A week ago today, my husband and I dropped our firstborn off at college. He cried a little, I didn't. I figured that I would eventually cry, once it became real.
I still haven't cried.
Part of the reason that I haven't is because I know that she's ready for this. College has been one of the main focal points in our household for the past year and a half - researching, applying, PAPERWORK, orientation, supply shopping, dorm room shopping, last-minute helicopter-mom nagging (Have you refilled your prescriptions? Where's your inhaler?! Let's get you a flu shot!), et cetera, ad nauseum.
I also lived under the assumption that after the move was made, the household would settle into a new groove in the wake of the big shift.
That hasn't happened yet either.
We theoretically have the household chores reshuffled and redistributed among we three remaining household members, although everyone is so exhausted by back-to-school, change of seasons, new job/activities and a gnarly chest cold bug, we haven't yet fallen into anything resembling a groove.
I'm sick, and I'm probably a little sad, and the longer this thing takes to hit me, the worse it's guaranteed to be. I'm worried.
I'm also incredibly proud of how both of our kiddos are adapting. It hasn't been seamless, but our college girl is thriving in her new environment so far, and our high schooler is adjusting to being the lone chick in the nest pretty well. She is very active in her school's band, marching band, pep band, wind ensemble.... you get the idea. She keeps herself busy.
As for the hubs and I - we're trying to stay busy and upbeat. If we never stop moving, we can't very well crawl under the blankets and cry for days on end, can we? And so, we've both been working and volunteering our butts off to distract ourselves from the looming trough that inevitably follows the crest. Launch, successful. Life, altered. Mood, scrambled.
I've mentioned before that creativity is an ephemeral thing for me. When the spirit of the thing is there, I have to write. Likewise, when it's not, I can't. Ergo, the last 6 or 8 months.
Our family, along with another, opened what most folks would define as a "small business" back in March of this year, Eastside Urban Farm & Garden Center. Who is this person who defines a venture of this sort as small?
Without making too many apologies, I'll try to sum up how 2014 has changed my life -
-I went from 14 years as a stay-at-home parent to a business owner who works 60-70 hours per week for embarrassingly low pay. The transition was not a graceful one. -I went from being that-lady-who-never-forgets-your-birthday/anniversary/kids' names to the mommy/aunt/daughter/friend who bails on events at the last minute/forgets to send a birthday gift/etcetera because she is so exhausted that she literally can't see straight.
-I have zero, I mean ZERO social interaction outside my store.
-My house has become Disneyland for dust mites.
-I have had a very hard time finding the time and energy to do the things which bring peace and health to my family, animals, land and spirit, i.e. - making the majority of my family's foods from scratch, having unhurried bonding time with my kids/husband/critters, being a good and faithful steward to our little farm.
As the demands of the business, the farm and the seasons are constantly changing, I have not yet found a real workable work/life balance. My core goals for myself and my family haven't changed - to live a simple life full of genuine experiences. A few mixed blessings along the way have made it a little harder to achieve that goal, but it remains. I can't say exactly when I'll resurface from this immersive new experience completely to return to something that more resembles my ideal life, but I'm learning and working out how to tread these waters a little more effectively with each passing week.
Our trio of piglets, Baykin, Proscuitto and Porkchop (aka Chopz), are rapidly approaching their date with the abattoir. I find myself eager, relieved and a little sad too, but mostly, relieved.
Back when they were still cuteish.
These three little piggies joined the Boggy Hollow crew back in mid-March, just eight weeks old and weighing in at about 30 pounds each. Ever since that moment, it seems to have been their primary mission in life to eat us out of house and home. We have no real way of knowing what they weigh now until the deed is done and their hanging weight is pronounced, but if they're not at least 200-pounds each, I'm a monkey's uncle. Specifically, asad, angry, idiot-who-spent-her-last-dime-on-pig-food, variety of monkey's uncle.
The ideal weight and age for harvesting a hog is 225-270 pounds, more or less, and at around 6 months of age. These three are nearly 8 months old, and hopefully 225 or better each, so the time has most definitely arrived for them to move on.
Even if they're short on weight, there are others issues in play that make this the right time to harvest. At the top of our list is that Winter is coming.
Can I get a what-what for my Game of Thrones peeps?
More specifically, mud season is on it's way back, and slogging 40+ pounds of feed per day through shin-deep liquid clay mud has limited appeal.
