Daily Farm Photo: 11/13/06

Petite Rouge Heirloom Lettuce In The Garden

There's nothing better than eating freshly picked food in season--except when you trick the seasons and extend your harvest. Thanks to floating row covers, heavy clear plastic, and some old bedsheets, we're still enjoying all kinds of gorgeous and tasty organic salad greens. (Click here to learn how you can go from seed to salad bowl in less than a month--no matter where you live.) Of course even the loveliest, most delicious lettuces pale in comparison to the star of Saturday night's dinner--fresh, tender venison on the opening day of deer season. I was out in the field with the sheep and managed to bag two bucks armed with nothing more than my shepherd's crook and Cary's baby bottle. Now that's country living!

A year of Daily Photos ago:
Volunteer Dill Coming Up Among The Escarole (Yippee!)

And out of the kitchen came: Beyond Easy Beer Bread

Daily Farm Photo: 11/8/06

Donkey Doodle Dandy Is Quite The Dainty Eater

Dan is seen here enjoying an alfalfa pellet treat. For months he was forced to share his breakfast, but then it finally occurred to me that if I simply raised the level of his food, the little Cary thief (who eats much faster than Dan does) wouldn't be able to steal it--which is why Dan is standing at this makeshift table. But the other day, in a woolly blur of flying alfalfa pellets and startled looks, I realized that the little thief is now tall enough to reach Dan's elevated treats. Unfortunately I think we are already at maximum Dinky Donkey Doodle Dandy eating height.

For those of you who are wondering about that ratty blue halter (which has now reached a new level of rattiness), read this. And for those of you who are wondering why he is still sporting that pathetic thing--well, I haven't gotten up the guts yet to take it off. And now it's time for another pedicure from the farrier, so I figure I'll leave it on until his visit. And then I'll take it off. Definitely.

A year of Daily Photos ago: Did The Goblins Get Them?

Daily Farm Photo: 10/30/06

Ram! Bam! Look Out, Ma'am!


What A Guy

Many of you know that it can take a while to get a name around here. And when someone does finally get a name, it is pretty much guaranteed that not everyone will think it is as wonderful as I do.

Back in September we drove up to a friend's farm to pick out a new Suffolk ram lamb to breed with our flock. After we had him loaded up and were getting ready leave, my friend turned to me and delivered these parting words with great seriousness:

"Just don't give him a ridiculous name like you gave the last one."

"Leopold? What was wrong with that?"

"No. What was the one before him?"

"Rammy."

"No. What else did you call him?"

"Big Boy?"

"All I remember is you started calling him some goofy name while you were still here, and after you left we couldn't stop laughing. Heck, we still laugh about it and that was years ago." (For some reason this dear friend finds humor in pretty much everything I do and say, including chasing around baby pigs with my camera.)

So as soon as we got back to the house, I dashed off an email to my laughing pal letting her know that we had arrived safely and that 'Stud Muffin'--whose unloading from the truck had attracted the undivided attention of the entire flock (and Dan)--was settling in just fine.

Once we had stopped laughing, we began to put a lot of thought into our new ram's real new name. The thing was, Stud Muffin had started to stick. It was cute (you know I love cute), and he did look like a stud as he strutted around his pen for the girls. Plus the "muffin" part even gave it a baking slant. But knowing that if I named him Stud Muffin my friend (who will be reading this) would never, ever, ever let me live it down, we wisely chose something else.

Some of you may remember Jeff from the Name That Sheep Contest I held last October. Jeff (who keeps his household in hysterics while his partner Joe keeps them in a dizzying array of yummy stuff) was an avid, determined, giggle-fit-inducing player. When his first choice for a name ("Cashew, as in Cash Ewe hee hee hee!") wasn't a winner, he didn't take offense. He simply continued to play his own version of the contest, changing it to Name That Everything (And Please Name It Jeff!). For over a year now he has been leaving not-so-subtle hints and suggestions in comments on numerous Farmgirl Fare posts. At one point he said he would consider having a piece of farm equipment named after him, "like a tractor or a garden cart." And, in a moment of desperation, he was willing to settle for a tree called Jeff.

Well, Jeff, sometimes persistence pays off. It gives me great pleasure to introduce to you:

Mr. Studly Do-Right Jefferson!
(Who goes by Studly Jeff)

And Do-Right he has certainly done. On October 10th we put Studly Jeff in with the flock.There were 32 ewes to cover (that's farm speak for knock up), and two weeks later he'd pretty much nailed them all. What can I say? Studly Jeff has only One Task on the farm--and he's done a bang up job at it. (Now he's going back and double checking his work.)

Of course five months from now, I will no doubt be hoping that he'd spread things out just a little bit more. Fifty or so lambs born in a couple of weeks? Oh my. We'll have to double (or triple) up at The Bonding Suite Inn. This is definitely going to be interesting--and no doubt crazy. But it'll certainly be better than last spring's three month long lambing season (due to Leopold getting overheated during late summer). There's nothing like 21 nights in a row of reluctantly climbing out of a warm and cozy bed at two in the morning, piling on turtleneck, winter coveralls, heavy jacket, hat, scarf, gloves, and boots, then stumbling down to the barn in the freezing cold, clutching a towel and a bottle of iodine, only to find that nothing is going on. (Then repeating these steps in reverse and trying to fall back to sleep for a couple of hours.)

