New Year's Eve on Greenwood Road.....

The excitement of the holiday season in the country is certainly hard to beat....

New Year's Eve, Christmas snow was falling, the temps were hovering around zero, the traffic was doing a little less "zipping" than usual, when the car in question gave a lurch and everything came to an icy halt. 

The festive (old, rusted) red hay wagon's back axle swung free onto the road as the back of the hay wagon hit the frozen  pavement.  The truck pulling the wagon came to a stop as driver and teenage boy leaped out to inspect the damage.  

Cars came to a hesitant stop, drivers wondering just what to do or how to maneuver around such a monstrosity.  One car parked protectively behind the frozen axle as the teenager struggled to wheel it back through the snow on the road's shoulder to where the wagon had come to rest.  A cop car arrived, while traffic slowly funneled around the mess.

As it all happened, one thought popped into my mind:  "This will all be funny in about an hour or two".

You see, we were pulling that hay wagon, country-bumpkins that we are......  

We'd been waiting for our delivery of straw since well before the new calf was born (he's 6 weeks old now).  I'd been buying 2 bales here, three bales there, at garden-store prices, waiting and making reminder requests for the promised delivery to make it's way from the barn where it was stored to our place, about 20 miles north.  

The load was finally delivered two days before the "incident", just as the temperatures plummeted from what felt like summertime (an unexpected 46 degrees one day) to 20 degrees (with a below-zero windchill) by the following evening.  We had struggled to unload our meager 50 bales of straw the day after delivery, as mustache-hairs froze to the condensation inside of our scarves, and fingertips seemed to freeze through the heaviest gloves.  (The family thinks it hilariously funny that it was MY mustache-hairs that were freezing to the inside of MY scarf.....while Michael's clean-shaven face had no trouble at all).  :)

We were determined to get the wagon out of our driveway, especially as snow started falling, and everything except the extreme cold seemed to be in our favor.  Roads were passable, skies had been clear up until the snow started, there was no blustery wind, and we needed to go right past the farm where the wagon belonged.  

So, Jeff hitched it up, we piled in the car, made it just past the "unincorporated Woodstock" border and into "Bull Valley" (about halfway between our driveway and the neighbor's driveway just south of us), when the Trailblazer gave a lurch that we weren't familiar with.  It probably only took a split-second, but it seemed like a slow-motion eternity, as I looked into the passenger-side mirror and said, "Ummm, Jeff....., looks like the whole axle fell off."  Understatement of the year. 

Bouncing behind us on the road was the axle from the big hay wagon.  Scraping behind us was the back end of that same wagon.  We were almost too far past the neighbor's driveway to pull in.

While I talked to the policeman, who didn't really know what to advise us to do ("can't pull it onto private property, but can't drag it on the roadway or you'll be liable for any damage", as if we were going to drag it for 20 miles that way!), Jeff put the truck into reverse, scraped backward a foot or two, and then angled my Trailblazer (pulling the scraping metal frame of the wagon) into our neighbor's wide driveway.  The cop was cringing the entire time.  (Funny, he was only there until the Bull Valley cop came, because we were just past the "Bull Valley" border.  Once the Bull Valley guy got there, he basically said "Got it off the roadway?  That is all I need to know.")

I walked home to find the neighbor's phone number and write a note about how sorry and mortified I was that an old rusted hay wagon was parked on their driveway, missing an axle.  Jeff and Michael worked to bring the axle close to where the wagon had come to rest.  The cold continued to get worse as the pretty Christmas snow became more of a blizzard.

Just as soon as I tucked the note into the mailbox up by their front door, they pulled into the driveway.  

Big grins split their faces, as they rolled down windows and said "We THOUGHT it was you when we were pulling in".  Their grandson unbuckled and peered out at us from between the front seats.  We shamefully told them the story.  It didn't seem to faze them at all.  

In fact, Bruce rather excitedly told us that he had a tractor big enough to lift the back end of the wagon and reattach the broken axle, and all of the equipment to weld pieces back together.  Unfortunately, after a few phone calls to the owners of the wagon, we had to tell him that they wanted to come and fix it themselves.  He did his best to hide the disappointment of the unexpected project that had slipped through his fingers.  (Pieces of the axle were already warming up in the garage, in preparation for whatever he instinctively knew needed to be done).

