I wasn’t sure how the garden would do this first year. We had obstacles to overcome – rocks, stones and gravel – to begin with, questionable soil, and then pesky rabbits.
But those little seed packets seem to have overcome the odds and continue to amaze me. I planted two kinds of carrots – typical orange Nantes carrots and a specialty pack I picked up somewhere of “rainbow” carrots in a variety of colors – purple, yellow and white. Despite all the impediments in the soil, the carrots have grown fairly large, and mostly straight.
Digging the carrots out has been a bit of a challenge; the soil just doesn’t seem to want to release them. I thought a good tug would be sufficient, but it has taken a variety of digging tools to pry them loose.
Then they need scrubbing and peeling; but if you peel a purple carrot – you get an orange carrot. That’s just not fair. I wanted purple all the way through to add color to my soups and stews. So I scrubbed them extra hard and left the peels on. Then there is the chopping and blanching and chilling in a cold water bath and drying and then freezing on a cookie sheet.
The “girls” ate well — they loved the peels, and eventually – I ended up with two big bags of frozen carrots – a gallon of orange and a gallon of colorful ones. Now I need a cold fall day to make a big pot of vegetable soup.
Our rainbow carrots.The problem is, when you peel the red carrots, they are just orange underneath. That’s not fair.Blanched and ready to freeze.Peels and scraps for the girls.They’re happy!
So the saying goes, that Birds of a Feather Flock Together. I’m not sure exactly what that means in relation to our bird feeder. There are a lot of birds flocking there, and squirrels – which aren’t birds at all, but apparently, think they are.
Chris takes good care of the birds – the feeders are always full and the bird bath always has fresh water. We’ve been rewarded by a growing number and variety of birds that frequent our front yard. Whether it’s coffee in the morning or a drink in the late afternoon – we sit in the rocking chairs on the front porch and watch the rotation of birds.
There is the constant fluttering of cardinals, blue jays, nut hatches, wrens, sparrows and gold finches, sometimes interspersed with red-bellied woodpeckers and downy woodpeckers and an occasional blue bird. The hummingbird feeder in the back yard gets an infrequent visitor – but at least we know there are hummingbirds around. And flying overhead are hawks, black birds and sometimes turkey vultures. The other day we had something new and ran for the bird book – maybe some sort of an Oriole.
It’s a great place for bird watching; apparently there is a lot of flocking going on.
We have a colorful front yard. Red Cardinals.Blue Birds.And bright yellow goldfinches.Turkey Vultures.Red bellied woodpeckers — who actually have a red head, and I have yet to see their bellies, so I don’t know…And a “flock” of squirrels who are determined to get into the squirrel proof bird feeder.And these two — who clearly don’t belong at the bird feeder.
About this time last year, we had to have our cat put to sleep. She was old, wasn’t managing the move from our previous home to our interim stop at the Homewood Suites, and wasn’t going to live long enough to make it to the farm. So with a heavy heart – I took her to the vet. My daughter and granddaughter went with me for moral support.
The whole event, though sad, was done in a very compassionate way. We stayed with Shadow while they gave her the shot and she peacefully passed away. Arianna wanted to stay with Shadow for the process, but at five years old, I wasn’t sure what she really understood – and what she didn’t. Once Shadow was “asleep,” Arianna announced it was time to go – so we did.
Now, a year later, they have a cat that needs a barn – and we have a barn that needs a cat. Before bringing Riley to the farm, she needed to have her shots up-dated, and that has brought about a barrage of questions from the now six-year old Arianna.
Upon hearing that Riley was going to need shots, she’s been full of angst about how, exactly, does the vet know the difference between an “alive” shot and a “dead” shot, because she wouldn’t want Riley to go in for the shots to keep her alive, only to end up with the wrong shot. She apparently has given it considerable thought because we had a lengthy conversation about the alternative ways they could keep the shots separate. I suggested she ask the vet when they took Riley for her “well shots,” and she did. Apparently the “dead” shots are under lock and key, the others are in the refrigerator. That’s all she needed to know.
Now Riley has taken up residence on the farm. Chris built “cat stairs” so she can get from the storage side of the barn where her bowl of food is — to the outside, by way of the run-in shed side of the barn and she’s on the prowl to keep the mice away. She’s happy, we’re happy – and Arianna is happy that Riley only got the “alive” shot.
Riley in the barn where she sleeps on top of the hay.Riley perched on top of a fence post under the roof of the barn, trying to keep out of the rain while surveying the pasture.
We have just a little farm – and along with that has come a variety of “accessories” needed to help maintain the farm – a small John Deere tractor, a chain saw, a chipper/shredder, a snow blower – the normal, everyday variety of “guy toys” that require gas and someone strong enough to yank the cord to get things going. Power tools. I get it.
But now we’ve moved into a new realm. A pick-up truck — a big 4-door, silver, Silverado, with a back seat. The truck is nearly as big as the farm itself and just barely squeaks into the garage. Apparently this became a necessity to haul hay for the two horses that reside in our pasture. Mind you, our hay provider is barely five miles away and is more than happy to deliver a truck load for barely more than $19. It takes a LOT of $19.00 hay deliveries to equate to the price of a new pick-up truck. In fact, I think it would be about 2,315 hay delivery charges!
