The Wool Food Mama

Get 'da guns!!

When April started, I was going to start a blogging challenge.  Posting every single day, for 30 days.  Well, April 1st came and went and I still haven't posted.

I'm a little embarrassed.  I looked at my last post and realized it's been a good long time, so when I come back, I should come back with a little bang or at least something a little entertaining, ya know. 

So, I'd open up the laptop and meh....nothing. I have a lot to share, no one loves to hear me blather away more than me, I just can't figure out if I should backtrack and fill in some holes or just wait for something exciting to bring it all back again.

Well, nothing exciting has happened and if I fill in the holes, I'll easily exceed the 30 day challenge in one sitting.  So, I'll start with the end of the world.

You may or may not know that yesterday was the beginning of the end of the world.  No?  Oh, well, sit down, I'll fill you in on what you missed. 

It started out alarmingly enough with a text from my oldest daughter right after school. What did North Korea just do? Are we being bombed? What, wait, come again?  She did come again, this time with screen shots of headlines that North Korea is coming and the end is here!  Whoa, whoa, whoaaaa, slow down, we're not going to die, all is fine....as I'm secretly fumbling around for a remote control. 

Ok, anti-missile equipment in Guam is kind of a big deal, but no, we are not dying (today), go on with your day, I'll see you at home later.  No really, it's cool.  All good.

I got home and Brian was making the most amazing meat-loaf, the house smelled so good I bet I could have cracked off a corner of sheetrock for an appetizer.  Granted, I was starving, and yes, I'm a tiny bit too proud of how good our first beef slaughter went, but still, it smelled divine.

So much so, that I insisted we eat at the dining table as opposed to the counter or take-out plates in the family room. All settled in and the topic easily turned to North Korea and the conversation was rather spirited.  We covered it all; the difficult position Kim Jong Un has gotten himself into, the defiance and reprimand that got him here, the frustration he must feel as a leader being spanked by the UN and the subsequent rolling out of the US arsenal that is making it difficult for him to get his crazy back down to a more manageable level, with a side of hold a good thought for China and Russia whilst they try to get this under control. Topped off with a "no, I really don't think we're headed to a nuclear war. "

Wooosaaaa. 

All good.  Then, I mistakenly thought that this is a good time to transition to a chat about a "family plan".  Not for a bombing, but say, for a tornado or flood. (note; Gusty missed this part and for the rest of the conversation, inserted bombing and war, you'll see her reaction later) These natural disasters are, afterall, kind of a problem in our area. A meet-up plan, if communications fall apart, is smart. 

fail.

Olympic Gold fail.

I.kid.you.not, at that exact moment, a helicopter roars low over the house, it's dark outside, the walls vibrate and everyone lost it.  I'm on damage control, "Oh my gawd, that is Mayo One.  It has flown over this house ALL of your life!'  Brian is laughing.   Dane goes redneck, "I'll get 'da guns!!!" Brian laughs harder. Madison wells up and fires back "what guns?!!!" and Gusty is bawling. 

Pass the meat loaf. 

 

 

Ass, kicked it was.

 

No really.  That's not just some figurative reference, metaphor or even a tribute to Yoda.  I really got my ass kicked and I (still) have a bruise the size of Vermont to prove it. 

Early on, my mentor told me to keep tight to the cattle whilst handling.  If you're going to get kicked, and you likely will, you want to experience just a half strength kick.  Being close to the animal means you'll never feel the full extension of the stroke. 

Being close to the animal means you'll never feel the full extension of the stroke.

One more time.....Being close to the animal means you'll never feel the full extension of the stroke.

Yep, those are the words that went ringing through my head as a landed backwards after a short flight out the barn door.

Now that I'm an expert on this, having experience to go with my knowledge, let me tell you that the kick is a two-stage stroke. 

The first stage is the pain.  Stage one falls exactly on your thigh and it leaves a mark.  Stage two, that's the power, it finds a nice squishy spot in your stomach and lifts you off the ground sending you roughly 5-8 feet, depending on the slope of the grade. Stage two is complex, it's where all that you learned comes rushing to your mind as the words "oh shit" fall from your lips. 

