We were very lucky yesterday, especially knowing what I do today about the number of our friends who didn't make it home last night. The snow started here around 11 am, and I headed for the farm supply store to get chicken feed and goat feed. I was planning that trip yesterday anyway, but the snow made it a more immediate concern. Going to the farm supply store is apparently the farmer's version of rushing to the grocery store for milk, eggs and tp. It was the busiest I've seen it on a Tuesday. Coming home, I began to realize the roads were getting slick quickly. Joan sent me a text that her work place was closing at 2pm, but my info about the roads had her rushing to leave sooner, along with everyone else in Atlanta. The last couple of miles of my trip were scary, but I made it home in good time to find a beautiful winter scene, our first snow on the farm.

I made sure all the animals had what they needed and waited for Joan to get home. Luckily she got home well before dark, though it took her about 3 1/2 hours when it usually takes less than an hour.

About halfway into the day, the animals decided inside was better than out.

The birds are staying in the coop today, as well, though I've been able to coax the goats out a little.

Today I'm just making sure everybody has water to drink instead of ice and plenty of food.

Play time

Dax wants to play! What you don't see is that when I took the dogs out this morning, Spike and Daisy were playing like goats play; rearing up on their hind legs and coming down to touch heads. It's kinda like play fighting, I think. Dax saw this, and he wanted to play, too. He ran up the hill barking and scared poor Spike who dashed behind Daisy.

A little while later, Dax got distracted by something else about the time Spike decided to see what this little fuzz ball could do.

I wish I could let Dax into the goat pen to see if they would play together, but Daisy has shown some aggressive moves toward the dogs, and I'm afraid he would get hurt. They'll just have to get to know each other through the fence.

Gardening 101

Gardening on the scale I’ve set for myself at this new place is a completely different experience from what I’m used to. It feels like I’m learning all over again from the beginning.

I’ve been tending a garden of some kind for most of my life. The summer before my sophomore year in college, I put a couple of tomato plants on a sunny corner of my parents' house and enjoyed watching them grow. The first house Joan and I lived in together had a large wooded area behind a decent-sized back yard. I put a small vegetable garden at the back of the yard and planted flowers everywhere I could around the house. No matter how many times I’ve done it, watching a seed I’ve put in the ground sprout and turn into a tiny plant that grows up to produce food amazes me. I get excited every time I see the tiny shoots that prove that the seed-planting thing actually works. Every spring I have to call Joan out to the garden and point to tiny leaves and say “that’s going to be a [fill in vegetable variety here]”.

Each year, I think, I increased the size of that vegetable garden, adding more and more variety. I wasn’t feeding us a lot, and I wasn’t saving us any money, but I loved watching the seeds and small seedlings grow into food-producing plants or colorful flowers. We even tried a small patch of strawberries (we let the weeds steal that from us) and a few blackberry bushes (they got out of control to the point that we couldn’t reach the berries inside the thorny branches and the birds got most of the fruit). I found a pile of bricks next to an old shed and built a patio by just digging the grass off the ground and placing bricks around in patterns and then planted flowers and vegetables around the patio. Sure I had to pull weeds from between the bricks every year, but I kinda liked it that way. All of this in a rented house.

When we bought a house and moved to East Point, my next door neighbor and best friend offered her back yard for my garden since mine was too shady. There was already an area surrounded by 4x4 lumber but covered with the same “grass” in our yards. We started that garden by painstakingly digging up every inch of weeds and grass, shaking the soil out of the roots to keep as much topsoil as possible. It’s an area about 10 feet by 4 feet where I was able to grow tomatoes, beans, squash and cucumbers and occasionally something else. I’ve always been excited by the variety of plants I could grow, not producing a great quantity of anything. Over the years in that house I got more ambitious and started digging up more area, branching out to my front yard and her front yard. When the house across the street stood vacant for a while, I even considered using that yard. Little by little each year I planted more vegetables and flowers and even a fruit tree.

