Tag Archives: nature

Farm

Baa Baa Black Sheep

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The Shetland Lambs of 2013 are arriving, gorgeous and healthy. Three mamas are relieved and contented, grazing and nursing.

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

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

Farm

May Day

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When I was a girl, my mother and my grandmother taught us to pick any of the blooming flowers available on May 1st and tie them up into little bouquets.  My sister and I would harvest the early daffodils, woodland violets and trout lilies from the woods.  Sometimes there would be spring beauties.  Of course we would pick dandelions.  In my younger years, in Los Angeles County, California, there was no end to the choices.  But in the Berkshires of Massachusetts, on May 1st, the offerings were slim.

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!

May flowers

Northeast woods in May – Trout Lilies & Spring Beauties

Bass Fishing

By the dawn’s early light

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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 :-)

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

Chickens, Eggs, Farm

The Chicken Lady

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Overheard in the market one day:

“Gram, don’t we know her?!”

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

This is me, as illustrated by very talented Sarah Jane. I believe I am holding Emma Grace, our sweet little hen-that-could!

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 Girls

Ducks, Eggs, Outdoors, Vermont

Duck, Duck, Egg!

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The Blue Runner Ducks are laying again.  Finding their eggs scattered willy-nilly about their duck coop since the beginning of March has been both a blessing and a curse.  I’d have to lay on my stomach every morning and crawl into their low-roofed abode, stretching and reaching toward the corners to harvest the precious cargo.  Then wriggle backwards out, still on my stomach, so that I wouldn’t slam my head on the top of the doorway.

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.

Indian Blue Runner Ducks' eggs

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

Related articles
Cats, Health, Inspiration, Maine Coon Cat, Seasons

Doldrums

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If you’re a sailing ship and you’re somewhere near the equator in the Atlantic or Pacific, with nary a breeze, calm and clear skies for days on end… you’re caught in the doldrums.

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

The Big Schill

Bass Fishing, Blogging, Cats, Dogs, Driving, Family, Inspiration, Mothers, Parenting, Travel, Virginia Tech, Virginia Tech Bass Fishing Team

Haikus along 81

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Just back from a visit to my son in Virginia for a few days.  Mommers had  loaded up the car with frozen Shepherd’s‘ Pies, Turkey Soup, Beef Barley Soup & Pot Pies for college-kid’s freezer, a few birthday presents & a cake(well, it was actually a trifle.)  Headed south for 11 hours of driving with Abe and bestowed the goods upon the birthday boy. Had a really nice visit, got to guest-star on his & Jesse’s Schultz’ podcast show, took a great hike up to Cascade Falls of Western Virginia, laughed our heads off watching Seinfeld episodes (a requirement for a class he’s taking), and outfitted his kitten, Smallie, with a halter to train him for potentially being walked on a leash someday.

Doesn't everyone bring their stand mixer to visit their son?

Doesn’t everyone bring their stand mixer to visit their son?

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Into the Mountain Laurel Grove – this must be gorgeous in the springtime

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Jody & Abe alongside one of the pools on the hike to Cascade Falls

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Smallie with his new halter -conditioning him to wearing it so that Jody can take him on walks eventually.

On my way north again, I seemed to be churning out the haikus.  If you follow me on Facebook, you may know that I’ve a penchant for haikus and often craft them to describe our latest happenings.  They’re not necessarily great haikus -none to compare to my friend Kelly, a haiku-goddess, that originally inspired me. Nonetheless, here they are:

  • Bluebird morning skies
  • Crisscrossed tic-tac-toed contrails
  • Short term graffiti
  • Skyscraper-tall poles
  • Posting roadside signs aloft
  • Shout “Pick me! Pick me!
  • Weigh Station ahead
  • Big Rigs line up for the scales
  • Keeping their shoes on
  • Tri-Cross plantings grow
  • South of the Mason Dixon
  • Wait…where’s Calvary?
  • Silos, corn cribs, cows…
  • Rude billboard interruptions;
  • “Adult Store Exit”
  • Cop must be ahead
  • Brakes light up like dominoes
  • Pious drivers creep
  • Lebanon, P A
  • Cow pond with basketball hoop
  • I’d like to see that!
  • Road food makes no sense:
  • Chai & pastry breakfast, lunch,
  • “Bugles” for dinner.
  • Turbine sentinels
  • Spinning Schuylkill County breezes
  • Coal Miner Angels
  • Adirondacks rise
  • 2 & a 1/2 hours North,
  • then east to V T
  • Familiar north woods
  • Relief replaces fatigue
  • Snowy, colder, Home.
  • Billboard pollution:
  • You don’t miss it at all if
  • Home is in Vermont.

  • Heart Warming Welcome Home

    Heart Warming Welcome Home

 

Farm

The Skunk Before the Storm, or, Rabid Thursday

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In case you thought I was taking a few quiet days off after my ups and downs with Gandalf the Grey, my now-hornless Shetland wether, well, I was not.

When the rest of the northeastern U.S. was preparing for Nemo, I was fencing with rabid skunks.

