Farming is a passion - often unrequited

They say that farming is in your blood.  While I didn't have much of an opportunity to farm with my family when I was young - the last of the dairy farm was being put to bed when I arrived on this earth - the farm itself stayed in the family.  I played in the barn, I got under foot of the farm hands that were still haying, I played in the pastures with the heifers that remained here, I caught salamanders in the ponds, I made forts in between boulders and next to hand stacked stone walls, I slept on the floor of a handmade cabin at the south end of the lake and went potty in the woods, even in the rain.  Those are just a few of the things that are in my blood.

I have been homesteading and slowly growing a vegetable, livestock and Christmas tree farm on my families land for almost ten years.  I tried to fit in infrastructure projects, livestock care, weeding, watering, planting, baking, canning and farmers markets with a full time job, a terrible pregnancy which gave me the most wonderful Little man.  As he grows there are t-ball practices and games, soccer practices and games, cub scouts, etc.  The dream of farming has taken a side seat, a back seat or all too often gets relegated to the back of the trailer whose wheels are falling off.

Last summer I made the VERY difficult decision to leave a career that I loved, working with people that I both loved and admired and a profession whose dedication is unwavering, in order to spend more time on the farm.  I miss them terribly.  

The first few months were a huge adjustment.  Learning a new part time job, taking on a second part time job since the cut in pay was more than my budget could absorb but giving up much of that extra time that was supposed to be spent on the farm, and trying to sell summer piglets who were eating me out of house and home.  Then winter arrived far too early and best laid plans of erecting a high tunnel in November have become hoping to get it completed by the end of March.

Farming is a passion and in order to be successful, many things have to take a back seat.  We don't travel, we don't take family vacations more than a few miles away from the farm, it has been more than two years since I have bought myself a new pair of pants or even some desperately overdue new shoes.  Little man needs food, warmth, and clothing; the animals need bedding and feed; the car insurance and light bill need to be paid, the car needs fuel and perhaps if there is anything leftover then maybe we can grab a takeout pizza or sandwiches once every other month or so.  It has been a difficult winter, one which was not completely unexpected, but one that makes this farmer question - far too often - whether she made the right decision.

Spring is four days away - at least chronologically if not meteorologically.  The chicks are scheduled to hatch this weekend and this past weeks thaw proves that there is actually still grass under the white which has blanketed the ground for the past five months.  It will be lean, but this farmer will be working hard to make a go of it over the next nine months.

Never challenge Mother Nature!

Not too long ago I wrote about challenging Mother Nature and moving forward with my plans, to hell with the weather and all that she had planned.  Well, She answered back in a BIG way.

This summer challenged this farm with a 50 year drought.  Wells and springs that were plentiful ran dry, including the one on this farm.  Thankfully the generations before had provided backup systems that allowed this farm to provide water for its two and four-legged residents alike.   As fall came to a close and an earlier than usual winter closed in with ice-in on the lake a full week earlier than any that this farm had ever recorded, the rains came and the spring brought forth water once again.  The pipe that runs from the spring to the well has sunk and the gravity feed which was once reliable has become an every other day appointment to re-prime.  Family intervention brought a new drilled well with a gallon per minute source of water to feed the homestead.  Unfortunately, the drilling came a week too late and the ground has frozen so that the ditch from the well to the house will wait until spring before pipe can be laid.  No matter the weather and no matter the to-do list, the appointment with the spring will be kept every day for the next four months to ensure that human and critter alike will have plenty of water.

In August the boar broke through the fence and began romancing the sows.  This homesteader thought little more of it than to record the date in her calendar, just-in-case.  Well three months and three weeks later – and earlier this evening – while feeding, watering and providing extra hay, she noticed that one particular sow appeared to be coming into milk.  In three days or less, while evening temperatures are forecast to be below zero, we will – in all likelihood, be having December piglets.  An extra trip to the grain store, a few extra hours in the pigs pen shoring up housing and wind protection, running some new electric fence, and probably more than a few hours of lost sleep over the next few days; there will, hopefully, be a successful delivery.  All of the piglets from this summer remain on the farm.  Mother Nature answered my challenge in no small fashion.