Getting up, I glanced over and Mr sunshine shot me a look.  I'm pretty sure he said, "oh shit" too but I could be wrong.  Either way, I think he scared himself more than he scared me, because he ran for the far corner of the barn, while I laughed and rolled to all fours.  Profoundly grateful for the chance to learn again another day. 

Lesson learned;  Announce your arrival to the barn, especially if you forget something and walk back across the open door frame whilst everyone is eating hay dressed with molasses and apple cider vinegar. 

The Farm....through Dane's eyes.

A camera, a farm, a boy...

The three stooges.  They were suppose to be hens.  Two were not.

It's been raining walnuts at the farm.  Dane caught one in free-fall...

Dirt road anthem.

Gusty and friends walking the pasture.

"Free ranging" cattle.

My favorite.  A perfect view.

 

More Therapy...

Earlier this week, we re-homed pig-pig.

We all miss him, a lot. Especially Brian.  Those two had an unique bond.  They met late one night in the bathroom (I failed to mention to Brian that we had adopted a pig and he was living in a box in the shower) and well...oh what the heck....when you're both peeing on the floor, for whatever reasons, you're connected.

Our neighbor suggested that Pig-pig may actually be a desireable catch for someone on Craigslist.  Since he was a Tamworth, it put him in the heritage category and heritage anything is a good thing these days.

After 4-5 days without a single inquiry, I thought he was ours and I was kind of bummed.  We aren't pig breeders and I wasn't going to become a pig breeder just because of Pig-pig either.  I was steeling nerves to go the distance on the castration. 

ugh.  Who wants to eat their baseball buddy?  He'd become a pet. 

Then, a nibble.  After a whole bunch of horse trading, pig-pig  was traded for 10 bales of straw and a handful of dollars.  When he trotted after his new owner all the way to the truck, I probably could have gotten a few more bucks...but it was never about that.  I'm just happy pig-pig gets to knock up a nice little heritage gal for a good long time.

All of my therapy wasn't JUST about the farm.   I also got in some sweet family time too. Like trying out some pinterest ideas with my girls.

Madison really wanted to try dip-dyeing her hair.  This was a lot of fun, for both of us.

Spending some time with the extended family was good thereapy too.  Lisa and Dave hosting all of us for Brian's birthday and Easter dinner was SO nice.  We will all have to work a little harder to have these get-togethers more regularly.  Especially the kind when night falls and the kids are near or beyond sleepy-time.

Therapy.

 

Therapy

Last week, I'd quit.  This week, I'm back.   It's funny, when you cast it all out on the wind, with a willingness, maybe even an eagerness, to see where the chips fall...they seem to fall as they should.  

Surrender, cave, give-up, those words seem to have a defeated undertone.  Change the words to believe, trust, or hands-off and the tone changes.  The events change.  The outcome...the intervention...is, well, it's divine.

That said, let me introduce you to our Wet Nurse & Retirement Program;

I'll continue, just like last year,  to raise calves born at my friend's (mentor) raw milk dairy farm.  But, instead of feeding them the traditional powdered, icky formula, I'll be utilizing a wet-nurse. I'm buying an otherwise premium and proven dairy cow that happens to be struggling with an issue or two.  No deal breakers, just a little something that'sconsidered a big thing at a larger operation.  

At our farm, wet-nurses will have the chance for a little redemption and a place to hang their cowbell. These girls will be favorites.  Every dairyman (woman) has one or a few....favorite girls that he just doesn't want to send to the auction barn.  Now he/she won't have to.  They'll have a place at MY place.  I'll  take them off of suction and vacuum and turn them out with suckling calves.  

If all goes well, and if the girls arrive pregnant, they'll deliver their own calves here and I'll start building a herd.

So. 

Without further ado....

This is our girl, our first Wet Nurse. Macy.

Wait, let me back up the truck.  Last year I added two calves to the farm; black cow and brown cow. Here they are with pig-pig.  Anyway, last year they're were bundles of joy, this year, they're adolescents and carry all the baggage that you'd expect any pre-teen to have. 

I'd started a herd without a matriarch.  I suspected there would be risk and issues, but I had to get my feet wet somehow.  Two calves on bottle was plenty wet.  This spring's early arrival brought plenty of unrest with two boys...unsupervised.  