I have a feeling, though, that getting back to sleep this next lambing season won't be a problem, as I probably won't be getting to go to bed in the first place. Hmmmm. Maybe I should make up a little hay bed and just plan on living in the barn for a while. There would be plenty of wool to keep me warm. And I bet Cary would love to finally get to spend an entire night curled up next to her mother.

A year of Daily Photos ago:
The Tail End Of This Year's Fabulous Fall Colors

Daily Farm Photo 10/18/06: My Little Girl Is Growing Up

Cary gazing across the field at her flock

Don't know who Cary is? Meet her in A Tiny Tail for Mother's Day.

Most mornings Cary is calling out to me long before I reach the barn. I still greet her with a bottle of milk, and once she has sucked it down, and the rest of sheep have been counted and are headed down the gravel drive in search of breakfast, we give Donkey Doodle Dandy his morning treat and tend to any barn chores.

Then we meander out to the front field together to find the sheep. We stand among them while I breathe in the beautiful scenery and slowly look everyone over and Cary nibbles on grass. The sheep are always busily eating in a way that manages to be at once frantic and serene.

This morning, after assuring myself that everything was right, I continued to walk past the flock toward the next field, checking behind me to make sure Cary was following along. She wasn't. She was several yards back, standing among a group of sheep, happily grazing.

I called her name, and she looked up and gave me a small "Maaaa!" bleat in return. Then she went back to eating, her actions clearly saying, "I know you're leaving, but I'm supposed to stay here."

And that is as it should be.



As I continued to walk along without her, I thought about how much less affectionate she has become, how for the most part she has turned away from me and toward her flock. And just as the words and that is as it should be played through my head once again, I looked down and saw a beautiful heart rock unlike any other in my collection. I picked it up and slipped it into my pocket, rubbing my fingers along its smooth surface, grasping its weight in my hand, feeling its physical presence.

Cary isn't rejecting me; she's simply growing up, as all little lambs must do. I had no idea I would be so affected by this. But I do know that I will always be in her heart, and she will of course always have mine.

And that is as it should be.

Want to get to know Cary better? You'll find lots more photos of her here.

A year of Daily Photos ago:
Look Up, Look Down, Look All Around—Always

© FarmgirlFare.com

Daily Farm Photo: 9/6/06

Baby Cary Is Four Months Old Today!


Yes, The Privileged Animal Is Still Allowed In The House

A few things have changed, though. Now she knocks on the metal bottom of the storm door when she wants to come in. Well, I guess you can't really call BANG! BANG! BANG! a knock. Joe calls it something out of a bad horror movie (especially since you can see the thin metal moving as she whacks it with her hoof). I politely pointed out that banging on the door is better than hanging from the screen and clawing it up in the process (like The Doodle Monster does) or jumping right through it (which is what Cary did once). Note: click here if you don't know who Cary is. And click here and here if you'd like to read the two-month-old and three-month-old Cary updates.

Cary's daily schedule is different now that she is fast becoming (*sniff sniff*) a grownup sheep. For one thing, she goes in and out of the house much more frequently. Hopefully I'll have a chance to write more about this and the rest of our day to day life together in a (near) future Cary update. (I don't even have weight and height stats to report today.) I did want to let those of you who have been wondering if I've used up not only my lifetime supply of paper towels but some other peoples' as well by now, that Cary is indeed housebroken! (Click here and scroll down through the comments section to read my earlier report on this, um, delicate subject--which I only tackled because so many of you were understandably curious.)

In the meantime, there are some things around here that haven't changed a bit.




Even though she is now officially bigger than he is, The Nanny Bear still diligently watches over Cary--and they continue to spend a lot of time together.





Cary also continues to steal Donkey Doodle Dandy's treats on a regular basis, even though you'd think she would have learned her lesson back in June. Fortunately Dan adores her.





And although Cary has begun successfully melting into the flock for part of each day. . .




There's still no mistaking her in a crowd!

Thanks for all the kind words and comments you've already left on this post (and for your patience waiting for me to put up the rest of the photos). I'll answer your questions as soon as I can, but I think I hear Cary at the door.

Oh, and if anybody is thinking right now that having a lamb in the living room is just this side of totally insane, remember that Mr. Ed and Arnold The Pig both spent a lot of time in the house. And Arnold even got to watch TV!

A year of Daily Photos ago:
The Hay Is In, So Now It's Firewood Season

Daily Farm Photo: 8/15/06

Little Stinker

I was walking from the barn up to the house after tucking in the sheep, looking at the ground as I walked, lost in my thoughts of this photo and what I should say about it. Something about how I never know what I'm going to find when I step outside each morning, as I saw this little critter two mornings in a row, happily scampering about in the llama pen adjacent to the barnyard.

