When life starts to feel too complicated - and it often does - I would be wise to stop for awhile and listen to my children. They have mastered the art of simplicity in life, in appreciating what is there and making the most of it. Sometimes I think they have more worldly wisdom than I do, simply because they have not been so affected by the world.
As we were driving home one night at sunset, The Oldest piped up, "I'm imagining my honeymoon. Me and my husband will be driving toward the sunset, in a convertible." Where will they go? "Um... I think we'll go to the lake and go fishing. And then we'll catch crawdads, and then we'll make a crawdad pie for our honeymoon dinner."
(Nevermind the fact that I've never suggested we catch and eat crawdads... for such a big thing to be dreaming about, it is so beautiful in it's simplicity!)
And I must share this letter, from Littlest One to The Daddy while he was away at work. It outlines the very most important things of her day.
"I love you and I miss you.
I rode my bike. I got ice cream. I loved
my day and I went out and fed with Mom. I went with a walk down to the
mailbox with Mom, Chloe, Jussie, Libby, and Phillip and Aurora. And it
was so fun that I just loved it. I climbed a juniper berry tree and Mr.
Bear's tree. And we're gonna think of makin' a tree house. And I went
through Cactus Canyon with Chloe. Cactus Canyon has rocks and cactus.
It's on the hill. And I had nachos cheese with Mom. And Old Grandma Tree
is doing fine. And Mr. Bear's Tree is doin' fine. Mrs. Squirrel's Tree
is doing fine, too. Our tree is Grandma Tree."
How often do we stop to listen to our children when they tell us what meant the most to them that day? Trees and ice cream and baby goats top her list of Important Events in the day. It doesn't take anything fancy to please her, just the freedom to roam and explore and appreciate what is there.
Sounds like a pretty good life lesson, doesn't it?
Friday, March 15, 2013
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Little Bits of Spring
When we lived in the Big City, spring just sort of appeared one day each year. I woke up sneezing and sniffling and feeling like my head would explode, and looked outside. It seemed as though suddenly every tree had leaf buds, bulbs were poking up through the ground after their winter sleep, and Two Little Girls were playing out in the sunshine, barefoot on the grass.
Life is much different up here in the mountains - spring comes on at a much slower rate. While I'm certainly ready for green plants and bare feet, it's nice to feel that I'm easing into it all a little bit.
We haven't seen grass since the first big snow in early December. But as the temperatures begin to warm a little more each day, bits of snow are starting to melt off, revealing the long-forgotten yard that surrounds our home, the bits of grass that the horses are so content to nibble... and lots and lots of mud.
And with the (ever so slow) coming of spring comes the Spring Time Change. I love this day. I love feeling like I've got more time in the evenings to enjoy myself outdoors, where my frazzled homeschool- mom spirit gets to breathe deeply and relax.
The poor goats have been locked in the barn nearly all winter. Every so often I would feel terrible about this, and would open the doors wide, encouraging them to go out and get some fresh air. They would walk to the edge of the barn door, realize the ground was covered in snow to their knees, and would retreat right back to the dry comfort of their stall.
Now that the ground is covered instead with knee-deep mud, they are at least willing to venture out for a moment or two, gingerly picking their way through the corral to nibble at stray bits of grass, the babies bounding around between fence railings, slipping and sliding in the mud and having a grand time.
Since I had time after dinner the other night, and the sun was still out, I decided a walk was in order. Justice is wonderful on a lead rope. And wherever she goes, Liberty and the babies will follow. So off we went toward the yard by the house, which is still mostly snow covered, but less muddy.
Justice went right to work - she knows how to earn her keep. She began the slow and careful process of mowing the new grass and edging the yard. As far as yard tools go, she's excellent - she's quiet, she doesn't require gas, and she even fertilizes as she works. And then she converts the grass clippings into milk. Good goatie-girl.
The babies had a tremendous time racing up the hill and then bounding back down, tripping and tumbling when their feet sank in the deep snow and getting up and racing on. One can't help but giggle when watching baby goats. They provide all the entertainment anyone could ever need.
When they were all tuckered out from their jaunts up and down the snowy hill, Liberty taught them to prune dogwood bushes.
Before much longer, the goats will be confined to the back side of the property, where they won't be able to prune (read: destroy) plants and bushes. But right now I don't mind... and they don't, either.
Both babies are growing at a steady, healthy rate, and are just as friendly as can be. Little Aurora still begs for attention and cuddles every time we go to the barn... which of course right now is adorable, but will likely become a problem with she is a 150 pound goat jumping up on her humans to try to cuddle.
And Phillip is growing big and strong, playful as ever. I can't help but look at him and realize how meaty he is becoming. The Oldest doesn't like it when I mention this fact.
It's wonderful to have this evening time outside, when I'm not racing the sunset to get barn chores done. Spring is a time to enjoy these sweet animals I've been blessed with, and to take a few moments to breathe in the evening. I'm glad for those moments, especially with our busiest season on the horizon.
Happy Spring, everyone. Be sure to take time to enjoy it!
Life is much different up here in the mountains - spring comes on at a much slower rate. While I'm certainly ready for green plants and bare feet, it's nice to feel that I'm easing into it all a little bit.
We haven't seen grass since the first big snow in early December. But as the temperatures begin to warm a little more each day, bits of snow are starting to melt off, revealing the long-forgotten yard that surrounds our home, the bits of grass that the horses are so content to nibble... and lots and lots of mud.
And with the (ever so slow) coming of spring comes the Spring Time Change. I love this day. I love feeling like I've got more time in the evenings to enjoy myself outdoors, where my frazzled homeschool- mom spirit gets to breathe deeply and relax.
The poor goats have been locked in the barn nearly all winter. Every so often I would feel terrible about this, and would open the doors wide, encouraging them to go out and get some fresh air. They would walk to the edge of the barn door, realize the ground was covered in snow to their knees, and would retreat right back to the dry comfort of their stall.