Now here we are, on three acres of land with an area about of about a quarter to a third of an acre that gets enough sun to garden. Before we even moved in I dug up a patch and planted the first garlic and onions I’d ever tried. My goal here was, and is, to produce as much of our food as possible. Three small goats provide us with milk and a flock of chickens, ducks and guineas give us eggs (if sometimes begrudgingly). But I’m starting a new garden from scratch, and it’s the largest garden I’ve ever worked with (and yes, I still have a full-time job).

We bought a tiller and ambitiously tilled two large areas that we fenced off to keep the animals out. Rather than work to build the soil first, I had to start planting. We have lots of fertilizer from the poultry, the goats and a wormery, and I am Instant Gratification Girl (my super power?). A garden isn’t a garden if I can’t be watching something grow, so I have to plant it now. Of course, I don’t have time to plant the whole area and put down the mulch and compost it needs to keep it fertile and keep the weeds down. It’s mid-June and less than half of the area available to plant has anything besides weeds growing in it. The rest looks pretty much like it did before we tilled, covered in dandelions, tall grasses and other native weeds. If anything, the weeds are doing better than before we tilled.

I have a basket full of seeds that haven’t been planted, and plans drawn up for what I’d like both garden areas to look like. What I don’t have is the time to haul mulch, dig holes, build trellises and tomato cages, and plant seeds. I have tiny tomato plants started on the screened porch that aren’t big enough to plant yet, so I bought plants to put in the ground. I have sweet potato slips and cucumber seedlings flourishing next to the tiny tomato seedlings that I also don’t have time to plant. I keep reminding myself that we have a long growing season, and there is still time. I also remind myself that I don’t have to do it all this year. Most of the seeds I haven’t planted will be viable next summer. The space that isn’t planted yet can be used for a fall garden, for which I already have the seeds. Joan is doing everything she can to keep the fences up (goats consider fences mere suggestions) and build things like a chicken coop, goat house, compost bin, hay manger, duck pond and more (so you can see her plate is full).

Eventually the garden will be mulched and laid out so that all I have to do is dig a few holes each season to plant seeds or transplants. I won’t have to start from scratch every year. I’ve done this before. Still, I’m a little overwhelmed by the combination of the potential I have for garden space and the lack of time I have to turn it into a real garden. It is nothing short of a long-term project, and I have to remember to treat it that way. In the mean time, I do actually have some food growing. We’re already eating greens, lettuce, carrots, turnips, potatoes, onions and garlic from the garden. Soon we will have beans, lots of beans, and eventually tomatoes, squash, melons, corn, eggplant, okra and peppers. We also have apple, fig and pear trees and blackberry and raspberry bushes in the very early stages. We won’t get all of our vegetables and fruit from the garden this year or probably next year, but it’s a goal. Like last year, I should be able to can some tomatoes and pickles and freeze other veggies for the winter months, and I will have a fall garden this year to continue picking from. I need to learn to celebrate what I have, rather than pine over what I haven’t been able to do.

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Granola morning

I’ve been making yogurt with our goat’s milk, and I love it. It’s sweet, creamy and tangy, but it doesn’t get thick like cow’s milk. You pour it rather than dip it. I’ve found that it is really yummy over granola and fruit. Then I started reading the ingredients in granola, and, dammit, I’m going to have to make that, too. Do you know how much sugar is in granola?! This morning I made my first batch with quick cook oats, almonds, sunflower seeds, honey, cinnamon and a little molasses and baked it at 250 for an hour (stirring periodically to keep the color and crispiness even). After it cools I’ll add raisins and dried apples. Right now my kitchen smells wonderful and the granola is tasty without being too sweet.

 

Good Knight!