Secondly, the pigs are eating an outrageous amount of food these days. Their rations have been increased to one 40# bag of rolled barley per day, all of our (and our friends') windfall apples (5ish pounds more or less per day?) and anything coming out of the garden that is past it's prime/less than perfect, such as blimp-sized zucchini, mouse-nibbled cantaloupe, corn stovers and aphid-ravaged kale, plus their daily ration of our fresh, raw, goats milk. In the past, we've supplemented their rations with bakery outlet bread products, but the failure of many grain crops this year and last has made laying hands on previously unwanted leftovers nearly impossible most months.
I'm competing with cattle ranchers, chicken farmers and food banks for the day-old and otherwise not-fit-for-sale (often utterly perfect), increasingly scarce calories, and so, with "terminal" stock that is near harvest anyway, I gladly bow out of the fray.
Lastly - flavorful, clean, humanely raised pork (and all meat for that matter) is expensive. Our family of four eats about one pound of meat/protein per evening meal, at an average cost of $8 per pound. That figure factors in that we've been eating a fair amount of grass-finished ground beef (at around 5.99/lb) and occasionally a nicer cut of beef, lamb or pork (up to 10.99/lb or so) with our own wild-caught seafood (salmon, crab) sprinkled in the mix to spread things out. Conservatively, that puts our monthly meat budget at around $240 per month, for just a single 4-ounce serving per person, per day. The pigs are presently eating one $13 bag of barley per day. Alas, the time to pay the piper has arrived.
At 7 1/2 months old, they still look kinda cute, right? After you nearly lose a few fingers to their eager maws, maybe not so much. Their charm fades pretty quickly after that...
The bottom line is, it's time for us to stop feeding the pigs, and time for them to start feeding us.
With any luck, our 1 piggy (the other 2 are going to our Mamas) will yield us enough pork to put beautiful, high quality meat on our table until this time next year. Whether or not we'll find ourselves raising and harvesting our own pigs at this time next year depends completely on how this pork tastes, and how the numbers shake out when all is said and done.
I do offer my thanks to these odd little (huge) critters for the nutrition and sustenance that they will provide for my family, and for the experience that we've had with them this Spring and Summer. Our critters help us grow as farmers and as people. They teach us so much.
Many thanks, mis puercos. Update 9/21/13 - The butcher shop called, the piggies' hanging weights were 170, 170 & 207 pounds. Using my marginal math skills, at a total cost of about $1300 (initial purchase price, feed, kill fee), divided by the estimated final "wrapped" weight (70% of hanging weight - 547 x .7= 383lbs) equals roughly 3.39/pound. Not a huge win, financially, but when compared to the average cost of the cheapest cut per pound of organic/non-CAFO pork that is commercially available, (which is usually the ground, unseasoned pork), we'll enjoy a savings of about $3.40 per pound. On the "nicer" cuts, the savings go up.
Speaking strictly financially, this was a worthwhile endeavor for us. We'll be keeping just one of the pigs for ourselves, the 207-pounder. The other two are destined for the freezers of our parental units.
So, based upon my voodoo math - 207lbs x .7 = 144.9 (the "wrapped weight"), times our cost of $3.39/lb = $491.21. Our year's supply of pork will have cost us $491 instead of $983 - a $492 savings. :)
I've been running around today trying to put the finishing touches on my crafts, produce and what-not before getting up bright and early tomorrow to sell my wares at the annual Love our Local Fest here in Olympia.
I somehow got the bright idea to make a bunch of my homemade egg noodles, using our eggs and our produce, as if I wasn't busy enough. Now I'm looking at pulling late-nighter/all-nighter #3 in order to get all of this pasta rolled, cut, dried and packaged. Oof! But on the up side, isn't it pretty?
Egg noodles made with our Cylindra beets
As much as I look forward to going to and spending the day at the market, I gotta admit, I'll be a little relieved (and probably sleep for 24 hours straight) once it's done. August is already so busy around here, it'll be nice to get in quick breather before the school year starts up again.
Our little farm was just accepted as a vendor at the Love Our Local street fair here in Olympia. It's a one-day event, August 25th from 1-9, so it's going to be a long, hot day, but we're totally up for it! we're going to be selling our farm produce and my crafty swag too, so this will be a very interesting bellwether for our future farm, bazaar and market endeavors.
I anticipate that we'll have a boatload of produce on offer, if the size and staggering growth rate of the zucchini, tomato and corn plants are any kind of indication... :) Now I just need to look through my knits and other assorted crafty goods to see what I have on hand that looks like it will jive at a peak-of-Summertime sale. In other words, no scarves. My wheels are turning. It'll be nice to have a "bazaar" that isn't smack in the middle of the holiday crush for a change.