Boys, meet your education.

Oh wow, she's big...really big....much bigger than that 2-legged gal with blue boots. I wonder if she'll let us get away with anything?

Nope.

Macy's arrival immediately restored order with my calves.  They have their first "flight zone" and they even went old school with the manners...I'm a child to be seen, not heard.  No more crowding, pushing or showing off.  It's a pleasure again to walk the pasture with the boys. 

Now, getting Macy here!  That was a trip.  Come along, I promise a few good laughs and omg's.

We had a 1400 pound cow, two 100 pound calves, a truck, a mid-sized hatch-back, and a 50 mile separation from origin to destination.  Let the games begin.

Make sure Macy will let the calves nurse. Check.

For the record, Vicki  (my mentor) hooked up two calves. See brown calf hiding behind black calf?  Vicki's behind the camera in this shot, but she's the rockstar.

Next, transportation. Check.

I know what you're thinking right now.  We all were thinking it; Get lots of pictures, no one will believe it otherwise.

Squeeze a 1400 Guernsey into the truck. Check.

That's Vicki, ready to go...I wish I'd had the video running when she sent Macy up the chute, because it would have captured Vicki's confidence and Craig's thinking out loud.  Whilst craig was still kicking dirt piles trying to sort out how the trip up the chute would go, Vicki said " Go, go, go," and with both hands started pushing a three quarter ton cow.

Watch out, we're coming....

Wait, I think I should lay down some straw...oh hell....

Alright, she's in.

It wouldn't be a great show if there wasn't a peanut gallery. Check.

Even Aussie was giggling...and hiding under the truck.

Once Macy was in the truck, the gallery started singing.  moo. moo. moo. Which is better than boo.boo.boo.

There she is....

Tie her down, lock her down and hit the road.  It was reported that every car that passed the transport vehicle took pictures with their phones.  haha.  Macy could very well be the most photographed guernsey ever and on a facebook page near you.

Anyway, if that wasn't exciting enough, when we got to my farm, it just kept getting better.  Thank goodness for seasoned dairymen (and women) that know what the hell they're doing.  First, Macy was too big to turn around and she was having no part up backing out of the truck.

Try it again with her head held about the rack...

Just like that.

Did you see how hands-off all of that was?   Amazing.

I'm happy to report that Macy stepped right up beyond wet nurse and assumed an adoptive mother role for our two new calves.  Nice empty utter on Mace, sleepy calves, drunk on mama's milk and soft-spoken yearlings in the pasture.   

Therapy.

Time to slow it down.

Fried.  Now that's a word.  That could be an intended pun considering the egg harvests at the farm and the volume of wool eggs that rolled out this spring season. But, it's not nearly that romantic.  I'm just fried, so it's time to slow it all down.

Yesterday, Brian and I did little but sit and zone-out for most of the day.  Even watching TV was laborious. For the record, I took two naps and Brian cooked, which means he ordered take-out.  I love to tease him about "his cooking" being the equivalent of a drive through window.  But the reality is, he is an amazing cook but rarely ponies up to the stove.  Because of course he's fried too. 

I look all around and see these idyllic blogs and life stories and know that I've portrayed my blog in much the same way.  It's my happy place, darnit, I don't want the crap to creep in here.  Children have make-believe, I have my blog. So, I'm just as guilty as the next person....but I'm about to change that. 

Reality check...audit.  Minnesota Dept of Revenue variety.  18 months of hovering hell and I'm full up on the snail's pace of a government worker with benefits.

This is my dining room....

This has been my dining room for 18 months....

This is my dining room floor...

On Monday, we finally had our face-to-face for the audit and from our vantage, it seemed to go swimmingly and hence, the break-down yesterday.  I shed my battle armour and donned a new coat reminiscent of the viral video of a honey badger....I just don't give a sh*t.  Brian has color back in his face and spring never looked better.

There's been a lot of neglect whilst we forged through this and although we aren't done yet, the worst is behind us.  Knock on wood. So, with slates cleared, it's time to slow it all back down.  Waaaay back down. 

