Word pictures

If I could find my camera, these are the photos I would be sharing with you:

Photo #1:  A small lime green tree frog, spied on the leaf of a vine yesterday morning.  It was barely the size of a nickel, but vibrantly colored and very cute (along the lines of the rainbow-colored African tree frogs that are sold in pet stores).

Photo #2 (and probably #3, #4, and #5.....)  The 3 new barn kitties, peering out from behind their litter box in a totem-pole of orange tabby faces.  They are still hiding whenever possible, but purring if I reach in to scratch under their chins.  Probably names:  Velcro (for the kitten that can cling with all 4 paws to the upright barn support), Milo (named by Carrie for her favorite movie kitten in "Milo and Otis") and Pixie (this name is under hot debate.  "Pixie" would be my choice, for the tiniest and most timid of the 3, but Jeremy likes "Snap" or "Zip", in keeping with the Velcro theme (clothes' fasteners).

(Photo # 6):  The pigs, Little (BIG) Pig One and Little (BIG) Pig Two, wallowing in their mud pit/bathroom.  I've been running hose water every day to flush it out (a fitting action for a pig toilet!), and to keep the piggies from getting sick from choosing to be surrounded by their own feces.  They don't seem to mind, the ducks certainly don't seem to mind as they muck around in the overflow of water and yuckiness from the hog pen, and it results in a "cleaner" wallow for the piggies.  But all grossness aside, those pigs just love life, whether it's scratching their whole body up against the cement wall of the barn foundation, or squealing with delight at the buttermilk/leftovers/stale bread or other yummy kitchen scraps that get thrown their way.  Still, when they gleefully scarfed down the abandoned eggs from a duck nest and enjoyed the ones with nearly-hatched ducklings the most, I lost any real fondness for the porky monsters.

(Next photo):  The almost-grown turkeys, now able to "free-range" inside of the newly repaired fencing that the willow tree had fallen on.  

(Last imaginary photo):  The cows, all three of them, grazing down the overgrown grass, weeds, and clovers in that same fenced area, munching it down by at least a foot each day that they've been allowed back in there.  They wait for me to call them, and literally thunder across the pasture to be let into the comparatively tiny fenced area where the turkeys are.  On their menu in the new area:  3 or 4 types of clover, cereal rye, wheat, oats, burdock, and plenty of weeds, all waving tall at the cows' knee level.  On the menu in the pasture area:  All of the same stuff, but cropped down to less than one inch of growth.

When I find that camera, I'll try to send the actual images!

Laura
http://dykstrasfarm.blogspot.com/

Water, flowing freely once again

Jeff estimates that about 5000 gallons of water were wasted in our little water fiasco yesterday.

It was all successfully pumped out of the well-bunker, onto the driveway and the grass, and disappeared from there.  Supposedly, it will find its way back through layers and layers of soil and rock to the aquifer where our well draws its water from....but what a waste that so much water was involved!

The service men came out this morning.  The problem wasn't as bad as it could have been.  An old galvanized metal pipe had corroded enough to leak, and that leak slowly filled the underground cement room which houses the pressure tank and other workings for the well.  The rising water in the bunker forced the pressure tank loose from where it usually sits (it's basically a big balloon inside a metal tank) and set it drifting at the top of the water level.  The tank, floating free, knocked other pipes around until it looked like a shambles when the water level was low enough to take a good look.

Good news:  All the pipes have been either replaced with PVC pipes or reattached to where they need to be.  The galvanized pipes are gone, except....

Bad news:  The pipe that comes into the bunker from the well-shaft is still old, galvanized metal.  It can't be replaced without ripping out a lot more stuff and potentially digging a new well-shaft.  We'll take a pass on that scenario, unless the time comes when we need to do that!

Good news:  There is a sump pump catch-basin built into the floor, for just such an emergency.  Missing is the sump pump itself.  We had no idea that there was such a thing in the deep dark corner of the cement bunker.  We need to put one in, and that will potentially keep the water from ever rising this high again AND will clear out the remaining 2 or 3 inches of water on the floor of the little underground room.  You learn something new every day!