So, now we have a farm truck. To me, a farm truck should look beat up and muddy. It’s a badge of honor; it shows how hard the truck has worked. This truck looks like it just stepped out of the beauty salon – everything is picture perfect, not a blemish, not a scratch. I can only imagine how long that will last, and how upset Chris will be with the first ding, the first scratch in the bed liner or a spill in the extended cab.
But it fits right in – there is ABSOLUTELY No Rhyme or Reason for this truck – other than it’s a guy thing. So why not, it’s No Rhyme or Reason Farm.
Here he comes home in the “lumbering giant” that barely fits between our tree-lined driveway.It’s big.It does fit into the garage (thanks Forest Ridge Builders for building such a BIG garage!).
We’ve been clearing land. We could clear land until the day we die and we’ll never clear it all. It’s hard work, but it feels productive at the end of the day when you step back and see the progress.
The problem is, there is a lot to contend with as we bushwhack our way through the brambles, briars, vines and spindly trees. The first problem is the thorns. They rip up our arms and legs. I look like I was in a fight with a cat – and the cat won. The second problem is poison ivy. As careful as I am, if I even look at the stuff, it sends out feelers and attacks me. The third problem is ticks. They crawl on the grass, they fall out of the trees, and they carry Lyme Disease. The fourth problem is “things.” “Things” like a box turtle, a weird frog – and a SNAKE.
Chris was running the trimmer into the tall brambles, oblivious to my screaming, running, and flailing of arms. I climbed up the back of him like I was climbing a tree. I wrapped myself around his shoulders and my legs around his waist – because I wasn’t leaving my feet within striking distance of that SNAKE. He looked at me like I’d lost my mind.
I explained there was a SNAKE, a huge, long snake with BIG yellow stripes and it was looking right at me. And it looked hungry! I pointed out the direction it was headed.
“Where?” he asked, looking for a huge, long snake with big yellow stripes.
“Right there,” I insisted.
“It’s just a little garter snake,” he said, unimpressed, but I noticed he started pushing around in the brambles with a long handled rake after that.
I went to Home Depot and bought one of those Tyvek outfits. They’re cute. They’re a white, one-piece jump suit intended to be worn when you are painting. The problem is, they only come in extra large, so I lopped off the bottom of the legs and the extra long arms (that didn’t fix the problem that the crotch came to about my knees). I donned my new attire, tucked the pant legs inside of tall white socks, and figured this would solve problems one through four (above).
For the second time that day, Chris looked at me like I’d lost my mind, tried to hide his laughter and said I looked like I escaped from a mental institution.
I guess that’s what working on the farm will do to you.
A cute box turtleA weird frog, hopping away…And a snake skin! I didn’t get a picture of the real snake, I was too busy running away!
What is it with zucchini? If you miss one day in the garden, those sweet little miniature zucchinis that are smaller than the blossom still hanging on to the end of them suddenly turn into monster-sized zucchini baseball bats.
I prefer the zucchini somewhere in between the two – a little bigger than just two bites, but not so big that they are six inches in diameter, full of seeds and the length of my arm. When they get that big, there is nothing else to do with them except…bake zucchini bread!
I love zucchini bread, but I’m not sure why it’s called bread because it probably has more sugar and fat than most cakes! It’s an unhealthy mess, with a scant two cups of grated zucchini to add beautiful flecks of green – just so I can pretend it is healthy. A bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream is green too – and probably more healthy than zucchini bread.
But given the over abundance from the garden, what’s a person to do?
One day’s haul from the farm — 5 eggs, cucumbers, peppers, shallots, potatoes, yellow squash, a few small zucchini — and a couple of baseball bat-sized zucchini because I turned my back on them for ONE day.Yummy!
I do love the fact that the farm has a variety of wildlife. We love watching the deer wander through and stop for drink by the stream. The rabbits are a bit frisky right now, chasing each other and playing some version of leap frog in the back yard. The birds start chirping early in the morning and have alleviated any need for an alarm clock. It’s a lively place.
A little too lively.
About two weeks ago, I noticed some “clutter” on our front porch. For a moment, I thought maybe it looked like droppings, but it seemed an unlikely place for a rodent, adjacent to our front door. I looked up into the rafters, and there was nothing there – so I swept it away. The next day there was more, and then more.
When my daughter arrived for dinner one night, I showed her our new curiosity. “Bats,” she proclaimed.
BATS! Nesting between the roof of the porch and the exterior (thank goodness) wall of the house. Mind you, they’d have to get through 18 inches of stone to get INTO the house, but still, between the porch roof and the exterior of the house is just too close for comfort.
I used to like sitting on the front porch.
I’ve asked Chris to seal that space with “Great Stuff” or barbed wire or whatever it takes to keep them out of there. He thinks it’s cool that we have bats and is happy to sit on a mosquito free porch. I’d rather have mosquitoes.
We’ve compromised. I’ll get a bat house that we can mount on a tree on some part of the farm that I NEVER visit, and this winter, when the bats are gone – he’ll seal up that space so that they can’t return there.
