The count is 3 ram lambs, 3 ewe lambs with 3 ewes left to deliver in the next week or so.

So much fuss with installing our lamb-cam, much enjoyment of remote viewing, sharing the view with our friends of the farm… and in the end, two mamas delivered in the run-out, out of view of the camera entirely.

We came upon them immediately after delivery and had to make a judgement of who belonged to whom because there stood Maggie & Ruva with 4 darlings at their feet.  They sniffed and licked left and right and seemed indiscriminate.  Quickly we paired them up with our best guesses so that we could ensure everyone would get a proper meal and not be left out in the cold.  Maggie was behaving as though she was ready to abandon one of them.  Who knows?  Maybe she singled and Ruva tripled?  Anyway, they’ve each got, and are nursing, two beauties.  Nikki then lambed 4 hours later and delivered two more gorgeous bundles of wool.  Fortunately we were on the scene then because Pansy, Nikki’s sister, was in the stall with her and SO eager to snatch the babies.  We ushered Pansy out and away from the new lambs with as little intrusion upon Nikki’s laboring as possible.

Pansy, Lily & Winky await, not patiently.  Perhaps Mother’s Day will bring them special gifts?

I hope so.  I’m a bit tired.

But elated.

Nikki’s little Shetland ewe lamb & Farmer Tam enjoying a gorgeous Vermont May day

My sister and I would then sneak around the neighborhood, lay the bouquet on the front stoop, knock loudly on front doors and then run like the wind to hide.  We’d watch, secretly, while the door would open and someone would peer out, then down, and pick up the bouquet.  Often we would come out of hiding, giggling, and wave hello before heading to our next hit.  It was thrilling!

In our very rural Southern Vermont neighborhood, my own children did the same, collecting nearly the same types of bouquets, and then I would accompany them as they snuck around the neighborhood.  It was harder to get away with being sneaky in such a rural setting.  When you arrive at someone’s home in these parts, there are usually warning dogs that announce your arrival, or you’ve been walking a distance in the open which makes it easy to know you’re coming.  It’s not quite the same in a more thickly settled area.  However, my kiddoes would find a tree or a bush to hide behind, not realizing our dogs were giving them away near their retreat.

Delighted neighbors would find their bouquets and call them out, though it took a year or two to “train” these folks.  At first when the kids hid May-baskets, people didn’t understand what was going on.  One neighbor suspected foul-play, what with the knocking and the hiding and all of that!

My kids didn’t care.  They found the gifting to be as exciting as I had as a child.

Today there will be flowers dropped off for friends, but I don’t know if there’ll be hiding or not.  We’ll see!

My wish for you is that you can find a way to celebrate and enjoy a spring tradition, be it age-old, or something new for you and yours.

Happy May Day!

Northeast woods in May – Trout Lilies & Spring Beauties

The Hug - In which younger sister tells older sister that she’ll be going to the same college

Everything, all at once.

The grass is greening, the daffs are dazzling, chicks are growing, eggs are being laid by the gazillions.  I planted raspberry bushes & dahlia tubers in the softened gardens.  I’ve got transplanting of seedlings to do, coops and stalls to clean, fences to mend…

There are recent developments with the flock – both kiddoes and sheep.  From small to tall, the kids are alright.  The eldest got great news, the youngest chose her place of higher education.

In our jubilation, we decided to install a lamb-cam to celebrate.

If you’re curious to watch blurry Maggie, or whomever we train the camera on, click on the link below and follow the login:

Lamb Cam 2013

Email:  jtwhite5@me.com

Password:  lambcam

Ruva watches while Char installs the new spyware

Lily’s Gandalf

After joking recently that I have no qualms about having my driving privileges being revoked as it would afford me more time at home, especially during lambing, I opened a week’s worth of mail and found the notification from the State of Vermont DMV that my license had been suspended.

O.k..

This put me into a bit of a tailspin while I attempted online to get things right with the Vermont DMV and the Vermont Judicial Bureau, neither of them working out.

Then the phone calls.  No one answering. Leaving messages.

Finally the returned phone call.

Turns out, my license wasn’t suspended at all.

