Lucy's jail time

Photos:  The round metal "feeder" Lucy got herself in a bit of a tight spot this morning. I noticed when I went in to milk Bessie that both cows were eating at the round metal feeder, meant for the large round bales of hay.  I toss their hay in there, because it's SUPPOSED to keep their hay in one spot and not waste so much of the expensive stuff.  Like typical cows, they have their own ideas and usually push the whole feeder around inside the pen so that they can get their mouths on the tiny alfalfa leaves (before they deign to munch on stems or grassy bits). This morning, Lucy must have been feeling a bit more ambitious, because her front legs were INSIDE the feeder and she was contentedly munching with half of her body inside the ring. No problem, whatever, she got in, she could get back out.  I went about preparing for milking Bessie.  Bessie was called, Lucy was still munching, and Ruby was waiting expectantly in the stall.  Bessie trotted right in with the usual 2 purposes in mind--FOOD and RELIEF.  I settled in to cleaning her filthy udder (somehow she always seems to sleep with her udder in fresh manure) and then to milking. Things were going smoothly--little Ruby was munching her corn-on-the-cob in the stall, and licking the air in the direction of Bessie.  (She had not outsmarted me this morning, and all of Bessie's milk was where it's supposed to be at that point of day:  still in Bessie's udder.  Sometimes Bess and Ruby must conspire against me, and one or more quarter will be deflated before I milk Bess.  Then little Ruby is not quite so anxious to drink from Bessie--meaning--Bessie stood close to the side of the stall, and Ruby stretched her neck out of the stall far enough to nurse BEFORE we got our morning milk.)  Like I said, things were going smoothly.... I was almost done when I heard the loud sound of something heavy banging on metal.  Bessie looked up and then went back to her munching.  Again, and louder.  I realized that Lucy was caught inside the ring out in the pen, but I couldn't just stop milking, so I continued. Suddenly, crash, clang, thunk, as if the whole feeder was being rolled down a rocky hill.  Bessie looked up in alarm, Ruby kicked the side of the stall, and I scooted the milk pail out of harm's way.  Even closer, CLUNK as if it was right outside the door.  Bessie took a few steps back and moo'd a warning to Ruby, who moo'd a baby moo back.  Lucy did her usual freaked-out mooOOOOO right outside the door--temper tantrum or panic?  Hard to tell. I imagined that she was trapped in the ring, touching the electric fence and getting a continuous shock that she couldn't get away from.  Still, the door was shut to the milking area, and Bessie was still in the stanchion.  I wasn't free to leave just yet.  The "emergency" with Lucy would have to be taken care of after the job-at-hand was completed.  (She wouldn't have been electrocuted, just shocked a bit if she touched the metal). One more bump-crash-bang, and all 3 cows moo-ed at the same time, at high volume.  I rescued the milk pail and shut it inside the door to the main barn.  (No panic on my part, just "Well, another cow thing to deal with", kind of ho-hum, shrug the shoulders and see what we have to deal with.)  Opened the sliding door to the outside.  Bessie was ready to charge out the door with baby Ruby in tow, so I had to watch her big bulk to make sure I wouldn't be squashed. There was Lucy, tail tucked, bawling like a little calf, and surrounded by the metal ring-feeder right outside the door.  The feeder is usually in the opposite corner of the pen, slightly uphill from where she was now.  Lucy had probably bucked, kicked, and then ran with the feeder clunking all around her as she panicked. Tried to lure her out with feed---nope, she wouldn't jump the side, just pushed against it so that the ring moved with her (I can see why cattle were used for draft animals.  They are stronger than they look!). I had wanted to move the ring under the tree for the winter anyway, and it's too heavy for me to lift.  Now it was close to where I had wanted it.  Plus, if Lucy wouldn't get out on her own, I'd need to have her in the shade until Jeff and the boys could help to life one side so she could escape.  I slid it one way and then the other until it was under the spruce tree, with Lucy balking at each slide.  Finally, under the tree, she got brave and gave one leap to freedom.  Luckily, she jumped on the OTHER side of the ring from where I was standing.  I have no problem smacking Lucy on the rump or thunking her between the eyes if she's not minding her manners (probably feels like a fly nip to her), but if she'd jumped directly at me, I would have been making a flying sideways leap into one of many piles of wet morning manure! As if nothing had happened, as if she had not just spent the past 15 minutes making a racket and dragging a heavy feeder around, she trotted right in to where Bessie had been eating her grain and proceeded to finish up the bits that had been left behind. The adventures continue.....Lucy (a heifer who will not tolerate being tied up and who is not even technically "ours" at this point) is supposed to be "bred" (artificially inseminated by the vet) tomorrow or Friday.  That in itself could prove to be the best adventure yet--assuming that no-one gets hurt!

