Organic Feed Costs

The baby chicks aren't living in the brooder any more, but have taken up residence in the coop attached to my corn crib.  I'm not sure what breeds the boys are, but the little white roosters are the most bold and inquisitive.  They are eating a lot of chick starter as they grow, and I've been debating with myself about the advantages of feeding organic food.  So far, I've been buying the non-organic chick food, which costs around twelve dollars for a fifty pound bag.  The organic food costs twice as much for forty pound bag, and isn't always available at my Tractor Supply.  The more I read about the dangers of eating food that been exposed to glyphosate, the more I think I should spend the extra money to make sure the meat we are growing is healthy.  And that the manure I use in the garden is too.

Toxins bio-accumulate in animals, right?  So if they are eating a little poison in their food every day for the four to six months of their lives, then when we eat them, we are eating the poison too, only more concentrated.  Should I view those giant bags of feed I coax Brandon into carrying for me as giant bags of poison, which we will eventually eat in the concentrated form of chicken and broth.  

And what about all my beautiful eggs?  

My hens are free to eat all the organic grass and bugs they can find, but they get their share of toxin coated grains each day too.

I like to day dream about growing enough of my own grains to feed my flock and ensure the eggs we eat are as clean and healthy as possible, but until those dreams are reality, I have the option of buying organic chicken food.  It's not as easy to find, and it costs more than twice as much.  Can I afford it?  Can I afford not to afford it?  

Peaches Meets the Bucks

The goats are not supposed to meet me at my car when I get home from work!  The River brothers, once so chubby they wobbled, are thin enough now, after a winter of weedy hay and rationed feed, that they can slip between the gate and the post.  I was warned that goats are escape artists, so I wasn't surprised that they took advantage of our poorly spaced gate posts.  Of course, they followed me right back inside the fence, so I'm not sure they have the proper motivation to truly try for freedom.  On their second escape attempt, I tricked Dark River onto the milk stand and trimmed his hooves.  He screamed like I was cutting his feet off the whole time, which worried Light River so much, he squeezed himself back inside the fence!  

Peaches had her first visit to a buck for a not very romantic breeding attempt.  I can't say that I blame her for rejecting the timid advances of Mr. Valentine.  Not that short, hairy, beefy, and smelly isn't attractive, in it's way, but I too found the foaming lips and googly-eyed expression a turn off.  Peaches, are we sure we want babies that might look like this guy?  

Although, he does have a very cool beard... 

I thought for sure Peaches was showing signs that she was ready to visit the buck, but she wouldn't have anything to do with any of the four candidates that she was introduced too.  They even made romantic goat gestures, like peeing on their own faces, just to get her attention.  She was mostly interested in eating the high quality hay that was available, and made everyone laugh when she would raise her ears and eyebrows like an angry bat, and chase the little man goats away.  The small miniature goat boys seemed willing to try, despite Peaches tall, full-sized goat stature, but my goat owning friend was sure Peaches wasn't receptive.  She thinks it will probably be this fall before she comes into a "standing" heat, and will allow the buck to mount.   

By the time poor Peaches rode in the back of the truck for forty minutes to get there, was exposed to numerous strange dogs, was submitted to the indignity of being held in place by strangers while a series of strange man-goats sniffed at her, was petted and examined and exclaimed over by the team of young people that manage the mini-goat farm and aren't used to seeing full sized goats, and then rode all the way home, she was stressed out.  She didn't even want to eat her dinner, and sulked in her stall until the next day.  We're hoping we don't have to do that again until we know for sure it's going to work.  I brought home a rag that was rubbed on one of the smelly bucks, with the hope that when she's really ready, and I give her a sniff of the buck rag, she will have some sort of reaction that will let me know she's in to it.  We'll see.  Don't expect any goat milk from me for a while.  

They Wait

The flock gathered by the front door this morning so they could walk with me to the barn, where breakfast is served.  Their automated coop door opens at first light, and when I glanced through the windows, I could see them roaming the yard and fields searching for snacks.  By the time I'm ready for morning chores, there they are, waiting for me.  How do they know when to gather?  

Puck readies himself for a dramatic exit.  He loves to scatter the flock as he runs and barks and they go flapping for safety.  We call it bowling for chickens.  