Yes, we inaugurated an African American President today and for the second time; and yes, I teared up over it. History was made again and I got to listen to most of it on NPR, and the web is alive with commentary. But grab your favorite adult beverage, relax and let me tell you about *my* day. It's going to take a minute. There is a lovely visit with family, a flat tire on I85 and loose goats running around a little too close to a major thoroughfare. There are also strong, handsome knights, but no car chases or explosions, thank goodness.

From the beginning: I had a great visit with my mother this weekend. She spent the weekend at the farm with me (Joan is away at a conference, and I took time off so I wouldn't have to stress about whether I would be home in time to secure the animals before sundown; also to spend time with my mother.) This afternoon I drove her back to Columbus. On the drive down we got to listen to the Presidential inauguration. Since both of us are fans, that worked out well.

Once we got to Columbus, we stopped at my niece and nephew-in-law's (do you say nephew-in-law or just nephew?) where my sister and her husband were also visiting, with my 10 month old grand-nephew being the main attraction. That's not true really, we all had a fantastic conversation, maybe several fantastic conversations. We have wildly different political leanings in some respects, but important beliefs in common in others. Mainly, we all love each other very much. But we talked about politics, a subject I've always avoided, without bringing up our disagreements, and focusing instead on our common truths and our strengths as family. Kind of allegorical for a time when politics is becoming so divisive, and compromise has become a dirty word, but I digress.

I stayed a little longer than I'd planned since I had to get home before dark to take care of the birds and goats. But it was such a wonderful visit, and there was enough time. I took my mother to her apartment and headed home, watching the clock and thinking, "I'm doing great. I'll have plenty of time."

There were pieces of tire in the road and a larger piece of what looked like it might be rubber tire, but might be something else. I ran over it because I had no choice. There were cars in the lanes on both sides of me by the time I saw it. Flat tire. I was able to maneuver past a truck and across three lanes with the flat tire and get to the shoulder. But the shoulder of a highway is no place to try to change a tire. A few yards ahead was an overpass with a concrete pad under it, so I started the car back up and eased forward to pull off the shoulder and farther away from the highway traffic. I got out the spare tire and the jack and started jacking up the car. I know how to do this. I've done it before, but never on the side of a highway with 18 wheelers rushing by. And never before has the car jumped off the jack. Now what. I didn't cry, but it wouldn't have been the first time I cried over a flat tire. That's another story.

I got back in the car and looked at my phone. I didn't know if we had towing insurance or not and if we did, with whom? Do I call 911? I tried to call a friend and got no answer. Five minutes before the flat, Joan had sent me a text to let me know she was about to introduce a speaker. No calling her, even if just for moral support. But I'd just left my sister and brother-in-law, and he is definitely the knight in shining armor type. They were heading home to South Carolina some time after I left my niece's apartment. If they are way ahead of me, I don't want them to turn back; but I just need someone to tell me to take a deep breathe and what to do next. So I called my sister. They were two exits behind me on the same highway. Damn, I'm lucky. I waited for them to come to my rescue, feeling a little guilty about the fact that I wasn't changing my own tire. He even thought to check the manual to make sure he knew where the jack placement should be! He changed the tire in no time while my sister (did I mention that she's my baby sister, well my baby sister who's a grandma now) distracted me with conversation and reassurances and helped me relax. I was on my way, and I got home before dark with a few minutes to spare. Tomorrow I would get a new tire.

But I did mention knights, plural. When I got home our neighbor's truck was parked on the drive to the front section of our property, an area we haven't done much with so far. He has been clearing a fence row for us so we can hire a fence guy to create an area the goats can eat their way through. They've long since cleared out the poison ivy, and everything else, in the area we'd fenced off for them months ago. We wanted to get a professional fence builder because this side of the property fronts a major roadway that connects lots of very fast-moving vehicles to three highways (55 mile-an-hour speed limit on a two lane road!). We don't want to take any chances that the goats can get out on that side, so we're not doing it ourselves.

