Colors of the fog

Yesterday, Little man's father woke me shortly after 5:00 a.m. as he prepared to leave for his off-farm job to let me know that he had taken care of the household chores, but the animals still needed tending to.  The air was thick and soupy over the farm this morning and the light was more white than grey as I headed outside. 

Warmth radiates from the meat birds as I reach into their tractor to retrieve their waterer - they need to be moved into a larger tractor this week if we are going to get them to weight before the end of September.  'Teenage' pullets and roosters scatter as I approach the second tractor, they want little to do with humans especially when you aren't carrying a bucket.  Adult birds ready to be migrated into the 'big girl' coop occupy the third tractor, they show mild interest; however, empty hands mean no treats so they return to their scratching and primping as I pass. 

Drawing courtesy of porkfoodservice.org

Sounds of the world start to penetrate the fog - snuffles from the newest member of the farm carry through the grey from across the driveway, water bottles click as rabbits wake from their slumber, the big girls hearing me outside stretch their wings as they exit the coop and wait for me to open the gate to their pen.  Still early, the chickens will have to wait until after the hour of the fox's rounds before being set free to wander the farm for the day.  It is hard to believe that a fox has a schedule, but Little man's father and I see him faithfully each morning between 5:30 and 6:30 a.m.  He is rarely seen at any other time and so far we have been fortunate that our birds do not appear to have been bothered by him.  Our neighbor hasn't been so lucky and has lost seven or eight birds already this summer.  We have good roosters and I am certain that contributes to the health and safety of the flock.

Waterers filled and birds and bunnies appearing satisfied, I set across the yard through the now slightly pink fog as the sun begins its ascent from behind the mountain.  Her pasture is just barely visible from 150 feet away; my footfalls and the crunch of the gravel under my eight plus two 5-gallon pails of water reveal my approach.  Snuffles and snorts rise up from the tall grass on the far side of the pen where she has made her nest for the evening.  I change out her water and replenish ten gallons in her basin.  The desire for fresh food or water must be much less appetizing then the comfort of her spot, she remains nestled as I return to the house.

WMF became home to a rescue pig this week.  She is a four year old Gloucester Old Spot heritage breed pig - the kind of pig I have wanted since I returned to Vermont and considered raising pigs.  She didn't come with papers so we will not be registering her, but I am happy to have her with us just the same.  We are hoping to get at least one, possibly two farrowings from her before she stops breeding to keep the farm in pork and possibly for a little extra income.  Raised primarily on scraps she will not need supplemental grain unless Little man's father leaves his restaurant job and the restaurant who has been feeding her for the past year stops allowing us to collect their food waste.  Before December we will need to line up a boyfriend for her to ensure we have a spring farrowing.

In the garage the baby monitor continues to emit only white noise so I set about refilling water buckets for when we return to the farm later tonight after market and check on the status of feed and scraps for today and tomorrow morning.  Satisfied with the supplies on hand, I double-check for any ailments and head back into the house.  The barn is only now becoming visible across the yard as the grey-pink air seems to change to a muted purple.

My attention turns to the inside critters, water bowls cleaned and refilled, feed dishes filled.  My lunch is prepared and put into my cooler.  Coffee is placed into a thermal mug to keep it warm as the coffee pot's automatic shut off is about the engage and the dark, life-giving liquid will certainly be cold by the time I am ready to leave.  On to a shower to wash off the accumulation of dirt and sweat from morning chores.  Exiting the shower, Little man wakes and begins telling the tales of his dreams and what he plans on having for breakfast.

The last thirty minutes before leaving the farm pass in a blur as I open the chicken pen along the way to the car with cooler, diaper bag, child, coffee and keys in hand.  Heading out of the driveway the headlights reflect a faded yellow against the ever so slowly dissipating fog.  The tops of the Chirstmas trees poke out from among the tall grass, yet one more chore that will need to be done before the snow flies.  Little man waves his cup of cool milk and hollers, 'Bye bye Pig!' as he goes to child care and I head to my off farm job.

And to think - I used to fly out of bed, check my messages while brushing my teeth and showering then run out the door to the big city in a fog of car exhaust.  I am much happier in this morning's kind of fog.