Thursday, amidst snow squalls and falling temperatures, the high tunnel arrived.  I certainly was dreaming to think that the freight company would pull into the dooryard and plop a 30 x 72 high tunnel, completely constructed and ready for compost delivery, onto the site which is only slightly prepared for it.  Dreaming it was.  The truck who delivered her got stuck twice on the flat part of the driveway.  Were it not for my fantastic cousin, the truck would probably still be in the door yard.   The pallet she came on was only partially intact; the load was collapsing even before we came close to it with the tractor forks.  Patience, experience and some wire cutters were what was required to make a quick delivery into just over 90 minutes work.  Some more skilled tractor work and a strong chain to extricate the truck and trailer from the dooryard were required and now the pieces/parts rest on my front lawn.

Finally, tomorrow marks the close of muzzleloader season in Vermont.  The evening after rifle season closed – less than 24 hours – this beautiful (although the picture is quite blurry) eight-point buck posed about 75 yards off the front deck.  I am certain that he acquired a calendar from the local grain store and checks off the days of hunting season.  I expect around 5:00 tomorrow night, he will visit again knowing that he has made it safely through another season.

The balance of this weekend will be spent with family over coffee in the morning, shoring up pig housing, running some new electric fence, bringing in a pile of fresh, warm bedding in anticipation of farrowing, posting sales of pork at rock-bottom prices, staking out where the posts will go for the high tunnel, recycling the old greenhouse plastic into both swine housing and tarping for the new high tunnel parts.  All the while Christmas tree sales will thankfully continue, and in between all of the above, hopefully I might find some time for a little house cleaning, getting ready for the upcoming week of off-farm work and school, and, perhaps, a load of laundry or three in there somewhere.

I said, “Challenge accepted.”

It appears her response was - 

“OK Lady, Buckle Up!  It’s going to be a bumpy ride!”

Piglets - finally - and cautiously throwing caution to the wind.

The history of pigs on this farm is very similar to the history of the next generation of this farm.  I can't say whether my great-grandparents played safe bets or whether they were gamblers of the truest sense.  I know that my great-grandmother worked too hard, often on the farm alone with hired hands and a team of twelve horses in her hand while my great-grandfather was off chasing his next business venture.  I am eternally grateful for her hard work and that of her sons, since I am afforded the opportunity to show my son what it is like to live in this tiny corner of northern Vermont.  The history of pigs on this farm has been a balance of safe bet versus, 'you have got to be kidding me, I am five months pregnant, I can't take care of piglets!'

Much like the the first chickens that Little Man's father brought home, the first piglets arrived with a hobbled together pig hut, some scrap lumber, an old carpet and a couple of pallets stood on end.  They arrived in a dog kennel in the back of a minivan and we managed to keep them alive, raise them amazingly well for not knowing what we were doing and provided almost 400 lbs of pork for ourselves and to trade with for beef and hay. The next set arrived with only slightly better accommodations, but at least one year's experience under our belt.  Although the first two were a welcome surprise, the second two were planned for even if we had no real idea of the scope of raising pigs to pork on pasture.  Our first pig illness hit during the summer of our second two pigs, alongside a visit from my step-children.  You learn fast when a recent farm transplant is looking up at you with big eyes as night is beginning to fall, your infant is screaming for you to feed him and your young pig is down in the field with a raging fever.

From there we rescued a sow who was bound for sausage.  We thought long, read a lot and then tempted fate with a terribly unsuccessful artificial insemination.  Our poor sow even ended up having a false pregnancy going so far as to get big, fill with milk and then - nothing.  After spending some serious change for this little farm on mail order sperm, I was hooked on pigs and wagered on a new boar.  One from the same heritage as our sow.

I drove three hours to lower New York state, spent better than half a weeks paycheck and brought home an eight week old, heritage breed boar from one of the best reputed breeders around.  Zeb was carefully raised and he tried his darndest, but the sow was too old and never got pregnant, no matter how hard he tried.  She was pretty old, so she filled our freezer.