For more info on the when and where of the Love Our Local market, visit loveourlocalfest.org
Every year (though usually a little earlier than June) I need a farm chick mental rev-up; a little shot in the arm in the form of inspiration to really get me energized and excited about the upcoming growing season. Normally, I re-read something like Animal, Vegetable, Miracle or just about anything by Gene Logsdon or Michael Pollan to get my juices flowing. This year though, I was off to a slower-than-normal start and needed a little extra something to get me pumped up about getting outside and playing in the dirt and slogging critter poo hither and yon.
This year it wasn't a book that got me going, but an event.
I spent the last two days at the Mother Earth News Fair at our state's fairgrounds in Puyallup ("Pyoo-al-up") attending some fascinating, exciting seminars and classes on everything from planting bee-friendly medicinal gardens, choosing the right heritage breed turkey and building your own cob oven, to quickly and efficiently processing your homegrown poultry. It was pretty dang awesome.
The folks in attendance were a very interesting mix of people, primarily composed of two camps - uber-liberal, crunchy granola types and the very conservative, dressed-in-their-Sunday-best types - and very few from the middle of the spectrum, a fact which I found fascinating.
We brought the kiddos along, one of whom was slightly less than thrilled to be going. But, after a day spent wandering through the poultry barn to check out some rare and beautiful chickens, eating local, organic ice cream and going home with a new, free German angora bunny, I daresay she actually really enjoyed herself.
The other kid and I straight-up drooled over some beautiful chickens, but somehow managed to resist bringing any home. My Bird Girl took the following picture of her favorite breed on display -
I, myself, am madly obsessed with the Showgirl chicken. Which is essentially a naked neck Silkie. *swoon* Someday...
Tempted though I was to bring home some fancy new hens, I managed to just say no, and instead mostly binged on books. You're familiar with my obsession for reading-all-things-farmish, right? Did you also know that I'm a hoarder collector of rare and signed books? Guess who had the best day ever?
This gal!
Seriously. I got to meet Joel Salatin and he signed my books. Farm nerd/book geek nirvana! I was so pumped, that even after spending 8 hours tromping from one end of the fairgrounds to the other and back again a zillion times, that I came home and went straight to work in the garden, planting another two beds of melons and medicinal and edible flowers. It felt great to take some of what I had just learned and put it to use straight away.
We're a little late on the draw this year re: the new garden.
Honestly, we've been trying to till this thing for a few weeks now, only to have not one, but two tillers crap out on us. Tiller #1 (borrowed from a friend) had blades so dull that they were rounded off. In a plot that had been tilled up previously, that might have cut the mustard. But in our lower pasture, densely matted with reed canary grass, and just below the surface, their tightly interlaced rhizomes, it was like trying to turn the sod over using the power of happy thoughts. No go.
So, we rented a tiller from a home improvement store. After lugging that lumbering beast home and up to the garden site, Bill started tilling. It worked 110% better than the first tiller, but had an ill-fitting gas cap, which meant that whenever the machine was jostled, a wee bit of gasoline slopped out. There was no stopping the leakage. Bill and the guy at the store tried various techniques and different caps in an attempt to stop the gas from spilling out, but nothing would plug it up sufficiently to keep the gasoline from sloshing out and onto our soon-to-be garden. Not cool! So, Bill returned it and got a refund.
A full day wasted and absolutely nothing to show for it. Turning over that much space by hand wasn't feasible. If only there were another way...
...BAM!
Do you see that pen that they're in? That was solid, lovely green grass before these guys got a hold of it. It was freshly tilled mud-pit 24 hours later. So, we're putting these lil' stinkers to work for us in the garden space. Coming up with our genius plan was the easy part of the process. The hard part? Wranglin'.
There was a lot of this -
Porkchop is on the lamb!
Attempting to separate Baykin from 'Shootie.
The "Wheelbarrow Maneuver". By far the easiest way we've found to get a cranky pig from point A to point B.
Porkers on the green. Do your thang, piggies!
They're all three now in their new, fortified, garden digs, happily chowing down grass, after which (I hope) they'll quickly resort to rooting up and eating the grass roots, and dropping some potent fertilizer as they go. By next weekend, I (really, REALLY) hope that I can post an "after" picture of their handiwork.
And now I must go and collapse in a heap after helping to chase down and wrangle the piggies three. Blergh...
In the past few years I've read dozens of books about how to sustainably, efficiently and effectively make money from your backyard garden/small urban farm. I always walk away from those books all charged up about how we're going to run our farmstand, and what all we can offer up for sale there. Then crazy things like last May's car accident happen, and we suffer a big ol' setback. Not this year - I'm determined.