Lyrics of a song

This song came out a few years ago, and I think it was playing on Christian radio while I was driving back and forth to Woodstock to care for our chickens (who, fortunate souls, were living on the farm for a year before we could move from Palatine and be in Woodstock full-time).  It always seemed like a song that could be "mine", even more so because the group is called Laura's Story (or Laura Story, a person's name?).  I always heard it as "Laura's Story".  It made me think of my own life and how I view things, and of how skewed that "view" might really be in light of what God has in store for me.  We pray for blessings We pray for peace Comfort for family, protection while we sleep We pray for healing, for prosperity We pray for Your mighty hand to ease our suffering We pray for the easy way through life here in America, where we consider ourselves "blessed" beyond all measure but don't remember how getting things the easy way can stunt our spiritual growth.  Our prayers are "Please bless so-and-so", and "bless us as we do this", and "keep us safe as we attempt to do this for You" or "So-and-so is so sick, won't you please heal him/her". What if the trials of this life are just Your mercies in disguise? We forget (or choose to ignore) that sometimes God uses the most difficult times in our lives or the lives around us to build our character and to grow our faith.  We pray for wisdom Your voice to hear And we cry in anger when we cannot feel You near We doubt Your goodness, we doubt Your love As if every promise from Your Word is not enough All the while, You hear each desperate plea And long that we have faith to believe He is in control, He is still constant, He knows the deepest fears and cries of our hearts and when we finally NEED to turn to Him because all of our depression or emotional thrashing around has gotten us nowhere, that's when we finally turn away from the "I can do it by myself" toddler attitude.  It came to mind while I was out gardening, thinking about Lucy and Spartan, and all the other critters who might live long and prosper....and might have a  very short life because of so many "farm" reasons.  Or who might move on after just a short time with us, and become a blessing in someone else's life.  What if a thousand sleepless nights Are what it takes to know You're near I worry at night if the gate is latched all the way or if the front door to the barn will blow open, or if a raccoon is breaking into the barn to destroy the birds I care too much about, or if the hay in the hayloft is truly dry enough to not spontaneously combust and burn the whole barn down, animals and all.....crazy thoughts in the middle of the night!  Why I can't just trust that God is in control of all of that, and if I just do my job (taking care of them, doing my best) then He'll be free to bring me through the circumstances that I'm praying so hard to avoid. God must be shaking His head at that silliness. God is showering His blessings on us, even if it's in what seems like the hardest time and even if it seems like it's NOT a blessing (in our limited capacity to see how He needs to shape us)....   What if my greatest disappointments Or the aching of this life Is the revealing of a greater thirst this world can't satisfy And Spartan being sick, or Lucy going to a new home seem like something that I can handle, and that won't break me, but will potentially direct my attention to God and remind me to not hold on so tightly to what I THOUGHT was the perfect farm set-up.  These are minor things compared to God's all-encompassing plan. Laura Story - "Blessings" Lyrics We pray for blessings We pray for peace Comfort for family, protection while we sleep We pray for healing, for prosperity We pray for Your mighty hand to ease our suffering All the while, You hear each spoken need Yet love us way too much to give us lesser things 'Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops What if Your healing comes through tears What if a thousand sleepless nights Are what it takes to know You're near What if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise We pray for wisdom Your voice to hear And we cry in anger when we cannot feel You near We doubt Your goodness, we doubt Your love As if every promise from Your Word is not enough All the while, You hear each desperate plea And long that we have faith to believe 'Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops What if Your healing comes through tears What if a thousand sleepless nights Are what it takes to know You're near And what if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise When friends betray us When darkness seems to win We know that pain reminds this heart That this is not, this is not our home It's not our home 'Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops What if Your healing comes through tears And what if a thousand sleepless nights Are what it takes to know You're near What if my greatest disappointments Or the aching of this life Is the revealing of a greater thirst this world can't satisfy And what if trials of this life The rain, the storms, the hardest nights Are Your mercies in disguise

Blessings in disguise