Chicken tractors and transplant trauma

More chickens are hatching this week which requires more houses to hold them.  Yesterday Little Man, his father and I tore apart a couple of pallets and together with some leftover fencing, crafted another chicken tractor.

The boards were pulled from the top and bottom of the pallet.  Eight of them were notched at the ends and nailed together lengthwise to create eight-foot long sides.  Three were cut in half to make the upright supports on the corners and the middle of the eight-foot span.  The 2x4 center pieces of the pallet were ripped in half and created the cross-bracing for the ends of the box.  A couple of pieces of scrap plywood and USB were nailed to the top to create a hinged access point and the whole thing was wrapped in hardware cloth.  Finally some tarp material, salvaged from our wind damaged portable garage, was tacked around the sides to both keep the smallest of the birds in and predators out.  A new waterer was assembled from an extra feed dish and a lidded bucket with a hole drilled in the side.

Three laying birds will be added to the flock of 31 who call the chicken coop home.
50 meat birds will go into the older, large chicken tractor tonight after the hens are removed.
19 pullets were moved from the small chicken tractor to the new, larger one.
15 (and counting) new pullets went into the older brooder box.

This afternoon six holds will be added to the twenty four currently in the garage, to house the new litters of growing meat rabbits.

This morning, in between re-housing critters and regular chores, I have been trying to finish planting the garden with Little Man in tow.  He has been extremely helpful.  For each flat of transplants Momma puts in, Little Man follows behind with his new shovel and rake and pulls one or two back out to give to Momma.  I think I will wait to work in the garden until his father gets home.

Making memories

My stepson's first fish of the
weekend in 2007

Memorial Day weekend is the unofficial start of summer for many people.  Summer homes are opened; campers, tents and RVs are awakened from their winter slumber and brought forth into the state parks and campgrounds all around the country.  Here in northwestern Vermont, this weekend marks our family's unofficial family re-union weekend.  Each year extended family returns to the farm and camps out in and around the family camp on the lakeshore.  No invitations are mailed, no reminder phone calls made, no grocery list or meal plan is set forth.  You show up, bring your own food and choice of adult beverage and have a wonderful time.

The same stories are re-told again about lobster boils with the freshest of catch only eight hours out of the ocean when it reached the farm, and new memories are made as the next generation hooks their first perch or cooks their first s'more at the campfire.  This year even the threat of snow didn't keep the family from returning.  No tents were erected on the soggy lawn and the campfire is struggling against the relentless rain, but the family is here making new memories.

As the years pass we remember the best of times and as family members pass, we remember them fondly and the way they always cooked perfect steak on the fire even in the pouring rain.  The newest members of the family play hard inside of camp out of the weather eating their meals sitting on the stairs like I used to do when I was a child.  Conversations of years past and a better way of life seem to pass across everyone's lips at some point throughout the weekend.  Older folks have given up waking in a chilly camp to stoke the wood stove for the necessary warmth and comfort of a hotel room.  The next generation opted for the hard floor and warmth inside of camp instead of braving the weather outside in a tent which may or may not be filled with water in the morning.

Currently Little man is snoozing through the clatter and squawk of the latest batch of chickens hatching in the incubator.  Once our afternoon/evening chores are done, we will return to camp and gather around the campfire, weather be darned, and tell stories - some new and some classic re-runs, enjoy a couple of adult beverages and check off another year of great memories.

Little man, his father and I continue to farm in northwestern Vermont.  I have been remiss, no downright absent - in sharing the goings on here.  Writing this blog is almost a guilty pleasure for me and with so much that needs to happen during the day, I don't make the time to write.  One of the older members of my family said to me this morning that he enjoys reading the goings on of the farm from his home 300 miles away.  Through my words he remembers making some of the same mistakes, cringes at the thought of us taking on another venture and wondering how we can keep up with it all and manage to raise such a wonderful son. 

I will work on sharing more of the story.  Even without my being here for the past month, you still come to visit.  I don't realize how many people's lives I touched by starting this blog.  It is wonderful to have you here with us.  I am back in the saddle!

When you know you are where you belong

Driving home after ten hours away from the farm I switch off the administrative and dispatcher side of my brain and start thinking about the next seven or eight hours of work on the farm.  Sap from the maple trees around the house has taken occupancy in every barrel, bucket, gallon jug, glass jar and other storage container available to me save for the bath tub.  If we don't boil, we will be wasting precious sap as it dribbles down the sides of the trees.

