The Growing Things

There's no denying that the animal side of our homestead is getting the most air time here on the blog, which is understandable as animal husbandry is a new challenge for me.  I might give myself the impression that I'm not as in tune with all the growing green things around me, which isn't true at all.  I've been immersing myself in the growth as often as I can, and while I didn't brag as much about the pear blossoms this year, the pear tree still holds center stage.  The small fruit trees that I planted during the early house renovation years are finally starting to demand some notice too.  Even the volunteer trees in the corners of the farm that I've defended from Brandon's mower have suddenly become so substantial that they no longer need little flags and stakes to define them in the eyes of the mower man.  They are trees all on their own!    

The rhubarb that Tamara and I planted way back when is no longer in danger of being overshadowed by grass and weeds.  It too can hold it's own.  And the asparagus bed actually made a harvest this year too.  

The perennial flower beds will only get better with time, I think, but even now, after four years of mowing the grass and slowing pecking away at trash piles and weedy patches, things are starting to look more established, and less wild, at least in vicinity of the house and barns.  Bits of sculpture are finding homes too.  Can you see the boy in the tree?    

I think of the greenhouse as one of my beasts.  I check on it every morning, water it, vent it, putz around in it, and then do the same thing again in the evening.  I'm learning it's temperament and figuring out how I like to work with it.  Seed starting has been more challenging than I expected.  I used to do pretty well starting seeds in a south facing window in our old garage, so I expected that experience to prepare me for the greenhouse.  But, the temperature and moisture is so different, I feel like a complete novice again, and I've had more failed attempts than I thought I would.    

But, some success too.  I've managed to get some herb plants and some tomatoes.  I finally planted the Rutgers tomato seeds that we ordered in hopes to grow enough tomatoes for my brother-in-law to can.  I ended up putting three or four inches of wet potting soil in plastic salad boxes and putting the seeds directly in the soil, with no lids.  I think I figured out that the lids were holding too much heat and moisture, which caused some of my damping off problems.  The greenhouse plastic is sort of like the lid, I guess, since the air inside will fog my glasses when I come in the door.  Without daily monitoring, things can overheat and dry out fast.  

  Look, lettuce!

  My parents helped me plant a small row of kale, lettuce, chard, and beets, directly in the ground inside the greenhouse.  So many sprouted that I have begun to transplant them outside.  

Baby kale.

The garden still baffles guests with it's borders of long grass.  Brandon claims that he can't really see the garden because the grass is distracting.  Of course, he also keeps offering to weed-eat inside the greenhouse since my "living mulch" (a.k.a weeds) drive him crazy too.   I'm not opposed to switching from grass lined terraces to something made of wood or stone, but until I find the time and materials, I'm happy to let the shaggy grass rows between the long beds hold back the organic matter that I've piled on the beds.  Believe it or not, there are garlic, onion, peas, kale, and blackberry beds growing in there.  

Someone recently asked me why there's a chair in the garden.  To sit on, of course!  Especially after hoeing like a mad woman, I need to flop down and take a break.  Or I just want to sit and admire my garlic while I have a tasty beverage.  The chair is an important part of my garden!  

Torturing the Goat

I don't torture all my animals.  Most of them lead lives to envy.  Not only do they have their own rooms and pastures, but I deliver their food and water right to the table.  Those that like to be cuddled and petted, which seems to be restricted to mammal animals, get frequent cuddle breaks.  

Even Hattie, the baby donkey, is interested when Rufus and Wendigo get attention, although she hasn't stepped up for her share yet.  

But the goats, particularly poor Peaches, get a little torture mixed into their good times.  This includes hoof trimming, mite treatments, attempted breeding, herbal wormer, and bloated goat massage.  Most recently, I've had to bathe Peach's poopy backside, again, and then figure out how to dose her with pepto bismol.  She's not a fan.  Her first round of diarrhea involved the torture of a bath, car rides, vet visits, blood samples, and days of giant pills being inserted into her throat.  Not to mention being on a diet of only hay, which means being locked in the stall.  Since she doesn't like to be left in there alone, all the goats were penned up.  Once she was back to normal poops, I would feed her hay, then let her out into the pasture for a half hour to an hour, and they would romp and munch.  It's cute when the boys beards are green from munching weeds.  

But then I got a bit distracted last Saturday, and let the goats out for nearly three hours.  This didn't bother the twin Rivers at all, but Poor Peaches woke up Sunday morning with her backside coated in green.  And a little blood.  Again.  Sigh.  Not to be too graphic, but she was sort of like a reverse quirt gun that shoots green.  She squirted the other goats too, just in time for company to visit and see my usually adorable goats contaminated by grossness.    