Six months later, I purchased a gilt from friends two towns over.  I was determined to make this pig operation work here on the farm.  We waited until the time was right, took down the electric fence between Zeb and Little One and let nature take its course.  Well the first heat cycle passed, and not for Zeb's lack of trying, but there was no pregnancy.  Then the same farm we got Little One from had a sow that they were going to send for sausage; instead they delivered her to us and we were thrilled to have an opportunity for Zeb's good lines to meet with Sally's and for certain we would have spring piglets.  21 day cycle, after 21 day cycle - each time we were met with the girls in heat.  Although he was trying Zeb was just not getting the job done.

In December I had seen the posts about some boars for sale in lower Vermont.  I already had a boar, so I glossed over them hoping my girls were growing their next generation.  When heat came again in January, after the girls had been with Zeb for almost four months, I knew, for certain, that there was a problem.  I only assumed that problem was Zeb.  Two weeks later, that fateful Facebook post popped up again in my news feed.  The two boars were still available.

It was late at night in January and I tempted fate, almost 11:00 p.m., I messaged the seller.  He immediately responded and told me that both boys were still available and that they were only about 225 lbs.  I jumped on the opportunity, talked with him over a couple of days and we made an arrangement for a payment and then scheduled a weekend where I could travel down to get him.  Then the weather turned.  We couldn't have a second boar on the farm without the two of them fighting and there was too much snow on the ground to get Zeb from the pasture to the freezer without serious excavation.  It looked like my impulse was all for naught and there would never be piglets on this farm.  Well, the following weekend the weather turned, my cousin was available with the big tractor, a friend could come and help with the major parts and my mom could come and help with the packaging and labeling.  It was a sad day as the pig with the longest history with us was no longer.  The one pig I had figured as the future of my life here on the farm was being relegated to the chest freezer.

The following night I put a plywood wall between the second row of seats and the rear of the minivan, put a tarp on the floor and added a third of a bale of hay.  Saturday morning, I drove 100 miles south into the unknown and completely on a whim and loaded a 300 lb boar into the back of my minivan.

We got him home, and although it appeared he was trying his hardest - he was too small to effectively breed Sally and Little One wanted nothing to do with him.  I was concerned that I had spent far too much money and far too much time on another failed piglet venture.  Each month I watched as  at least one of the two of them appeared to come into heat.  When the heat stopped,  I saw no signs of pregnancy.  I bought a doppler ( I now know I spent far too little money on too cheap of a unit) only to hear nothing week after week.

Little man's father and I were having serious discussions about who was going to go into the freezer first.  Too many months with no visible signs of pregnancy, an ever increasing feed bill and a significant lack of cash flow.  I said to him - the one time I was spontaneous, threw caution to the wind and tried something just a little crazy and now I have to consider how much room there is in the freezer and that we might be done, completely done with pigs on the farm.  I was heart broken.  But the fateful day, 3 mos, 3 weeks and 3 days from the last confirmed heat cycle were just a week away.  We would wait two more weeks before we made a final decision.

Little One did not disappoint, although I was sure that Sally was the one that would be delivering first if it was at all possible that she was pregnant.  After a night of violent thunderstorms, Little One was in the pasture, pulling down old fence posts to make a nest in the hut.  She would eat, drink, then tear out another piece of fence and try to fit it into the hut.

Exactly one week after arriving on the farm, Cole did his job, and three months, three weeks and three days after that, the first piglets to be born on this farm arrived.  Eight were born and seven survived.

One week later Sally started grabbing some of those same fence posts and pulling them into the other hut.  Unfortunately her labor was not so successful - six piglets were born but only two survived.  Almost five months later we have eight healthy 'piglets.'  They remain for sale as breeding stock or as Christmas roasts.

This level-headed, normally cautious, list-building woman threw caution to the wind an bought a boar, sight-unseen, on facebook late on a Tuesday night.  Then she followed through, actually went down and got him in the back of a minivan!!  Perhaps this woman should learn to be a little more spontaneous.  She has learned not to be so cautious.  She will attempt a little more risk and sense of adventure... 