The second time was when we (me, Cary, Bear, and Robin) all went in for the close-up photo. I want to say this is a baby skunk, as I have seen much bigger ones, but I don't know for sure. Perhaps it is simply a smaller variety. It immediately took notice of us and started hopping around, its tail pointing straight up, but it didn't spray. It really is cute.

So there I was, face to the ground, carefully watching where I was walking (the terrain is uneven, plus we have snakes), my mind on the little skunk, when something over by the creekbed caught my eye. I looked up to see two spotted fawns bouncing right toward me. They seemed airborne--I think I saw maybe three hooves total actually touch the ground. Their gangly legs moved in all directions at once, their speed surprising. I fumbled for my camera but Bear spotted them before I could get it out. In a whirl of tan and white they were gone. I stood there blinking, wondering if I had actually seen them at all.

And then I realized that I never know what I'm going to find when I step outside--not just in the morning, but any time of day.

A year of Daily Photos ago: Sunrise On A New Week

Welcome new visitors to Farmgirl Fare!
Please click here for a brief introduction to this site.

Daily Farm Photo: 8/4/06

The Latest Addition to My Collection

For several years, when I lived quite another life in northern California, I bought and sold and amassed collections of all manner of 1920s-1950s stuff. (The selling was a direct result of too much amassing.) I no doubt trekked dozens of miles at antique malls and outdoor flea markets, searching for everything from colorful pottery and catalin jewelry to lucite purses and Art Deco chrome.

Now I collect rocks and bird nests. (Though I still have many of my earlier finds. Most are safely tucked away in boxes, but certain items have escaped confinement and are haphazardly scattered around the The Shack. There are, for instance, five 1930s bakelite radios staring down at me from a shelf above my computer. Below the shelf, four fluffy kittens from the same era are forever cavorting around a fishbowl in a small, rectangular print. A brightly flowered curtain from the 1940s covers an unused door in my office.)

But I digress. Anyway, yesterday I put the sheep in a large Donkey Daycare Grazing Pen for a while. There are two enormous sycamore trees in this pen, and below them are piles of large branches that broke off during the recent storms. During their midday rest period, the sheep happily nestled in the shade amongst the debris. While I was carefully picking my way through it to check on everyone, I found this glorious nest laying on the ground--no doubt knocked out of the sky along with all of the branches.

I probably have at least two dozen bird nests by now. Most of them are startingly different from one another, but even the ones that were obviously crafted by the same species of bird are each unique creations. I don't think there will ever be a time when I am not in awe of a bird nest. I become mesmerized and find myself staring at them, trying to figure out how in the world I could even come close to constructing something so precise and perfect using nothing but my mouth.

Most of my bird nests are between three and four inches wide, but this new one measures six inches across. It is somewhat similar in size and shape to this nest I found last year. While I have yet to find the time to research what types of birds built each of my nests, I know exactly what kind of bird built this one--a very smart one! This has got to be the warmest, woolliest bird nest in the world. Click here if you would like to see the underside and a close-up of the construction detail.

I think this is a good time to mention that I only collect bird nests that are obviously no longer being used. Most of them are found on the ground. I do have a couple of nests that still contained teeny tiny, unbroken eggs when I discovered them, but even these had obviously been abandoned. Someday I will get around to photographing more of my collection (and some other day we will build a proper case in which to display them all). Each of these nests is truly a work of art. And as you can see, I easily get carried away talking about them.


A year of Daily Photos ago:
Surprise Lilies Are Also Known As Naked Ladies

Looking back each day at the photo I posted a year ago has been very interesting. I don't look ahead, preferring the daily surprise instead. This means (as you may have noticed) that sometimes I find myself posting new photos that are amazingly similar to ones I posted right around the same time last year. The surprise lilies are a case in point.

But rather than feeling embarrassed by these inadvertent repetitions, I am taking comfort in the fact that although it often feels as if everything is always changing, there are some things around the farm that do remain the same year after year. And fortunately many of them are things of quiet beauty (or cuteness).

© FarmgirlFare.com

Daily Farm Photo: 7/23/06

As we surveyed the various fallen trees and tree limbs on our way back to the house after tucking in the sheep for the night, the conversation went something like this:

"We need to think about fixing the chipper shredder."

"It's broken?"

"Yep."

"Still? Like from a couple of years ago?"

"Yep."

"We never fixed it?"

"Nope."

"Are you sure?"

"Yep."

"What's wrong with it again?"

"An important bolt fell out of it."

"Bummer."

"Yep."

Country time. Country talk.


So in the meantime, we've hired a Professional Crew. . .



To eat up the mess.
(The one sitting down is the supervisor.)

A year of Daily Photos Ago:
Eighteen-Year-Old Gretel Soaks Up The Sun
(And now at 19, she's doing just fine.)

Daily Farm Photo 7/21/06: And Sheeeeeeee's SAFE!