Not to minimize our lack of neighborly interaction.....we haven't been very good at getting together with our new neighbors.  I think we talked to them once when we first moved here, when they had a small tractor for sale.  Again when I was wondering about getting cows, and I looked up their number and talked at length to Bruce, who used to work around dairy cows.  Once more when Rocky the husky escaped, and Bruce and I got to talking for half an hour while the dog ran loose in the corn field and the boys panicked back at home.  That's about it.

But Jeff and Michael worked with Bruce to prepare for the project that was not to be, and I sat and caught up with Becky about some recent heart-wrenching things that had happened.  If the axle hadn't broken, we would have sailed right past like normal, me looking to see if their horses were out in the pasture, or waving if I saw them out by the mailbox.

Yes, we did laugh about the adventure, by the time we were done chatting.

I guess excitement in the country is all about:

A hay wagon that crashes to the road, with the axle bouncing merrily along behind it

The exciting prospect of a project that almost literally lands at your doorstep

Time with neighbors who you otherwise would have waved at time and again, but not gotten around to inviting over

A story that can be told over and over, with embellishments added each time, until it becomes larger than life.

For the record, this is the original version, at least from the passenger-side of it all.  Ten years from now, sitting around our pasture-bonfire and swapping memories, let's see how different it all sounds!)

 Happy New Year, everyone.  And may all the axles stay on your hay wagons, all year long.  :)

Laura
http://dykstrasfarm.blogspot.com/

Owls

After coming out of the barn later than usual last night, I heard two distinctly different owl "hoots", back and forth, coming from the white pine grove out in the pasture.  One would call, then the other, sometimes in a rhythm, sometimes kind of random.  

I stood very still and listened for quite a while before noticing that Sly (the indoor-outdoor black cat) was a bit antsy to get back inside....

Took Rocky (the husky) out and put him on the dog cable.  He trotted to the end of it and sat down, ears up, alert, watching and listening.   I could imagine the same scenario in the arctic;  owls hooting in the tree, a wolf or husky perking up his ears to listen, owls hunting or watching for a scurrying rodent or leaping rabbit.  

I had a fleeting thought about putting an owl perch inside the cow-shelter, so that the owls could swoop in, roost and watch, and nab rat after rat as they come out of the barn's woodwork every night!  (Ha!)

 

The owls continued their soft calls for a while, then made 3 squawking noises and were quiet.

  

The recorded calls on the bird sites on-line tell me that there were two great horned owls out there.  I've heard them before, but not two in the same area, calling to each other.  Very cool.

 

Laura
http://dykstrasfarm.blogspot.com/

Christmas is over.....

Well, we all know it.

But our sad excuse for a Christmas tree didn't.....

Until it crashed to the ground this afternoon, just 24 hours after being the crowing glory of our Christmas celebration.  

(I'm making it sound much more glamorous that it was.  It's final decorated layer couldn't hide the fact that it curled and drooped like a tree out of Dr. Seuss story book.  And the angel at the top was trying to leap off, presumably to a location with a bit more stability.  But it was free....that has to count for something!)

The tree leaned.  And gravity took it's toll.

I can't quite tackle taking all the ornaments off of it today, though.  Not that there isn't plenty of time.  Jeff and Jeremy are half-way to Atlanta, and Michael is at a friend's house.  I could easily rip the whole tree apart so that Michael and I could drag it out to the burn pile tomorrow morning.  Ornaments could be packed away, even the Christmas decorations around the living room could be packed in the time that I have available.  

It's just that special ornaments were broken, and Christmas was just yesterday, and it's like admitting defeat to take the tree apart this evening, even though it's only propped in the corner and looking rather ridiculous.

It's too soon.

So, in the same room where the dilapidated tree will be staring me in the face, I intend to wrap up in a snug blanket on the couch, put in a movie, and enjoy my quiet evening.  

We usually leave the tree up for most of January, turning the lights on when we need a cheerful glow in the winter gloom, until the continual shower of dead needles says "enough".  This year, the tree had other plans.