On a whim she called the National Resource Conservation Service (NRCS) about a grant for a high tunnel.  The deadline was the following day - she scrambled, applied and was awarded a grant for a high tunnel.  She now has 90 days to get the tunnel constructed and the plastic on.  Did she mention that it is the beginning of November and it snowed two days ago...

Time to jump in - to hell with the consequences!

Seedlings ready for transplant

I have been watching the weather with an obsession for the past two weeks; that was the day that the seedlings moved from inside the house to the greenhouse.  After being carefully protected while inside, watered carefully, turned so they received even sunlight, these tomatoes had grown up enough to move into their own pots.  Like a mom whose kids were moving from their crib to their toddler or big kid bed, I was a little sad to see them go outside.

The greenhouse is not heated, it is more like a giant cold frame with some heat retention characteristics built in.  There are bricks in the floor by the door, there is a large raised bed with dark boards to help hold any heat collected by the sun throughout the day and there is the compost experiment in the corner.  But it was late March/early April in Northern Vermont, the risk of frost remains very real for another month and a half.

For the first night, the transplants were fine.  The following day was cool, rainy and snowy.  At only 224 sq. ft., it doesn't take much to keep the temperature above freezing, but it does require action on my part.  Into the garage to find the small propane tank and the little buddy heater.   Little man's father got it all set up while the temperature inside was well in the fifties, no need to waste the propane.  I went out later to turn on the valve and light the heater - NO HEAT!  Moving over 750 transplants back into the house was not going to be a fun experience, especially with it snowing.  I closed the valve, took the heater off the tank and looked inside to fine one ticked off spider.  I grabbed a pencil and evicted her then put the assembly back together, turned on the valve, and poof - HEAT!

We have used just over 20 lbs of propane (a standard grill sized tank) over five nights.  This coming weekend is forecast to have some upper 20 degree nights.  I will watch carefully and decide whether supplemental heat will be needed.

During the day, the temperatures inside the greenhouse have to be watched as well.  If I leave the house in the morning with outside temperatures in the upper 30's and overcast skies, I would consider leaving the door closed.  If the sun were to come out and shine in earnest for the better part of the day, the poor little transplants could cook before someone else arrives to open the door.

Spring brings renewed life and a longer to-do list to this small farm.  It is hard to be off the farm when the sun is shining and temperatures are above 40 degrees.  Soon enough this farmer will be able to be on the farm full-time.

The tomatoes are started - finally!

I spent the day with Little man dividing up between farm chores and play.  I made the decision that I didn't care if my floor had muddy dog prints on it or if the kitchen table still had lunch crumbs on it.  I was going to spend the day with my son, on the farm.  

It was a good trial of what is in store if I was on the farm full time with Little man in tow.  I will not always have fun chores to do like planting seeds, but I am certain that I can make weeding entertaining, at least for the next year or two.  Part-time farming and part-time off-farm work is something that I tried a few years ago.  At that time Little man was an infant and my first child.  There wasn't any way that I was going to make it work then.  After the successful day yesterday, it might be time to try it again.

The rain came in spits and spats so Little man put on his ski pants if only for protection from the mud.  We went out the greenhouse and he helped me dig out and level an area by the door where we then put down an old feed bag for weed control and bricks procured at a yard sale.  Now, we didn't have any sand or nor did we 'frame in' the bricks so they are a little wobbly, but the muddy spot that was developing by the door is no longer.

A plastic garbage barrel from a free pile on the side of the road had holes drilled into the sides, bottom and top for circulation and became the compost bucket.  Little man quickly lost interest in shoveling the heavy materials in various stages of decomposition.  We were able to squeeze the whole pile into the barrel and then watered it thoroughly.  Worms, who were brave enough to come into the warm greenhouse were also added to the bucket to see if we could speed the process along.  Underneath the pile was some beautiful, black compost.  I scraped that off the floor and added it to the raised bed inside the greenhouse being careful not to bury the tractor and the car-hauler that Little man had working hard in there.