So, I’m a bit disgruntled because happy-Farmer Tam had to chat with very unhappy Vermont Judicial Bureau-lady.  And, hello, shouldn’t happy-Farmer Tam be the one that was being unhappy?  And whilst on the phone with very unhappy Vermont Judicial Bureau-lady, I not only inwardly agonized about humanity and my own little current plight, but found there was nothing I could do to turn her frown upside-down.

So much for my plans to be a stay-at-home farmer and hitching up a buggy.  I’m back to whirlwind living.  Next time you hear from me, I will have cleansed the tension from my shoulders with lamb-tales.  They are imminent.  You can bet on it.  I promise you.  There are lambs in the extremely near future.  It’s not hype this time.

And if there aren’t, then the folks of Shaftsbury are going to wonder what that crazy lady is doing, jogging with the ewes down these bumpy dirt roads, attempting to put them into labor.

Beaver Lake, Arkansas

Farm report from Arkansas today, folks.  Our amazing Char is holding the fort down in Vermont and has just let me know that there are no lambs yet, the chicks are growing and adorable, peafowl are getting along, Cricket got into some chocolate cake (a bit, before she was able to pry it from his jaws), and she’s got her work cut out for her to collect up some hens that are being sold tomorrow.  She texted me this a.m .with “I forgot and left the chickens out last night.  Now what?”  Chickens do not always want to be caught, in case you didn’t know.

I’m in Northwest Arkansas to cheer on as my son Jody & his teammate David represent Virginia Tech at the FLW College Fishing National Championship Tournament on Beaver Lake.  This has been another exciting opportunity for Jody, for his team, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.  Because he graduates this spring, the clock is ticking on his college career in an outdoor sport that he’s been passionate about since he was 2 years old.

There are a couple of college fishing tours out there and FLW is a well-oiled machine when it comes to running these events.  TIME Magazine will be here tomorrow, local newspapers, media of all sorts, television airings….they work harder and harder with each season to celebrate these hard-working kids, environmental ethics, and elevating the sport of competitive fishing in an increasingly sedentary world.

I feel selfish this week, being away during lambing and all… Have I always yearned to visit Northwest Arkansas?  Sorry, no, but now that I’m here, I’m taking in the beauty of the Ozarks, the culture, the friendly people I’ve been running into.

Plus, I get to be with my kid, whom I am crazy about.  It’s dark and early when we start the day.  However, when those boats are heading out into the breaking dawn, it is gorgeous, exciting, freezing, and a unique crazy that I get to be a part of.

AND

I sang the National Anthem at the Day 1 Weigh-in in Rogers, Arkansas.

No worries, I won’t be signing any record labels and moving off the farm.

It’s been a dream of mine to sing the National Anthem at Fenway Park for as long as I can remember.  Yesterday, our beloved Red Sox‘ game was cancelled because of the unprecedented lock-down in Boston. I found myself in a gifted position, and in the midst of my nerves, sang it strong for all the right reasons.  I can’t wait to get home and tell the sheep all about it.

What I used to project “O Say Can You See” over background construction noise

I have been in search of a mate for him since last October when his gal, Jewel, disappeared after having been here for 4 years.  I combed the state of Vermont through my connections with the Vermont Bird Fanciers, through my past peafowl connections, putting out the want-ad a dozen different ways through media of all sorts.

In the past week, through the United Peafowl Association, I was finally successful in finding a mail-order bride for my guy.

A beautiful farm in E. Bridgewater, Massachusetts, a mere 3-hour, 45-minute drive away, had not one, but two white peahens. Because a peacock would naturally entertain a harem, we decided that since it’d been such a search to find a suitable bride to begin with, two brides were better than one.  True to our farm’s namesake, this was an 11th hour decision.

It’s my reputation in our household that as far as movie genre goes, mom likes “anything that ends in a wedding.” It didn’t take much prompting to announce, on Friday, a general public invite to a shotgun wedding. At the crack of dawn on Saturday morning, I drove to fetch the brides.

Short back story:  stayed up WAY too late on Friday night making banners and floral corsages for the attendants & musicians, hurried WAY too early Saturday morning to prepare wedding favors & flower girl baskets before departing, then pulled over to blue lights not even 15 minutes into my journey.  Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.  Mr. Officer didn’t flinch when I told him why I was in such a hurry-up hurry to get out-of-town, and then get back, and let me go on my way with a “Good luck with the wedding!  Drive safely!”  