Spartan the kitty is doing OK.  He made it through yesterday and seems to be "eliminating" more in the litter box as each day goes on.  We'll always have to be watching for this to re-occur, and if it does, we won't spend money for the vet to treat it the next time.  He'll either need a new home where they can spend the time and money to keep him healthy, or we'd need to have him put to sleep.  Difficult decision #1 stalled, at least for now.  The blessing might be that Spartan gets to stay with us a little longer.  Or it might be that we worked through the situation, and came to the point where we could say goodbye if we needed to.  A positive experience is in there somewhere, God's way of preparing us for something in the future where we can draw on something that happened in this case (whether we are aware that we're doing that or not!). And decision #2 is a blessing in disguise, I think.  Two full-grown cows are really too much for our little acre, and for the barn space that they use.  When one is in heat, there is head-butting (imagine the resounding CRACK of mountain goat skulls as they fight each other and mentally muffle that crack just a little....)  There is the huge amount of feed and hay that two full grown cows eat (and the money that needs to be spent on it!).  There would be 2 calves to tame every year, and to corral every night, and to raise or sell.  There would be 2 cows giving milk, which I'd need to hand-milk.....potential carpal tunnel syndrome in my wrists raising it's ugly head again.  Milking one cow, once a day is do-able. I priced Lucy high enough in the ads that someone looking for a cheap meat cow wouldn't jump at the chance to buy her.  The thought of beautiful Lucy ending up at the slaughter house was a bit much for me to be OK with.  When Andrew from Ohio contacted me, I told him that I wouldn't come down in price at all.  Then I looked up his farm name on-line, and he's listed with Local Harvest.  The description of their farm sounded promising, and he will not be looking to slaughter her but to give her the kind of setting and care that we would have done here.  In talking with Andrew numerous times now, I'm impressed at how excited he and his wife are to be adding a milk cow to their small farm.  Instead of never owning a cow before, buying a pregnant cow AND a heifer and not knowing if the pregnant cow would let you hand-milk her (hmm....sounds familiar!), they are doing what we should have done:  Practicing patience and buying a young heifer who will become familiar with the new family and farm before needing to be hand-milked.  They will have Lucy as a first-time mom and first-time milker, who they can devote as much time to as possible before it's time to attempt to hand-milk a terrified cow who might just rip the stanchion off of the barn wall because she has never been hand-milked before.  (Again...sounds familiar!)  I think, in the long run, Lucy will have an easier time of it (learning the hand-milking routine) than poor Bessie did. I do hate to see her go.  It's kind of like breaking up a little family.  The three cows were relaxing under a big spruce tree yesterday, and I felt a twinge of sadness.  But, thinking of chickens as an example....every time the newest batch of chicks reaches 5 or 6 months of age, the "family" has to be broken up so that we aren't overrun with fighting and bloodied roosters.  Puppies and kittens are almost always taken away from their family group at 8 weeks old, and they adjust and come to love their new families.  If we have too many of any kind of animal, the extras need to go to another home, and that breaks up the "family".  Lucy and Bessie were "taken" from their herd in Port Byron and brought here, but now, you'd never know that THIS little clan of cows at our farm hasn't always existed.  Animals are probably more adaptable than we imagine them to be and it doesn't help to imagine that they have the same range of emotions as people do.  I'm sure they sense change, or feel some range of "something's not the same", but not nearly as acutely as a human being would be aware of. Bessie and Ruby will be fine.  I don't think that they can remember another cow very long, and they'll adjust to it being just the 2 of them.  I can imagine that Ruby will miss kicking up her heels with Lucy, or dashing full speed across the pasture and under the pine trees with her "fun" aunty.  I don't imagine that Bessie will miss Lucy's barging in to try to eat the grain right out from under Bessie's nose.  Things will be calmer.  Lucy will adjust and be just as comfortable with Andrew and his family as she is here, probably better because she'll be the ONLY cow and will get that much more attention.  I truly think that if Lucy was our only cow, she would be just as calm and accepting of my attention and of being handled as Bessie has become.  Andrew can give that time and attention to Lucy, but we would not be able to. Selling Lucy to a new owner who will care for her as much as we have and more is a blessing.  It's sad to know that someone will be coming here with a trailer and Lucy will be moving on with them, but it's not the end of the world.  And Spartan seems to be making enough of a come-back that he can play outside with Charlie by the end of the week and be the happy barn cat that he's accustomed to being.  The changes here could feel like a punch in the gut (every day, all the time, it seems!), but.....it's a constant change and it's all for a purpose, even if that purpose isn't clear at the time.  If I can just remember that, and remember that God's hand is in all of it, then it's manageable!