 

Laura
http://dykstrasfarm.blogspot.com/

Ruby's send-off

Photos:  Day one, just born; looking cute with new halter; getting big; opinionated girl; and kisses between Bessie and her daughter

Charming is still here.  That wasn't in the plans.  And of course, Bessie and her calf Caspian.  They aren't going anywhere.  

Ruby was picked up today.  We're down to three.  

For the first time since cows arrived in January 2012, we don't have a heifer (a female cow which hasn't had a calf yet).  First there was Lucy, who moved to Ohio.  Then it was Bessie's own daughter, Ruby, who is en route to her new home.  No heifer means that it will be more difficult to guess the timing for breeding Bessie (female cows are fairly reliable in their reactions to another female in heat, which is when you call the vet for the artificial insemination)  Fun facts to know, but important for what we're doing here. 

Ruby is now on her way to North Carolina.  We sent her off with apples offered through the trailer window just before she left---some from us (the old owners) and some from the new family, a nice symbolic transition, I'd like to think.

Despite a snowstorm with travel advisories, despite the gates being frozen shut and needing to be shoveled out, despite the flat tire and trouble with trailer lights on their way out here, Ruby left our farm today in a roomy trailer for her new home.  Strange to think that, even as soon as the trailer pulled into our driveway from the livestock gated area, she was farther into the big wide world than she'd been in her whole life......

Her new owner first saw her and the typical reaction to seeing Ruby was the same as some of you have said:  "Wow!  She's pretty big!"  But she talked to Ruby, went up close and didn't give an inch when Ruby rolled her eyes and tried to back away.  That's probably what I should have done all along.  Instead of chalking it up to "cow attitude", I could have persevered and taught that heifer to stand still and like it.  But that would mean letting Bessie's cow attitude prevail instead, and I had to choose one to train and the other to raise, when I think back on it.  I needed a good working relationship with Bessie.  I needed Ruby to respect me, but we weren't to the "working" part of it yet.

So here are some memories of Ruby's growing-up years here.  

We expected her to arrive in June of 2012, sometime (anytime?), just 5 months after her mother and another heifer came to our farm.  We waited, and waited, and then a heat wave and drought struck, and then it was the 4th of July and no longer June, and then.....I called the vet to come out and check her mother Bessie on the morning of July 6.  Ruby was ready to be born, and sure enough, the vet declared that it would only be a few hours.  

I stood and watched in wonder, ready to step in (not knowing exactly what I would do), but Bessie was a champ and needed no help.  

Jeremy's first comment on seeing wet, tiny helpless Ruby was that she looked like a goat.  

She wasn't helpless for long, though, and within an hour was up, tottering around on stilty legs, nursing, and then trying in vain to scamper.

Her favorite thing was nursing from Bessie, but the FUN thing that nothing else could beat was running in the pasture with Lucy, the other heifer.  They spent hours kicking their heels up, dashing from one end of the pasture to the other, tails kinked in the air or ducking their heads as they crashed under the low-hanging branches of the white pine groves.  Lucy was the favorite aunt, while Bessie was the over-protective parent.  

One of the funniest things we'll remember?  Her long giraffe tongue.  If you came towards her with an apple or treat, she would reach her tongue out through the fence and try to feel her way to the treat in your hand (she did this when her new owner offered her an apple in the trailer today.)  That long tongue meant that the low-hanging branches in the pasture were stripped bare of any leaves for 2 summers.  I wonder if the tree-trimming will be continued by Caspian, if he's here that long?

One of the loudest things we'll remember?  Her bellow.  When she was in heat, when she thought she could demand yet another pumpkin, when we were mowing the grass, when we pulled in to the driveway.  When she heard me inside the barn at night, tucking in the other animals, and she thought she needed more hay.  When the water trough ran dry and she thought she needed to trumpet her disgust at our thoughtlessness to the farming community.

I suppose she wasn't too much louder than any other dairy heifer, but her mama is much quieter, so Ruby sounded like a beast gone wild sometimes compared to Bessie's soft "moo".