Now that the ground is covered instead with knee-deep mud, they are at least willing to venture out for a moment or two, gingerly picking their way through the corral to nibble at stray bits of grass, the babies bounding around between fence railings, slipping and sliding in the mud and having a grand time.
Since I had time after dinner the other night, and the sun was still out, I decided a walk was in order. Justice is wonderful on a lead rope. And wherever she goes, Liberty and the babies will follow. So off we went toward the yard by the house, which is still mostly snow covered, but less muddy.
Justice went right to work - she knows how to earn her keep. She began the slow and careful process of mowing the new grass and edging the yard. As far as yard tools go, she's excellent - she's quiet, she doesn't require gas, and she even fertilizes as she works. And then she converts the grass clippings into milk. Good goatie-girl.
The babies had a tremendous time racing up the hill and then bounding back down, tripping and tumbling when their feet sank in the deep snow and getting up and racing on. One can't help but giggle when watching baby goats. They provide all the entertainment anyone could ever need.
When they were all tuckered out from their jaunts up and down the snowy hill, Liberty taught them to prune dogwood bushes.
Before much longer, the goats will be confined to the back side of the property, where they won't be able to prune (read: destroy) plants and bushes. But right now I don't mind... and they don't, either.
Both babies are growing at a steady, healthy rate, and are just as friendly as can be. Little Aurora still begs for attention and cuddles every time we go to the barn... which of course right now is adorable, but will likely become a problem with she is a 150 pound goat jumping up on her humans to try to cuddle.
And Phillip is growing big and strong, playful as ever. I can't help but look at him and realize how meaty he is becoming. The Oldest doesn't like it when I mention this fact.
It's wonderful to have this evening time outside, when I'm not racing the sunset to get barn chores done. Spring is a time to enjoy these sweet animals I've been blessed with, and to take a few moments to breathe in the evening. I'm glad for those moments, especially with our busiest season on the horizon.
Happy Spring, everyone. Be sure to take time to enjoy it!
Friday, March 8, 2013
And the rest of the new chicks on the block..
We visited a hatchery today. We drove two hours to get there and called it a homeschool field trip. I'm pretty sure they learned some things. Definitely biology... maybe history, and definitely math. Plus some social skills. Yeah, I think we can call it school.
The Oldest is doing poultry for 4H this year. She needed some chickens to show, and wanted some breeds a little different than what the feed stores were offering. This guy had just what we were looking for, and was full of information about each breed. He walked the girls around and told them about each and every chick he had, and helped us pick out just the right ones.
And so, in no particular order, I introduce our newest chicks. Most of them are worthless as far as egg production goes. Some will likely be roosters, as most fancy breeds are straight run (meaning they haven't been sexed.) But they're cute, and they're fun, so we'll enjoy them.
If you've read my previous post, you've already met Geraldine the turken. I'm hoping she grows on me. She's kind of like a train wreck... you just can't help but stare.
This is Mulan, a Japanese bantam. (Note: We have given them all female names, as if somehow this makes them more likely to be hens. That's how we ended up with a rooster named Tinkerbell last year.)
Marian, a Blue Splash Old English Bantam. (Named after Maid Marian, from Robin Hood. Should she begin to crow, her name will be changed to Robin Hood.)
This is Comet, a White Cochin Bantam. (Yes, we got a lot of banties. They are easier for kids to handle, and The Oldest will have to be showing them all at fair.)
A Light Brahma, as yet unnamed.
And Cupid, the Cuckoo Marans.
Of course, I couldn't leave without picking out a few of my own. This is Betty Blue, the Blue Cochin Bantam. I picked her because Cochins are known to be broody, and I'm all about having a broody hen do the work of raising chicks. And I really like blue chickens - it seems novel.
And Phronsie, a Partridge Cochin. (Bonus points to anyone who can tell me where that name came from!)
I also got my own Cuckoo Marans, named Jemima. Marans are known for laying eggs in a deep, chocolatey brown color, something we don't already have so it sounded fun.
These, along with the Blue Silkie and the Mille Fleur bantams that were added to our flock a week or so ago, and we should be set for chicks this year. We're looking forward to seeing what they look like as they grow up - should be a pretty flock when all is said and done!
The Oldest is doing poultry for 4H this year. She needed some chickens to show, and wanted some breeds a little different than what the feed stores were offering. This guy had just what we were looking for, and was full of information about each breed. He walked the girls around and told them about each and every chick he had, and helped us pick out just the right ones.
And Cupid, the Cuckoo Marans.
And Phronsie, a Partridge Cochin. (Bonus points to anyone who can tell me where that name came from!)
I also got my own Cuckoo Marans, named Jemima. Marans are known for laying eggs in a deep, chocolatey brown color, something we don't already have so it sounded fun.
These, along with the Blue Silkie and the Mille Fleur bantams that were added to our flock a week or so ago, and we should be set for chicks this year. We're looking forward to seeing what they look like as they grow up - should be a pretty flock when all is said and done!
So Ugly It's Cute?
I have always assumed every baby animal is adorable.
I was wrong.
Truly, there is nothing uglier than this:
A turken. It's a true chicken, though it has a naked neck that makes it look more like a turkey vulture. Or like a turkey vulture mated with a chicken. Or something. Something entirely unnatural, and downright creepy.
Regardless, The Oldest is positively in love with her turken, whom she has named Geraldine.
The sign at the hatchery said, "A neck only a mother could love." They weren't joking. But from all I've read about these ugly creatures, they sound like wonderful and very useful pets, great egg layers with fantastic personalities. And no, Geraldine will never grow neck feathers. She will otherwise grow to look like a chicken, but will always have that bare neck.