It's not exactly dignified, but it works.

There's still a lot of storm damage to deal with around the farm, but we definitely made some progress yesterday. The large chunk of barn roof that blew off has been nailed back down, the top of the chimney is no longer laying on the lawn, a fair amount of the 2006 onion crop that had been drying out in the greenhouse was re-dried and salvaged, and, most importantly, Lindy The Chicken is back at home with Whitey.

Yesterday morning I crouched down on the ground in the yard, aimed a giant spotlight under The Shack, and spotted Lindy—about 15 feet in, totally unreachable, but blinking her beady little eyes. Alive!

I checked on her throughout the day, and the only thing she appeared to move was her head, but she looked okay, and I didn't think the dogs could fit under that particular section of the house. I racked my brain to figure out a way to rescue her, but Joe (who has much more chicken catching experience than I do) said we would just have to wait until she came out on her own. I was doubtful.

But around 8 o'clock last night, I got back down on the ground, aimed my spotlight under The Shack, and didn't see a chicken. I circled around The Shack, crouching and looking in various spots, and still I couldn't find her. I walked back into the house, announced that she was gone, and then practically scared Joe to death as I glanced out the window and shrieked, "THERE SHE IS! SHE'S ON THE DRIVEWAY!"

He grabbed the fishing/chicken-catching net, I grabbed my camera, and we quietly sneaked outside so as not to alert the dogs. There she was, ambling down the road as only a chicken can amble, paying no attention to all of the sheep milling about her.

Our view was mainly blocked by the giant fallen tree in front of the yard, so Joe went one way, and I went the other, tiptoeing gingerly through the tall grass in totally inappropriate shoes and not nearly enough protective clothing.

A few scuffles, some muffled laughter later (there is nothing quite as amusing to me as the sight of a chicken who is jogging), and then whap! she was in the net. Joe scooped her up while I fumbled with the camera and tried not to trip over the rocks in the creekbed. I slip-slided after the two of them, Joe hurrying as fast as he could toward the coop, Lindy swinging in the net beside him, and me yelling "Stop! Stop! I can't get a good picture!"

But they didn't slow down. Not until Joe had Lindy safely back in her henhouse did he turn to me and calmly explain, "I've had them escape from the net before. No way was I going to stop."


Lindy the Chicken, back where she belongs.

Phew. What a relief. As we walked back to the house I said, "I'm sure Whitey is happier now, too. Poor thing, when I caught her up this morning she looked so pitiful, soaking wet and muddy and missing all those feathers. She wouldn't even come out of the coop when I checked on her later. It was awful."

"Oh no," said Joe. "She came out. Dan went over to see how she was doing. He munched on some weeds around her run so they'd have better airflow, and she popped out and said 'hello.'"

"Are you making this up?"

"No! It was a Kodak moment. You missed it."

I can only imagine what else I miss around here—because half of the stuff I do see is pretty unbelievable.

Thanks so much for all of your kind words and bolstering comments. I'm just happy that Lindy and Whitey are safe. It's bad enough if a dog gets any chicken. It's something else entirely when that chicken has friends and fans around the world.

So now that you've been updated, baby Cary and I need to leave the comfort of our tiny air-conditioned office and head out into the oppressive heat (looks like it's going to be another record breaker like yesterday) to help restore my poor blown apart greenhouse to its previous splendor, supervise some serious chainsawing work, and prepare for tonight's storm that's supposed to hit.

Meanwhile, 470,000 homes in the greater St. Louis area are still without power from the same storm that hit our farm Wednesday night. I knew it could have been a lot worse.

Want to read a little more about life on the farm?

Farm Life Tidbits Part 1

Farm Life Tidbits Part 2

Farm Life Tidbits Part 3

Farm Life Tidbits Part 4

Farm Life Tidbits 2010

Farm Life Tidbits 2011

A year of Daily Photos ago:
Wild Mullein In The Creekbed Is Taller Than I Am

© FarmgirlFare.com

A Tiny Tail For Mother's Day

Where's my mommy?

Once upon a time there was a beautiful lady sheep named Annette who gave birth to an itty bitty set of twins—one boy and one girl. Annette was not new to motherhood, but she was new to the idea of twins.

When she found herself in a Bonding Suite with two newborn lambs instead of just one, she became a little frantic. And in the ensuing confusion, she stepped on the little girl's tiny leg with her big strong hoof and hurt it very badly.

Annette eventually calmed down, and she allowed the twins to nurse. But the little girl could not stand up on her own, and she needed someone to hold her steady at the milk bar. To make sure she received enough milk, she was also given supplemental bottles.

The twins curled up together when they slept, and the little girl quickly became strong enough to stand up and balance on her three good legs. Things were looking up.

My Good Deed For The Day

Free To Fly Away

Another butterfly? Well, yes, but this is a special butterfly. This is the butterfly I was telling Stephanie about earlier this afternoon in the comments section of today's daily photo--the one I said I saw stuck in the henhouse window yesterday and couldn't do anything to save it.