I arrive at the house to find that Little Man and his father have gotten the fire started and the contents of our wash tub evaporator are just about to a boil.  We visit with my cousin over steam rising from the clear liquid.  After a short time the color deepens and the air takes on a sweet smell just as Little Man's mood turns sour.  Time to go inside, make dinner and begin our evening ritual of bath, brush teeth, story and bed while his father tends to the boil.

At 9:00 p.m. I take the reins of the boiling operation as Little man's father has to get cleaned up and get some sleep so he can leave before sun up for his off farm job.  The evening is cold; winter still has its claws in this night.  The clouds let forth small bursts of flurries every now and again and I am sitting on an overturned plastic bucket in mud at least two inches deep, in front of a roaring wood stove and vat of sweet liquid.

Around 11:30 p.m. the sap has finally come to and stays at the perfect boil.  Every last joint in my body aches from carting wood across the lawn to the wood stove and chopping it by hand.  My feet are soaked through to the bone as I realize I am still wearing the clothes that I wore to my off farm job - certainly not ones made for playing in the mud.  The makeshift door to my boiling rig is burning through and I have scalded my hands too many times to count as I draw off syrup by lantern light.  Shortly before 1:00 a.m. I head inside with my 'blackstrap' maple syrup, steam rolling off the hot bucket melting any snow flakes that dare come near. 

As I pass through the garage (aka rabbit shed), I notice a doe carrying hay in her mouth (a tell-tale sign of ensuing delivery).  She is early and I am out of nest boxes.  Syrup bucket placed inside and out of reach of furry critters, I start to work crafting a nest box out of scrap wood in the garage.  Thankfully the garage is plenty far from Little man's crib lest I wake him during the wee hours of this morning.  Nest box in place, I retreat inside. 

Clothes reeking of campfire smoke, maple syrup and mud are discarded directly into the washing machine.  A quick shower for the purpose of warming the bones and joints and a couple of over-the-counter pain relievers to ensure this beaten body can get moving in the morning.  Exhausted, I fall into bed, the cold seeping out through my pores drives the cats off the bed.  My last thoughts - in less than five hours I am actually looking forward to starting all over again.

Cream of celery soup

Celery, onions & chicken broth before flour & cream are added

Good food is something many people take for granted, I am not one of those people.  They say to have loved and lost is better than to have never loved at all - this does not hold true for good food.  I have mentioned before that I lived just outside of New York City for several years.  REALLY good food is available on almost any corner and if an establishment chooses to provide or produce poor quality food, they don't last long.  Having all this available within a 30 minute drive (sans traffic) in any direction was something that I took for granted.  What 'The City' has in great ready-to-eat or prepared food as well as the supply chain to support it, Northern Vermont has in its natural, local, quality ingredients.  A supply chain exists, but it is difficult to get a regular delivery of really fresh seafood to Burlington, let alone out to Newport or Island Pond.

One learns to preserve the fresh whenever possible and then hones the art of making what was once fresh come alive again in uncomplicated, deliciously prepared meals.  For me, one of the great things about being on the farm that much more is the opportunity to craft delicious home cooked meals.

A simple and flavorful cream of celery soup was to become the foundation of homemade chicken and biscuits this week.  Celery from the summer was taken from the freezer along with our neighbors onions which were chopped and frozen at the peak of freshness, and set in the skillet to soften.  Our own chicken broth was added, a touch of salt and pepper, a little flour and some cream from the farmer down the road to make a light, fresh, flavorful soup.  Some people puree carrots in their cream soups to add some additional flavor, but our broth is already packed with flavor from the chicken and the herbs it was cooked with.

To this yummy soup we added some frozen vegetables and left over, farm-raised roast chicken, and a quick batch of fresh biscuits.  It is a stick to your ribs kind of meal that is great for cold and snowy/rainy days.

The recipe I used for the soup:

4 cups chopped celery
1 extra large onion, chopped
4 cups chicken broth
1/3 cup flour
4 cups hot milk
salt & pepper to taste
1/4 cup (1/2 stick) butter
     (I omitted this ingredient since I was adding the soup to chicken & biscuits)

Saute celery & onion in some of the chicken broth or a little butter to soften.
Add chicken broth and bring to a boil.
Whisk together flour, milk, salt & pepper, add to pot with the butter.
Boil for 10 minutes.