The most precious things?  When she would come up to us in the pasture, or stick her head in the way as we tried to smash open a pumpkin for her to eat, or poked her whole head through the hole in the barn wall as I tried to feed her, or stood stock-still to be brushed.  She loved-loved-LOVED to be brushed.

Something annoying?  How she would come running towards me and I'd need to have my hand up in the sign "STOP", wondering if I'd need to use that same hand to smack her on the forehead for cutting it too close.  Once, there was an ice slick between where I was standing and her path towards me.  She saw my hand go up, slipped and went down, and slid right up to the edge of that ice slick.  Neither of us was hurt, and she got up and acted as "I meant to do that."  No, on second thought, that was kind of endearing after all.  

What I won't miss?  Having two grown female cows in a small enclosed area, when one of them is in heat.  I think my life may have been in danger (exaggeration) a few times as they did their keep-a-way-from-each-other dance while I dodged hooves or stayed out from between them.  Or the seemingly enormous amount of feed that two adult cows go through.  Or the way she pushed Charming around when she wanted the pumpkin all to herself.  Or how she wanted milk so badly sometimes that we finally had to tether her inside of the stall at night so she couldn't escape (not her fault--we built the sides too low).

What I WILL miss?  Her pretty face, the white spot on her forehead, her tiny little heifer-sized udder, how sleek and beautiful she is, and seeing her blossom into a mama cow with an adorable baby to care for.  

We knew from the beginning that we couldn't keep her, but if we'd had even 3 more acres, we could have tried......it just wasn't meant to be and this is a happy kind of sad, even though there are tears in my eyes.

She's going to a farm where she'll be taken care of, where they value the Dutch Belted breed and want to help preserve it, where she will probably be given better care than if she'd stayed here with me.  

My heart belongs to Bessie when it comes right down to it (at least as far as cows are concerned), and Ruby needs to have someone caring for her and training her in the way I can only do with one cow.  I could train her, I could work with her, I could put in hours getting her used to the stanchion and handling her and preparing her to be a family milk cow.  But she'd still be moved on to someone else's farm after all that extra time.  Think of all the projects that I should be working on, which would be put aside to do the right thing for this heifer!

For me, Bessie is "it".  For Ruby's new family, she had a place in their hearts from before they even saw her photo.  We loved Ruby, and it was time to let someone else take over what we started, so they can love her too.

Dear opinionated Ruby, 

I hope that you go on to have a wonderful life with lots of belted calf babies and years of milking and plenty of care and love.  Your Christmas present this year is a new farm, with a family who already loves you.  And know that you'll be missed back here on this tiny farm where you were our very first calf.  You'll always hold a special place in our hearts.

Laura
http://dykstrasfarm.blogspot.com/

Just in time for Christmas....

A couple of things happening today.

The babydoll ewes, Iris and April, will be saying goodbye to their little pal Mae who has been staying with us while the rest of her herd was bred, and saying hello to a big strapping black ram, JJ who is done with his work at the farm where Mae belongs.  With any luck, he'll make a few babies with our ladies over Christmas break and head back to his farm in about 3 weeks.  I think that puts our potential spring lambs arriving sometime in May, although  I'm not positive about gestation in sheep.

Iris and April get a boyfriend, just in time for Christmas.

And Bessie does have mastitis.  By last night, the back left quarter was swollen and inflamed.  The others seemed fine.  The little calf wasn't nursing all day, so the mastitis wasn't kept in check (meaning, the growing infection wasn't being sucked out whenever he wanted a sip of milk), and the medication may have started healing that quarter with the side effect of breaking up the infection and making it clumpy as it works its way out in the milk.  

I'll call the vet today sometime, after milking her (and discarding the milk.  Sad to see it wasted!)

When we first got her, that same quarter is the one the farmer pointed out as being scarred by past bouts of mastitis.  It's the same quarter that has flared up first in other times.  It's the quarter that the vet and I have talked about "killing", meaning---it keeps causing a problem, and might be better to take it out of milk production completely, leaving Bessie with 3 functioning quarters and a much healthier udder, overall.  It wouldn't be surgically removed, but would be treated so that no milk can be produced by that quarter, which in turn means that it can't become infected with mastitis and can't be the Garden of Eden for the bacteria to grow and flourish and transfer to the healthy quarters.  