Difficult decisions

Photos: Spartan and Charlie, the barn cats, and Lucy the Dutch Belted heifer Spartan the barn cat is sick and needing veterinary care.  Michael, Jeremy and I were all close to tears when we found him looking sick and lethargic last week.  His body was burning up with fever and he just lay limp in our arms.  Jeremy had noticed and remarked the day before "That cat is sick, Mom", and when he didn't turn up for food that night or the next morning, I let the whole family know to be on the lookout for him. He has a urinary tract problem, and we found out just how much we DON'T consider him a barn cat when we paid over $200 to have him treated and kept overnight at the vet's last week.  When the blockage occurred again after we brought him home, we had to take him back for them to express the stuff that couldn't come out.  I insisted that he could NOT stay there overnight again, so the vet reluctantly gave instructions for how to keep things flowing if he was having a problem over the weekend.  Poor little guy....he is miserable in a small dog crate in Michael's room, sleeping in the litter box and not eating or drinking very much.  He is supposed to be drinking much more water to keep his insides flushed clean and not have the blockage happen again.  And sad kitty Charlie is out in the barn, seeking attention from everyone who walks through, and seeming very lost without his twin brother.  He tried to play with our black cat, Sly, and that didn't go over too well.  Sly only chooses to play with Spartan......who is sick. If Spartan was a house cat, the vet assistant said we'd probably need to have an operation done to turn his "male" urinary tract into a "female" tract, meaning to eliminate the S curve that seems to be the contributing factor in male cats that are neutered.  Even as a house cat, the money factor would probably mean that we would have to choose not to have the surgery done. This morning, if there's not a decent amount of urine in the litter box, and if he's not doing better, we'll have to make the difficult decision to take him back to the vet and possibly have him put down.  And even that will cost another hundred or 2......  Certainly not the "barn cat" idea where they fend for themselves and disappear to die on their own.  :( Difficult decision number 2:  Lucy the heifer is sold.  We didn't have money to feed 2 grown cows through the winter with the hay prices double what they were just 6 months ago.  We didn't have money for the artificial insemination process for Bessie because of the hay prices.  We weren't ready to part with little Ruby, and Bessie is the one producing milk for our family.  Lucy had to be the one put up for sale, and, after having her listed on various web-sites for a month or so, a serious buyer has put a down payment into my bank-account for her. It's a good situation, but sad for us to say goodbye to her.  I lowered the purchase price for her after talking with this buyer, mostly because she'd be going to a home/farm where she'd be treated like we expected to treat her if she was able to stay here.  She'll go to a young family in Ohio, who have been milking goats but have been looking for a good milk cow prospect.  They've done their research about the Dutch Belted breed.  They were ready to buy a "nice little Jersey" when they saw my ad about Lucy.  They have transportation available (2 other potential buyers didn't have a way to get her to their places--either California or Michigan).  They have other herd-animals (goats).  It's a good situation for Lucy. She will stay here through the artificial insemination process.  They are paying all the vet fees and the prices for the stuff (bull semen, in "straws", shipped in a liquid nitrogen tank, and administered by the vet when she is in heat).  This way, Bessie can also be bred during the same time period.  Lucy's owner and I can split the cost for the shipping ($100!!!!!), we'll each pay for the stuff that is needed for our own cow/heifer, and whenever possible, we'll split the vet visit fee.  They hope to pick up a confirmed pregnant Lucy in November, if the first or second A.I. attempt is successful. Sigh....farm life seems to be full of changes, all the time:  adjusting to new situations, selling or butchering an animal, rearranging where the livestock or poultry are grazing or roosting or eating.....  Making plans for things that are constantly changing or needing to be adjusted is tiring, but also means that life goes on and we just need to be flexible.  I guess that's a good life-lesson for whatever situation we find ourselves in, whether it's on a farm or in suburbia!