You can now either strain out the vegetables or run them through a blender or food processor to make a smoother soup.  Again, since it was going into another dish, I used it just the way it came off the stove.

Laundry soap

I don't know if it is all the spring projects and the seemingly never ending amount of cash that is diverted off the farm to fund them or that new ideas seem to hatch at this time of year in my brain; my thoughts turn to ways to reclaim some of that cash.  Last year at about this time I talked about my attempts at resourcefulness in crafting all manner of homemade items.

Inspired by a post from an online homesteaders magazine, From Scratch Magazine; I decided that $2.00 for five gallons of laundry soap was far better than the $4.69 per gallon I am spending now.  I looked in the cabinet and found I had two bars of Fels Naptha and I always have Borax and Washing Soda around.  So began my attempt at making laundry soap.

While Little man was having his lunch I sat at the kitchen table and began grating the Fels Naptha.  I could have tried the food processor to make faster work of it, but there are the simple pleasures in performing and completing a task by hand especially while entertaining a fourteen month old.  Careful to clean up after myself, as the original post advises the grated Fels Naptha seriously resembles cheddar cheese; the table was wiped down and my bucket of gratings moved to the kitchen counter adjacent my large pot.  The soap is added to warm water until dissolved, the powdered ingredients added along with more water and finally added to hot water in a five gallon bucket and then finally more hot water resulting in just shy of five gallons of viscous yellow liquid.  Finally, the mixture is left to set overnight.

My mistake, and I make several throughout my trial and error education, was carefully placing the bucket out of Little man's reach in the mud room to set overnight.  The temperature in this particular room is only slightly warmer than the outside temperature as it is insulated but there is no heat in there.  This beautiful bucket of soap congealed into a semi-solid, soap-like mass.  Tomorrow I will get out my largest canning pot, add the mixture to re-warm and dissolve the mass and then will carefully place it in the bathroom to set overnight.

I chose not to add any essential oils as the Fels Naptha does not carry with it an offending odor.  Our current bottle of laundry detergent should be about empty on Sunday - this weekend will determine whether I wasted my $2.00 or have found another cost savings thanks to the wonderful homesteading world on the Internet.

Woman on a mission!

One day, every other week, Little man goes to child care, his father goes to work and I don't have to work off the farm.  Two days out of the month, I compile a to-do list in my head which would humble even the best list makers and I set out to accomplish at least twenty-five percent of it.  It has finally stopped snowing in our corner of Northwestern Vermont and the temperature is forecast to be in the low forties.  A few outside projects occupy today's list and there are a few projects which require some good concentration when Jen's brain is fresh. 

Today's list includes:

• Feed and water all the animals - everyday chore but I add it to every list lest I get side tracked on a new project and forget to do the basics.
• Cleaning the rabbits
• Cleaning the chicken coop
• Putting the plastic on the greenhouse
• Melt all the snow inside the greenhouse and clean out any uncomposted chicken coop and rabbit pine shavings and move them to the outside compost pile
• Make laundry detergent
• Do laundry
• Vacuum
• Dishes
• Burn pile of scrap wood
• Find lid to third sap storage container, wash out & collect sap
• Assemble the new exercise bike I got on freecycle
• Make website edits
• Write a blog post - one down!
• Balance the checkbook and pay some bills
• Build a bookshelf for the cookbooks that have been sitting on the couch in the kitchen since before Christmas
• Wash the grime off at least two kitchen cabinets - beginning of my true spring cleaning
• Sort through the seed orders that came in this week and update my seed starting schedule
• Clean off at least two feet of the work bench in the work shop; it took me 20 minutes to find the drill bit I needed for the greenhouse project, it is time to get better organized around here.
• Patch leaking water pipe in the basement
• Check on the new baby rabbits which began arriving last night.  Three of five does have kindled, a fourth is feverishly pulling hair today.  They were due today so I will not worry about number five until this weekend.
• Clean the litter box, take out the garbage, make dinner, etc.

The list is long but the woman is determined!