Those two tidying up chores completed, I headed under the benches for a couple of flats to start the seeds.  My seed starting mix was soaked with water and we both got dirty after that.  Stirring water into dehydrated peat, vermiculite and soil is pretty messy - but a lot more fun with a five-year-old's help.  The mix was added to the flats, seeds sprinkled, covered and gently patted.  Each flat was carefully labeled, with a popsicle stick of course!  Out of a thawed water source, we brought the flats inside and carefully watered them.  Once back inside Little man's attention was drawn to his toys.

I went out to the garage and grabbed a set of salvaged shelves, dusted them off, brought them inside and covered them with leftover plastic from my greenhouse project.  The plastic will not only keep them a bit warmer inside my cool kitchen but will also deter the cats from digging in the flats.  If Mother Nature cooperates then I will be able to move them out to the greenhouse to their transplant pots in two to three weeks.  If it remains too cool then I will be rigging some shelving for a half-a-thousand transplants in my kitchen.

Greenhouse heated by compost - amateur experiment

I have had a compost pile on the farm or in my backyard since I was old enough to know better.  My grandfather, an avid gardener and phenomenal green thumb, had a compost pile in the corner of the garden where we would deposit our cat litter, onion trimmings, banana peels and more.  Every spring he would turn the pile over and arduously spread it across his garden and then turn it in - all by hand - with no mechanical intervention.  He did this in our backyard in Greenwich, Connecticut, of all places.  It never smelled, it was always the warmest spot in the garden and I can't ever remember it having snow on it.  He also had a greenhouse.  It was heated with propane, to my grandmother's dismay.  He spent hours out there every day in his retirement.  His goal - to have tomatoes on the 4th of July.  I think he missed one year by three days between my 8th birthday and when he passed just after my 22nd.

Next to the garden, I have a huge compost pile.  It accepts almost all of the shavings and manure from the chicken coop, the remnants of the garden after it is cleaned out in the fall and any other large deposits of vegetation, grass, leaves and weeds that are collected here on the farm.  This year, I also started a compost pile in the greenhouse.  I had read one of the many articles on free heat for a greenhouse.  There are some pretty impressive systems out there where you run pipes through and around your pile and then run water through those pipes to heat the greenhouse.  My system is much more low tech.  In the greenhouse, I built a compost pile (meaning I took a corner of the greenhouse and started piling up organic material).  Recently, I renewed my efforts, to collect coffee grounds and food stuffs unfit for the chickens and pigs so that they be added to my pile in the greenhouse.

I can report some moderate success.  The outside temperature today did not exceed 32 degrees and it was 45 degrees inside the greenhouse.  The true test this week will be to see if the pile can keep the inside temperature over 32 degrees as the outside temperatures are forecast to remain in the low teens for highs and close to zero for overnight lows.  If I can maintain a temperature close to freezing, then it will be time to start some early spring crops like spinach, greens and radishes for personal consumption.

Later this year I hope to add some radiational heat retention with bricks found on craigslist for a new floor and perhaps a water barrel painted black.  Always a work in progress.

Greenhouse - shelves and one raised bed

Thursday night I headed out to the greenhouse.  The days are getting longer and I was determined to get the first board for the raised bed put in before darkness closed in.  There is no power out there.  I grabbed the drill - the Phillips head bit was missing and in its place was a sap tapping bit.  I looked around and couldn't find it.  Back inside to where I knew I last left the extra bits I bought last fall for such projects - they weren't where they were supposed to be either.  Back outside to where Peter found himself inside the pigs fence with a 500 plus pound boar.  A forty pound dog doesn't stand a chance!  Rescue the dog, DH comes out and finds the bit, not where it was supposed to be.  Grab the drill, head for the greenhouse through blowing snow and ice pellets, get inside - no wood.  Back outside - all the wood was frozen to the ground.  Back to the garage, slam the battery back into the charger, yell at the dog for eating chicken poop.  The greenhouse project didn't get started on Thursday night.  Was it last week I said something about TWICE AS MUCH TIME!!

Saturday I had a lot planned, both on and off the farm, including working on the greenhouse.  By the time I was back at the farm and ready to start that project, the weather turned south in a hurry.  I managed to move most of the wood I would need into the greenhouse so the snow and ice would have a chance to melt.  The weather had moderated earlier this week so it only took a hammer to free it from the frozen ground beneath.  This is what it the inside of the greenhouse looked like on Saturday.  You can see the snow covered wood in the lower left corner.