In the meantime, I’m only sitting on the porch in a hoodie sweatshirt and long pants.
An inviting front door…not where I want to find bats!Nesting up between the porch roof and the side of the house.And leaving this mess every morning to welcome anyone who dares to venture onto our porch.
We found the skull of some sort of animal – probably a fox, a while ago. And we’ve dug up an assortment of soup bones, cow bones and “who knows what” bones as we’ve been clearing the property. I know there are bones around, yet it’s always a bit startling to be raking leaves and uncover bones. In the front meadow alone I’ve found two such “burial grounds” for whatever they may have been.
It has happened often enough that Chris’ friend Len provided the proper attire for clearing our property of bones — a “Bone Collector” shirt. Now I hand him his shirt and a shovel and tell him I’ve found more…
Here is the most recent find.
An Assortment of bonesCouldn’t have been that big of an animal, maybe 30 inches long — ribs, back bone, etc. — scattered across the ground. I guess finding the bones is better than finding a dead animal!A box of bones — what’s a bone collector to do with all these bones?
It would be an understatement to say that the “Three Musketeers” – Disa (the Norwegian Fjord Horse), Pono (a miniature horse) and Fiona (our goat) – REALLY enjoy their pasture. In fact, they’ve chomped it down to the roots.
We realized that we probably needed to divide the pasture in half, so they can graze on one side, and let the other side recuperate!
Being novices at all of this, we made a trip to Tractor Supply to look into electric fence tape. In this modern digital age, the aisle of electric fence supplies also offered a free “Instructional DVD” on installing electric fences. We figured it would be really complicated if you had to take home a DVD to figure out how to do this.
As it turns out, it wasn’t that hard (well, it wasn’t hard for me, because Chris did the work). He put in the plastic fence posts, a couple of ground posts, strung the electrified tape, flipped on the power – and voila – we had a divided pasture.
That was the easy part.
The hard part has been keeping (mis)chievious – “Miss” Fiona (the “Miss” is for Mischievous) from jumping through the fence. I guess the grass is always greener on the other side. At first Chris would corral her back to the permitted side of the pasture. Eventually we gave up. After all, one little goat can’t eat all that much newly growing grass – can she?
The Three Musketeers — Disa, Pono and “Miss” FionaA nice run of an electric fence — they’ll never cross that!Chris’ ingenious “MacGyver” invention to keep the electric charger from getting wet — it’s inside a plastic shoe box.The grass really is greener on the other side — as it recuperates and has a chance to re-grow.Disa better watch her tail, it’s getting a little close to the fence.
If you’ve been following the blog, you know we have five girls – hens, that is. They are coddled and taken care of like they are part of the family. In return, they give us five eggs a day.
They have a beautiful coop, fresh water and plenty of chicken food. We visit them at least twice a day and give them a BOUNTY of chicken scratch and kitchen scraps (like strawberry tops, lettuce leaves, asparagus stalks, etc.). In the winter they get a night light and a heat lamp when it’s cold.
It was with a lot of anxiety the first time we let them out of the coop to “free range” for an hour or so. They strut and scratch at the dirt, gobble up bugs and peck at the leaves. They enjoy their time out of the coop, and Chris had pretty much trained them to a yellow, children’s size hoe. I read that in a blog somewhere. They used a yellow child’s hoe to gently corral the hens back into their coop, and over time, all they had to do was lift the yellow hoe and the hens would run back to the coop.
Our hens aren’t quite that cooperative. One scout hen usually returns to the coop, checks to see if their “treat” is there yet (a can of cracked corn), and then alerts the rest of the girls that it is time to come back in. Those other hens usually needed a little nudging with the yellow hoe to get them back in the coop, but we had a good routine going.
Until last Sunday.
We worked hard all day clearing brush on the hillside, took a shower and decided to settle in with a cold drink down by the chicken coop and let the girls have a run. And run they did. For the first time ever they headed for the hills into the thick, impenetrable (for humans) brush — overgrown bushes full of thorns, poison ivy and ticks. Off they went for an adventure.
No amount of calling, shaking the can of corn, begging or pleading would bring them back. Chris and I both made attempts to climb through the brush, got cut by thorns, whacked in the face with branches, and probably brushed up against poison ivy. Finally we called the search and rescue off and decided they would either come home, or they wouldn’t.
It was a quiet dinner that night while we mourned the loss of our chickens. Chris felt guilty for turning his back on them for a few seconds. I was busy trying to rethink what’s for dinner this week since we probably wouldn’t be having quiche on Tuesday night. And we kept taking turns getting up to check and see if they were back in the coop yet.
Finally, about 7:30, they came marching back, on their own, and went right into the coop. I figured they would, even though I worried that they wouldn’t. I mean where else would they get such tender loving care. There’s no place like home.
We’ve grounded them, at least for a while, or until Chris recovers from almost losing his girls.
The thicket into which our girls disappeared.You can just catch sight of a brown hen, but she wasn’t coming out.Chris with his yellow hoe, trying to talk chicken & convince the girls to come back to the coop.
No Rhyme or Reason Farm 