Turns out the fence that is already on that side of their pen is none too secure. We kinda knew that, but so far they'd shown no interest in getting out on that side. But since the neighbor and his son were working over there, the goats were interested. As I got home, my wonderful neighbors had just gotten all three goats back in the fence and were waiting to see if I was coming home so the goats wouldn't get out again (after much chasing of goats around a field that is way too close to the major road, and not wanting to explain to us how a goat got hit by a car while they were working there). They'd called me, but I missed it. They waited there for me to collect the materials needed to repair the section of fence (and to pee), and then did most of the repairs themselves. We walked along the fence to talk about the clearing he was doing in the next couple of days and discovered two more fence posts that need replacing, sections that would be just as easy for the goats to "just walk over" as he described the escape. Tomorrow I have to repair that section of fence first thing. The tire will have to wait.

Now it's getting dark and none of the animals are secured (I can't help it. I worry about things like coyotes.), and my dogs still haven't been out since I got home. I dash to the house, let the dogs out and grab some food to lure the goats into their shed and lock them in, hoping they won't get too cranky before I get back to milk and finish feeding them. Take the dogs back in the house, hoping they've had enough time for now, grab my milking stuff and flashlight, herd the ducks into the chicken coop (they're always the last ones in and, of course, tonight they gave me the most difficulty I've ever had getting them in to stay) and shut it up, counting to make sure all are in and safe. Yes, a sigh of relief. Back up the hill to the goat shed I go to milk Daisy, finish feeding them all and secure them for the night. Everything went fine until I'd finished milking and feeding. I have a little ritual where I go to each goat to pet her or him and say good night, but Daisy wouldn't let me touch her, all of a sudden. She's had a little too much excitement today (I can relate) so I'm hoping she'll be over it tomorrow after a good night's sleep.

Back down to the house to feed the dogs and let them out again, this time at a more relaxed pace so they can take care of all business. In between all of this I'm exchanging texts with my brother-in-law and sister to let them know I'm home safe and what drama I've come home to. I finally got to talk to my wife after taking care of the goats to let her know what happened and that I'm safe, the car is fine and the animals are all secure. Now a glass of wine, my supper in the oven and a deep breathe so I can share my story with you.

Oh yeah, I sent my neighbor a text to answer a question he'd had about placement of the fence row, and he answered saying "Ok. Thanks and have a good knight." I'm assuming that was a typo, but I was tempted to text him back and say something like, "based on the day I've just had, I'd say there is more than one good knight in my life." I hope you have a good knight as well.

Farm yard drama

We had an interesting farm yard drama play out recently. For background, I have to tell you that we lost our drake a few weeks ago. The guineas were putting up such a ruckus, I finally had to check on things (and with guineas, that's quite a lot of ruckus considering their usual noise-making machine). I found the six guineas looking on a beautiful red tail hawk that was standing in my driveway next to a very dead drake. I ran the hawk off and saw that he or she had a friend in the trees. On my way to an appointment, the only thing I could think to do was put him in a plastic bag and in the trash, poor guy. But I didn't want the hawks to see this as an easy picking ground for supper. It's not like they won't come back. They live here. The only thing I can hope is that the birds learn how to take cover when the hawks are around. I'm not yet convinced the birds are always that smart.

That leaves us with four female ducks with no male to herd them around and look out for them. Enter guineas. From there youngest days the guineas and ducks have hung out together from time to time, now they seem to always be together or close by. This morning in the pouring rain, the ducks were happily digging in the dirt with their beaks while the guineas stood nearby, complaining and huddled up but still staying close to the ducks.