Someday, it'd be lovely if this farm alone provided us with enough income so that Bill could retire from his realjob and work here at home instead, side by side with the new and improved me, milking goats, weeding the garden and picking apples. I'm not really sure exactly what it would take to make that happen though.
If you're a fan of the show The Fabulous Beekman Boys, then you'll know that they have been working toward a similar goal as us. Somehow or other, they arrived at the conclusion that they'd have to sell a million dollars worth of food/soaps/farm tchotchkes in order to offset Josh's nine-to-five income and allow him to work on the farm full time. I'd love to know how they came up with that number, and I'd like to figure out exactly what our magic number is, but I don't have the faintest idea how to work that out.
Instead, because I really need to set an attainable goal for myself after this past year of missed opportunities and failure, I'm starting low - $5 per day.
Even before we get our farmstand up and running, I figure that I can produce at least $5 worth of salable product each day with my knitting. A single dishcloth goes for $4, and I can easily turn one out per day. A pair of bike helmet earmuffs can also be done in about a day, and sells for $15, covering me for three days if I should somehow fall behind. It is an extremely small goal, but, when regarded in the context of a full calender year, gives me over $1800 worth of knitted inventory to offer at my bazaars and online. Assuming that 50% of that is profit, I can make us $900 doing something that I thoroughly enjoy and that relaxes me. Pretty cool!
And so, that is what I've committed myself to so far. When I have a clearer idea of how much honey and wax that our beehives will give us, how much produce we can grow and sell, and how much soap we can produce with our goats milk and homegrown botanicals, I will set production and income goals for those areas as well. But for now - small, teensy, microscopic potatoes are all that I can honestly commit to. Every successful business has to start somewhere, right?
All signs seem to point to an early Spring this year -
The Forsythia has just started blooming, and the Snowdrops have been up for a few weeks.
Scarlet has personally tended this impromptu clump of snowdrops for a few years now, calling them her "fairy forest".
The years first kidding went off without a hitch by first-time freshener, Valentina. She delivered twins, a boy and a girl, on the sly. Scarlet and her Grammy discovered the babies yesterday upon a visit to the back forty. We think that they were delivered the day before.
Lunch!
Our newest blue-eyed babies, little girl (in the back) and baby buckling (in front)
I was relieved to have a lactating doe and a pair of healthy babies join our herd, but also a little bummed that this year will be the first time that I haven't been able to attend the births. Being a goat midwife is one of the sweetest gigs on this farm, and we may have as many as seven more does due to deliver any day. Heal fast, bionic knee! My girls need me!
For all that I'm missing out on, I should be able to manage at least a few early Spring farm chores, like starting seedlings on the heat mats and under grow lights, in anticipation of the new raised-bed garden that Bill is firing himself up to build.
I'll also hit up some of my usual, easy-to-reach spots to see if the stinging nettles have started to pop up yet. Nettles are some of the first greens of Spring, and we're all in need of a little spring green tonic to chase away the months of grey. With the hens now laying well again, I anticipate that we'll have some nettle egg noodles for dinner soon.
Another sure sign that Spring is near? The frogs o' the bog, singing their little green heads off. The collective sound of a thousand or so frogs singing Are You Lonesome Tonight? in unison is pretty intense, though they blend together to make a sort of wall of white noise (This is a wav file of somebody else's frogs. Ours sound like this times about fifty.) It's one of those sounds that might make for a great track on a nature cd, along with waves crashing and rain falling on a tin roof. One of the previous owners of this house once told me that someone associated with some tv or movie production came out and recorded our frogs for use on some soundtrack. I have famous frogs!
I've been chipping away at this post for long enough now that an additional FIVE kids have arrived since I started. HOLY GOAT FERTILITY, BATMAN!
Gotta go pace a hole in the rug over these babies that I can't see. :\ More pics forthcoming asap!
Normally, I do these end-of-year and end-of-season posts sort of like a tally; the wins on one hand, the losses on the other. Suffice it to say that no one wants to read that jolly list, myself included, and so, I'm going to focus on the things that have me looking forward to 2013 in Boggy Hollow.
We're getting piggies!
Homegrown pork is out-of-this-world delicious, and raising pigs is just about the most complete form of waste-food upcycling that there is. They'll eat our leftovers, excess or sour goat milk, windfall apples, bakery outlet leftovers and imperfect, unsold produce from our local grocery store, and maybe some dumpster-dived restaurant leavings.
Besides the pork for ourselves, I'm looking forward to the stellar manure that these guys and gals will produce that will fire up our compost heap.