I left work early yesterday with the thought that I would celebrate the newly arrived spring by planting vegetable seeds in the greenhouse.  Instead, I celebrated by taking a nap on the couch with the cats - doh!  The lazy cats couldn't keep me long though, and I was able to focus on vegetables long enough to plant a carton of tomato seeds and thin the tiny basil sprouts.   

The warm evening sun found me out in the pasture with the herd, admiring the new fencing arrangement.   The goats now have their very own grassy exercise yard, and Rufus has a small paddock attached to his stall.  Some blue gates were reallocated, and now I can decide who has access to the larger pasture.   It was nice to see the goats lounging in the sun and Rufus nibbling grass on the other side of the fence.  Not that watching Rufus chase the goats and force Dark River to submit to his affections isn't entertaining, but it is less relaxing.  Especially when he starts using his teeth to bite his neck and Dark River cries to be rescued.  

Rufus has a brand new lead rope.  It's blue.  

We took a walk with the new lead rope, and tried it out on several posts.  We decided we should probably practice being tied every day, if we can.  I can tell he enjoys the attention.  When he sees me with the halter he walks right up to me and sticks his nose out so I can buckle it on.  If I crouch down to his level, he lets me touch his front legs and lift his feet.  I don't like to crouch near the back feet, and he doesn't like me to hover over his back feet.  I hope that we can learn to trust each other.  

Conversation with Rufus

I said, "How is your hay, Rufus?"

"Not bad," he said, "it tastes like it did yesterday.  It's dry."  

"Have you forgiven me for twisting your ears?"

"Did you twist my ears?"

"I think I can understand why Eeyore was portrayed as a gloomy donkey."

"Thanks for noticing."

Chickens, Eggs, and Chickens

After a few weeks of warm weather, it's been a bit of an adjustment to be thrown back to frozen water buckets, cold feet, and extra hungry livestock.  Last night the temp dropped into the teens, but the baby chickens and the baby herbs in their salad boxes were toasty warm in the greenhouse with their heat lamp and with a piece of plastic draped over them.   I haven't been able to keep the seed trays consistently warm, so my germination rates have been very low.  Except for basil and cilantro - I've got lots of each of those.  Cilantro is Brandon's nemesis, so he's very excited that it's one of the things I can grow!  

The chicks are five weeks old now, and they are crowded in their brooder.  I've been promising them that they will get to move to the big chicken coop when they are six weeks old.  They are counting the days.  

On Sunday, Brandon and I finally butchered the spare roosters.  Mom had a spare, I had a spare, and my friend had two to spare.  Even though my spare rooster was small, we decided it was time for him to meet the freezer.  He had a bad habit of sleeping in the nest box, which meant he was pooping in the nest box and making my eggs dirty.  Bad rooster!  Finally - we're getting some photogenic eggs around here!  I collected fifteen last night.  

Such pretty eggs.  Good chickens.  

I noticed one of the buff Orpington hens walking funny, like a toddler with a dirty diaper, and then she squatted and out popped this weird squishy egg.  It had no hard shell!  It was like a warm water balloon, only filled with egg.  Wendigo thought it was delicious.  

Can you see the chicken wire attached to the opening in the greenhouse?  With zip ties and some screws and washers, we made the greenhouse chicken proof.

Pst!  Get out of here, chickens, it's seed planting time!  

Twisted Ears and Smelly Feet

Yesterday the farrier came to trim Rufus's hooves.  Brandon couldn't understand why I was so nervous.  Actually, I couldn't understand why I was so nervous either!  I was awake hours before the dawn, trying not to nervously anticipate this new experience.  I worried that Rufus would resist and would have to be tranquilized, or traumatized.  Despite my good intentions, I haven't been able to handle his back feet.  He kicks hard when I try to pick them up, which scares me and discourages me from trying, so I couldn't imagine how the farrier would be able to trim them.  

The farrier had me hold Rufus firmly by the halter, and had the first front hoof trimmed so fast Rufus and I were caught off guard.   Rufus resisted some, but the farrier just had me hold him firmly in place, and he got both front feet done quick.  I had hoped to watch his technique so I could learn how to do it, but all my attention was given to holding Rufus who decided that if he couldn't stand on all four feet, I could support him.  I was a donkey prop. 