The Oldest is sure some of you will tell her how adorable her turken is. I figured you'd all have nightmares. So what's the verdict?
I was wrong.
Truly, there is nothing uglier than this:
A turken. It's a true chicken, though it has a naked neck that makes it look more like a turkey vulture. Or like a turkey vulture mated with a chicken. Or something. Something entirely unnatural, and downright creepy.
Regardless, The Oldest is positively in love with her turken, whom she has named Geraldine.
The Oldest is sure some of you will tell her how adorable her turken is. I figured you'd all have nightmares. So what's the verdict?
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Boys are kinda dumb.
I am a mother of girls. For this reason, boys scare the daylights out of me. I just can't wrap my mind around the way they think. Their sense of adventure and general curiosity betray all logic. When faced with an opportunity to do something that could very well be inherently stupid, they act first, and then deal with the consequences later. Girls, as a general rule, are so much more cautious. Cautious, I can relate to.
And apparently, boy goats aren't much different from boy humans.
Phillip is trouble with a capital T. He is already a brute, knocking the girls down occasionally in a fit of desperate affection for them. He is an acrobat, flinging himself four feet into the air while performing a half-turn double twist, landing in a belly flop. He loves to cuddle, but only for 2.6 seconds at a time before he's off exploring whatever the highest perch is he can find.
So, so different from Aurora, who simply follows you around on her two hind legs until you notice her and pick her up, whence she settles immediately into your arms and begins nibbling your ear.
Most afternoons, we let the babies and the mamas out of the barn for awhile to run and get some fresh air. Because most of our property is still blanketed in snow, only the horse corrals are clear. I always keep a close eye on the goats because I'm still not sure I trust the horses not to hurt them.
But, as I learned today, the horses aren't the only danger in the corral.
The kids were happily jumping up and down on a platform in the corral made from railroad ties. It's a favorite jungle gym of theirs, and it's great fun to watch them. Near the platform is one of the horse's water troughs. I always vaguely wondered if a baby goat would be stupid enough to jump in, but I assumed once they looked, and realized it was water, that they wouldn't.
Clearly, I over-estimated baby goat intelligence.
Phillip pranced on over to the trough. He looked in. He sniffed. He stuck his nose in, then shook his head to get the water off. He looked back at me. And then he made a flying leap head first into the trough.
It was 24 degrees outside, and the trough had just been filled. What kind of moron goat jumps into a full water trough?
A boy goat, obviously.
What really confirmed for me how stupid little goats actually are though, was watching his reaction. Or really, his lack of reaction. He just kind of floated there. He didn't flail. He didn't try to doggie paddle. He did absolutely nothing. Not that I gave him much of a chance, as I immediately plunged my arms into the icy water and fished him out. I set him on the ground. He stood there for a moment, shook gingerly, and walked away. Then he looked back at me. I could see it there - the embarrassment, the shame. The look of a little boy that just did something that, indeed, turned out to be inherently stupid. He moped around for a minute before throwing himself under his mama and nursing vehemently... less out of hunger than for his need to soothe his hurt feelings, I imagine.
I fetched some towels, dried him off as best I could, and put him in his heat barrel with his (much smarter) sister.
Assuming he doesn't end up with pneumonia or something, he should be no worse for the wear... though hopefully a bit wiser now.
It's going to be a heaven-sent miracle if he survives to see adulthood.
And apparently, boy goats aren't much different from boy humans.
Phillip is trouble with a capital T. He is already a brute, knocking the girls down occasionally in a fit of desperate affection for them. He is an acrobat, flinging himself four feet into the air while performing a half-turn double twist, landing in a belly flop. He loves to cuddle, but only for 2.6 seconds at a time before he's off exploring whatever the highest perch is he can find.
So, so different from Aurora, who simply follows you around on her two hind legs until you notice her and pick her up, whence she settles immediately into your arms and begins nibbling your ear.
Most afternoons, we let the babies and the mamas out of the barn for awhile to run and get some fresh air. Because most of our property is still blanketed in snow, only the horse corrals are clear. I always keep a close eye on the goats because I'm still not sure I trust the horses not to hurt them.
But, as I learned today, the horses aren't the only danger in the corral.
The kids were happily jumping up and down on a platform in the corral made from railroad ties. It's a favorite jungle gym of theirs, and it's great fun to watch them. Near the platform is one of the horse's water troughs. I always vaguely wondered if a baby goat would be stupid enough to jump in, but I assumed once they looked, and realized it was water, that they wouldn't.
Clearly, I over-estimated baby goat intelligence.
Phillip pranced on over to the trough. He looked in. He sniffed. He stuck his nose in, then shook his head to get the water off. He looked back at me. And then he made a flying leap head first into the trough.
It was 24 degrees outside, and the trough had just been filled. What kind of moron goat jumps into a full water trough?
A boy goat, obviously.
What really confirmed for me how stupid little goats actually are though, was watching his reaction. Or really, his lack of reaction. He just kind of floated there. He didn't flail. He didn't try to doggie paddle. He did absolutely nothing. Not that I gave him much of a chance, as I immediately plunged my arms into the icy water and fished him out. I set him on the ground. He stood there for a moment, shook gingerly, and walked away. Then he looked back at me. I could see it there - the embarrassment, the shame. The look of a little boy that just did something that, indeed, turned out to be inherently stupid. He moped around for a minute before throwing himself under his mama and nursing vehemently... less out of hunger than for his need to soothe his hurt feelings, I imagine.
I fetched some towels, dried him off as best I could, and put him in his heat barrel with his (much smarter) sister.
Assuming he doesn't end up with pneumonia or something, he should be no worse for the wear... though hopefully a bit wiser now.
It's going to be a heaven-sent miracle if he survives to see adulthood.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Starlight, the lone chick.
I hate February.