The last of the matriarch hens

Photos of the "Matriarch hens":  "Shoulder Hen", Buffalo, and "Crooked Beak" The story:  The chicken saga (addiction?) began with chicks that weren't even supposed to stay with us.  Marlene at Immanuel hatched either chicks or ducklings each spring in her preschool and Pre-K classes.  Some years, we'd take the chicks home for a weekend, and the kids would snuggle with them all weekend before they were brought back to school on a Monday morning.  In 2008 (it could have been 2007), there were 9 fluffy yellow chicks in her incubator.  Marlene hoped to keep the chicks just a bit longer than the few days that was allowed (the hatching eggs were supplied by a 4-H or other organization, and there was a set schedule to bring the chicks back to them), and we had friends in nearby Barrington Hills who wanted chickens.  Our house and yard in Palatine were supposed to be the temporary, in-between stop.  Marlene got to keep the chicks for a week longer and we got to have some cute fluffy (but growing quickly) chicks for a while.  The kids loved having the chicks around.  Besides being so cute, they were entertaining to watch.  We quickly discovered "chicken football", where one chick finds a tasty morsel (or even a crinkly candy wrapper) and runs with it.  The other chicks immediately set chase at full speed, while the first chick tries frantically to gobble his or her treat before it's stolen.  Kind of like seagulls---they have to announce that they found something great, and then have to fight off the other gulls in order to eat their prize. We laughed hysterically as we watched the first "dust bath", where the chick sinks down on it's side in the dirt (or even on a dry piece of paper one time), shuffles it's feet in the dust or bedding, fluffs it's tiny wings, and (literally) dust flies everywhere.  The goal of the chick is to filter the dust through all of it's feathers and down to it's skin, to keep chicken lice or other nasty critters from taking up residence.  Sometimes the whole group of chicks would be lying in one mass, rubbing their heads in the dry dust, fluffing up dirt with their wings and acting like it was the most sumptuous bubble bath imaginable.... By summer, our friends were still not ready for the chicks, and I wasn't about to bring them to a place where there was no coop (and lots of coyotes!) So we set them up in our backyard, in Palatine, where it was very illegal to keep "livestock" of any sort, including all kinds of poultry or live birds (the wording made it sound like even keeping a parrot of cockatiel could have been illegal). Jeff had built a large play-fort/swing set for the older kids, and it wasn't being used much after so many years.  We closed in the bottom 4 foot by 4 foot area with chicken wire and a poorly made door (made by me), and I had many sleepless nights wondering if a skunk or raccoon or even the fox that Carrie had seen just across the street would eat them all. The chicks kept growing.  Their chick-down turned to white adolescent feathers, then started smoothing out to be slightly glossy and pure white.  Still no coop to bring them to at our friends' house. Summer was coming to a close, and the "chicks" were big enough to fly up to the second floor of the play fort.  Some even made it up to  the very peak to do a warbly little crow, in full view of the passing cars. It became apparent that a very high percentage of these adolescent chicks were male.  We did some research, found out that half of each hatch will usually be male, but here we had 7 out of 9 chicks who were obviously trying to crow and were growing the big comb on top of their heads that usually shows that they are males.  We couldn't bring them to the coyote-infested no-coop yard where they had been supposed to go.  A bit of brainstorming and a chance comment in a family conversation led us to ask my cousin on the other side of the state if she'd like some roosters for the small farm that they'd just bought and weren't even living in yet.  So in short order, Michael, Jeremy and I were driving 7 scrawny half-grown White Leghorn roosters across the state to introduce them to their new home.  Yes, that leaves 2....in our back yard.....in Palatine...... I must have been feeling rebellious, because I decided that we'd keep the 2 hens in our Palatine backyard, knowing that it was against the law.  The thought of fresh eggs was appealing, but....like any other animal that finds its way into our house, they'd become pets.  Probably not the best thing to do with kids taking mental notes and learning life-lessons from everything..... Jeremy had been training one to sit on his shoulder, so she became "Shoulder Hen".  The other young hen had been born with a slightly twisted tip to her beak, so she became "Crooked Beak".  And we set in to keep them cozy for the winter:  plywood boards around all sides of the play fort base, nest box, heat lamp attached to a long extension cord that stretched across the back yard (safety hazard!), roost, straw bales on the west and north sides for protection from the weather, deep straw in the bottom of their make-shift "coop" for added insulation from the frozen ground.  More sleepless nights as I imagined their little claws freezing to the roosts, or a hungry coyote jumping our back-yard fence for a late-night meal.  It was very stressful to have animals living outside, when all of our pets up to that point had always been safe in the shelter of the house. Oh yeah--they started laying eggs and needed a lightbulb for additional fake "daylight hours" so that they'd keep laying through the winter.fgn At some point, I thought (again, disregarding the law) that Jeremy would love to have another hen, and that Shoulder Hen and Crooked Beak might need some companionship, so I drove up to Harvard IL to pick up a huge Buff Orpington that we named "Buffalo" (yeah, VERY imaginative).  ;)  Her eggs were always thin-shelled and she had no feathers on her butt.  Other than that, she was beautiful, big and fluffy, and Jeremy adored her. They made it through winter with only a little bit of frostbite on the tips of their combs, and were happily scratching all over the backyard by spring.  My perennial gardens definitely took a hit, with some plants becoming favorites and being ripped to shreds before finally being eaten right down to the ground.  Pest problems in the yard were at an all time low.  Earwigs, pill-bugs (roly-polys), and worms were gobbled up.    