So, that wonderful conversation will take place today if the vet has time to talk me through the options.  My guess is that he'll want to send the frozen milk sample out before taking such drastic action.

I can see it now:  The January vet visit.  Little Caspian will be disbudded (his horn nubs will be burned so that they can't grow), castrated (self-explanatory) and his mama will be treated to kill the milk-producing function in one quarter of her udder.  Very pleasant.  

The vet knows what he's doing, and knows what is best for these cows, so I will rely on his wisdom in suggesting what to do about Bessie's mastitis.  For poor Caspian, the agonizing day is happening, unless by some miracle someone wants to raise him as their herd-sire, which would at least spare him the loss of his unmentionables, but the potential horns being destroyed before they grow is non-negotiable......

Lovely thoughts as I go out to see just how Bessie is doing this morning.  

Just in time for Christmas.

Laura
http://dykstrasfarm.blogspot.com/

PS:  Didn't send this before milking Bessie.  

Good news:  the clumpiness is making its way out of the infected quarter.  

Bad news:  It's kind of gross. 

Imagine liquid flowing smoothly through a round straw that you've curled your hand around.  Then imagine the round straw has  bits of stringy or clotted matter trying to "flow" along with the liquid and stopping things up now and again until they are forced out.  

Kind of like we used to do as kids with a straw and playdough.  We'd jab the end of the straw into the soft playdough, until there were little globs of colored goo stopping up the straw.  Then you'd need to use extra force to squeeze out the playdough "worm" from the inside of the straw.  That gives you an idea of what it feels like to hand-milk a cow's quarter with an infection raging inside of it, or of milking a quarter which is being treated and the infection is breaking up and needing to be flushed out.  

Bleah!  But it's progress!  And Bessie munched calmly through the entire milking.  Good girl!

What to do when the cream mis-behaves

Well, the milk saga changes yet again.

Bessie's milk has been frothy lately.  Almost an inch of frothy bubbles after I milk her.  There are usually some bubbles, but not foamy like it's been partially whipped on top.  I can bring in what I think are two full-to-the-brim gallon buckets, and end up with quite a bit less as I filter it and the foam is disturbed.

Add to that strange phenomenon, the cream is having a hard time becoming butter, or yogurt, or ricotta.  There is a lot of cream, but the cream-line is not as distinct as it should be.  Supposedly this happens sometimes in winter, I'm not sure why.  But it isn't usual for Bessie's milk to refuse to whip up into beautiful yellow butter.

She has a history of mastitis (an infection in one or more parts of a cow's udder), she HAD mastitis once already since the calf was born just over a month ago, and there was a relatively large amount of clumpy stuff a few weeks back when I milked her.  This stringy-clumpy stuff was the type of stuff that dairymen strain their milk for to check for mastitis.

Her milk has filtered just fine since then, but the foaminess persists, and the inability to clump into butter without an extraordinary amount of work on our part is something to take note of.

After talking through all of this with the vet, he suggested a regimen based on what I've described above.

Today, I took a test sample of milk before milking normally, squirted it from each teat into a previously-sealed Ziploc bag, and froze it to send to a lab for testing at the vet's discretion.  

Then, I milked her--2 gallons like usual.  It might have a high somatic cell count, it might not.  But there were no clumpy clues that she has a raging case of mastitis.

Prince Caspian the handsome little calf got to drink as much as he wanted after that (he was really much more interested in head-butting the manure fork as I cleaned up the soiled straw, and in watching me warily and scampering out of my way.)

The little Prince got closed back into his stall, which he was none too happy about (and later escaped).

Bessie was left in the stanchion with a placating amount of extra grain, and I prepared her teats for medication.  Not fun, but if she has the slightest case of mastitis, I want to clear it up before it gets worse, and the vet agreed.

This procedure is what I humorously described over a year ago, when Bessie had been here for only a few weeks to a month.  At least this time, I'm familiar enough with her that I could do it without being ready to flee at the slightest movement on her part.

Step one:  Prepare the teats.  This involves warm water to clean them of all hairs and other unmentionable bits of messiness, a paper towel to dry each teat, dipping each one in iodine.....