Good news:  There's an easy way to wedge the pressure tank in place, even if the water DID rise to the top like it did this time.  The well-service guys can't do it, because they could be held liable if it didn't work.  But....cut a 2x4, wedge it between the top of the pressure tank and the ceiling of the bunker, and the tank will be held in place instead of floating around, wreaking havoc inside of a water-filled cement bunker.

So, like I said to the guys as they were leaving, "We're gradually discovering and updating all the ancient workings of this place".  They agreed, and assured me that they've seen much worse.

The long-awaited shower was SO refreshing.  Now it's time to catch up on laundry, running the dishwasher (probably twice), making sure all the toilets have been flushed, maybe getting that batch of jelly canned, washing eggs which have been gathered in the past 24 hours or so, running the hose out to fill the livestock water tanks again.....all the things that I would normally have done in the course of yesterday, all the things which I would get set up to do and then remember "Oh yeah, that's one more thing that needs WATER!"

 

Laura
http://dykstrasfarm.blogspot.com/

No water available, except in the murky depths.....

I really wanted to start the week with a shower.  Or at least wash my hands after milking Bessie.  And a drink of water is sounding really good about now.  There was just enough water in the teakettle for a cup of coffee to at least jump-start the Monday morning......

We've turned off our water because of a discovery that Jeff made this morning.  He had a nice shower, didn't stop to think or expect that anything was different than usual, because it didn't seem to be.  

Walking into the garage en route to his "man-cave" to get something before work, though, he found water running out from under the door of the garage.  Following the stream, he saw that it was coming out from under the floor of the sunroom, from the bunker which houses the workings of the well.  Removing the plywood flooring that covers the open bunker below, he saw evidence of what could be a major problem:  The bunker was full to overflowing, with a blue tank floating at the top (the pressure-tank for the water coming from the well and being pumped into the house).  

Jeff was needed at work for meetings, but he woke Michael up to help me, set up the pump with the hose attached, and sank it down into the water.  That little pump has been hard at work for several hours now, pumping water out of the depths of the bunker.  The well-service suggested what we were already doing:  Turn off the electricity to the pressure-tank, and remove the water.  

It has to be hundreds of gallons.  The bunker is at least 8 feet by 8 feet, and about 10 feet deep, maybe more.  I'm sure there's some equation for figuring out how many gallons of water that size of hole-in-the-ground would hold, but it's math.  Someone else will need to figure that out!

As Jeff said, "It's always something" (meaning, I think, that there's always something waiting to go wrong with such an old property.)  But I realized, "It's always something", even in the house in Palatine.  Even in school with the kids' situations.  Even in church, where you sometimes struggle to keep on serving.  Even in life!  Water in the little cement room under the sunroom floor isn't going to ruin my day. 

Not sure what the damage is down below.....update later, I guess, after the well-service people make their visit.  

Hopefully I will be clean, showered, and not thirsty by the time I sit down to the computer again!

 

Laura
http://dykstrasfarm.blogspot.com/

Rats in the sugar bowl, two by two....

(Haven't thought of that old song for a long time...!)

(Photo:  Rocky on rat duty, back in November or December)

A rat scurried out from under the feed-sacks, and scooted behind a heavy shelf-unit in the barn.

A rat jumped out of the wall at me as I was tearing out insulation.  

A rat leaped up from the straw bedding on the floor and disappeared into the wall behind the sheep pen.

We haven't been overrun with rats, that we know of, but....I knew that they were there.  The dogs had caught rats during the winter outside the barn.  There were bits of a rat one morning inside the barn, which the chickens were entertaining themselves with.  There are holes around the foundation of the barn through which I know rats enter and leave the barn quite regularly (when you mash the hole shut with your boot, and a nice, smooth hole is formed again by the next morning, it's an obvious sign of a rat thoroughfare).

Backtracking:

A couple of weeks ago, friend Damon texted me to say that he could get metal 50 gallon drums, used only for ice cream syrups and toppings, clean, with locking lids.....and did I want any to keep feed in?