In November, we are celebrating the end of the garden season, still busy with putting up food, and happy that we are going to get a break for the winter. In December, the snow flies and we celebrate the Christmas season, rejoicing in the beauty of the fresh snow that looks so clean as it piles up on the ground. January brings The Oldest's birthday and the start of a new school semester. And then there's February. It's still cold. The snow is still there and we don't remember what grass even looks like. School is mundane again now. And spring is still a couple of months away.
But February has redeemed itself just a little bit this year, with the coming of sweet babies to our little farm. In addition to the baby goats, Freckles the Trick Chicken hatched an egg.
Yes, "an" egg. She started out with four, but only this one was viable. I should have given her more when she went broody, but she's so tiny, being a banty, that I wasn't sure what she could handle.
Anyway, her baby is almost a week old now, and is still doing great, so I decided we can officially post pictures. We don't know if it's a boy or a girl, but the girls are calling it "her" just out of hopefulness' sake, and "her" name is Starlight.
Watching a chick raised by it's mama is so different from our usual chick experience, which involves a feed trough and a heat lamp. You can watch her teach the baby things, see them explore the nursery coop together, and when baby gets cold, she just scurries back under her mama to warm up.
The night she hatched was a bit of an adventure - I went out to gather eggs in the dark that night, and checked under Freckles for any 'extras' that she had claimed (as she did every day.) I saw none, so said goodnight to her and gathered up the eggs from the other boxes, when I heard a "cheep". I checked back under Freckles. No, there wasn't a chick there yet... "cheep!" It was then that I realized her egg was cheeping! I went and got the girls so they could listen to it. We sat for some time watching, and could hear the baby pecking at the egg, and saw a little crack form. After that, nothing happened for hours. I finally made the girls go inside. (They were sure they could just sleep on the roost with the other hens.) I got up ever few hours to check, and by five am, the baby was on it's way out. By the time the girls got out there, she had the whole top of her shell off, but was still wet and newborn. We watched for a bit and then moved her, with her mama, to the nursery coop, where they will live until Starlight is big enough to be around the other chickens.
And the girls adore Starlight as much as every other animal that ends up living at our Forever Home Farm. I've never known any other kids to spend as much time in a chicken coop as these girls do, especially when there is a baby to love on.
Just one more little bit of adventure, but a fun one, and especially neat since it is The Oldest's very favorite chicken that is the mama.
In November, we are celebrating the end of the garden season, still busy with putting up food, and happy that we are going to get a break for the winter. In December, the snow flies and we celebrate the Christmas season, rejoicing in the beauty of the fresh snow that looks so clean as it piles up on the ground. January brings The Oldest's birthday and the start of a new school semester. And then there's February. It's still cold. The snow is still there and we don't remember what grass even looks like. School is mundane again now. And spring is still a couple of months away.
But February has redeemed itself just a little bit this year, with the coming of sweet babies to our little farm. In addition to the baby goats, Freckles the Trick Chicken hatched an egg.
Yes, "an" egg. She started out with four, but only this one was viable. I should have given her more when she went broody, but she's so tiny, being a banty, that I wasn't sure what she could handle.
Anyway, her baby is almost a week old now, and is still doing great, so I decided we can officially post pictures. We don't know if it's a boy or a girl, but the girls are calling it "her" just out of hopefulness' sake, and "her" name is Starlight.
Watching a chick raised by it's mama is so different from our usual chick experience, which involves a feed trough and a heat lamp. You can watch her teach the baby things, see them explore the nursery coop together, and when baby gets cold, she just scurries back under her mama to warm up.
The night she hatched was a bit of an adventure - I went out to gather eggs in the dark that night, and checked under Freckles for any 'extras' that she had claimed (as she did every day.) I saw none, so said goodnight to her and gathered up the eggs from the other boxes, when I heard a "cheep". I checked back under Freckles. No, there wasn't a chick there yet... "cheep!" It was then that I realized her egg was cheeping! I went and got the girls so they could listen to it. We sat for some time watching, and could hear the baby pecking at the egg, and saw a little crack form. After that, nothing happened for hours. I finally made the girls go inside. (They were sure they could just sleep on the roost with the other hens.) I got up ever few hours to check, and by five am, the baby was on it's way out. By the time the girls got out there, she had the whole top of her shell off, but was still wet and newborn. We watched for a bit and then moved her, with her mama, to the nursery coop, where they will live until Starlight is big enough to be around the other chickens.
And the girls adore Starlight as much as every other animal that ends up living at our Forever Home Farm. I've never known any other kids to spend as much time in a chicken coop as these girls do, especially when there is a baby to love on.
Just one more little bit of adventure, but a fun one, and especially neat since it is The Oldest's very favorite chicken that is the mama.
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
How to Milk a Goat (Or Not.)
I've spent the past week milking desperately attempting to milk a goat. I think I've finally figured it out not cried in the milking parlor for two days in a row and feel ready to write a post about it.
Here's what I've learned.
Just because you own what is possibly The World's Friendliest Goat means nothing when it comes to milking time. She may follow you around, lay her head on your shoulder, nuzzle your pockets for the treats she knows are in there. None of this means she thinks you have any business at all groping her udder.
Just because The World's Friendliest Goat has been milked before doesn't mean she'll remember it at all. You could put her up on that stanchion and, despite the fact that she's stood on it many times in her past, she might think you are locking her head in that gate so that you can torture her. And she will fight back.
There are at least twenty two muscles in your hands and arms that you didn't know existed. You will know, however, when you start milking. Because every single one of those muscles will hurt like hell for days on end. You will not be able to lift your coffee pot. You will not be able to undress yourself because your arms simply won't bend that way anymore. The mere thought of going back out to the barn again will cause muscle spasms in your arms and hands.