Eight hours later, I arrived back in Shaftsbury, Vermont with two beautiful, white peahens from Rhineland Acres, gussied up their crate with some flowers and then left the brides to Jim to act as “father-of”, while I escorted Figaro to his position at the altar.

Friends scrambled to support, fully embracing this event as though it were William & Kate’s nuptials. The dress-code was “Farmyard Flamboyant” and 40 friends & 4 dogs arranged themselves under blue skies in our barn chapel.

My musician consorts provided the string strains of “The Marriage of Figaro” to accompany the brides in their wheel-barrow carriage.  Ellen & Melanie also played the recessional music to conclude the ceremony during the bird-seed toss and champagne toast.

Dear friend Megan , also a Justice of the Peace, officiated and read vows in the brides’ & groom’s honor.  My only request was that we have the dramatic “If there are any objections…” line, for effect.  The pause drew a quick breath from a few parties, fingers crossing that no one would utter a word, and after carefully surveying the crowd, Megan continued to the pronouncement of man and wives. Here is where I emphasize that I could not imagine a more appropriate JOP for this event.

At that point, I allowed Fig to freely walk where he would, unsure if he would notice the two peahens within 3 feet of him or not.  Figaro was a proper gentleman/groom for the vows, but he determined to recess during the dreamy strumming and crooning of “At Last” by Kerry & Peter. 

Some thought that Fig’s departure was akin to getting the hell out of Dodge.

I prefer to think, rather, that Figaro was in the same trance that we all were in, and at that point in the afternoon, he flew off to pinch himself awake.

He & his lovely brides, (O’) Susannah-1 & (O’) Susannah-2, are spending their honeymoon in Stall No. 1 in the beautiful Wing and a Prayer Farm barn.  They dined on a wedding gift of freshly picked watercress & chickpeas(do you get it?) for their first meal together.

From the hand-drawn cards, e-books and banners that our young friends lovingly designed, to the helping hands, the artistic talents, delicious, beautiful treats and generosity from our supportive community, we are grateful to all.    Char & Jim, thanks for having my back, always.

“Hope is the thing with feathers…”  L’Chaiim!

“Gram, don’t we know her?!”

“Shh!  Don’t point!  And yes, that’s the Chicken Lady!“

Farmer Tam, the Chicken Lady, as illustrated by Sarah Jane in 2010. Here I am, holding “Emma Grace”, the little Buff Orpington that could.

I could be called worse things.  Some women, they have a thing about shoes.  For me…

Over the weekend, I outfitted dear friends with some new hens after something, probably a fox, made off with four of theirs.  We had a lovely Easter Eve stroll through our poultry, shopping for “colors” to go with the 3 they already have.

I sent them home with an Araucana, 2 “Wing and a Prayer Mix”, and a Columbian Wyandotte.

I popped by yesterday to drop off some Hot Cross Buns and check on everyone.

“How are the girls?” I asked.

“Oh, they’re great – loved the Easter Egg hunt, wired from jellybeans, came home and had great naps” replied my friend, referring to her adorable toddlers.

“Right!  Of course!  Yes! That’s super!”  I refrained from further querying, “But, how are the GIRLS?” (You know, the feathered ones.)

Yesterday I’d also received a series of passionate emails from friend J that has only recently become a chicken farmer.  She bid on 4 hens & a little coop at a fundraiser last fall and won, much to her husband’s chagrin.  She came by our farm and selected her 4 girls  in late October and I stopped by a few times to see how things were going.  Oh gosh, my hens had stepped into chicken-heaven.  The digs are posh.  J does EVERYTHING right, attending to their smallest needs.  A chicken-mama couldn’t be happier.

But two days ago, she & her family had returned from a sunny vacation to find Winnie, an Araucana she’d gotten from me, was probably suffering from a vent prolapse.  J sent me emails and texts with photos and I coached her through some home remedies.  I was going to take her to nurse for them last evening if things weren’t going well.  Sadly, she emailed that after they’d bathed and soaked her and were about to treat her with some Preparation H (to attempt to shrink the swelling tissue), dear Winnie departed on them.