Just a day earlier, I had found a rodent hole in a bag of feed.  It's the first one I'd seen chewed into in three years of being here.  We hadn't needed to worry too much (yet) about mice or rats getting into the feed that we've casually kept in the bags it comes in, on top of pallets, against the wall of the barn.  You're supposed to empty the feed from the bags and into metal containers, but....the cats have been doing a good job, we haven't had any bags gnawed into (up til now, anyway.)  Metal containers were on the wish list, but not an absolute necessity.

I knew we were courting trouble, but.....it hadn't been a problem (yet!).  

So, the answer was YES, we could use as many metal drums as he was able to get.  

I was moving feed bags (these were new bags, never opened, not chewed into, leaning against the side of the barn and on top of a pallet, like usual) when I saw a large, nondescript shape leap away from the brand-new torrent of grain that was spilling out, and scurry into a dark corner.  A rat, no doubt.  Too bold for a mouse, too focused for a chipmunk.  A tiny hole in the feed bag, but half of the contents spilled onto the floor.  I still didn't know at that point if Damon had been able to get those metal drums, but I sure hoped so.

There is brittle plastic sheeting stapled and nailed to the walls of the barn, to keep out moisture (more likely, with the leaky roof, it holds the moisture IN!).  Angry at the boldness of the rat from the day before, I started pulling down that plastic, exposing barn boards and the bottom section of cement that makes up the barn's foundation.  (Picture this:   the inside wall is built of 100-year old, white-washed vertical boards on top of a 3 foot high concrete foundation.  There are 4 or 5 original boards in place in one section, and then one board removed, in a sequence the whole length of the wall. Filthy pink insulation is nearly bursting out of the open space.  Originally, it would have been pushed in through that space where the missing board would have been, sandwiched between inside wall and outside wall, and kept heat in and cold out.  After years of being used as rat/mouse/bird/chipmunk/raccoon tunnel and nest material, it's in sad shape.  Perfect rat habitat, with rodent holes (and other rodent-smelling "stuff") all through the pink insulation.  Filth on top of filth.  

No wonder there was a rat munching on our chicken feed!  He had free access, along with all his sisters, brothers, nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles....children.....  The real wonder was that it had only happened recently, and not sooner.

Damon texted while we were out on errands the day after the insulation removal, and delivered 8 of the most beautiful royal blue 50 gallon drums that I've ever seen.  I came home to find them lined up in front of the garage, gleaming and ready to be filled with feed.

Inspired, I ripped out more insulation from the wall behind where the new feed containers would go, and screamed as a mid-sized rat leaped out of the insulation and scurried away.  Cats were lazily watching, but it was too hot for them to even show interest.  Tonight, I'll bet, they'll be all over the new holes in the wall where they can hunt rats and the rats can't disappear so easily.

In addition to putting the feed in metal drums where it should have been kept all along, we're probably going to bring home 2 more orange tabby kittens, from the farm of a friend.  We're going to see them tomorrow.

Rats, beware.  The free lunch will be a bit harder to come by from now on!

 

Laura
http://dykstrasfarm.blogspot.com/

 

The "steep learning curve"