I was going to press through the burn and try to make a final batch of wool eggs.  That won't be happening.  Toy making for me is a love affair, not a burden, and I intend to continue sewing love and peace into every stitch. Just look at the inspiration I have waiting for a new season;

They're zoo cages, waiting for a fresh layer of beeswax and coconut oil.

I can't wait to fill them with giraffes, zebras and camels. 

I'm excited.

The garden needs tilling. Seeds need sorting. Projects need starting. The farm needs reclaiming. Chickens, Guineas and turks need ordering. Dairy cow and calves are arriving. Children need loving.  Brian needs needing and so do I. 

Slow.it.down.

Just typing the words makes the tension fade. Fresh face. Fresh season.  I'm ready...to slow it down.

 

 

 

 

Farm planning and a huge dose of venting.

Really, if you stumble on this, feel free to step over my little rant.  I'll understand. I can barely stand myself today.....if you do want to stick it out, scroll down to the photos and start there.  Far more fun than the introductory trainwreck.

What an exasperating day.  Well, to be fair, today was relatively benign, it's just a whole bunch of tempered frustration boiled over today and exploded all over my quiet little, moderately drama-free, life.

In the scope of world issues, I'm sure no one particularly cares that I have a squatting renter.  But to me, it's huge and I'm incredibly upset about it and have to purge this negative energy.  Today, I found myself locked  out of my own farm (or rather access to the blown fuse in the basement) and was elevated to a brand new level of pissed-off. 

I suppose I should embrace the unplanned electrical outage as a drill or something positive, like a little step back in time.  Yeah. That wasn't going to happen.  I have things to do, like bills to pay to, you know, keep the lights on. 

Sigh. 

I felt poked. 

So I poked back and I'm sure my squatter hung up the phone convinced that I need anger management classes.  Maybe I do. Today, I'm ok with that label.  What I'm never ok with is someone else calling the shots on my life, my gig or my land.  ever.

That said, my productive afternoon was shot to hell and I never did get to that fuse box and I wound up doing the unthinkable...I took to hiding in bed with a new magazine and re-runs of The Big Bang Theory. 

I don't know if hiding under the covers really helped. I'm more inclined to move soil and break a real sweat to work through this level of frustration.  Nonetheless, I was willing to try, I just didn't have it in me to do anything else and I felt genuinely defeated.

It's been several hours of sulking now and I suppose we could even say my damn mooching squatter won. He got the best of me today. 

So, I reach for my laptop, edit a few photos, find my happy place on the net and daydream about the possibilities my farmstead holds, once it's all ours again.

It's always smart to start at the barn.

She needs some work and may be small, compared to others in the area, but she is the heart of the entire place.  This photo is the back side and gets little sunlight except at sunset. Yet, this area is teaming with tree and grape vine growth.  A natural canopy that the cows picked completely clean (from underneath) last summer. 

I bet they loved the coolness the leaves and stone provided during the dog days of July and August.  I loved the wild grade syrup that I was able to put up from the clusters that hung too high for grazing.

The vines are mature and worth wrangling.  I'm undecided how to fashion it, but I think a trellis of some sort is in needed to reign it all in.  I'll cut back some of the trees too, before they get too big and start to put pressure on the barn walls.

I wish this tree was healthier. 

It's completely falling apart and I suspect it may have been the victim of lightning at some time in its lengthy history.

This photo kind of shows just how dire its state is with that tangling trunk over a story up. 

Right there on the left at the tippy top of the tree, that large section there, it isn't even attached to the tree. At all. I'll troubleshoot pulling it down before it falls down.  But still, the tree completely exceeds my abilities and a retirement plan will eventually have to be worked out. 

These two photos are where I'd like to put  the pigs this spring. 

There's shade and sunlight, room to run, jump, bathe and rotate.

While walking the farthest west line, I realized this seemingly open space is actually a new nursery for young saplings.  So instead of giving the pigs free access to all of it, fencing off just 30-40 feet will provide a foot-hold for future timber.  A stand that will one day provide shade from the late summer sun and a winter break from the north wind. 

This was one of the first spaces that reenforced the notion that when in doubt, it's best to leave it alone.  A sort of  "measure twice, cut once" philosophy, if you will. 

More rambling, there are all of the wild blackberries....

And more...

...and still more....