Well, I was wrong. Several times. First of all, I actually saw that stuck butterfly the day before yesterday (because I was off the farm all day yesterday). And secondly, when I was over feeding the chickens a few stalks of lovely flowering arugula a little while ago, I thought I'd see if somehow the butterfly had escaped (though I was half afraid to look because I was pretty sure that I would find a dead butterfly). Wrong again! It was, miraculously, still alive, but looking very worn down.

I was determined to do something this time. So I started bending the mesh wire away from the wall and trying to coax out the butterfly with a little stick, but the space was too tiny and the butterfly was confused. Then fwop! the whole piece of mesh came away from the top of the 'window,' and suddenly there was enough room for the butterfly to get out. I nudged it onto my stick and voila! freedom. I set it down on the grass, and it floundered around a little, getting its bearings I guess. Then I snapped this photo, and not five seconds later it lifted off and danced up into the sky. I swear I could almost hear it singing.

So that is my (slightly sappy) butterfly story for the day. And if you are reading this wondering why on earth I'm making such a big deal (or any deal, for that matter) about one silly old butterfly, well, just remember that little girl who was walking along a beach absolutely covered with dying starfish that had all been washed ashore. She picked one up and tossed it back into the water. The adult who was with her said something like, "Why bother? What difference can it make? There are thousands of dying starfish here; you can't possibly save them all." And the little girl calmly replied, "It made a difference to that one." And I am sure that starfish danced out into the ocean just as happy as my silly old rescued butterfly.

Hearts & Rocks & Numbers & Thoughts

Sometimes I think I need a heart of stone to live here.

One advantage to living on a farm in the middle of nowhere is that you can sit on the edge of a bunk feeder in the barnyard at sunrise and cry as loud as you like. Nobody is going to bother you.

I had planned to put this photo and its story up this morning, along with some thoughts that have been randomly connecting in my mind. About Lucky 13, who we lost a week ago today. About my brother, who we lost over 100 days ago and who was here on the farm when the first lambs were born last year. About the fact that Snugglebunny (whose eartag is #13) gave birth to the 13th lamb this year and should I give her a name that includes "Lucky" or "13" or would that feel wrong.

About the usual things—love, loss, life.

More below. . .

A Whole New Way To Start The Day

(Thanks To A Little Help From Dan's Fans)


Two Days Ago This Would Have Been Fine

(Note: Read this first.)

Breakfast used to be a no-nonsense, hassle-free, room-temperature affair around here. Joe had a peanut butter sandwich (on homemade bread of course) and a glass of milk (after his mandatory, wake-up espresso). Donkey Doodle Dandy and the sheep and the llamas were given hay. And not just any hay. All natural, homegrown hay, lovingly put up by yours truly (and Joe) during the hottest freaking part of the year. My breakfast was a piece of fruit and a bowl of organic cereal slurped down between chores.

So things were fine, and our morning meal was a happily anticipated affair. Some of us would even jump for joy at the sight of our breakfast, tearing into it with desire and excitement (meals are a highlight of the day!).

Not anymore.

Now, thanks to Donkey Doodle Dandy's helpful and concerned fans, things have changed. Drastically. One might even say a full out breakfast revolt has taken place on the farm.

Following I Gallop On's advice (but not having any small children around from whom to steal a peanut butter sandwich), I took half of Joe's and fed it to Dan. This was fine with Joe, who, after hearing how well apple fritters went over at Heather's household, had already decided that a hot, fresh fritter sounded like a delicious change. It was then strongly suggested to me that vanilla ice cream would surely be a much more fitting source of calcium than his usual glass of milk.

Dan thought the peanut butter sandwich was the cat's meow until Kaliblue reminded us that famous donkeys prefer waffles. Dan immediately demanded that from now on his peanut butter sandwich be crisped up in the waffle iron (it should be arriving from Amazon any day).

Meanwhile (and I have no idea who to blame this one on), the sheep (all 53 of them--yes, those shameless mothers even got their babies in on the act) unanimously declared that if hay wasn't good enough for Dan, it certainly wasn't good enough for them. ("We're pregnant and nursing for baaing out loud!") They are now holding out for whole grain pancakes made in the shape of stars and hearts (where do they get these ideas?) and smothered in molasses syrup.

The prima donna llamas, who pretty much snubbed their noses at our hay (and us) since their first day here, have joined in the revolution and let it be known that they would like crepes, preferably stuffed with lightly sauteed morel mushrooms, since they are just coming into season here. Naturally I am the Head Mushroom Hunter.

And Vickie, it does appear that your well-intentioned city girl bribes are simply not up to par. Obviously a plain old apple just will not do, and--leave it to Stacey to remind us--that braised carrots are much better than half-dead limp ones. Who knew?

As for me? Well, somebody has to eat the rest of the hay. It's really not that bad (though it does take much longer to chew than cereal), and it should keep me filled up long enough to find some morels, learn to make crepes, buy vanilla ice cream, and figure out how to turn on that "Approve All Blog Comments Before They Appear" setting on Blogger.