"The most difficult thing about transitioning to this homesteading life was accepting that there is a steep learning curve. Unfortunately, the animals are the ones who pay the price while you are learning how to care for them. Reading and research are great, but nothing takes the place of experience.  If you are just starting your homestead, don't get discouraged.  Time is your best teacher." ( www.billyjoesfoodfarm.com ) "The animals are the ones who pay the price while you are learning how to care for them" I found this quote (and the paragraph above) while doing frantic late-night research because the sheep were bloating.  They got into the chicken food one day (2 weeks ago) and then into the duckling pellets on the same day, and by the next day, were very sick.   Sheep (or cows) "bloating" means that the gases are building up in their stomachs and can cause death unless you intervene.   In this case, Iris (the older sheep) was breathing quickly, head hanging down, looking miserable.  Daisy (previously known as April) was doing OK, but had a bit of an obvious bulge on her left side.   The morning after they had gotten into the grain, I thought Iris was dead as I came into the barn.  I saw her sleeping (she ALWAYS springs to her feet in anticipation of the grain I will give her), and I nearly started to cry.  I mumbled "Don't be dead, mama sheep" and she lifted her head, although it was slow motion compared to her usual alertness.  Then her instincts must have gotten the best of her, and she sprang to her feet and glared at me because I had caught her off-guard. Not knowing any better at that point, I gave them their grain and let them out to graze.  Both things probably made for the worse condition that night (wet grass, more grain on top of an already fermenting stomach, and they were in need of immediate attention by nighttime.  (Here's where my lack of knowledge about sheep could have cost me both of those very sheep that I was trying to care for!) I contacted our friend, Michele, who raised Iris and on whose farm Daisy was born this spring, and she suggested a mix of water, vegetable oil, and baking soda, poured down their throats to force them to burp up some of that expanding gas. Poor Iris doesn't let me touch her anyway, and here it was, midnight, and she was already feeling terrible.  The person who feeds her (me) was chasing her, trying to pour gross stuff down her throat.  She was fiesty enough to put up a fight. Eventually, though, she was cornered and gave in.  Maybe half of it actually got swallowed, and she indignantly leaped away from me when I was done.  I was supposed to keep her head up so that she could burp, but she was having none of that. I sat and watched her, and, if it was even remotely possible, she looked worse than before.  I probably should have called the vet to come out and put a tube down her throat, but for whatever reason, I didn't.   After a quick cat-nap in the house, I woke up feeling panicky and rushed out to check on the sheep again.  Iris (who hadn't munched more than a few nibbles of grass all of the day before) was miraculously, calmly chewing hay as if nothing had happened.  She was wary of me, which was the only clue that anything had happened between her and me just an hour or two before. It was a close call, to be sure! And here's why I didn't call the vet in the middle of the night: Just the week before, Prince Charming (the calf) had his "food coma" incident.  I called Dr. Morrissey in a panic, thinking that the little calf was dying.   I imagined him muffling his laughter as he described to me, over the phone, that the calf had simply had too MUCH milk, and needed to sleep it off.  It wasn't that Charming was dying, or that he hadn't gotten enough to drink and was dehydrated.  He had slurped up ALL the morning milk the day before, and it was too rich for his system to handle. He was simply drowsy from all the rich food that was still working its way through his system. That shouldn't have been enough to keep me from calling a vet when the sheep may have needed it, but it was enough for me to think through whether it was really necessary,  or if I was panicking because of lack of knowledge about how sheep care is supposed to work. I wasn't willing to risk the life of Iris to test out whether I could make the right choice, but.....I DID want to let the baking soda concoction have a chance to work before calling the vet to say "I've done everything I can do.  Can you please make the emergency visit that these sheep so desperately need?" "Reading and research are great, but nothing takes the place of experience."   We've lost chickens because of my ignorance about lots of things.  Last summer, we had 4 rabbits lose their lives in the barn, most probably due to the chicken dust in the air that they had to breathe.  Each death was a sad one for us.   So far, none of the bigger animals has lost its life.  It's probably inevitable, but.....hasn't happened yet.  Maybe because my panic about actually losing one of them has me staying up late at night, worrying and researching? Did I tell you how the thread of an unspoken prayer was running non-stop through my head, both during the concern for little Prince Charming and then again for the sheep emergency?   It became as constant as breathing, as I searched the internet for answers, and as I cared for the animals who might or might not make it through the night.  There was real comfort in the knowledge that God was in charge.  I was only doing my meager best, but He was ultimately in control of the outcome.   Whatever had happened with the calf, or with the sheep, it's true:  "Nothing takes the place of experience", and I would somehow acquire the knowledge that would help with the next time...... "If you are just starting your homestead, don't get discouraged.  Time is your best teacher." Homesteading words of wisdom..... Laura http://dykstrasfarm.blogspot.com/