We're going to have a garden again
Bill is taking the reins for garden planning and building this year, which has in no way dampened my zeal for browsing every seed catalog that lands in my mailbox, and buying and coveting interesting and old seed varieties like other women covet new pairs of heels. Yeah, I scored a couple packs each of Hungarian Blue Bread Poppy and Slow-Bolt Cilantro seeds. It's probably more than I need, but I figured I'd splurge a little... Bees!
I bought my Boo a beginning beekeeping kit and a few books on organic beekeeping, and he's pretty fired up about it! We're leaning toward trying top bar hives, at least initially, as they produce more wax than a traditional Langstroth hive, which would be useful to us in soapmaking and candlemaking, among other applications.
According to what we've read, the bees will venture out as far as three miles to gather nectar for their honey. We live in an area that is well known for its blueberry patches and bogs, so the flavor of our honey is likely to reflect that. I don't think I've ever even seen blueberry honey available, so I'm looking very much forward to tasting our first batch. :)
We're also excited to see what impact keeping a hive or two on our property will have on our garden and fruit trees' productivity.
The Grand Opening of our Farmstand
A lot of kinks are still being worked out with regard to how we'll realize this goal, but I feel pretty confident that we'll find a way to make it happen, hopefully in time to take advantage of the increased traffic that comes our way when the blueberry bogs and Christmas tree farms open for business.
Among our offerings will (hopefully) be goats milk soap, eggs, produce, flowers, handicrafts and honey. If I am able to acquire a cottage food license between now and then, I may also sell jams, jellies and baked goods.
So now you see why I'm not willing to look back, even for a day, at 2012. 2013 holds so much promise for us - I can't wait!
But as for today, it's snowing at a good clip, and I have a half-finished knitting project in my lap. Noses will not be put to the grindstone just yet - this next little piece of Winter will be reserved for dreaming, reading, preparing and resting up for the big Spring that we have planned. :)
Wishing you all a Happy and Fulfilling New Year -
Billy, Michelle, Livy & Scarlet, and the Critters xoxo
If you had to choose: More years out of your life, or more life out of your years, which would it be?
These are the choices I'm thinking hard on just now.
At this moment, I'm leaning toward adding life to my years. I finally decided that enough was enough - I'm going ahead with the knee replacement. I know it won't bring back the knee of my misspent youth, but I can at least get my rump off of the couch and actively participate in our daily farm life to a greater extent than I do now. How much use and pain relief I'll get from my prosthesis is a mystery. It's a case-by-case thing.
When the pain and swelling get so bad now, that standing long enough to cook my kids breakfast ends up trashing my knee for the day, the idea of a knee replacement seems like a Godsend.
But there's a heck of a lot more to the process than just replacing a broken part and getting on with life. There are a lot of potential complications, firstly, that my prosthesis will expire before I do, necessitating a second fairly involved surgery, and the possible removal of even more pieces of my leg bones.
*Shudder*
Secondly, I have to be extra careful about preventing and quickly treating infection in my body for the rest of my life, lest the infection become blood-borne and travel to my new knee, necessitating surgical intervention to disinfect or possibly replace the parts. What does that mean for me? Antibiotics before every dental visit, seeing my doctor sooner rather than later anytime I suspect that I have a sinus infection, or any other otherwise-small bacterial infection. I'm not a fan of taking antibiotics, so this caveat is no small impediment for me.
Thirdly, my body and my family have already been through the ringer this year. Our car accident in May broke my arm and my thumb, spawned a pair of brain bleeds, gave me a wicked, lingering concussion, erased a good chunk of my memory, and cost me about 20% of my scalp, which took three months to re-grow, even after plastic surgery. Should I really even think about putting my body and my poor, put-upon husband through another round of incapacity?
And lastly, though this is a fix of sorts, my life won't be quite the same anymore. On my list of permanent can'ts are things like running, jumping and jogging, or anything else that could be considered a high-impact activity. Not that those figure greatly into my daily life, but still, when someone tells you that you can't do something, you grieve the loss of that freedom a little. They're also pretty adamant that I avoid falling down on my new knee. Now that could be a problem for me. Gravity and I don't always get along so well. Soon, I'll have to be extra-extra careful not to wipe out in a giant pile of chicken crap or step into a molehill, since apparently, I've not been precisely fastidious in avoiding these pratfalls up until now. I'm glad that someone out there has faith in my ability to pull my shizz together!
So, there it is. The good, the bad, the annoying and the practically-impossible, all laid out just like that. If I had a sincere love of couch surfing and piling evermore crap on my husband's to-do list, I could ride this messed-up knee thing all the way down the line. But I don't. We bought a farm because I wanted to work a farm, not play armchair quarterback to my poor, overburdened hubbin. So in spite of all the downsides, can'ts and possible complications, I feel like my only real move here is to take a chance on this procedure.