Who says blogging can't change your life?

Counting Sheep, Not Getting Much Sleep

A Little Update


Lambing Season Can Be Awfully Tiring. . .



. . . For Everyone


So here is what has been happening on the farm.

On Sunday, ten-year-old Mary (pictured above) had itty bitty twins.
On Monday, Frederica had a humongous baby boy.
On Tuesday, first time mother Annie (and my other 2004 orphan bottle baby along with Teddy) had a little baby boy.

Things have been crazy but wonderful. Who needs sleep? I'm running on adrenaline and lamb kisses. So, for those of you who are keeping track of this stuff, here is the current tally:

Six ewes have given birth to 8 live lambs--five boys and three girls. There are still 20 (or so) rapidly widening, pregnant ladies out there.

And for those of you who are tired of wool and are wondering where the food is on this food blog (and if lambing season is ever going to end), please believe me when I say that I had every intention of writing about a sweet new recipe yesterday, but babies always win out over biscotti (even if it is Toasted Almond & Chocolate Chip). Soon.

In the meantime, if all of this sweetness is giving anyone sugar cravings (besides me), I invite you to peruse the Farmgirl Fare archives and perhaps discover (or re-discover) a new favorite. All of the recipes are listed in the sidebar under 'Previous Posts.' Might I suggest Mexican Monkey Cake, Emergency Chocolate Cake, or a batch of Crazy Cookies?

As for me, it's back down to the barn. Lamb kisses are on the menu for dessert tonight.

Daily Farm Photo: 8/11/05

Dinky Donkey Doodle Dandy Greets Our Surprise Visitors

Whoa!

Are These Guys Gorgeous Or What?

Talk about surprises. Look who came strutting down my driveway the other day.

Bear and I had just finished our early afternoon sheep check and were heading over to see Dan when all three of us heard the chain on the front gate jangling. There was no sound of a vehicle, though. We peered through the trees toward the gate--which is about an eighth of a mile away--trying to figure out what was happening up there. And then something started moving toward us.

Bear, Dan, and I must have made an amusing sight as we stood frozen, staring up the driveway. My first thought was, Amish funeral wagon? Here? Why? But as it came closer, I realized that the little covered wagon was being driven by our friend Steve. He pulled up next to us and smiled. I was so surprised, I can't remember what I said to him. Probably something along the lines of, "Those horses are enormous!" And they were.

Steve said that he was heading to the river to camp for the night and figured he would stop by and show us his latest acquisition. Since they'd just travelled 14 miles from his house, the horses needed shade and water. I suggested we head up to the house, and Steve asked if I wanted to ride. Of course! I shared my half of the bench seat with a charming, black and tan weiner dog named Flash who sniffed my outstretched hand, gave me a smile, and plunked his head down on my leg.

Bear, meanwhile, was going a little nuts. He absolutely loves to chase moving vehicles (he runs along trying to bite the tires while barking fiercely at them), and he is crazy about all animals--especially ones that look as if they might need herding. A four-wheeled wagon pulled by two giant horses? He was in heaven. But unlike tires, horses can respond to noisy ankle biters. Bear received a swift little kick for his stockdog efforts that immediately put him in his place--somewhere well below the horses. He was fine, as he comes from long lines of dogs that are used to being trampled. He cheerfully followed us up to the house, where he proceeded to keep a watchful eye on everything from a safe distance.

Steve offered us sweet iced tea and thick hunks of homemade cornbread, and then he started talking. Pudding and Butter (named by his daughter) were Belgian draft horses. They were about six years old and full brothers. They had just spent a month living with a nearby Amish farmer who trained them to work together with the cart and used them to help harvest his hay crop. They were now back at Steve's farm, where they shared a pasture (but not their daily treats) with his cattle.

The horses' beautiful leather harnesses were handmade by a local Amish craftsman. The wagon was custom built in a nearby town and sported everything from four wheel brakes (quite useful on our very steep driveway) to a backboard that folded down into a handy little table.

Pudding and Butter rested quietly while Steve told us about all of his plans. These included everything from using his horses to train others ("I can teach Dan to pull a cart!") to leading groups of people on meandering day trips through the countryside. In the meantime, he was clearly having lots of fun.

Our surprise visitors stayed just long enough for the horses to catch their breath, and for us to catch up on the latest news. And then, loaded down with homemade peanut butter cookies and a loaf of oatmeal toasting bread, they were off, headed back up the driveway with Bear right on their wheel.

Looking at Late Night Gratitude

A Gorgeous End To A Lovely Day

Last October, a friend and I decided to begin keeping gratitude journals. We also started e-mailing each other our entries. This very simple act can have profound results. You simply write down five (or more) things that you are grateful for that day. Sometimes they gush out by the dozen, and sometimes you really have to think hard to come up with five. Either way, most of the time the entries end up being about very small things in our lives, rather than big events. But aren't those the ones that mean the most to us? That affect our daily lives and outlook the most?