Princess Ruby thwarted by the new little Prince

For whatever reason, I've been thinking "Prince Charming" when I look at the little bull calf.  Part of it is the movie "Bambi", where his forest name is "Young Prince".  Part of it is that, as calves go, this guy is absolutely adorable. I tend to greet each type of animals in a different way as I go through the barn each morning.  The cows are "Pretty Girls" or "Baby" ("Good morning, Pretty Girls.").  The birds are "The ladies" when I talk about them in their nest-boxes, or as they're crowding around for their feed.  The sheep are "Babies" , which is fitting, since they are "babydoll" sheep.  There are other variations:  Like "bunny-girls" for the  New Zealand red rabbits, "Piggies" (self-explanatory for the oinkers--"Hello, happy Piggies"), "Handsome boy" for Rocky the husky..... Going out to the barn each morning since the calf arrived, I tend to call him "Charming Boy".  As in:  "Good morning, Charming Boy".  As in:  "Prince Charming".  As in:  This little guy charms everyone who has the good fortune to see and pet him.  Yes, also as in what I suggested a week or so ago:  We'll potentially be eating a wonderful beef dinner a couple of years from now and exclaim "What a Charming steak/roast/burger" or "This is such a Charming evening we're having!"  :( Bringing us to the story: Ruby has stubbornly continued to nurse from her mama for one full year.  She bellows and stamps her foot if Bessie is led out of the barn and she, princess that she is, is not allowed to follow.  Jeff remarked one day last week "We've GOT to get Ruby to stop nursing!  Every time I go past them, she's underneath Bessie stealing more of our milk!" Ruby is taller than her mama, but still she dives underneath for what I've started to call a "milk and cookies" snack.  Plus, it's only a month and a half away from the time that Ruby needs to be bred, to start her life as a milk-cow-to-be.  An adult, nearly-milk-cow does NOT need to be drinking milk from her own mama! Prince Charming (or "Charming" for short) is a threat to her favorite snack.  He came along, was introduced to the milk supply, and Princess Ruby immediately knew that HER milk was threatened.  She butts him around, tosses her head at him, shoves him away from the hay, thrusts her nose into his side to move him away from HER milk.  She bellows, and I've even seen her attempt to play with him as she cleverly moves him away from HER mama and that precious milk. Until yesterday. I was double-checking on Charming because he'd nearly overdosed on Bessie's morning milk the day before and (in the vet's words) was in a "food-coma", not wanting to get up off the ground, very uncomfortable and VERY umm...runny.....which is a near disaster in the life of a calf.  Diarrhea and calves seem to mean extreme sickness and potential imminent death.  I was just a little obsessed with checking on him until I knew he was going to be OK. Yesterday morning, he seemed fine.  But I was still concerned.  He was drinking a more modest amount of milk, not gorging, and I was monitoring the amount of time that I allowed him to drink from Bessie.  Ruby was there, too, drinking as much as SHE wanted, which moderated how much little Charming could get. The breakthrough in royal behavior happened sometime in the afternoon.  I peeked in on the 3 of them, and who should be nursing from Bessie but Prince Charming!  Ruby was standing forlornly nearby, with her head hung low, but it was the little Prince who was being allowed to fill up his tummy with Bessie's good-as-gold milk.  Ruby tried to poke her nose in there a few times, and Bess kicked her away.  Prince Charming just kept on drinking. I tossed some hay down from the hayloft, and all 3 cows were distracted.  Princess Ruby barged past queenly Bessie and princely Charming, separating them for a short while.  That's when Charming did what I've been hoping he will learn to do:  He went straight back to Bessie's udder and finished nursing.  Up til now, he's been hesitant, only daring to nurse from her when she's in place, secure in the stanchion.  But the brave young lad was not only nursing from an open area, but in the very presence of his rival. And now today, with rain pouring down and cows impatient to get on with their days, let the royal joisting begin.  And let the best (youngest, only, smallest, neediest) calf win! Laura http://dykstrasfarm.blogspot.com/