The length of time I have here on earth is completely uncertain, as my brush with mortality in the high desert taught me well. I have to be decisive and take the best advantage I can of what lies directly in front me, and that is working this farm, building a family business and experiencing life and exploring the world with my husband and daughters. And the knee I have now won't get me there, so in the end I guess there really isn't much of a choice...
I learned a lot with last year's bazaar season - affordable, useful objects sell, and spendy-ish, upscale items don't, at least for me. I tried to learn something from that and to focus my time, energy and money on making more of the items that seemed to be in demand last year - washcloths and bike helmet earmuffs, while eliminating the high-end (and high overhead!) apparel items that didn't sell - scarves, mostly.
So this year, I made roughly triple the number of washcloths as last year, 35. We sold all but 7 of them. We sold roughly the same number of bike helmet earmuffs as last year, but, same as last year, the "feminine" colors (pink and purple) didn't move. Lesson learned - people like their noggin warmers in gender-neutral brights and earth tones.
Our Booth at Lincoln Winter Market
I did not offer any jars of jam for sale this year, as I'm not sure that a) With new cottage food laws in place, and me not yet certified, that my selling any sort of prepared foodstuff would be be entirely legal, and b) $3 for a half pint jar might sound like a reasonable price to the buyer, but the maker/sellers breaks even at best.
This was our first year making and selling our soaps and accompanying frou-frou. The soaps, especially the Homegrown Lavender, sold like hotcakes, even at $5 per bar, and with a LOT of competing soapmakers at both bazaars. Ours was the only goat milk soap that I saw for sale though, so between that and what I think of as our handcrafted, cute, genuine factor (imperfectly cut bars, hand wrapped packaging), I think we did pretty darn well and recouped our initial investment in soapmaking supplies and materials.
Our very first batch of soap - Orange Cream
The accompanying products (scrubs, fizzes) weren't super sellers, but the profit margin per sale makes them worth keeping. I'll make a few next year, but focus more on the soaps and washcloths, as they are they main attraction.
Another note with regard to the goats milk soap - we made a few potentially valuable contacts with some fellow crafters and soapmakers who expressed interest in buying/trading for some of our goats milk to include in their products (NOT to consume!). Imagine this goat thing actually paying for itself someday - crazy! Maybe I can use this to justify my longing for alpaca/fiber goat/sheep ownership to the spousal unit? One critter at a time...
These numbers are rough, as I'm admittedly a shoddy record keeper. Just to give you an idea of how a tiny, homegrown hobby can maybe(?), someday(?) grow into a small business...
Last years sales - $185
This years sales - $326.75 (Plus another $50 incoming for custom orders)
So, we doubled our sales from last year to this. With any luck, next year we double this years numbers at least.
We hope to get our farmstand up and running sometime between now and next Summer at the latest. Hopefully the products, business cards and relationships that we made and exchanged at these bazaars will be something of a springboard for our little stand. I think we've discovered a niche, now to expand on that, explore further ventures and make a little money while doing what we love. The future is bright. :)
Maybe loometh is too dark a word? The weekend... cometh aggressively(eth)? Let's just say we're packing a whole bunch of homesteady-type activities into the next 48 hours.
On Saturday - We're trying our first batch of homemade goats milk soap. I'm still on the hunt for the perfect recipe. I'm leaning toward something creamsicle-ish with sweet orange oil and vanilla beans. We'll see if chemistry is my friend!
Also on Saturday, we'll be planting a few trees and medicinal perennials - Beaked Hazel (nut), Echinacea, Yarrow and a few others. I scored big at a closeout sale on water-wise plants. Not that a shortage of water has ever been a problem here (this is Boggy Hollow), but plants that don't mind a little accidental neglect on my part will most definitely do better in the long run.
Lastly, we plan to list 3 or 4 of our goats for sale this weekend, which could translate to the unparallelledjoy that is wrangling disgruntled goats during an epic downpour. Yay?
Sunday, it's salsa-jam 2012. My girl Kristin and I scored 25 pounds of free, perfectly ripe tomatillos via craigslist, so we're going to devote the day to making enough salsa verde to feed a small army.
Free tomatillos. Thanks, Kathy!
Spending the day chopping, stirring and jarring up salsa may not sound like hard work, but after 8 or 10 hours of salsa fest, me and my good friend, giant jug o' red wine, would beg to differ.