Today was just a really nice day for me. Nothing exceptional or spectacular happened. There were simply several little things that, when added up, made it the kind of day that suddenly permeates every cell in your self and makes you feel joyful and very alive--and grateful to be so.

I took this photo earlier in the evening, and when I saw how it came out, that was the clincher. I decided I would share this photo and write a brief post about my day. It would simply be my gratitude journal entry. And so, today I am grateful. . .

1. For the luxury of sleeping in and yet still enjoying a pleasant morning walk because last night's (much needed) rainstorm had cooled the morning air. And for making it home just minutes before another thunderstorm dropped almost two more inches of rain on us over the next several hours.

2. For deciding to visit two of my favorite food blogs (Eggbeater and Delicious Days) and discovering that each of their most recent posts mentioned me! I was overwhelmed with surprise and absolutely flattered that these people whom I greatly admire find inspiration in what I am doing.

3. That it was cool enough to turn on the oven and bake two big batches of cookies to replenish our dwindling supply in the freezer. And that even though I was forced to change one recipe due to four-footed interference, the cookies not only came out better than ever, but while they were baking I managed to turn the experience into a story that was almost entirely written by the time the cookies were done.

4. For being late tucking in the sheep, because when I finally walked outside I was greeted by this magnificent sunset sky. For leaning my head so far back to take the pictures that I was able to see three, four, no five little bats circling high above me. And for perfect timing. I ran inside and grabbed the camera, took three pictures, returned the camera to the house, and when I walked back outside there was absolutely no sign that pink sky had ever been there.

5. For strolling out to the front gate after taking care of the animals and having our own personal bat escorts, who darted back and forth just over our heads, gobbling up all of the biting insects before they could reach us. And for being sweetly serenaded as we walked by the frogs and the cicadas and the crickets and all of the other summertime crooners while the thick evening mist slowly wrapped itself around us.

6. That it is bedtime, and for the thought of sweet dreams and restful sleep--and the promise of a wonderful tomorrow.

That Outfit Could Kill You

Freshly Mulched Sweet Pepper & Lettuce Leaf Basil Seedlings

How did those pioneer women do it? Apart from Calamity Jane (who I'm not even sure would be considered a pioneer), women in early 20th century rural America did not wear pants. They wore dresses. Take Little House On The Prairie for example. Did Ma ever do anything in a pair of overalls? Of course not. Those women cooked, cleaned, milked the cow, planted the garden, butchered the hog, mended the fence, helped build the barn, took care of the children, and fought off Indians--all while wearing a dress.

Life back then was not easy. Pioneer women were hard-working and tough, and they often died in childbirth. They were truly remarkable. But the bravest thing any of those women ever did was step into that dress each morning. And how do I know this? Because I am sitting here at three-thirty in the afternoon, groggy and completely discombobulated after a two-and-a-half-hour, totally unscheduled nap. My day has been shot to hell. Why? Because this morning I put on a dress.

My usual farm attire is some sort of shirt and a pair of denim overalls. When the weather is warm, I might put on shorty overalls, but there are a lot of things around a farm you really shouldn't do in shorts. In this heat and humidity, though, I find the mere thought of heavy overalls unbearable. And so I switch to dresses--sleeveless cotton jumpers with a tee-shirt underneath. They are comfortable, easy to work in, and are slightly cooler than pants. If there is any wind, you can lift the skirt a little and enjoy a refreshing breeze on your sweaty legs.

So there I was, in my comfortable dress, sweating profusely as I stood in the blazing sun mulching tomatoes and peppers with a cart full of sheep manure I'd mucked out of the barn. This is hot, tiring work, but it also very rewarding because you know you are taking care of so many things at once: the barn gets a little cleaner, the plants get fertilized, the garden soil is improved, and potential weeds are smothered. The day was going well, and I was feeling good. I would be finished soon, and then I could hide in the house for a while and start working on that post about curry dip.

When the cart was nearly empty, I felt a sudden, unmistakable, piercing stab--on my butt. Stung! Ouch! Without thinking, I twisted around and started batting my hand at the back of my dress, knowing a wasp had flown up it. This was a very, very bad idea--and I should have remembered that from the last time I did it. Stung again! OUCH! Then a non-stop Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! interspersed with a few choice words as the poison spread, the excruciating pain intensified, and I staggered into the house.

Fortunately I am not allergic to wasp stings. And I sort of remembered what to do:
Throw down hat, gloves, and sunglasses. Tear off dress so you can get a good look at your rapidly reddening rear end in the full-length mirror. Gulp down two antihistamines (also known as sleeping pills) and a handful of herbal anti-inflammatories to keep down the swelling and itching. Three sprays of King Bio Bug Away under the tongue. Break open two of those creepy looking Sting-Kill vials of bright green liquid and apply them to the stings to ease the pain. Wonder when or how or if you will ever be able to sit down again. Do a web search on "wasp sting" and "treatment." Find a lot of talk about agonizing death. Find a website called ehow ("Clear Instructions On How To Do Just About Everything") offering some bizarre home remedies and a few helpful ideas, like ice. Sprawl on the couch with a napkin-swaddled ice pack, gingerly switching it back and forth from one tender cheek to the other.