I barely found the shampoo for a much-needed morning shower before the dogs erupted into a barking cacophony.  The hounds were released and I searched to see what the clamor was about.  Nothing.  Probably the wind.

However, I glanced toward the sheep pasture to catch the flock in full whirlpool action.  As I focused on the sheep, I saw the ringmaster -a fluffy black and white shorty, directing the entire show.

Sassy Skunk exercising the sheep

Sassy Skunk exercising the sheep

As soon as it registered that the skunk was why the dogs were barking, I ran to the front door, yelling “Treats!  Hey, come on in, guys!  Mommy’s got treats!!!”  Three pups turned round and zoomed into the front hallway, assuming their seated and attentive positions while I tossed biscuits to each, shutting the door securely behind me.  I have to make sure to do that, because Cricket knows how to open it and let himself out.

The last thing I needed was three sprayed dogs that morning.  So, on to the pasture.  I gazed out the side window and watched in amazement as my sheep ran around and around and around and around, all while being pursued by ‘Sassy’, as I had named him or her.  I thought, “Oh, I should video this!” and tried to find my camera.  Never did figure out how to work the real camera, but you can click on this little movie I took on my phone.

It occurred to me that the sheep were tired and stressed.  So I pocketed my phone and dashed inside the barn, closing the big doors behind me.  I called the sheep from their side door to the pasture and tried to encourage them up the chute, into the safety of the stall.  They were confused, as sheep are want to be, and some of them happily came in while others realized it was the middle of the day and so they lingered outside.  Yogi, my eldest wether, was standing guard admirably.  Finally I convinced them to all come in, sans skunk, and shut the doors safely.

Then I stared out the window for about 10 minutes, waiting out Sassy’s departure.

I locked the barn kitties up in their tack room, lest they should have a run-in, and then made a dash for the house.  Out of the corner of my eye I spied Sassy bee-lining to the chicken yard.  Drat!

I changed course and ran to the chicken yard at the same moment Sassy arrived.  I was hoping that she/he’d be locked out by the Fort Knox style fencing my husband and son installed a few years ago.  No luck.  Sassy snuck through a gap and wrecked havoc on the hens.  I flung the chicken yard door wide open, then flung the coop door wide open, so that everyone had an opportunity to flee.  I was so stressed about the poor hens being stressed, or worse yet, being attacked by the skunk.  I imagined Sassy was after food of some type and was confounded by his/her behavior of just chasing the chickens around and around, the same as he/she’d been chasing the sheep.

Sassy Skunk in the chicken yard

Sassy Skunk in the chicken yard

I threw sticks.  I’m so brave.  I hit Sassy on the head at one point and he/she keeled over onto his/her back.  I was astonished at my aim as well as my strength.  I really didn’t think it was that serious of a blow.  When I realized my power, I thought I’d continue the barrage because at that point I was mostly concerned about my chickens welfare.

Finally the lights went on and I realized that not only was I setting myself up to be sprayed, but Sassy was not quite right and perhaps dangerous.  When Sassy stared me in the eyes and started to run straight at me, I turned and once again hightailed it across the backyard, into the house where I shut myself in safely.

Now for about two hours, the dogs(barking still), the cats(sleeping as always) and I were hostage in the house, making phone calls to no avail.  The State Police passed me off to the Rabies Control Center, the Rabies Control Center passed me off to my local Constables, my local Constables passed me off to the State Police, my State Police passed me off to my Town Clerk, Town Clerk passed me off to my Game Warden, Game Warden(via dispatcher at State Police) passed me off to the local Animal Control…

Not kidding.

Finally Animal Control heard what I was telling her and declared she’d have the Game Warden there asap.  When she realized that I’d already been through everyone else a few times already and hadn’t gotten help, then she stepped on it as soon as she realized there were neighbors with children as well as pets that would possibly be exposed to the skunk.

Just ahead of the Game Warden were my save-the-day Polymeadow Farm friends, Jennifer & Melvin.  Melvin hopped out of his truck, carefully managed his rifle or shotgun or whatever it is you use to kill a skunk, and walked cautiously to the backyard.

At the same time, I was on the phone with the Game Warden who warned me to warn Melvin to NOT hit the skunk in the head.  I yelled out the window to Melvin, “Melvin!  Don’t shoot the skunk in the head!”  Melvin replied “I’ll do my best, but I’m going to try to kill it where I can get my best shot at it.”

He did.  Three shots in the tummy.

Cue the funeral march.

The Game Warden collected the body, I bleached the site, and this morning I got the call.  The report was back – Sassy was indeed rabid.

Sassy Skunk Don't Care

Sassy Skunk Don’t Care

Farm, Shepherd, Shetland Sheep, Vermont

Gandalf: I left my horns in Manchester, Vermont

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This morning, Gandalf, our Shetland wether, woke up with a greatly reduced blood flow where his broken horn drooped from the side of his head.  The shine was in his eye again and the swelling was down around his upper cheek.  I could inspect him closely, cuddle him in his stall, without my stomach flipping.

My sheep vet showed up mid-morning and conferred over the situation, offering me suggestions.  I decided, after getting an estimate, that I liked the general anesthesia vet-office surgery-option to remove his broken horn and wrap him with some gauze and tape.

