next time.

Yes, They Were

In answer to my question of a few blogs ago: Are they or aren’t they. Yes, they are, or were, pregnant. We had a pretty hectic rain storm the other day and I didn’t get into the back paddock for 2 days.

 

When I did, it seems that my timing was impeccable. One ewe stood up rapidly, obviously ready to protect her young. And young they were. The umbilical cord was still dangling and one of the twins’ eyes were still shut. My untimely intrusion was not viewed with aplomb. There was serious bleating, shifting of hooves, and a rallying of the other members of the Borg. Those sheep really stick together!

So I waited 4 days and went back again today. All 5 of the lambs – 2 sets of twins and a single – were prancing around and the mothers were much more laid back. Not laid back enough to let me come close but one lamb had not gotten the memo (or wasn’t old enough to read) that I was Darth Vader and came right up to say hello. A furious Baa was enough to send him/her racing back to Mom.

 

It is cold and rainy and life is beating me up these days but I still thrill to watch the tiny lambs and marvel at them and their stalwart Moms. I sometimes think that this farm is saving my sanity. It feels magical to me and when an inquisitive lamb gambols over wanting to be f riends, I know I am one of the luckiest people on the planet.

Stormy Weather

We have had a spate of bad weather topped by the worst storm in 10 years. This monster had gale force winds, heavy rain, and cold temperatures for THREE days. I used to hate writers who wrote in caps but having lived through the storm, nothing else conveys the immensity of it. The above picture is of the solid metal bench that the wind blew over.

First of all you have to remember that we live on a farm. Our toilets flush, our water runs, and the stock are watered by a pump – an electric pump. Guess what happens when you don’t have electricity for 3 days. Yup, you use buckets of rain water to flush the toilets. That gets old real fast.

Without electricity you can’t cook. You can’t heat the house. My heat pump is useless. The big house’s wood burning fireplace has an electronic something or other so we couldn’t use that. The hen hearted of us – the kids, Yael, and I – beat feet back to the apartment in Auckland which did have power.

Dan, the intrepid one, stayed behind. But after 3 days of having been told by the power company that:

The power would be back on within 2 hours 

The power would be back on within 4 hours

The power was on (it wasn’t! Did they think we wouldn’t have noticed?)

Dan decided to take matters into his own hands. He went driving the back roads of Warkworth until he found a crew working on the lines and convinced one of the men to stop by our pole at the end of his shift. Turns out that all the rest of our area had had power the entire 3 days.  All we needed was for this true gentleman to flick a switch and we had power.

With all that going on, I had not been keeping eyes on the sheep. The result was that when we moved them to a new paddock, I noticed that some of the Suffolk were bulking up. Now I can’t swear they are pregnant but they certainly look it. Do you agree? Perhaps we’ll have a bumper crop of lamb chops after all.

 

Are They Or Aren't They?

 

Remember the old Clairol ad “Does She or Doesn’t She?” Asking if some luscious (usually) blonde dyed her hair? You probably don’t if you are under 60 and/or are not an American. However, it became a slang expression back in the day and I use it now.

Are they or aren’t they? Pregnant, of course. These are the Borg (aka Suffolk sheep) in the paddock with the Suffolk ram for several months. As I have said before, he avoided them like the plague and I think the results speak for themselves. They sure don’t look pregnant to me!

The Romneys, on the other hand, are becoming a tad rotund. Perhaps their wool just grows thicker, or they are eating fatty grass but there is a definite difference. I would have taken a comparison picture but I am still persona non grata and they bolt at the sound of my crunchy little footsteps. Since I think they are facing motherhood, I don’t want to scare them any more than they already are. So you’ll have to take my word for it. The Romneys (with whom the ram spent all his time and energies) are porking up big time.

Last week we moved all the sheep from paddock #1 up to the new barn paddock so I could keep a closer eye on them. Did you notice the ‘we’ in that sentence? Yes, I finally had something more to do than just stand there by the car and stick out my arms like a scarecrow when the sheep rushed by.