When our family moved to our little farm just two years ago, we had a laundry list of things that we'd hoped to accomplish. We wanted to own livestock beyond backyard chickens, we wanted an epic kitchen garden, a towering orchard, and honestly, just to simplify our lives, clear away the clutter and return our focus to the tasks and pastimes that nourish us, emotionally and physically.
We moved forward in our progression toward "real" farm life - we built a herd of happy dairy goats, expanded our flock of laying hens, and harvested as much produce from our own land as our clumsy attempts at gardening would allow. But our true benchmark for success, our pie-in-the-sky daydream was to raise and harvest enough to feed ourselves - well.
It seemed like a pretty far-fetched idea, considering where we started and the road blocks that we've come up against, but somewhere along the way, by trickle and drop, we made it here.
This shocking arrival of providence dawned on me last week as I was sitting down to dinner. We had a pork roast, raised by my husband's Aunt & Uncle, our Greek salad was made from tomatoes and cucumbers grown by my friends Lisa and Jen, respectively, and we drank our fresh juiced blackberry-apple cider. When it occurred to me that this food was all produced by people we know and love, an immense feeling of lightness and happiness flooded over me. We didn't get here alone, but, we are here.
The Washington State Cottage Food Law is on its way! Soon, I might be able to sell my jam, jellies, baked goods and more to complete strangers at markets or from right here on the farm. :)
But my kitchen is wee, and the CF regulations require that you store your personal food/ingredients separately from your "commercial" foods, which would be a serious obstacle to having an approved kitchen. So I'm wondering - should I seriously consider expanding/renovating my little kitchen?
I could get a bid on the work and equipment, then launch a kickstarter fund drive and cross my fingers. The idea of making my homemade food for the masses makes me kinda giddy. I'd also like to start making some bath products (soap, lotion) with some of our goat milk. Those types of items wouldn't fall under the heading of a cottage food product, but an increased kitchen space and facilities would certainly afford me more space in which to produce my goaty toiletries too.
What say you? Should I give this a serious go? Would you contribute to my cottage kitchen project for a small gift and my eternal thanks? ;)
In some ways I look back to when we moved in to our little white house on the bog and think, Has it really only been 18 months since we jumped head first into this adventure?
Then there are the days where I see the stacks of boxes in the basement, and the pictureless walls of our living room and think, Well we did just move in. There hasn't been time to get to ALL of the odds and ends!
In a weird way, both things are true. It has been a year and a half since we started down the build-a-farm-from-scratch path, but it has been an intense 18 months.
We've gone from 13 chickens, down to 5, then back up to an all time high of 40+ chickens (I don't plan on doing that again anytime soon). We started with two "female" bunnies who turned out to be a boy and girl, and whom had litters of babies like clockwork until we were able to get Papa bunny neutered.
We entered the world of livestock ownership with three goats, Spike, Archie & Gertie, and presently have 9 goats with more on the horizon in the near future.
We've crashed and burned hard, in our first year of gardening, but have lived and learned about what we did wrong and hope to build a garden this Spring that will feed us until next Spring.
I've also acquired a few bits of folksy wisdom and farm chick tricks along the way that have borne themselves out as true and useful for me-
*Foxes come out in force at the full moon. If the moon is full and nightfall sneaks up on you before you've had a chance to lock up the chickens, you've all but handed Mr. Fox his supper.
*The groundhog gets it wrong, but the frogs are always right. Phil says 6 more weeks of Winter, but the chorus of Pacific Tree Frogs who call my bog and pasture home say otherwise. This (times about 100) is what it sounds like at my house 3 weeks or so before Spring starts sneaking in.
*Critters escape, pipes burst and tires go flat at the worst possible time, always. And mostly when your hunky farm hand is away on a business trip.
*Goats will NOT eat anything. In fact, they're rather picky eaters. They will mouth just about anything to determine whether or not it is edible, which is probably where they got their unearned reputation as eaters of tin cans.
*To keep your chickens healthy and laying during the Winter months, supplement them with a carbohydrate (cracked corn, grain, day old bread) twice a day; once when you first turn them out in the morning and again right before they roost up for the night. The morning feed gives their body a little burst of calories that keep the eggs coming, the evening feed gives them a belly full of heat-generating carbohydrates that keep them sufficiently warm through the night without needing supplemental heat sources.
*A good pair of muck boots are worth their weight in gold. Spring for quality - they're an investment in your health and comfort!
I'm learning more little bits and pieces every day, and even though this place is still kicking my butt on a daily basis, I have an evolving vision of what it will be someday and that keeps me putting on my old jeans and my holey sweatshirt and getting back out there every day. Chipping away, S-L-O-W-L-Y but surely enough, we'll get there.