Prior to your doe kidding, you should find a great chiropractor and develop a solid relationship with him/her. He or she will be your best friend in the coming weeks, when you throw your back out in six different places while you try to figure out how to properly squirt milk from a goat's teats while simultaneously holding a bucket in your hands to try to stop her from putting her foot in the bucket. Which will not be effective, by the way. Her foot will always end up in the bucket.
There is one benefit to having your doe kid in January, when the average temperature at seven o'clock in the morning is below 20 degrees (or even below 10.) You don't have to worry about getting your milk cooled fast enough. By the time you get to the house, it'll be slush. You'll have to thaw it before you can strain it and put it in the fridge.
Watch YouTube videos. YouTube is an amazing resource. There are so many "How to milk a goat" videos. This was tremendously helpful in making me realize that most of my problem is that I own the goat with the smallest teats in the world. The people in their videos were putting their whole hands on the teats - I'm lucky to fit my bottom two fingers on there! Just seeing this made me realize it's not entirely my fault that this has been such a difficult process. You can also see what a well-behaved milk goat looks like, so you can dream about how nice that would be.
All kidding aside though (kidding, ha!) here a few little bits I've picked up in the past week.
Don't expect things to go wrong. Watch carefully, and always check for problems, but but don't go looking for problems that don't exist. I was told "if her udder gets hard, she may be getting mastitis." Well, when her milk came in, her udder was hard as a rock. Then I was told to milk her out a few times a day until it was softer. But the milk wouldn't come. The panic set in along with the symptoms of a congested udder, and the advice I found suggested milking every hour around the clock. I did it... for a day and a night. I was exhausted, I was in tears, and I was pretty sure goat meat was starting to sound pretty tasty.
But here's the thing: goats have managed to survive for a really long time without human intervention. I wish I had just slept, that I had just watched her for a few days. She didn't have mastitis symptoms, the babies were growing and full of energy, her udder was just really, really full. A few days later, when I decided I couldn't handle the constant milking, and had given it up, her body situated itself to the demand of the kids, and her udder is just fine. Yes, things can go wrong. Yes, you should know the signs. But trust nature (and your gut instinct) a little bit, too. Even a first timer has a gut instinct - I just didn't want to trust mine because I figured I knew nothing.
A wiggly goat on the stanchion is going to ruin every bit of milk you manage to get out of her. She will knock over the bucket. She will put her foot (or feet) in the bucket. She will get nervous and poop in the bucket. There are a lot of ways to fix this (including goat hobbles, which I seriously started looking into.) But we've found a solution. My goat eats her portion of grain by the time I've got her brushed off and ready to milk. By dropping a couple of alfalfa cubes in the bottom of the grain bucket, she has to work around them to get to the grain. It takes her three times longer to eat her grain. Then she slowly and methodically gnaws down the alfalfa pellets, buying me even more time. And then, if I'm still finishing (hey, I'm still slow at this!) The Oldest stands at her head and feeds her one raisin at a time. By the time she's had a few, I'm done.
I also learned to milk into a smaller stainless steel bowl, and dump it frequently into the bucket sitting on the ground next to me. That way if she kicks it, or steps in it, or poops in it, only a few squirts of milk are ruined, as opposed to the whole bucket. (By the way, Goodwill almost always has a great assortment of stainless steel bowls and pails and such. Just in case you're looking.)
Learn what your goat likes, and don't push her to accept more than what she's comfortable with. My goat absolutely hates for me to milk her with both hands. She holds relatively still now (with extra treats and a girl petting her and talking to her) if I'm going at it with only one hand. As soon as I try to grab both teats at the same time, she turns from mostly docile to a one goat rodeo. Some day, when she's perfectly comfortable with this milking process, I may try to work up to that again. But for now, I'm gonna do it like she wants me to. That means a bit more time on my part, but if that means I'm not getting kicked in the face, I'll do it. (Gosh, that whole paragraph just sounded a little bit like a bad "relationship advice" column.)
Patience is key. As soon as you lose patience with her, she will feel it, and she will get nervous. (Which means she will poop on the stand. Again.) You do actually have to relax to do this, though it's hard and I still struggle with that. There's a rhythm in milking - find it. (I've found it twice now. It's satisfying, but not easy. And that rhythm shouldn't include a foot in the bucket after every third squirt.)
When all else fails, when the milk you've worked so hard to get is in a puddle on the floor of the milking room, when your shoulders and your back hurt so bad you can't stand up or sit down, when you look at your doe and all you can see is a goatburger and fries... go into the stall with the babies and just sit there. Let them climb on you, let them nibble on your ear (or your coat, or your glove) and let them nudge you as they beg for some scratching on their heads. Just stay there until your heart rate is back to normal, until you are breathing properly, and preferably until you giggle at least once. Doing this will ensure that the next time you are walking out to the barn at seven a.m. with your milk pail, that you will have renewed hope that today will be the day she will hold still, that the milk will come easily, that this effort is all actually worth it. And then, when it doesn't work out, just go sit back in the stall with the kids again.
Okay, so reality: milking a goat is a lot harder than I was expecting. Part of this (maybe most of it) is because my goat isn't the easiest milker in the world, for several reasons. Part of it is because I thought it was going to be easy, and it's not. But I have hope - I can see how this could be a peaceful, pleasant way to start my day... some day, in the distant future. I'll just keep hoping for that, and in the meantime, I'll try to keep from crying in the grain room.
Here's what I've learned.
Just because you own what is possibly The World's Friendliest Goat means nothing when it comes to milking time. She may follow you around, lay her head on your shoulder, nuzzle your pockets for the treats she knows are in there. None of this means she thinks you have any business at all groping her udder.
Just because The World's Friendliest Goat has been milked before doesn't mean she'll remember it at all. You could put her up on that stanchion and, despite the fact that she's stood on it many times in her past, she might think you are locking her head in that gate so that you can torture her. And she will fight back.