Have you ever had to force feed a goat pepto bismol?  No?  Well, just let me tell you, it ain't easy.  After wasting several doses which ended up on Peaches face and on my clothes, I resorted to filling a turkey baster with it, clamping her in a headlock, and then squirting it in her mouth.  Most of it gets swallowed.  After dosing her four times in two days, keeping her penned up for four days, and only letting her eat hay, she's back to normal.   Except her face and ears are streaked with pink!  

Now begins the slow introduction to green plant food, again.  I think the boy goats don't stuff themselves so full, which is why they don't seem to be bothered by it.  They spend some of their free time in the pasture acting goofy and getting some exercise.  But Peaches eats like she's never going to get another opportunity, and then gets a belly ache.  Then I have to torture her.  Which is torture to me.  So we're even.  

Here's Hattie!

Sunday was Brandon's forty-first birthday! What man wouldn't want a second donkey for his birthday?!  Don't answer that... 

The day that Rufus and I have been patiently waiting for finally arrived, and luckily it arrived just in time to make an occasion of Brandon's birthday.  Hattie is here!  She's Rufus's little sister, and has come to stay with us so she and Rufus can keep each other company.

She's only seven months old, so she smaller than Rufus, and has lighter colored fur.

Her face seems more narrow than Rufus, which makes her eyes look a bit close and her nose a bit big.  She's has mud and burs in her rough baby fur coat, but still manages to look adorable.  Her bray is deep, scratchy, and not as melodious as Rufus, and she brayed on and off throughout the night last night, probably missing her mother.  Poor baby.  

Rufus is already extremely jealous of the new baby.  When I try to pay any attention to Hattie he lays back his ears and swishes his tail, and put's his body between us.  Hattie is a kicker though, so she lets him have his way, but not without showing him that she has limits.  She defends her limits with double barrel kicks to his face and neck.  You go girl.  

Hattie's arrival wasn't the only super exciting thing to happen to commemorate Brandon's birthday - we now have handles on our kitchen cabinets!  Woohoo!  And, all the cabinet doors are attached.  The handles were lost during the renovation and move shuffle, but once they reappeared, Brandon had to spend some time with the dremel tool grinding off the rust.   They cleaned up much nicer than we expected.  I didn't appreciate how nice it would be to have handles on the drawers and cabinets.  I get excited to retrieve something from the kitchen, just so I can use the handles!  

Mr. Fluffypants Visits for Easter

I've been doing some traveling for work, so I didn't get to tell you about getting to bunny sit Jamie and Ashley's angora rabbit while they were on vacation.  Isn't he adorable?!  And fluffy!  After all, he is named Mr. Fluffypants.  

Jamie and I did the bunny exchange at work, so I carried him around to introduce him and most people asked "What is it?"  He's so fluffy you can't see his face.  He came with an entire car load of gear.  He has his own bunny playpen, complete with litter box, food bowls and furniture.  He eats rabbit pellets and timothy hay, and papaya treats.  I was surprised to find that he does actually use his litter box.  At least eighty percent of the time, anyway.   

He's a little skittish with me, probably because I like to brush his hair, and we all know how much young boys like to have their hair brushed. Because he was staying with me during Easter, I couldn't resist doing a photo shoot with my Easter egg basket collection.  He's harder to photograph than you think.  Not only is he wiggly, his hair falls over his eyes and he looks like a lumpy fur ball.  

He didn't quite fit in the basket.

Silly wabbit.  I don't know why he doesn't love me more.  Ha!

Not only did I have the company of an Easter bunny, I got to make cupcakes with chocolate eggs arranged in little icing nests.  So fun.  

I boiled a bunch of eggs from our chickens to make potato salad.  Two of my hens lay blue eggs, and even the bowl of egg shells looked festive.

They all look the same on the inside though.  And taste delicious!

Last Fire and Go Yoga

Today, with the bright sun sparkling on the new leaves of spring, it is hard to remember the recent cold spell and the wonderful heat from our wood stove.  I found myself in a slow rotisserie on my swivel stool near the fire as I played with the new camera updates on my phone.  Could this be the last fire of the season?  

Puck looks adorably orange in the new "retro" setting on my camera.  

Max also prefers to see himself as retro rather than old!  He enjoys a slow roast by the fire as much as I do, and we take turns with the stool.  It's not long before I give it over to him and retreat to a more comfortable distance.  

Welcome to my yoga studio.  It's also our TV room and guest room with a comfy couch turned trundle bed loaded with pillows and blankets.  With an electric baseboard heater and a closed door, even on days when the fire stays un-lit, it's warm enough for some yoga.  My battered pink mat lives handily in the top of the closet that holds our winter coats, the vacuum cleaner, and the baskets of kids toys.  