The little red shed, probably the closest thing we'll have to a proper barn for a while yet. ;)
Chardy delivered her babies just about an hour and a half ago now - two beautiful little tiny blue-eyed doelings!
Mama and babies are doing just fine. Chardy, as always was a trouper. She is the easiest birthing Mama ever!
This is the second time Chard has had babies since she came to our little farm, and I have been lucky enough to be present at both births. Not all critters welcome human "helpers" during labor, but Chardonnay not only doesn't seem to mind it, I get the feeling that she waits to go into labor until I'm there with her.
I knew she was going to go soon, though we had no idea when she was bred (oops!) so we couldn't count the days to help narrow down her estimated due date. Yesterday I spent some time "up top" with the ladies. I don't know how else to explain how I knew that she was about to begin labor other than to say that she gave me a sort of vibe that said "Stay close, Mama. I need you."
So I fed her up good last night, and Rex and I went to peek on her late in the evening, with no signs of active labor to be found.
This morning I got up, and thought - I need to get my butt up to the goat house! I dressed, grabbed an old towel, my birthing kit, camera, phone and a bag of hot dog buns.
When I first got up there, things seemed completely normal. I fed the girls the bread, giving Chard a little extra, figuring that a carbo-load couldn't hurt right before birthing. I grabbed my folding camp chair and had my daughters turn the other does out to graze so that Chardy could have a little peace and quiet. At this point she went into the manger and laid down. This was the first indication that she was, in fact in labor. Up to this point, it had just been my gut telling me that I needed to sit with her and watch her a little. The bond between a farmer and their animals is amazing!
Things progressed rapidly from there. Chardy only labored for about 20 minutes before delivering her babes. (I will post video over on The Bog Blog later today for those of you who'd like to see the full monty. ;) )
The little girls both have Mama's blue eyes, and both are getting around a little already, slowly but surely.
I've given both babies some colostrum gel and some goat drench to get their blood sugar up and their rumens going. Last I saw, they were in the neighborhood of Mama Goat's udders, but couldn't quite figure out how to connect the dots. I'll be checking on them hourly, just to make sure no one gets rejected or goes hungry.
Oh, what a way to start a morning. I'm so exhausted from helping and tidying up after, that I feel like I gave birth today.
Three days of fairly heavy snow were followed by a day and night of freezing rain. This is very bad news in the land of trees. :(
The snow that has accumulated on trees, power lines, etc., melts just enough to refreeze again as a clinging, solid crust on whatever it is adhered to. It doesn't take long for the weight to become more than the trees and wires can bear, and things start falling and collapsing.
One of two ornamental Japanese(?) willows that were thrashed by the weight of the cumulative snow & ice.
Last night while the power was out and the snow and ice were at the peak of their destructive potential, limbs and whole trees would snap all of a sudden with a crack like a rifle shot, followed by a thunderous rush of snow. Normally wispy evergreen branches and fronds came raining down on houses, cars and power lines. Each pop and crack woke me with a start, wondering if the house (surrounded on all sides by cedar, fir, maple and alder) would take a hit. Going from deep, exhausted sleep to fight-or-flight adrenalized panic a dozen times per night sucks.
Besides the fear of having timber fall on our heads while we slept, we fared just fine. Our wood stove is a beast, and we used it to warm ourselves, cook our food and melt snow for water when the well water ran out.
"White Out Soup" (aka - everything that needed to be cooked before it spoiled), the greatest coffee pot in the world, and tea water for Bill.
Our power is back - for now. And luxuries like flushing the toilet and being able to wash the dishes are back and will not soon be taken for granted, I assure you.
The freezing rain has come on top of the snow, weighing down the trees, power lines and rooftops, and making our driveway and road impassable for all but the most fortified of vehicles - the Redneck duelly.
We've managed to keep our wits about us thus far, but the isolation and dwindling food supply weigh heavy on our minds. Just this morning we ran out of cocoa - COCOA! What next, Panda Puffs?!?
The power has cut out and returned a few times already this morning, and the cracking sounds coming from the trees across the street have me all but convinced that our power will be out shortly. We have a small supply of firewood and will set up our sleeping area in the living room, around the wood stove if the heat goes.
As for food and drink- I'll be scouring the basement shortly for our camping supplies to retrieve the most coveted of all power-outage necessities - the camp coffee pot. Pray that I find it, lest I be left in increasingly close quarters with the family and grossly under-caffeinated to boot. NO ONE WANTS THAT.