There are at least twenty two muscles in your hands and arms that you didn't know existed. You will know, however, when you start milking. Because every single one of those muscles will hurt like hell for days on end. You will not be able to lift your coffee pot. You will not be able to undress yourself because your arms simply won't bend that way anymore. The mere thought of going back out to the barn again will cause muscle spasms in your arms and hands.
Prior to your doe kidding, you should find a great chiropractor and develop a solid relationship with him/her. He or she will be your best friend in the coming weeks, when you throw your back out in six different places while you try to figure out how to properly squirt milk from a goat's teats while simultaneously holding a bucket in your hands to try to stop her from putting her foot in the bucket. Which will not be effective, by the way. Her foot will always end up in the bucket.
There is one benefit to having your doe kid in January, when the average temperature at seven o'clock in the morning is below 20 degrees (or even below 10.) You don't have to worry about getting your milk cooled fast enough. By the time you get to the house, it'll be slush. You'll have to thaw it before you can strain it and put it in the fridge.
Watch YouTube videos. YouTube is an amazing resource. There are so many "How to milk a goat" videos. This was tremendously helpful in making me realize that most of my problem is that I own the goat with the smallest teats in the world. The people in their videos were putting their whole hands on the teats - I'm lucky to fit my bottom two fingers on there! Just seeing this made me realize it's not entirely my fault that this has been such a difficult process. You can also see what a well-behaved milk goat looks like, so you can dream about how nice that would be.
All kidding aside though (kidding, ha!) here a few little bits I've picked up in the past week.
Don't expect things to go wrong. Watch carefully, and always check for problems, but but don't go looking for problems that don't exist. I was told "if her udder gets hard, she may be getting mastitis." Well, when her milk came in, her udder was hard as a rock. Then I was told to milk her out a few times a day until it was softer. But the milk wouldn't come. The panic set in along with the symptoms of a congested udder, and the advice I found suggested milking every hour around the clock. I did it... for a day and a night. I was exhausted, I was in tears, and I was pretty sure goat meat was starting to sound pretty tasty.
But here's the thing: goats have managed to survive for a really long time without human intervention. I wish I had just slept, that I had just watched her for a few days. She didn't have mastitis symptoms, the babies were growing and full of energy, her udder was just really, really full. A few days later, when I decided I couldn't handle the constant milking, and had given it up, her body situated itself to the demand of the kids, and her udder is just fine. Yes, things can go wrong. Yes, you should know the signs. But trust nature (and your gut instinct) a little bit, too. Even a first timer has a gut instinct - I just didn't want to trust mine because I figured I knew nothing.
A wiggly goat on the stanchion is going to ruin every bit of milk you manage to get out of her. She will knock over the bucket. She will put her foot (or feet) in the bucket. She will get nervous and poop in the bucket. There are a lot of ways to fix this (including goat hobbles, which I seriously started looking into.) But we've found a solution. My goat eats her portion of grain by the time I've got her brushed off and ready to milk. By dropping a couple of alfalfa cubes in the bottom of the grain bucket, she has to work around them to get to the grain. It takes her three times longer to eat her grain. Then she slowly and methodically gnaws down the alfalfa pellets, buying me even more time. And then, if I'm still finishing (hey, I'm still slow at this!) The Oldest stands at her head and feeds her one raisin at a time. By the time she's had a few, I'm done.
I also learned to milk into a smaller stainless steel bowl, and dump it frequently into the bucket sitting on the ground next to me. That way if she kicks it, or steps in it, or poops in it, only a few squirts of milk are ruined, as opposed to the whole bucket. (By the way, Goodwill almost always has a great assortment of stainless steel bowls and pails and such. Just in case you're looking.)
Learn what your goat likes, and don't push her to accept more than what she's comfortable with. My goat absolutely hates for me to milk her with both hands. She holds relatively still now (with extra treats and a girl petting her and talking to her) if I'm going at it with only one hand. As soon as I try to grab both teats at the same time, she turns from mostly docile to a one goat rodeo. Some day, when she's perfectly comfortable with this milking process, I may try to work up to that again. But for now, I'm gonna do it like she wants me to. That means a bit more time on my part, but if that means I'm not getting kicked in the face, I'll do it. (Gosh, that whole paragraph just sounded a little bit like a bad "relationship advice" column.)
Patience is key. As soon as you lose patience with her, she will feel it, and she will get nervous. (Which means she will poop on the stand. Again.) You do actually have to relax to do this, though it's hard and I still struggle with that. There's a rhythm in milking - find it. (I've found it twice now. It's satisfying, but not easy. And that rhythm shouldn't include a foot in the bucket after every third squirt.)
When all else fails, when the milk you've worked so hard to get is in a puddle on the floor of the milking room, when your shoulders and your back hurt so bad you can't stand up or sit down, when you look at your doe and all you can see is a goatburger and fries... go into the stall with the babies and just sit there. Let them climb on you, let them nibble on your ear (or your coat, or your glove) and let them nudge you as they beg for some scratching on their heads. Just stay there until your heart rate is back to normal, until you are breathing properly, and preferably until you giggle at least once. Doing this will ensure that the next time you are walking out to the barn at seven a.m. with your milk pail, that you will have renewed hope that today will be the day she will hold still, that the milk will come easily, that this effort is all actually worth it. And then, when it doesn't work out, just go sit back in the stall with the kids again.
Okay, so reality: milking a goat is a lot harder than I was expecting. Part of this (maybe most of it) is because my goat isn't the easiest milker in the world, for several reasons. Part of it is because I thought it was going to be easy, and it's not. But I have hope - I can see how this could be a peaceful, pleasant way to start my day... some day, in the distant future. I'll just keep hoping for that, and in the meantime, I'll try to keep from crying in the grain room.
Monday, January 28, 2013
Aurora and Phillip
A little bit of perfect arrived on our little farm the other night.