A couple of days ago, Joan and I were sitting on the deck, relaxing and enjoying our view, when we saw the rooster, Hans, sidle up to one of the ducks and do his little dance around her. We are very proud to have a mostly gentlemanly rooster who attempts to seduce his ladies before mounting them, at least part of the time. He made a complete circumference and stood face to face with the duck. She even bobbed her head a little, the response they made to the drake when they were ready for him to mount them. We were wondering how this was going to play out when along came all six guineas. They calmly and quietly completely surrounded Hans, two of them standing solidly between the rooster and the duck. Hans stood stone still. They weren't making their alarm noise, just standing there quietly making a point. Their heads were moving around some, and some of them made the quiet whistling happy noise we love to hear. One guinea pecked Hans on the side of his head, lightly with no force or violence as if it were picking a piece of food off of him, and he stayed still. Shortly the duck just turned and wandered away. Then Hans crowed from the middle of the guinea circle, and the guineas began to disperse. Hans walked away as if nothing had happened, and all was quiet in the farm yard.

We watched this with amazement, asking each other surprised questions like, "did she just bob her head?" and pointing out astonishing details to each other like "that guinea just pecked Hans on the face." And at the end of the little drama saying "that was very West Side Story".  Since then we have taken to referring to the guineas as the ducks' bodyguards. Or maybe we should call them . . . would they be Jets or Sharks?

This was the only photo I managed to get.

Mamaw, green beans and Uncle John

Working in the kitchen, especially food preserving of any kind, usually brings my paternal grandmother (we called her Mamaw) to mind. My first experiences with canning and freezing food grown by your own efforts was through watching her.  She canned tomatoes, of course, beans,  corn, strawberry jam, blackberry pie filling and even pork. Damn, that was good pork. She didn’t use recipes. She’d done it so often, it all just came naturally for her. 

I took a photo of an old B&W of my grandparents. Forgive the quality, please.

I particularly remember sitting on her porch in a wooden porch swing with a bowl of green beans in my lap. We each had a bowl with a paper grocery sack more sitting beside us. There was a pot for the beans that had the strings pulled out and were broken into bite size pieces and a bag for strings and bad spots broken off. It didn’t take much concentration to string and break beans, so she told me family stories. Some of my favorite times with her were spent listening to stories of her family, my family.

She grew up in a big, farm family. She had seven brothers and two sisters (one of the sisters died when she was just a baby). One of my favorite stories was about her sister, my great Aunt Lucy and Lucy's husband, Uncle John. When they were young, John came to the house courting Lucy on Sunday afternoons. He drove a car, something I don’t think Mamaw’s family had at the time. He parked in back of the house and sat on the front porch with Lucy, probably in a porch swing like Mamaw’s. They sat together, sometimes talking, sometimes just sitting, for a couple of hours until it was time for John to go home for supper. When he left, it was his habit to run through the house and down the back steps, running all the way to his car. I imagine he had some energy to work off after sitting for a couple of hours with the love of his life, only holding her hand. “Papa would not allow kissing,” I can hear Mamaw saying.

At the time John and Lucy were courting, Mamaw’s brothers would have ranged in age from pre-teen to almost-an-adult teenager. Some of the younger ones liked to play practical jokes, especially on the young man who was threatening to take their big sister away. One Sunday afternoon they took the short wood steps, not much more than a glorified step-ladder really, away from the porch and replaced it with a wash tub full of cold water. When John left, running through the house and out the back door, he stepped off the back porch coming down hard into that tub of water, soaking his Sunday best suit. He jumped up quickly, trying to pretend nothing was wrong, and jogged on to his car with a slight limp. Mamaw’s brothers were under the porch trying not to laugh, but making just enough noise to get caught. “Papa was spitting fire,” Mamaw said. “He could’a broke his leg!” Mamaw wanted to be serious when she told me this story. She wouldn’t have wanted me to get the idea that it was okay to do something like that and maybe hurt someone. But she giggled every time she told it. She adored every one of her brothers and always laughed at their jokes.

Today I’m canning tomatoes, pickling okra, jalapenos and green beans, freezing some of the beans and making pesto. I’m pretty sure Mamaw never pickled jalapenos. I’m not sure if she ever tasted one. I’m sure she never made pesto. But my love of growing my own food, cooking, and especially my love of “putting up” the harvest is thanks to her.

this year's bounty so far