Sunday morning, I had hoped to sleep late.  I was up early, stayed up late and up in the middle of the night almost everyday this week.  The stars had not aligned and I did not get to sleep late.  Not sure exactly what time it was, Little man hollering at the dog two inches from my ear did not make great sleeping conditions.  I was up, got breakfast, sorted laundry, drank coffee, checked the internet and made plans for the day.  I hadn't checked the clock when I headed outside, collected the drill, with a fully charged battery, the correct drill bit and the box of screws and headed to the greenhouse. 

Most of the day I managed to work out there between sledding with Little man and a pretty good lunch of sandwiches and soup cooked by DH.  After lunch I headed back out in hopes of getting a lot more accomplished.  Unfortunately after a yummy lunch and a winters worth of inactivity - my motivation was fading fast.  I managed to get the raised bed finished, DH brought out the shavings and manure from cleaning the chicken coop today, and I started digging out the walkways.  Warmer weather or several more sunny days will be necessary to complete the dirt moving.  At 4:00 p.m. I called it a day, cleaning up the tools, dusting off the newly installed bi-fold door counter and telling the outdoor kitty that she couldn't spend all night out here but I would let her stay for now.

Most of the pots and planters are stowed under the counters, although I am told there are more in the garage.  The ground remains frozen, but sun in the forecast for this week should provide a little more thawing to clean out the walkways.  A raised bed is planned for the middle of the greenhouse, but dead batteries stopped those plans in their tracks.  The batteries are almost eight years old and hardly hold a charge any longer - one more thing to add to the list.  The State of Vermont is kind enough to give us town meeting day as a holiday.  After I go vote, I will be back at the farm attempting to make some more progress outside.

It has come a long way from where we started last spring.  

Greenhouse - reclaimed windows, plywood, lumber

It was a driving, Spring rain when Little man and I returned to the farm last night.  He played in the garage while I set about on evening chores.  When Zeb and Sandwich were fed and watered, the chickens fed and watered and the eggs collected, I took a walk across the driveway to the better than halfway finished greenhouse.

I stepped inside and stood between the raindrops.  The pitch of the roof is not ideal, however, it is built to the length of materials I had sufficient quantity of to make a roof.  Available window sizes were not matched to the rafter length so patching will be required with half windows or poly-carbonate sheets. She isn't square and any contractor worth his training would shake his head and walk away after looking at how she is constructed.

Another ten to fourteen hours of work will be required to put on the last of the windows for the roof, the side windows and the door.  There is a little patching on one or two broken panes and then the caulking/flashing of the roof so that it doesn’t leak like a colander but is limited to a few drips here and there.  The the windows will need a good scrubbing. When that is done, I will start seeds.  They will be started well over a month late and will be complemented with some plant starts traded for with friends and acquired from the farmers market to ensure sufficient production for our consumption and preserving.  Tomatoes and peppers will be grown all season in the greenhouse in hopes of increasing our yields.  The rhubarb that didn’t get moved out of the hoop house last fall will also stay inside until it is done producing and will get moved at the end of the summer.

Raised beds will be added on the sides and in the middle as time permits this summer and fall. Wall and roof supports will be constructed to support next winters’ snow load.  Brick flooring will be laid on top of gravel or sand for heat retention.  Shelves will be installed over the raised beds and a rain catchment system added along with a black collection barrel for additional heat retention.  There will be at least one compost pile inside for heat and I hope to obtain some poly-carbonate sheets to help protect the roof a little better.

I will post pictures of the project as it progresses throughout the summer.  She isn’t pretty, but she will last me several years to come if I keep up with the regular maintenance.  The dirt spot on the left of this picture is where the first, small greenhouse came down (there is a little bit of size difference between the two).  The only thing rotten on that were the foundation boards where it sat directly on the ground.  Most of that wood and many of the unbroken windows have been re-purposed in this greenhouse.  

Next month’s big project - the chicken plucker.