The back feet weren't so easy to do.  Rufus jumped and squirmed and jerked his leg back and forth so hard I was surprised the man was able to hold on without dislocating his shoulder.  No wonder I haven't been able to do that!  He finally asked me how I felt about an "ear twitch."  He said with horses you can twist their upper lip and they will hold still.  With donkeys, their ears are most sensitive, so he showed me how to hold Rufus's head, and twist the base of his ear a little.  I felt awful, but I did it anyway, just a little.  It worked too.  He stopped kicking and the farrier quickly trimmed his hoof.  I had to twist his ear for the other back foot too, although I tried not to twist very much and let up as soon as he stopped kicking.  Poor Rufus.  

My regret is that I haven't been able to train Rufus to hold still while his feet are handled, but despite having to resort to holding his ears hostage, I'm glad he was trimmed.  We had already waited too long.  I noticed a bad smell while the farrier was working on his back feet.  Hooves that are dirty and wet, and don't get enough attention, get infections.  The farrier didn't say anything was wrong, but he recommended that he get trimmed every two months, and everything I've read says I'm supposed to clean out his hooves with a pick at least every week, if not every day.  In six months, I haven't cleaned his back hooves a single time.  I will renew my commitment to hoof care, and hopefully the next time I won't have to twist his poor ears.  Thankfully, Rufus doesn't seem to hold it against me.  

Can you see the cedar tree fence posts that Brandon installed yesterday?  They look just like trees that grew there naturally, but with the branches sawed off.  Brandon is on spring break this week, and his plan is to divide our pasture with some interior fencing that will allow the goats and the donkey to each have their own yard attached to their stall, with gates to the big pasture.  This will allow me to manage who gets access to the grass, without having to keep anyone confined to their stalls.  Brandon said the cedar posts, which he recently harvested, were super heavy and hard to work with since the bases were bigger than the size hole the post hole diggers or auger make.  He got a good workout wrestling these heavy posts.   

Thinking About Ayla and Peaches

I just finished reading the the Earth's Children series, by Jean Auel.  Oh, wow.  I've read the first book, The Clan of the Cave Bear, more times than I could say, and I've read the next three in the series so many times I have them practically memorized, but this is the first time I've read all six books straight through.  It is an epic story, but the writing of these books is also an anthropological achievement.  It's more than an exciting story with my favorite heroine, Ayla, it's the story of humanity, back when humanity included different species of humans.  It's a tale of adventure and love, too, but what it communicates is our collective human experience during an ice age in our past, when humans used sticks, stones, and fire, to thrive in a landscape that was harsh, a climate that was extreme, and with other life forms that were massive and abundant.  We're talking woolly mammoths and gigantic cave lions, even.  And the human species that became us, now, not only survived in that world, but created.  Tools, art, society, medicine, knowledge, spiritually, all the things that make us unique among our fellow animals on this planet, that is the story.  It's the kind of story that makes me want to write a book report, just for fun! 

I understood, as I was reading these books, that we humans are very tough and adaptable animals.  Not most of us individually, these days, but inherently we have the capability to survive and prosper in extreme conditions, with more simple technology.  I find it reassuring, and I hope that when my worries about our planet and future of our species start to creep in, I can remember that we are old.  Our ancestors thrived in world that was different than it is today, and it's likely that our species, or whatever species we become, could thrive in a world that is different too.   

So, I've been thinking about Ayla and her prehistoric adventures lately.  With over four thousand pages of adventure, it's safe to say I've been a little distracted as I immersed myself in the story.  As an animal and plant lover, I don't get bored with the descriptions of edible, medicinal, and hallucinogenic plants, or the detailed accounts of animal behavior and hunting strategies.  

Ayla lived in a time before animals were domesticated.  The animal characters in her story are tame, but they are wild animals.  They were not selectively bred.  There were no miniature goats in her world.  She didn't get to have a goat named Peaches.  That's my story!  

I'm trying not to be frustrated with myself as I consider the non-pregnant status of my dairy goat.  Brandon likes to remind me that we aren't going to starve to death if we don't have goat milk, but he's missing the point.  What kind of goat farmer can't even figure out how to get her goat pregnant!  Peaches had a visit to the vet, and she does not have any diseases (CAE or CL) that could be transferred to other goats, so it's safe for me to take her to a buck.  I did find someone with Nubian bucks for hire, but ultimately decided to breed her to my friends miniature Nigerian buck, so her kids will be smaller, but still make nice milk.  The plans were laid, the buck is on standby, but now Peaches isn't going into heat anymore.  At least not that I can tell.  Sigh.  Apparently, goats take some time off in the winter months.  I must wait until I can see signs that she is receptive, then get her to the buck within forty-eight hours.  Ayla may have had to live by her strength and wits, but she never had to analyze her goats tail wagging to determine if it was time for a goat rendezvous.  