Lie there suffering, trying not to get pissed off and thinking about the ehow site. Wondering if maybe there really is a stinger still in there. And so just to be sure (even though it doesn't make sense since you were stung twice), stand with backside to the mirror and "scrape the skin with a dull butter knife" (thus effectively removing all the green pain medicine you just applied.) Contemplate other suggested remedies. Figure what the hell, and decide to administer one more treatment (again with backside to the mirror)--all the while not believing that you are actually rubbing a fresh clove of garlic on your butt.

Realize the only thing left to do is go back outside (sans dress), pick a lot of strawberries, and proceed to self-medicate by inhaling a large bowl of sliced strawberries and French vanilla ice cream in roughly six seconds. Collapse in a sugar- and sleeping pill-induced stupor on couch.

Wake up two and a half hours later, noting with satisfaction that pain is bearable and redness and swelling have gone down considerably. Assume it must have been the ice cream and strawberries. Contemplate a second dose. Stumble over to computer and begin to type.

Maybe I'll get to get to the curry dip tomorrow.

An Unexpected Beginning

Alison and newborn baby Beattie

One of the most interesting aspects of farm life is that it is totally unpredictable. The sheer number of jobs to be done, projects to be tackled, and emergencies to be dealt with ensure that no two days are ever the same. Boredom doesn't stand a chance.

This lack of predictability can of course be rather frustrating. Nothing should be assumed. Routine is never guaranteed.

I long ago accepted the fact that trying to arrive anywhere at a specific time is pretty much impossible. Making a dentist appointment is a nerve-wracking experience. Long range plans are pointless. Don't bother sending me a wedding invitation—just mail me a piece of the cake.

I'm definitely not complaining. It's just that you never know what might disrupt the day. It may be a late evening phone call announcing the surprising (but very welcome) arrival of the sheep shearer the following afternoon. Or an ear-piercing grinding of metal in the farmyard heralding the urgent need for me to jump into my Tractor Mechanic Assistant's coveralls.

A six-foot long black snake curled up in one of the hens' nesting boxes requires a loud scream, immediate action on someone else's part, and at least a quiet half hour with a cup of Tension Tamer tea on mine.

Then there was the time I was home alone one morning, glanced out the front window, and saw 17 strange cows jogging up the driveway toward the house.

Short term plans and goals are ambitious but iffy. I once came across a To Do List that was three years old and realized I could have written it that morning. It can take a while to get the less critical stuff done around here.

Which brings me to this blog. Today I decided that no matter what, I was going to finally sit down and write my first post. No more putting it off, no more worrying about making it perfect. It would be easy. I would simply write a few brief words about some food-related aspect of my day.

At one o'clock this afternoon it was 84 degrees in the shade, and I realized I really needed to harvest all of the remaining mesclun salad mix in the  kitchen garden. I grabbed a pair of scissors and two enormous stainless steel colanders and set to work.

At three o'clock, I gave in to a strong urge to check on the sheep. As I headed down to the barn where they were hiding from the afternoon sun, I tried to think how I could make picking and washing several pounds of gorgeous-but-possibly-bitter lettuce sound fascinating.

I walked into the barn and spotted it immediately: The Daily Disruption. Today it was in the form of a water bag hanging from the back end of a yearling ewe I had no idea was pregnant. I was sure our lambing season had ended almost three weeks ago. And besides, June is too late for lambs.

Twenty minutes later a tiny baby girl was born.

Apart from my being dragged across the barn during a failed attempt to move the mother-to-be into a pen for some privacy, things could not have gone more smoothly. Baby Beattie has a black face and legs and is covered with the 'chocolate chip' spots so prevalent on our lambs this year.

She's adorable, and I swear she came out smiling. She is the great granddaughter of Doll Face, one of my favorite sheep. Doll Face is a triplet, born in 1996—the first year I had lambs. She and her sister, Mary, are my two oldest ewes, and they each had twins this year.

It is now well past seven. I am starving. There are evening chores to do. But after Mama and Baby were settled in their bonding pen, I came back to the house and got carried away writing--though not about food. I apologize if this is not what you were expecting, but I warned you how things are around here.

Actually, I think this is a perfect way to start my blog—with the unexpected beginning of a new life. I looked up the word unexpected in my thesaurus earlier, and this is what it said: surprising, unforeseen, sudden, stunning, eye-opening, astonishing, astounding, amazing, breathtaking.

Yes, that was today. And pretty much every day here. We are all constantly surrounded by the unexpected—if we just slow down long enough to notice.

I promise to write about food next time, but right now I have to go deal with the two enormous colanders of lettuce still sitting on the kitchen counter. I'm hoping I might even have time to pick a few strawberries for dessert.

If not, there's always tomorrow.


Alison & Beattie, age 3 days

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