Kitchen scraps were thrown out the back door, not for the squirrels now, but for the chickens who would streak at top speed from any corner of the yard whenever they saw something soar through the air and hit the ground. By that summer, we were noticing how enjoyable and almost calming it was to sit out on the patio at night and watch the chickens peck and scratch in the yard.  At some point, I picked up a very large book called "The Encyclopedia of Country Living" by Carla Emery.  That's when the farm idea really started to take shape, as I read about keeping chickens, then about rabbits, goats, cows, gardening, making soap, choosing the right veggies to grow with other veggies, growing grain, planting an orchard, growing forage for livestock, making candles, canning and freezing.......  Jeff was a LITTLE bit interested, but I'm sure he was humoring me quite often as I raved about what I'd just read and what WE could do if we had some land. We worked out an arrangement with the friends who had wanted the chickens in the first place, for us to keep our chickens (we'd taken on more chicks, no surprise!) at their place in an old goat shed and space there for me to try my hand at growing heirloom-type vegetables in a rather large garden area. We contacted a real estate agent in Woodstock and I started meticulously examining every new listing that I could find on the internet.  Pat and I checked out some of them....too run down, too fancy but dated and needing a ton of work, too far away (Belvidere), listing expired, one with the only heat source being a small wood stove in the entry room, one where I imagined the house it COULD be and ignored the money pit it would have become.....that was the same one where my brother came out of the visit with a tick on his hand and where Carrie brought her friends in the dead of night to explore the old barn which had collapsed.  Lots of adventures, lots of things that I liked about most of the places we visited, but nothing perfect.  Then, out of desperation, partly because we weren't finding anything and it had been almost a year (I'm not typically that patient), partly because things were falling apart with the situation where our chickens and failing veggie garden were located, I went on-line and changed our search criteria to "2 acres or more" instead of 5 acres or more. The next day, our farmhouse was newly listed by the bank which owned it and had tried to sell it numerous times over about a 2 year period. The rest is history.  That was 2 years ago in July 2010.  The chickens which were living at our friends' place were hurriedly packed up and trucked out here as soon as the closing was final.  My relief at having that stress out of my life was tremendous!  But then I had to drive to Woodstock every other day to take care of them, trusting that I could give them enough food and water for 2 days at a time, and that nothing would break into the barn to eat them while we weren't there.  More stress! I "lent" the back room of the barn to someone who needed space for her birds.  That worked well for just a little while, and it DID help during the winter when she could check on my birds and I did the same for her.  Then we noticed that she was being more careless than we expected (burning chicken litter in the fire-circle and letting it smolder unattended for days, letting her chicken litter get so soggy that maggots were crawling through it just under the surface, leaving a dead turkey in a feed bag until it was crawling with bugs both inside AND outside the bag.....)  Things got a bit ugly as I had to insist that she move out, and then had to INSIST that if she wasn't out by a certain date, we'd be changing the locks and I'd be caring for her birds until the date that she could come and take them for good.  Sigh..... We moved up here soon after.  Shoulder Hen, Buffalo and Crooked Beak were the matriarchs of the chicken clan.  They were the wise old birds which led the way for any new pullets (young hens) and set the tone for the whole flock. Chicken sickness hit during the first winter and spring that the chickens were up here.  The older hens made it through the first winter, but Buffalo and Crooked Beak died fairly quickly last fall when the sickness made another appearance and wiped out quite a few birds.  It was a sad week.  Shoulder Hen was sick but made it through. She was still the matriarch because she was the oldest hen, but other younger hens had stronger personalities, and Shoulder Hen gradually became "one of the flock" instead of the leader.  She still came running with the flock if I was digging in the chicken yard, or if I had treats or kitchen scraps to toss over the fence.  She stood out because of her huge floppy comb and her boldness to come up to me. Last week I noticed that she was sitting huddled up on the roost at night, not comfortable but with feathers puffed up and head drooping.  Over the weekend, she was huddled in a nest-box, not laying an egg but just "there".  The next day, a white egg with black tarry stuff on it was in the box.  And by that night, she was lying on the floor, having lost her fight to live.  Whatever the cause, she's the last of the originals.  I guess in chicken years, she was fortunate to live so long (if you compare her to the sad hens in little shoebox cages in the factories, who lay eggs at peak capacity for a few short months and then are "replaced"). She had what must be the chicken-dream, if there is one:  free range over a fenced and fairly safe pasture, well fed with purchased feed as well as bugs/seeds/kitchen scraps, protected every night inside the barn, and able to peck and scratch in real earth on a real farm in fresh air with a rooster to watch over her.  Somehow, those 9 little Leghorn chicks got us started on this farm adventure over 4 years ago.  It's sad to see her go, it bothers me that I don't know the reason that she died, and yet I've had to learn that you can't grieve deeply over every bird or animal that gets sick or dies out here.  A thanks to Marlene for sharing her little chickies with us those few years ago (and more since then!).....  Thanks and a fond farewell to Crooked Beak, Buffalo, and now Shoulder Hen who sparked the idea that chickens could be a fun part of a potentially different lifestyle for our family... And thanks to God for fanning that idea into a flame which led us to this place in Woodstock, full of life but also teaching us lessons about death and caretaking and gratefulness......