Ants and Yard Art

March really did blow in like a lion, keeping us up all night huffing and puffing and trying to blow our house down.  You know what else arrived with the first day of March?  Ants.  I returned home from work yesterday to find a sink full of dirty dishes which were crawling with tiny ants.  Sigh.  Yay, spring is here...

But lets not focus on my terrible house keeping.  Instead, lets admire our new artworks!  An artist  and potter friend recently gave us some large ceramic sculptures, and we've been having fun finding places to display them outside.  

It's always risky to give us breakable art, since we don't have very much room to display things inside the house, and sometimes bad things happen to art displayed outside. These cool pieces survived the recent storm, and I think they make our wood pile even prettier.  

   

Seeing the completely spherical clay piece makes me want to get out the potters wheel and see if I could do that.  

This piece found a home at the bottom of the wood pile.

Brandon placed this huge clay sphere on the cut tree stump in the front yard.  The green glaze on the bottom looks good with our green door.

It's heavy, so we really hope no one (I'm talking to you, Wendigo) knocks it over.

Things are starting look a little more tidy and organized around our place these days.  It helps that the grass is starting to green.  Green is prettier than mud.  The buds on the pear tree are opening already. I've noticed that the hay I've spread around the barn to keep the animals feet out of the mud is starting to disappear, which means it's been warm enough for the decomposers in the soil to make some progress turning organic matter into the raw materials of life.   

Remember the tall ceramic totem sculpture we put up a few years ago?  It fell apart this winter.  The low temperature clay and wax wasn't strong enough to withstand the outdoors, and it fell apart.  It was cool while it lasted.  

Taking the Top Off

This morning, as Brandon and I both slumped in our chairs and stared into our coffee, one of us would occasionally moan a little and then comment on our exhaustion and wonder how we were going to make it though the day.  We hardly slept at all the whole night because the wind threatened to blow us down.  Every loose piece of house and barn was groaning and squeaking, and I could feel the loud crashes of thunder rattle the lungs in my chest.  I worried that the lightning striking so close and illuminating the windows was going to hit the house or our tree.  It was actually a relief when the rain would pound so hard on the metal roof that we couldn't hear the pieces of the farm banging and shuddering in the wind.  Around one in the morning, Brandon braved the elements by flashlight so he could move boxes of camping gear off the board over the creepy root cellar, just in case we had to quickly hide from the tornado that was being watched for.  

We were glad to detect the sunrise through the rain, and I was only a little worried that I would be struck by lightning while scratching hay from the giant bales with a pitch fork and tossing it to the goats.  The goats looked at me from their warm beds and wondered what I was doing out there, dressed in rain gear and pajamas.  Brandon left for work first, and sent me a message to let me know the creek wasn't over the road so deep that I couldn't get through and go to work.  Darn it, there goes my nap!

But, even without a nap, I wanted to tell you about they way we solved one of our long time problems last weekend.  As you may know, Brandon drives a big blue truck.  Despite my doubt that we needed such a big truck, it has proven to be one of our most useful tools.  During our years of house renovations, that huge truck bed was loaded with building supplies and tools for every work day. The truck has a big camper top over the eight foot truck bed, so it's water proof enough to haul things like artwork and goats.  The only problem is that the camper top is too heavy for Brandon and I to take off, and there are times when what we want to haul just won't fit inside the camper.  That's no longer a problem!  See those straps hanging from bolts placed in the roof of the tractor shed?    

Brandon climbed into the back of the truck, detached the camper top, and used his back and shoulder to lift the camper just enough for me to slide boards between the camper and the truck.  One board is near the cab, and a second board in near the tailgate.  He attached some bolts to the ends of the boards, and then attached the ratchet side of the ratchet strap to the board, and connected that to the long strap hanging from the roof.  

Then, all we had to do was crank the four ratchets and the camper top was lifted off the truck!

Ta-da!  We were able to fetch the giant roll of fencing that has been waiting for us at my parents house.  Brandon's spring break it coming up soon, so we'll be putting that fencing to work.