Meet Aurora and Phillip, the two sweet kids that were born Saturday night.
We went out to feed at 6:30 and could tell Justice was starting to go into labor, but she lacked all the signs that would have made us think she was very close to delivering. She had torn up the barn stall, digging up the straw and creating little 'nests', but she still ate like she was starved and wasn't dilated or having noticeable contractions. But when we went out again in an hour to see if she'd progressed, there were two tiny baby goats in the pen with her. The little boy came first, standing on wobbly legs next to his mama. The baby girl had just been born and wasn't even standing yet.
We were sad to have missed the birth, but thrilled that she had no trouble and didn't need us. Both babies eventually stood up, and it wasn't long until they started nursing.
Justice is a wonderful mother, and knew exactly what needed to be done.
We helped dry them off just a little bit, but she did most of the work. She didn't mind having us in there with her, holding them and petting them and working with them a bit, though as soon as a barn cat comes near she threatens to butt it across the stall.
We stayed out for a couple of hours, making sure they were nursing and showing them the warming barrel where they could sleep (and dry off some more. Wet babies plus a cold night is a little disconcerting.) Within two hours, they were hopping around on their shaky newborn legs, reaching around and then falling down only to get up and try again. We could have stayed and watched longer, but by then it was long past bedtime for little girls, and they were cold and tired.
The girls are both thrilled, as is to be expected. Chloe got all teary as she watched Aurora stand for the first time. Cora was shaking with excitement. As soon as we dipped their cords and determined their genders, Cora announced their names - apparently she had had their names planned for some time and had just been waiting to tell us what they would be. Aurora, you know, is Sleeping Beauty's name, and Phillip is her prince. Okay, so it's not my first pick, but it'll do. Chloe has adopted Phillip as her very own, and he's already taken to following her around the stall and nudging her leg when he wants his head scratched.
Aurora immediately became Cora's, and while she is not so fond of being petted, she seems to love being held close to her girl's chest.
For two goats who came from the same mama and daddy, they sure do look different. Phillip has long, floppy ears like a nubian with a cream colored head and spots. He's stocky, the larger of the two.
Aurora is dainty and nearly pure white, with tiny la mancha ears, like a little pixie.
Phillip is outgoing and playful, sticking his nose between the slats to sniff the dogs or trying to get Liberty to play with him (much to Justice's chagrin.) Aurora is more shy, preferring to stay nearer her mama, occasionally jumping around but only half-heartedly. It's like she's trying to pretend to be grown up, while he's all rough-and-tumble little boy.
While we were waiting to see whether Jussie would have boys or girls, the expectation was that we would keep a girl, but would either eat or sell any boys. Yeah, well. That was before we saw Phillip. There is No Way I am eating him. I've just accepted that we now have two more goats. Besides, Chloe loves him. Clearly, we're going to have to work on this attachment thing. It's not so bad with feathered animals, but these furry ones melt your heart the moment you set eyes on them!
Welcome to the farm, Aurora and Phillip!
Meet Aurora and Phillip, the two sweet kids that were born Saturday night.
We went out to feed at 6:30 and could tell Justice was starting to go into labor, but she lacked all the signs that would have made us think she was very close to delivering. She had torn up the barn stall, digging up the straw and creating little 'nests', but she still ate like she was starved and wasn't dilated or having noticeable contractions. But when we went out again in an hour to see if she'd progressed, there were two tiny baby goats in the pen with her. The little boy came first, standing on wobbly legs next to his mama. The baby girl had just been born and wasn't even standing yet.
We were sad to have missed the birth, but thrilled that she had no trouble and didn't need us. Both babies eventually stood up, and it wasn't long until they started nursing.
Justice is a wonderful mother, and knew exactly what needed to be done.
We helped dry them off just a little bit, but she did most of the work. She didn't mind having us in there with her, holding them and petting them and working with them a bit, though as soon as a barn cat comes near she threatens to butt it across the stall.
We stayed out for a couple of hours, making sure they were nursing and showing them the warming barrel where they could sleep (and dry off some more. Wet babies plus a cold night is a little disconcerting.) Within two hours, they were hopping around on their shaky newborn legs, reaching around and then falling down only to get up and try again. We could have stayed and watched longer, but by then it was long past bedtime for little girls, and they were cold and tired.
The girls are both thrilled, as is to be expected. Chloe got all teary as she watched Aurora stand for the first time. Cora was shaking with excitement. As soon as we dipped their cords and determined their genders, Cora announced their names - apparently she had had their names planned for some time and had just been waiting to tell us what they would be. Aurora, you know, is Sleeping Beauty's name, and Phillip is her prince. Okay, so it's not my first pick, but it'll do. Chloe has adopted Phillip as her very own, and he's already taken to following her around the stall and nudging her leg when he wants his head scratched.
Aurora immediately became Cora's, and while she is not so fond of being petted, she seems to love being held close to her girl's chest.
For two goats who came from the same mama and daddy, they sure do look different. Phillip has long, floppy ears like a nubian with a cream colored head and spots. He's stocky, the larger of the two.
Aurora is dainty and nearly pure white, with tiny la mancha ears, like a little pixie.
Phillip is outgoing and playful, sticking his nose between the slats to sniff the dogs or trying to get Liberty to play with him (much to Justice's chagrin.) Aurora is more shy, preferring to stay nearer her mama, occasionally jumping around but only half-heartedly. It's like she's trying to pretend to be grown up, while he's all rough-and-tumble little boy.
While we were waiting to see whether Jussie would have boys or girls, the expectation was that we would keep a girl, but would either eat or sell any boys. Yeah, well. That was before we saw Phillip. There is No Way I am eating him. I've just accepted that we now have two more goats. Besides, Chloe loves him. Clearly, we're going to have to work on this attachment thing. It's not so bad with feathered animals, but these furry ones melt your heart the moment you set eyes on them!