Thankfully he is about 75 pounds and Dr. Treat, ever-faithful-friend-Kerry and I could carefully lift him into the truck for the 1/2 hour ride north.

When Gandalf and I arrived at the small animal hospital in Manchester, Vermont by noontime, the doggy-dentals were finishing and all of the pups, in various stages of waking up, were rehab-ing in their kennels around us.  I was furnished with a rolling stool (Yee-ha!) and Gandalf considered the option to go into a kennel or stay in his crate while we waited.  He chose to stay in his crate.  No kidding.

Decisions: Crate or Kennel?

Decisions: Crate or Kennel?

Two cats, Murphy & FatCat, that were thrilled to have our attention, mewed & purred  against their metal bars while I stroked them, avoiding their little love-bites when they felt inclined.

Murphy, the bored kennel kitty, curious about a sheep

Murphy, the bored kennel kitty, curious about a sheep

At last it was time for Gandalf to have his surgery.  I ended up opting for having both horns removed.  His remaining horn had a split in it and was weak looking.  All I could think of was if he ended up in this same situation in the future, I’d be kicking myself to Saratoga and back.  I also opted to decline sitting in on his surgery because it occurred to me that what had me so anxious was my attachment to him.  I had so much emotion going into it, I think I might’ve been a first-class hindrance by second guessing or questioning the doctor during the procedure.  I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have been helpful.  Maybe another time.

Gandalf was a great patient and woke up at the end, agreeable to his new Team Blue headgear.  There is some bleeding where he was disbudded, but it’s not oozing.  He’s on the road to wellness.  We’ll change his bandages in a day or so, watch him to make sure he doesn’t irritate/rub the area and re-open the wounds after they clot, and in 6 weeks or so, he’ll be able to join the others again.  I’m pretty sure I don’t want to chance him opening the wounds before they’re entirely healed over so I’m playing it safe.

Home, sweet, home.  I’ve got one more package of that Hibiscus Tea to have tonight for my blood pressure.  Looking forward to a few boring days in the barn again, please.

Gandalf sports the colors of Team Blue for his headgear while he rehabs at home

Gandalf sports the colors of Team Blue for his headgear while he rehabs at home

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Happy for a bit of supper

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Barns, Chickens, Eggs, Farm, Health, Horses, Lambing, Night time, Seasons, Shetland Sheep, Vermont Sheep and Goat Association

Monday Night Minus Football

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We watched the Superbowl last evening.  I’m not an ace where football strategy is concerned, but I enjoyed the game.  I’m still wondering what I thought of the halftime show…

And here we are, the Monday-night-after.   Our Paint gelding, ‘Ruger Jac’, didn’t want to throw his weight around amongst the girls when it was time for dinner  this evening- a sure sign he wasn’t feeling well.  He had to be convinced to take his rations and convinced to come into the barn.  The girls tired of waiting for him, so they motored past to get to the hay.

I called in my reinforcements to help me complete the chores.  Jim & Char came out to help finish filling water buckets and then Char and I observed and inspected Ruger’s locomotion.  The ground is so darn hard and frozen everywhere that it’s tough to get a read on his gait and what exactly is going on.  There are ice-filled depressions in the footing around the barn and in the pasture so that moving evenly over the terrain is tricky.  We are sure he is in discomfort because of his tentative behavior and so we filled a stall full of shavings for him, loaded him up with rations and treated him with a dose of Bute as an anti-inflammatory for the night.

In the morning we’ll spend more time trying to assess what’s up, calling the vet if necessary.

I hope he’s right as rain tomorrow -it breaks my heart when my kids and my animals don’t feel well.

Ruger Jac's typical clownish behavior with SJ

Ruger Jac’s typical clownish behavior with SJ

Char had a pile of homework to attend to so Jim helped me with sheep-wrassling and we de-wormed the flock before I move them into new pasture in a couple of days.  This is our attempt to keep the flocks parasite-load down and to rotate pastures, allowing the freezing winter temps to kill any shed worms.  This is a way to minimize grazing in infested pastures.

I was able to do some exams on the ewes, too, to see who was approximately how far along and I think that the race is on between Ruva & Maggie for who will lamb first.  Fat bellies on those girls!  I’m so excited for lambs!

Last, but not least, I had Jim assist me with the dark-of-night covert chicken-wrangling.  We ferried fat hens from one coop to the other so as to empty the smaller coop, readying it for a new purpose.  Then, from the large coop, we retrieved the Faverolle Rooster, ‘Almonzo’, and his girls to the Love Shack.  We’ve got an order for Faverolle chicks to fill this spring and in order to ensure that the eggs we hatch out are purebred, it was time to sequester the micro-flock to their own quarters.

I’m not showing favoritism to the Faverolles, it’s just that there is this special request.  However, they are a delightfully tempered, beautiful and hardy breed so it will be fun to have more of them this year.

Join me in praying that they’re not all roosters when they hatch…

Our Faverolle Flock, last summer at 2 days old

Our Faverolle Flock, last summer at 2 days old