Oh, Dan wanted me doing the scarecrow bit but events overcame him. He has been fighting a sinus infection for several months and when he had run up and down paddock #1 about 5 times (okay maybe only 4 but I stick to the 4), he decided he couldn’t round up 29 sheep by himself. He was just too wiped out. He had to call for help.

And who was providentially standing by her car, arms akimbo? That’s right, little ole me. Well, I hustled on over, flashed a smirky grin and stood in my scarecrow pose in the left side of the lower paddock, effectively cutting off the sheep’ prime escape route.

Dan herded them down the hill, panting only slightly. They began to wheel to their right preparing to bolt when the 3 lead ewes lifted their heads and saw…wait for it! ME. Hah, the moment was sweet. I was not just a straw-filled face any more. Remember, all 29 of those sheep have a mental image of me as Torquemada. They want nothing to do with me. They were a broken flock and trotted out to the driveway without even a token bolt movement.

Dan shouted a “Great” at me as he loped after them. I am taking that ‘great’ as referring to me.

Until next time.

Smudge Suffers

So far Smudge has been the perfect cat for me. She is a mighty hunter; consistently bringing me mice, rats and small rabbits. All with their heads daintily removed. This makes it very easy for me to tell that they are DEAD. I have taught myself (it only took one lesson of stepping on a squishy rabbit carcass) to turn on lights when going to the bathroom at night. And you should see my shuffle/slide that avoids any sudden encounters with previously alive animals.

So when my hunter cat started hanging around the house I got suspicious. Normally she is gone most of the time. She always spends a few hours in the early evening curled up at my feet but the rest of the time she drops by for snacks and is out again patrolling the barn (home to an endless array of mice) or stalking through the weeds after rabbits.

I couldn’t fathom this domesticity until I looked out my window a few weeks ago and saw a calico cat sitting in our driveway. And not just sitting but very much the cat “in charge of all she surveys”.

True, Smudge is a hunter but she is not confrontational. When a 3-year-old decides to hold kitty up by the tail, Smudge just oozes her way under the bed and continues her nap. It is my contention that this calico came, saw, and conquered.

So for the past few weeks Smudge has been much more the home cat. But I began wondering one afternoon when it seemed that she was doing an awful lot of snacking. I was really engrossed in a book and I can’t see the food bowl from my chair so I didn’t pay too much attention.

And then I got up and saw a wee black kitten calmly chowing down at the snack bar. While I was trying to figure out what to do, in comes Smudge. With a huge howl she lunges for the kitten who has obviously been here before. Quite speedily she darts to her pre-selected hiding home and there she remained.

My 5-year-old granddaughter, Alessia, was due to spend the night with me. She was fine with having a stray kitten under the bed and Smudge seemed okay with it too. As long as the kitten did not venture toward the food bowl.

So we all went to sleep. Except the kitten who made a dash for either the food bowl or the door (they are next to each other). Smudge screamed and a riotous good time was had under my bed. I finally ended the confrontation with the application of a broom. The kitten fled, Smudge following and I crawled back into bed. Alessia, naturally, slept through the whole thing.

In the morning it was obvious that Smudge didn’t want to talk about it. She lazed around with a hang dog attitude most of the day. This changed however by afternoon. I was climbing the steps (I still can’t figure out how that tiny kitten managed those steps) and heard a very strange staccato sound. Cautiously (I have learned that anything can happen on a farm) I stuck my head through the door and saw 3 of my chickens pecking furiously at the cat food. Smudge was sitting in the corner well out of beak range.

First, how did the chickens manage the stairs? Second, did Dan leave the gate open again? Third, how do I get rid of them and fourth, how thrilled am I to have to clean and disinfect my floors (chickens are not house broken)?

With fried chicken recipes running through my brain, I grab my trusty broom and literally sweep 2 chickens down the steps, across the driveway and through the open gate. Answer to #2, yes he left it open. The 3^rd chicken was of hardier stock and refused to be broomed. Lunging and diving, I finally caught her, raced down the stairs, and hurled her over the gate.

When I got back, Smudge was drooping over the end of my bed. She pretty much has been doing that ever since. I am thinking about buying a couple of mice and letting them loose in my room. It may give her some incentive to shake off this depression.