....and more blackberries....

I think you get the idea.  Unfortunately, they've been so neglected and over grown that they're barely productive anymore.  I think I'll cut back two of the four spaces, then see how the results work out over the next year or so to see if I should do the same with the other two briars.

Ok....

I think my feet are back on the ground.  I'll give it a break for now. 

 

 

 

Hey, Slackie

Do you slackline?  Neither do we, but we sure tried!!!

Dane, you're up...

Ok, we really thought putting the 11 year old accomplished pogo-sticking champ would instill a little (false) confidence.

Wait, wait, let me rake up all the walnuts.  Obviously we'll be falling a lot, so lets just break legs and not, you know, roll an ankle.

Ok, next? Dane again, with determination.

...or not?

I got it! I got...no, I don't...

Maddie?

Ok, this is a really sweet picture of Gusty trying to help, but it's actually one frame before disaster struck. You see, when you're slowly losing your balance, your hands will grab on to anything and your fingers will twist, contort and squeeze in an effort to compensate for unsteady legs and feet.

Notice Madison's hand on Gusty's head?

Gusty exits here and no amount of tear wiping, apologizing or coaxing will make her return until she's good and ready.  She hangs on the edge, making 8 year old fun in other ways.  :)

Ok, Dad's turn..

nope.

Wait, let me try that again...

Nope...

Definitely has the dismount down.

*gulp* My turn.

Omg, what a horrid sweatshirt.  I'm not knocked up. lol.

Hey, there's our girl. Hearts.

Fodder....

Seriously.  Big laughs, big fun.  I fully expect the kids (especially Dane) will have mastery before spring. 

 

 

grow

grow

[groh]  verb, grew, grown, grow·ing.

verb (used without object)

1. to increase by natural development, as any living organism or part by assimilation of nutriment; increase in size or substance.

I've decided on "grow" for my word this year.

 

For the last several years, I've chosen a word, instead of a resolution, to represent the New Year.  Something that fits into every facet of my life.  Something to focus on and help bring about a desired change.

Happiness was the last word I chose.  I have to say, that word choice was a complete success.    Despite the heavy losses in 2011, happiness really worked it's way into me.

But it wasn't always like that.  One year, I chose "simplify".  Good lord, what a disaster.   I'm serioiusly chuckling at myself.  It's a lot like praying for patience and God showing you just how much patience you have.  Yeah. haha.  Needless to say, simplifying takes a crap-ton of work.

This year, I'm settling on grow. 

Grow.

Nice simple ring, don't you think?

 

Me too.

There's so much that I want to grow and there's so much in my life that needs to grow.

I love growing food.  I think that's pretty obvious.  My crafty blog has definitely taken on a farmy feel, and that's likely to continue.  Actually, I wish I'd blogged more about my farming endeavors last year.  I must have been doing something right though, because I'd fall into bed exhausted and blogging seemed impossible.  But maybe this year, I'll have room for blogging whilst I grow the farm with a permaculture foundation...

I'm so geeked about this book,  I can hardly stand it.  grow. grow. grow. Permaculture is an older word in my vocabulary, but I finally have time to make it fit.  Or rather, I'm going to make time to apply it to the farm.  I'm hopeful that it will slow me down (much like the animals did last year) so that I can make careful and conscientious choices at the farm.

Then, of course, there's my little crafting business.  Boy, is that growing.  I'm so blessed.  I really want to keep that growing and today I broke my own record and cranked (cut) out 14 ponies....

And finally, but certainly not the least  of importance, is my personal growth.   It's time to focus on this whole student of life thing. (Student was actually my back-up word.) Woman, wife, mother....they could all use some growth.

 

The realization last summer and fall that I'm mearly a student in this life will make the focus on growth particularly poignant for me this year.

So...

Farewell 2011. 

Ahhh 2012, I've been expecting you. C'mon in...I'll brew.

I guess I'm not a big fan of change

I had to change the blog back.  I'd like to think I was just SO busy that I couldn't find the time to blog, which may be partially true.  But in reality, I wasn't all together crazy about the latest design and layout. 

So, I'm going back to what feels like home....my happy place...happy-faced little veggies and a soft green background.

Feels good to be home.