Step two:  Prepare the syringes.  These are bought at the farm supply store, ready to use for intra-mammary insertion (maybe I made that term up, not sure)

Step three:  Hope that the cow doesn't flinch or kick, find the opening at the end of each teat, and insert the plastic end of the syringe.  The opening kind of looks like if you took the end of a No. 2 pencil and poked it into a ball of dough.  Just a small opening, about the size of pencil lead.  Then push the plunger at the other end of the syringe to squirt the medication up and into the teat.  Sounds much more daunting than it really turns out to be, as long as your cow doesn't fidget.  Bessie didn't even think about what I was doing, because she got more GRAIN ("anything for food", the Dykstra-farm theme-song)

Step four:  Massage each "quarter" to distribute the medicine (remember, the udder has four quarters, and each quarter feeds milk down into one teat).  Dispose of the syringes.

Step five:  Tell your cow that she's a good girl, give her an apple, and try to persuade her that she doesn't need to worry about her calf who IS NOT WHERE HE'S SUPPOSED TO BE.  (Soft concerned mooing on Bessie's part, serving to rile up the confined baby)

And then I went about the usual chores, while Bessie did her best helicopter-parent impression around the outside of the stall.

And yes, Prince Caspian did escape somehow.  He takes after his half-sister Ruby, who was ever-so-intent on not being separated from her milk source that she escaped from that stall whenever she was able to, until she got too big and I started tying her to the post inside of the stall.

Mama Bess is now standing forlornly outside of the barn door, which is closed with Caspian on the other side.  But the important thing?  The medicine is working inside of her udder as we speak.  Caspian can't slurp it out and also can't go teat-to-teat spreading any potential mastitis from potential infected quarters to healthy quarters.  I imagine he's having a princely temper tantrum inside the barn, which will only agitate his mother even more as she imagines what terrible things are happening to him as he kicks and screams.

We'll let him nurse again tonight, then I'll milk Bessie, then we'll sterilize her area again and repeat the medication insertion.  Caspian will stay in the stall tonight, even if I have to resort to putting a halter on him and tying him up like we used to do with Miss Ruby.  

Again tomorrow with the treatment, 2 more times, even though the box instructions specifically say not to treat for more than 2 times per teat.  Vet's orders.

Ninety six hours after that last medicine is applied, we'll finally have fresh milk to drink again.  All the milk between now and Christmas eve's milking will be wasted (where ARE those piglets when you need them!)  

Seems like a long time to wait, but....remember how much milk we have that is extra on any given/normal day?  There are currently 6 1/2 gallons of milk on the top shelf of our frig and a half-gallon of skimmed cream waiting to be made (hopefully) into butter.  We'll survive.

There is a fairly inexpensive test which I could have used to make sure she has mastitis.  It would be nice to know if we're doing it all because she really needs it, but it might be a lot of work for no case of mastitis at all.That will be my first farm-purchase when we begin the new year!  For now, the described scenario is what I have to work with.....    

Guesswork, but I'd like to think that I know my cow and her milk product well enough that I've guessed right this time.

 

Laura
http://dykstrasfarm.blogspot.com/

Ruby update:  Princess Ruby/Miss Ruby/Ruby-girl is scheduled to be picked up on Sunday morning at 9 for her royal procession to North Carolina.

  

Prince Charming update:  Charming is also scheduled to leave our farm on Sunday morning, after his new owners help us to load Ruby into her new owner's trailer.  I'm ever-so-grateful that these men with cow handling know-how are willing to help us, should Ruby decide to be obstinate!  You never know what crazy thing might happen, when a heifer has been raised with the idea that she is a princess.  :)

Milk, and lots of it

Photo:  The ultimate kitchen-scrap disposals:  our first piglets, who Michael did not allow me to name, so of course I did anyway.  Little Pig One and Little Pig Two at 8 weeks old

We're swimming in milk (figuratively speaking) and I'm thinking that pigs are the answer.......