Ice cold milk....

Milk is abundant again!  Hooray!  Most of you know that I LOVE milk, and some of you even know that my mom will stock up on extra gallon(s) of milk before Jeff, the kids and I come to visit.  :)  I never expected to own a cow, much less to hand-milk one every morning, but have discovered that I LOVE it (when there is not a power struggle going on between me and the cow!) It's only taken a month of trial and error and lots of frustration to finally get the routine to be an actual working "routine": Bessie trotted right into the stanchion and let her milk flow---3 mornings in a row..... Lucy was quiet and distracted by fresh hay--3 mornings in a row..... Ruby did not break out of the stall 3 nights in a row. Over a gallon of milk, three mornings in a row.  This morning was a gallon and a half, and the calf still did not go hungry.  Looks like it happened like anything else seems to around here:  Something new was added to the routine (Ruby the calf was born).  We were totally ignorant of what was supposed to happen or what would work to continue getting our family's milk supply in addition to letting the calf stay with her mom (having never been through it before).  We tried some things, stumbled through some ideas, researched and brainstormed.....and finally something worked to be less frustrating and more productive.  I think "stumbled through" is the operative phrase, here. Like anything else, I'm also learning that the "routine" that works today may need to be tweaked or changed completely at what seems like less than a second's notice.....Kind of reminds me of when the kids were little, and their nap schedule settled into a predictable routine.  I'd breathe a sigh of relief and a little prayer of thanksgiving for the "routine" that I looked forward to, would get lots of stuff done while they were sleeping because I could PLAN on the amount of time they would be napping, and then have to readjust at a moment's notice when the nap schedule changed yet again! A great thing:  Russ and Jeff anticipated needing to confine the calf, and the stall is working great now.  I tie it shut in addition to the hook and eye closure, and it's worked 3 nights now to keep her confined until morning.  Bessie is full and ready to be milked in the morning, and doesn't even care that her little baby is not the one getting the first milk of the day.  Ruby has wised up and doesn't want to go in the stall at night, but is starting to like the grain mix that I give to Bessie, so I put a little in the stall for her.  Whatever works.... A problem on my part:  I didn't want to break up what I imagined to be the happy family unit of Bessie, Lucy and Ruby to selfishly take milk that the calf may have needed.  Wrong....Bessie makes enough for us AND for Ruby, and Ruby is hungry but not starving to death by morning.  I milk 2 or 3 of Bessie's quarters (one udder, 4 "quarters"), and Ruby quickly deflates the other 1 or 2 quarters after she is set free from the stall. One other thought:  I had to realize that the cows don't need to LIKE me.  I wanted the calf to act like a little puppy, all happy to see me (or the family), didn't want to be forceful with her, didn't want to use the PVC to get her where I wanted her to go, didn't want to "force" her to wear the halter or walk on a lead if it might break her spirit or something.  Silliness!  --Lucy the heifer gets whacked between the eyes or on the shoulder or rump if she is pushing me around.  That kind of roughness on my part evolved out of necessity.  (She has also learned to wait and take a cube of hay nicely from me before barging past me and into the barn).  --Bessie the older cow gets pushed hard to readjust where she is standing in the stanchion or gets chased out of the barn so that I can set up for the milking session in peace and quiet (without a big cow pushing her head into the armful of alfalfa hay or shoving past me to get to the grain).  --Both of the big cows get "persuaded" to move with the PVC pipe, if need be.  --Little Ruby isn't fragile by any means.  She doesn't need to LIKE me.  She just needs to go where I need her to go.  If there's another calf next year, I won't waste a whole month being timid about moving it into the stall at night, or worrying that it's feelings might be hurt if I separate it from it's mother. Back to the milk supply.  An added bonus that I've discovered since shutting Ruby away from mama for the night:  There seems to be a lot more cream now that Ruby isn't freely nursing whenever she wants to.  I take in the gallon+ that Bessie gives me, and somehow it has higher cream content than if I was milking her "hit or miss" between the times when Ruby was nursing. There is yogurt in the Crock Pot, keeping warm until tomorrow morning, and we've had ricotta cheese, we're talking about what kind of other cheeses to try making, and the home-made butter is mouth-watering...... Mmmmm....stop by sometime for a glass of cold, fresh milk!  For the moment, there's plenty to share.