My mother gave me yoga socks.  They were fun to put on, with each toe having it's own snug sleeve complete with non-stick grips arranged in fun patterns.  They take fun pictures too, but I'm afraid they look better than they function and I felt more stable in my bare feet.  I need all the stability I can get!

I've never taken a public yoga class.  I've mentioned before that I started doing yoga at home with a yoga therapy for back pain DVD, and now take advantage of free on-line yoga instruction by Adriene.  I'm hooked.  I'm still amazed at how much better my back functions just because I get down and roll around on the floor for a half hour at a time.  Adriene says to find what feels good, and I take her at her word.  Sometimes it feels good to push a little harder and feel quivering muscles and increased heart rate (almost like exercise - ack!), but most of the time it feels good to just flex, stretch, and breath.  It's surprising, really, what I've figured out about my body - where I am weak and where I am tight.  I thought I knew myself better than I do.  

The hardest part is prioritizing that half hour, and making time to roll out that mat and make it happen.  But every time I do, I feel good.  Adriene has several free thirty day programs, which are basically thirty short routines that are intended to be done one each day.  It's brilliant, because by the time I did a little yoga every day for thirty days, it was easier to make it part of my daily routine.  Like brushing my teeth and cooking dinner, it's just something I want to do for myself.  

Unfortunately Fortunately, for all you friends and loved ones, I want you to do it too!  I've coaxed and badgered and pestered everyone trying to spread the yoga love.  I can't help it.  It's such an easy way to improve life, I can't figure out why I meet so much resistance.  I'm not blind to the yoga stereotype (I mean, hello, my name is Rain), but with Adriene, she's silly and corny enough that a little hippy-dippy nonsense doesn't interfere with flexing, stretching, and breathing, at least for me.  And honestly, some of the things that seemed weird at first have a way of making more sense the more I think about it.  There's an aspect of yoga that exercises the emotions and the mind, if your open to it.  If not, at least it's a good stretch, right?  

All this is to say, that starting April 24th, myself and some of my closest peeps, including Brandon, are going to begin Yoga Camp, and do a yoga routine each day for thirty days.  We will be doing the routines in the privacy of our own homes, but just knowing that we are trying to do it at the same pace will motivate us to keep up with the program.  I sort of want to write about our experience as we go, although when I mentioned this idea to Brandon, he seemed doubtful.  But, who better to talk about my new yoga passion with than myself, right?  Especially since no one else seems as interested. Ha!  

Please, join us if you can.  You can watch Adriene's short intro video here.  Go Yoga!

The Garden and the Sky

The vet called to let me know that Peaches doesn't have Johnes disease, and we discussed what to do if her symptoms don't improve on a diet of only hay.  I was tempted to ask him if he knew how to treat a sick chicken, since I have one of my oldest hens in crate in the house right now since she's not eating and acting poorly. After being abducted from the coop, having her back side washed, and then force fed drops of nutrient supplement, which made her choke and gurgle, I'm not sure the poor thing realizes I'm only trying to help.  I don't want to give the impression that it's all work and worry here on our little wanna-be farm.  The world is greening and the skies have been putting on fantastic displays with the recent spring storms.  

Now that the plants are awakening, I can't keep myself inside!  There are blooms on the fruit trees, and tiny wildflowers in the lawn.  We mowed the grass for the first time, and it's like a spongy green carpet that begs for picnics.  Just when the garden begins to beg for attention, the Adirondack chairs beg for me to enjoy a tasty beverage and soak up the suns rays.  I like to watch the guineas waddle through the grass and see Wendigo impersonating the clouds.  

The greenhouse and I are still getting acquainted.  I planted peas in the ground, but the door is tricky, and twice now I've come home to find it open and the chickens have eaten the seeds and scratched up the beds.  On days when the doors stays shut, and I don't open the sides for ventilation, it get so hot and humid inside that opening the door causes a blast of warm moist air that instantly fogs my glasses.  I accidentally baked a tray of cilantro seedlings to death through lack of water and too shallow soil.  But tomato seeds are sprouting in my experimental salad box trays.  

The asparagus bed that I planted during our renovation years is old enough now that it's safe to harvest some stalks.  I ate these raw, straight from the garden.

The garlic and onions are struggling to grow though a piece of chicken wire I laid over the bed to keep the chickens from scratching them up.  Soon I will close the garden gate, and everything can grow without threat of chicken damage.  

The thornless blackberries that I transplanted from my parents garden last fall are beginning to grow too.  

A handful of lettuce plants have survived the chicken foraging in the greenhouse soil.

And a few surprise cole-type plants have sprouted in the greenhouse too.  I bet they are kale.