I mourn with them. She & her husband are beating themselves up for missing an earlier detection, but I tried to reassure her that these things happen to all of us.  I know how sad it is to lose a hen, a beloved pet.  I offered a new hen in her place, but they declined, saying they’d like to have some time to grieve.  I understand.

The incubator has 4 days to go before 42 eggs reveal new loves.  I’ve been candling and monitoring humidity and temperature for 17 days.  I’ve got Faverolles, White Crested Black Polish and Wing and a Prayer Mix chicks on the way.  Most are pre-sold, but not all.

There’s always room for more chickens.

the view from my window

My dad was Jewish, my mom was Catholic, I was raised in a Protestant church.

We weren’t orthodox-anything in my household, growing up, and I would say that holds true today.

Yesterday, March 26, the Supreme Court took up a legal challenge to California’s ban on gay marriage, Proposition 8, from 2008.  The court is considering whether the U.S. Constitution’s 14th Amendment, which requires states to guarantee equal protection of the laws to all, applies to marriage laws and, therefore, requires states to allow same-sex couples to marry.

Raised by parents of different faiths, human rights’ issues place strongly in my moral upbringing.  Having children in their late teens and twenties that are exposed to greater diversity than my own college experience has also educated me in my later years.  Studying prejudices over history from Cyrus the Great in 580 B.C. to the Civil Union debate in Montpelier, VT in 2000 has shown me how much I can continue to learn how to be a better person, a better citizen.  I lean toward how we can craft a beautiful future for society vs an uglier path.

For me, I believe that God is love, therefore I believe in humankind being made in his/her image and therefore, we are all love.

This is the week of the observance of Passover by the Jewish faith community.  Nostalgically, of course, I think of food:  Matzoh ball soup, Matzoh Brei, Manischewitz grape juice… things my dad used to serve us when we were younger.

Strong roots and good wings in character goes beyond gefilte fish, though.  Kindness, integrity, patience, support…

We are still telling the Passover story of freedom, from oppression to opportunity, 3,000 years later.

Shalom

I found a tool a couple of weeks into this new daily chore, and pulling the eggs out in the basket of a garden cultivator meant I was spared the (reeking) immersion.  However the long handle would awkwardly slam and jab the coop or me or get tangled in the mesh garden fencing outside -just another little annoyance that I seemed not to master.

This past weekend we pulled the roof off the coop, purged it of the very sodden & soiled (translation:  disgusting) bedding, refreshed it with pine shavings, and in a corner right next to the doorway, placed a pile of straw bits.

Just as I’d hoped, the gals created a stunning nest for depositing the daily golden eggs.

I love how animals communicate.

Know anyone looking for duck eggs? Hands down they are the best to bake with, and also make gorgeous decorated Easter Eggs.

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If you’re Milo from Norton Juster‘s “The Phantom Tollbooth” (a favorite children’s contemporary fantasy of ours), and while driving along in your toy car you are suddenly caught in a place where imagination and cheer are not allowed, where the list is the same every day…you’re caught in “The Doldrums.”

And if you’re a Vermonter in the first weeks of March, where your patience is beginning to wear thin from grey skies full of yet another snowstorm, daily temperatures under 30 degrees, the unchanging fawn and white palette of the horizon and landscape… you might be in the doldrums.

I think the term is perfectly suited to describe how many New Englanders are feeling of late.

Yesterday, I listened to my daughter and her violin teacher play Pachelbel’s Canon for me and fell into a reverie.  The next thing I knew, I was using my smart phone to search “Cheap Fares to Hawaii.”

This morning I daydreamed while reading the Philadelphia Flower Show webpage.

In times like these, you need a sound strategy to stay positive.  I’m no weaky.  In fact, I love the challenge that the Doldrums sends my way.

Yesterday my fabulous vet told me that my fabulous fat cat, Schilling, needed to go on a diet. He needs to lose a POUND AND A HALF.

I’ve got 5 house cats, all, and so the plan is to make a box with a small opening in it for the others to go into to get their chow, while Schilling sups on his controlled allotment.  I’ll let you know how that goes.

But I thought, “Hey, if Schilling’s got to cut down, then so will I.”  And so starting today, I’m going to begin to do something I hate.  (I don’t like to use that word much -as a friend once admonished my child “You don’t hate anything but sin.”)

I’m going to start jogging.

Catch me if you can, Doldrums!

The Big Schill