Still learning the irrational cow psychology

Photos:  Bessie looking forlornly towards the pasture, Lucy and Ruby lounging in freedom, and Ruby posing for an adorable photo It's interesting how the life or routine that you love most of the time can get you so frustrated at other times.  Wednesday night I felt like throwing my hands up in despair.  It was one of those days when my overall mood was a little dark and gloomy, and the cows weren't helping. Bessie didn't give more than half a gallon of milk on Wednesday morning, because baby Ruby drank from her before I got out there (attempts to confine Ruby to the stall inside the barn were thwarted the night before).  I kept Bessie separated from calf Ruby ALL DAY, planning to get a full gallon of milk that evening.  Ruby and auntie Lucy spent the day lounging in the pasture, with Lucy bellowing now and then because she imagined that Bess had better hay inside the cow pen....  I anticipated a good amount of milk in the pail when I went out around 7 pm, simply because the udder looked full and Ruby hadn't been in with Bess to nurse since about 10 a.m.  Well, Bessie barged into the stanchion as soon as I opened the door to the barn that night, stuck her big nose into the bucket and spilled grain everywhere (meaning that she was going to be shifting around to lick up every last crumb as I tried to get the milk aimed into a relatively small pail UNDER her huge body.....), and acting in general as if she'd been starving all day and why didn't I feed her SOONER!!!  (She DID have good hay all day...Lucy was right when she bellowed in fear that Bessie was getting better treatment all of that day in the cow-pen spa). Milk was flowing a little better than "feebly", things were going OK (not great, but about what I expected).  Then Auntie Lucy let out an earsplitting bellow from outside the cow pen, and the milk flow stopped immediately, almost like magic.  I had maybe a pint of milk in the pail.  Not close enough to a gallon after pampering Queen Bess all day. A little more work, and there was a trickle of milk again.  And again, Lucy let loose with a temper-tantrum moo---starting low like a foghorn, then increasing in volume and pitch until it seemed impossible for her voice to screech any higher.  Again the milk dried up and I was working with Bessie's limp little cow teats.  No milk was going to be squeezed out, no matter what I tried.  There was obviously milk in there, but it wasn't being made available for me.  Bess obviously wasn't in the right mood to give her milk to anyone besides her baby calf.  Grrr...... Did I say how much I was ready to sell all 3 cows and be done with it all?  Probably good that a buyer wasn't stopping by the barn that night. It probably wasn't the best thing to do, because Ruby the baby hadn't nursed all day, but when she and Lucy came thundering in to the cow pen as I opened the gate, I ushered Ruby into the stall with a smart slap on her rump, and closed her in for the night.  I debated:  Did I see her eating and drinking today?  Yes, plenty of times--milk in the morning, baby bites of grass and hay and some licks of water.  Can it be safe for a month-old calf to go until the next morning without her milk?  Not sure.  Is she vibrantly healthy?  Definitely.  Did we need to get some milk in exchange for the $7 or 8 of hay that Bessie and company had eaten in that one day?  Yeah.  Would a gallon of milk the next morning make me feel better about the whole cow situation?  Maybe just a little. We heard Bessie mooing: low motherly sounds late into the night, calling to her little baby who was not settling down in the stall.  Bessie could have slept right next to where Ruby was, but the big cows bedded down outside instead, leaving Ruby all alone in the cold cruel barn. I woke up at 5, with images of a limp black and white calf in my head, dehydrated and beyond saving because of my greedy need for Bessie's milk.  It was hard to get back to sleep, facing the unknown consequences of keeping a calf from her mama for over 12 hours.  (No joke--in the pitch-black of night, any number of panicky barn-yard scenarios can run through my over-tired brain.  It's all still too new to me and there are just too many unknowns.....) Turns out that everything was fine when I went out at 7:30 on Thursday morning:  Bessie was nearly bursting with an abundance of milk, Ruby was energetic and even tried to nurse from the other side as I was squirting the milk into the pail, and Lucy was happy to have her attention diverted with the delicious clover hay that I strategically placed outside in the big metal feed ring for her.  No screechy noises from Lucy, no frantic calls to the vet to revive a milk-deprived calf (that whole scenario was completely inside my own head), and Bessie could see and keep track of her baby (and probably didn't care at that point who was getting the milk flowing).  A full gallon of beautiful white milk was harvested (complete with 2 flies who had a death wish and dived right in). The cows can stay....  The trick is staying one step ahead of them as they try to outsmart me with their cow psychology.