Bessie is giving us 2 gallons of milk in the morning, EVERY morning.  Junior (aka Prince Caspian) drinks what he wants all day long and she still seems to have almost a gallon of milk every night.  Some goes to the kitties, who are now dashing eagerly to their food bowls and purring loudly every time I head out to the barn, tails swishing in excitement, in hopes of a warm sip of milk.  

For ourselves, we skim the cream off of day-old milk and drink "skimmed" milk (truly, Bessie's skim milk is probably equal to 2% milk in the store or even richer!)

I'm freezing a couple of gallons of milk each week (in preparation for the dry season before her next calf would be born, months and months from now) and still there is a bountiful supply.

With the cream from our skimmed milk, I'm making a cup of butter every day and freezing most of it for future food prep.  Not good for baking cookies unless it's freshly churned, from what I understand.  But it can be used for most other things like sandwiches, melted to use in recipes, whipped in potatoes, etc, etc, etc.  

If I make butter, we have extra buttermilk.  The freezer is stocked with butter AND buttermilk, and we've only had the fresh milk supply for 4 weeks so far. 

If I make cheese, it takes 2 gallons of milk for one batch of cheese, and leaves nearly 2 gallons of whey that's wasted.  

If I make yogurt and don't eat it quickly enough before we have a supply of milk that demands that I make more, the old yogurt is wasted.

If I make ricotta cheese, or cottage cheese, there is still the whey left over from the gallon of milk that I started with.  And there is the very good chance that I won't eat up the cheese before I really should make more to use up the extra milk......

Also quite common, if I make cheese and it doesn't turn out, it shouldn't end up in the trash can.  (Still learning the skill of making successful batches of cheddar, Monterey Jack, or Colby.  And cheesemaking takes uninterrupted time that I don't always have.)  

We could be swimming in milk and milk by-products.

  

Last winter, we had 100 chickens who would flock to the warm whey or extra buttermilk (or fresh milk into which Bessie may have plopped her poopy foot) and eagerly devour every last drop.  With 9 chickens, 4 geese, and 6 ducks this winter, they are hardly sipping a quarter of what I have available to them.  It's freezing in buckets and just being wasted.

Add the canning leftovers to the tally of extra milk products:  If I make jelly, jam, or fruit juice, there will be peels, blossom-ends, and pulp that something should be able to eat.

And kitchen scraps:  When I clean out the frig and there's food that could still be digested by livestock but has been in the frig for a week, what's the obvious choice?  If it's not moldy, if it's not a meat-product, if it's still recognizable and not gray or slimy, pigs should be able to enjoy it.

Pigs would be the centuries-old answer, the ultimate garbage-disposal, the farm animal which would put everything to good use.

  

The pork experiment wasn't a rousing success this last time, I'll have to admit, except for the wonderful sausage and bacon.  We spent way too much on feed.  

We've discovered, through talking with other people in the area, that the processing facility where we sent Pig One and Pig Two didn't turn out really high quality pork around the time that our 2 happy hogs would have been processed there.  So that's one bit of knowledge to put into play when the next pigs are ready for butchering.  

Even so, we can make soup, or stews, or pulled pork with the meat in the freezer.  It's just that it's not succulently juicy or deliciously smoked like Berkshire chops and ribs and hams are supposed to be.  It's a shame that we took such good care of them only to have substandard pork in the freezer as a result.  (And we shared it with friends and family, too, so if you too have tried the pork and been disappointed, please accept my apologies and the promise of better pork next time!)

Moving towards the centuries-old solution:  It might be that we buy the guinea hogs that I eventually hope to have, or it might be that we go with what's currently available:  Berkshire, Hampshire, any of the breeds that seem popular around here, and from any of the farmers who might have happened to have their sow give birth to a winter litter already.

Any breed other than guinea hogs would be a compromise on my part, but it could work if the main objective is to use up the currently wasted bounty of pig-worthy food and milk by-products that our kitchen is churning out daily......

Guinea hog piglets are on my Christmas wish list, but how do you wrap a couple of squealing, messy piggies?  ;)

I miss tossing our kitchen scraps to the friendly, smiling piggy faces out in the barnyard.  So yes, we are talking about getting a couple of piglets again.

We shall see how this plays out.....   

Laura
http://dykstrasfarm.blogspot.com/