Welcome to the farm, Aurora and Phillip!
Friday, January 25, 2013
Twirly Girly
Since I vowed to make more cute things for Littlest One to wear...
The Twirly Girly skirt, in mixed cherry prints.
I love it. She loves it. It uses an insane amount of fabric (the bottom layer is twice as long as I am tall.) But it's worth it. Because it does this:
And because it makes Littlest One smile like this when she puts it on:
In fact, it turned out so cute that even The Oldest asked if I could make one for her(!!) It was all I could do not to rush to the fabric store immediately.
And since I had scrap fabric, and Pinterest is awesome, I used this tutorial to make a flower for her hair. I made the back so that it can attach to a headband (her favorite) or you can slide a clip or brooch pin in. These flowers are addicting, by the way. If you have scrap fabric, and you make one, well, you won't be able to make just one.
**Skirt pattern is another one from Little Girls, Big Style by Mary Abreu, made in a size 6 with a size 5 waist for my tall, skinny girl.
The Twirly Girly skirt, in mixed cherry prints.
I love it. She loves it. It uses an insane amount of fabric (the bottom layer is twice as long as I am tall.) But it's worth it. Because it does this:
And because it makes Littlest One smile like this when she puts it on:
In fact, it turned out so cute that even The Oldest asked if I could make one for her(!!) It was all I could do not to rush to the fabric store immediately.
And since I had scrap fabric, and Pinterest is awesome, I used this tutorial to make a flower for her hair. I made the back so that it can attach to a headband (her favorite) or you can slide a clip or brooch pin in. These flowers are addicting, by the way. If you have scrap fabric, and you make one, well, you won't be able to make just one.
**Skirt pattern is another one from Little Girls, Big Style by Mary Abreu, made in a size 6 with a size 5 waist for my tall, skinny girl.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
You've Got Mail!
Truth: Kids need to be told they are loved. They need to be encouraged. They need to be thanked for doing as they are asked, or going above and beyond. They need to be reminded that they are a very important part of their family. They need to hear things that make them confident in who they are. And they need to feel comfortable talking to their parents and telling their mom and dad what is on their hearts.
Enter: The mailbox system.
I have been waiting nearly a year for Valentine's season to come around again. As far as I know, it's the only time to score these fabulous little tin mailboxes. I found mine for a dollar each in the Target Dollar Spot. Sweet.
Some sparkly black stickers in mixed fonts on the front, and we have our own little way to communicate with each other, aside from just the usual spoken words, which are sometimes too easily forgotten.
When we have something nice, or encouraging to say to one of the kids, along with saying it out loud, we can write it down and put it in their box. That little note - while seemingly small and unimportant, can then be saved in a special place and looked at years from now... or tomorrow... whenever the need arises. Dramatic little girls often say things like, "You never appreciate ANYTHING I do!" or "I don't ever do ANYTHING right." Well, this is written proof that they must be wrong.
I put the boxes right at the bottom of the stairs on a little shelf, where each of us passes by several times each day. The plan is that if one's mailbox flag is up, they have mail. (And just in case you don't see it, there is guaranteed to be someone saying "You've Got Mail!" all AOL-esque.) So far I have received a lovely picture of Chloe and I having a picnic and watching chickens peck the ground, and a letter from Cora that says "Cora Mom Lowe". Because it's easy to mix up W and V when you are five. But that's okay, I'll take it.
Even The Daddy got in on the game, leaving a note for each of us before he left for work the other morning. I can say from experience that hearing kind, edifying words from one's Daddy means The World to little girls. I also remember how much easier it was to write things than it was to say them - and The Oldest is already proving that point is true for more than just wordy people like myself. Anything she needs to say that she doesn't feel like she can voice out loud, she can write down and deliver at the mail center. This also makes good use of her "Check yes or no" letters that she is so fond of writing.
All in all, it seems like a fun way to say a few sweet things to each other, and to open up another line of communication for our girls - because there can never be too much communication!
Enter: The mailbox system.
I have been waiting nearly a year for Valentine's season to come around again. As far as I know, it's the only time to score these fabulous little tin mailboxes. I found mine for a dollar each in the Target Dollar Spot. Sweet.
Some sparkly black stickers in mixed fonts on the front, and we have our own little way to communicate with each other, aside from just the usual spoken words, which are sometimes too easily forgotten.
When we have something nice, or encouraging to say to one of the kids, along with saying it out loud, we can write it down and put it in their box. That little note - while seemingly small and unimportant, can then be saved in a special place and looked at years from now... or tomorrow... whenever the need arises. Dramatic little girls often say things like, "You never appreciate ANYTHING I do!" or "I don't ever do ANYTHING right." Well, this is written proof that they must be wrong.
I put the boxes right at the bottom of the stairs on a little shelf, where each of us passes by several times each day. The plan is that if one's mailbox flag is up, they have mail. (And just in case you don't see it, there is guaranteed to be someone saying "You've Got Mail!" all AOL-esque.) So far I have received a lovely picture of Chloe and I having a picnic and watching chickens peck the ground, and a letter from Cora that says "Cora Mom Lowe". Because it's easy to mix up W and V when you are five. But that's okay, I'll take it.
Even The Daddy got in on the game, leaving a note for each of us before he left for work the other morning. I can say from experience that hearing kind, edifying words from one's Daddy means The World to little girls. I also remember how much easier it was to write things than it was to say them - and The Oldest is already proving that point is true for more than just wordy people like myself. Anything she needs to say that she doesn't feel like she can voice out loud, she can write down and deliver at the mail center. This also makes good use of her "Check yes or no" letters that she is so fond of writing.
All in all, it seems like a fun way to say a few sweet things to each other, and to open up another line of communication for our girls - because there can never be too much communication!
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