My experiments with starting herb seeds are ongoing, but so far, the basil is winning the race to maturity.  A couple of sage, rosemary, and thyme plants are still alive too.  Maybe I can do this!

It's past time to re-pot my tomato seedling that were started in egg cartons.  I've been doing some research on seed starting, and have to agree that egg cartons are not the best thing to start seeds in.  They are too shallow, and the roots quickly outgrow their soil.  They also dry out really fast.  Now I'm trying to start seeds directly in the plastic salad box with at least three inches of moist medium.  My brother-in-law has requested that I grow about twenty Rutgers type tomatoes, for his canning.  We ordered the seeds, and I would like to grow bushels of tomatoes from a tiny seed packet, if I can.  I like a challenge!  

Poop, Blood, and a Goat in My Car

I was sure my car would never smell the same again!  Poor Peaches had diarrhea.  Let me go ahead and apologize for telling you about my goats bloody poop, but this is what taking care of all these animals has reduced me too.  I'm no longer fit for civilized conversation.  

The goat book starts by saying that diarrhea in a goat can be a symptom of many different diseases, and that it should be taken very seriously.  Great.  I thought for sure it was from eating fresh spring grass, and put her on a diet of only hay.  I also had to wash her entire backside, tail, and the back of her legs, which were green with muck.  Peaches didn't enjoy this bath, and swished her sopping wet tail like crazy, flinging soapy water all over the place.  Thank goodness I wear glasses so I only got sprayed in my mouth and not my eyes too, right? Gag.

When it didn't go away after several days, and I started to see bright red blood on her backside and tail, I got worried.  My goat mentor friend suggested I have a vet check a stool sample for worms.  So Thursday evening found me standing in the goat shed with an old coffee can waiting for Peaches to deliver a sample.  You know how a watched pot never boils?  Well, a watched goat never poops! 

While I was waiting to collect the sample, Peaches squatted to pee, and when her sphincter relaxed, I could see inside her anus and it was a horror show!  Bloody and swollen and awful.  Not that I've ever looked inside a goats butt before, but I was sure this was not normal.  Poor Peaches.  

I was up early Friday morning to deliver the sample to a vet, and when a few hours later I got the call that she didn't have a worm problem (that herbal wormer really does work!), and was told that the vet thought it would be best for me to bring her in for an exam, I was afraid to put it off any longer, so I left work early, and crammed my poor sick goat into the back of my car.  

The last time I took Peaches to the vet to have the cyst on her neck drained (gag) and tested for CAE, I took her to the same young woman who castrated Rufus.  That vet had a barn-like building with stalls for horses.  Peaches messed all over the floor and I was told not to worry, they would hose down the floor.  Peaches was sliced with a razor and the mess was sort of wiped off with a grungy rag that was picked up off the floor, and I was told if I didn't like the blood that was running down her neck, I could hose her off when I got home.  All righty then.  

This time, I took her to a posh small animal clinic slash groomer, and we were treated just like the other cats and dogs that were there to get their nails trimmed and fur groomed.  When peaches messed on the floor of the pristine examination room, I got to clean it up with paper towels.  I overheard the lady at the desk take a call from someone who had a ewe in labor, and when she got off the phone she asked the other lady "What's an ewe?"  to which the response was, "I don't know.  Is it a goat?"  I got to demonstrate my knowledge of livestock when I told them it was a sheep.  They were quite impressed.  Uh-oh, Peaches.  

But, the vet, who I'm sure knows what an ewe is, was very thorough.  He checked her eyelids, listened to her stomach with a stethoscope, and palpated her abdomen.  He said her sample had just a few Haemonchus eggs, which was normal and nothing to worry about (I looked them up and this is barberpole worm, which is only in ruminants, and can't be passed to dogs, cats, or humans -whew).  He said Peaches had good color, normal stomach rumbling noises, and didn't flinch in pain when he poked around on her.  He said he wanted to check her blood for Johne's disease, and if she had it, it was best to cull the goat.  

Cull the goat.  Cull the goat?  Kill the goat!! Kill Peaches?!  Well, let's hope that test comes back negative!

He said that for some reason Peaches stomach was unbalanced, and that it was causing colitis, which is why she was bleeding and I saw the horror in her rectum.  When I asked if there was some medicine that I could put "down there", he gave me a funny look and sternly said that "no, nothing needs to go down there."  He gave Peaches two giant blue pills which were sulfamethazine bolus, and sent me home with four giant white probiotic boluses to give her each day, and gave me a wand type pill dispenser that I can use to stick the pills way back in her throat, behind her tongue.  Her diarrhea was mostly gone by Friday night, and thankfully, I haven't seen any blood either.  

He said if the test results come back and she has Johne's disease we would need to have a conversation about what needs to happen.  I can tell, he wants to kill my goat!