The Dark Side of Farming

I don't know of too many other occupations that rely on nature and the weather as much as farming.  Those of us who work the land know how it is to be close to it, and how nature can be giving and make things beautiful, but that she is also very fickle and will take what she wants when she wants it.  Though we can grow luscious and wonderful things from her soil, the forest and grasses are always trying to conquer our gardens.  Though we can raise and nurture animals, she can send one of her wild creatures to kill and destroy.

Last night, they came for our ducks.

This morning, none the wiser, I went out as usual for feeding time.  It was quiet in the waterfowl yard, which is odd.  I didn't really notice too much, until I saw a large bit of dirt was pushed aside in front of the ducks' house, and the crack of the door was wider.  When I opened the door, the smell of duck dung and blood hit me.  It was a massacre.  Two were dead, one was missing, and four were badly wounded. 

My guess is that it was a weasel or a mink.  I could be wrong.  Whatever it was, it took the smallest of the new Khaki Campbells away completely.  It bit the heads of Lizzie, the other Khaki, and killed her, and Suzie, who is badly wounded but still alive.  It did horrible things to poor Phoebe, whose body parts were not left where they should have been.  It tore part of Jane's bill off, and went after Ophelia's bill and her left leg.   Fawn was so badly damaged, I couldn't see where the damage was. 

Fawn, Ophelia, Jane and Suzie were still alive.  I called my dad (thank goodness for nearby parents!) and asked if he could come lend me a hand with the kids.  I didn't want them to see what I was seeing.  I told them what had happened, and of course, they were very upset.  My dad arrived to take them out to get donuts, and I was left to treat the wounded and bury the dead. 

My first ministrations were quick--I had kids to get to school, and an appointment I had to attend.  Once those were done, I went and took another look.  Jane may make it.  Suzie and Ophelia might make it.  There was no way I could help Fawn.  As I racked my brain thinking of the most humane way to put her down (I have no gun, and that was the only suggestion I kept getting from people), she let me off the hook.  Thankfully, she went by herself.

So this is the ugly, dark side of farming.  I've seen it before, but this was my first big glimpse of it.  It was vicious and cold, and showed me exactly how harsh nature can be.  It was an education.  We have to start over again, which is disappointing, but I understand and accept how and that it happened.  We go on from here.  Once again, Chicken Scratch will hear the melodies of little ducklings.  I hope this time I can protect them better.

Pets, Livestock, and Farm Animals?

I was talking to my very good friend the other night, and she was mentioning to me that she couldn't believe how many animals we have. I should probably mention that my friend lives on Long Island, in a very suburban neighborhood. The kind where people own dogs that they walk around the neighborhood or occasionally take to the dog park. Where they dress their dogs up in little outfits (my friend does not do this), and take them to the groomers and so on. Suburbia. We used to live in the same suburbia, and I grew up in it, so I am very familiar with it.

My friend owns a dog and a couple of cats. The cats go in and out, and the dog is a suburban dog. He is a sweet, fat (forgive me T) Puggle, smart as a whip and friendly as all get out. He gets walked and taken to the dog park like a suburban dog should. He has toys and gets treats and is spoiled and is a family member more than an animal.  He is a pet.  I know this feeling well.  In suburbia, you have pets or you don't.  And if you do, then they're just another member of the family, like one of your children, only they're not allowed to sit at the table to eat, and they're probably not toilet trained.

In my house, we have 3 cats as pets.  They are fat and spoiled and allowed to sleep wherever they want (except the dining room table), and are generally considered members of the family.  If they are sick, they go to the doctor.  We take into consideration what foods they will/will not eat.  We give them treats (which is why they are fat), and we play with them.  A lot of consideration went  into finding our boys (they are all boys).  We looked at 4 or 5 animal shelters over a period of a few weekends each, trying to find exactly the right personalities to blend into our four-person family.  We petted and talked to and checked over all potential candidates.  And once we chose?  We made sure they were washed up, they got new food bowls and litter boxes, toys, and we took them to the doctor to ensure they were healthy.  We were adopting a family member, after all.  We wanted only the best.

Our boys were added to our family when we, too, lived in a typical suburban development-type neighborhood.  Because of that, our boys never go outside--too dangerous.  They are House Cats in the extreme.  Supreme High Rulers of all soft or high off the ground.  We love them and they us.  They are family members.

Fast forward to today.  Now we live on a bit of land that is mostly wild woods.  Bordered by wild woods on two sides, with neighbors on the same road, but not right in our faces.  I couldn't call it rural by my definition (no neighbors in sight), but it's not a suburban development by any standard.  This is where we decided to live, and this is where I decided to start that farm I've always wanted.  And so here it is.  But of course to farm, you need animals, which was a huge bonus to me, and chickens were the gateway to the livestock world.  Then, when I had that down, I wanted to try geese and Ferdinand and Ginger joined the flock.

The chickens were never pets.  They are livestock, through and through.  I enjoy them very much, but they're not cuddly.  You don't sit with one in your lap (or, I don't sit with one in my lap) and pet it.  Though my children will hijack one or two occasionally to play "Chicken Roller Coaster" (more humane than it sounds--it's mostly sitting on a swing with a chicken in your lap and then walking around with it under your arm), they do their own thing, I do mine, and we meet up at the feed trough.  With the geese, the line got a little fuzzy.  They have SUCH personalities and there were only two of them.  I raised them from teeny-tiny babies and loved them at first sight, and was so enamored that if one got hurt (as Ginger did), I was very, very upset--the fact that she was livestock was understandable to me, but emotionally, I just couldn't break the connection.  She was sort of a pet/livestock.  Odd combo.  Confusing to understand.

As time has gone on, and we have acquired many more animals (many), the lines of who's a pet and who's not has changed yet again.  Chickens are still livestock.  When we lost one last year, I was sorry for the chicken, but I felt the loss in terms of the eggs she will no longer produce for us.  I still check on the little chicks running around freely and worry if they're safe, but if I can't find one at mealtime, I don't think about having lost a pet, I think about having lost a potential egg producer and possibly a member of a rare breed.   And yes, I am always glad when they eventually turn up.  But no, I do not weep for joy. 

The geese have now become livestock.  Loud livestock.  Possibly it's the addition of so many others that makes me see them this way?  I can see myself sort of stepping away from the fussing I would have done over them.  The Pilgrims, who I did raise by hand, have been adopted by Ferdie as his own, and there's nothing I can do about it.  Luckily they are very tame.  But the little Africans, Audrey and Delilah, were almost completely raised by Arthur.  He took them under his wing, and because he is a docile, good boy, I allowed it.  And I still love Ginger, but she's a goose, as are the rest of them.  If one of them were to be lost, I would be sad, but I would also see it as a loss of a rarer breed (that's what we keep here) more than the loss of a friend.  However, I would still miss their personality as well.  

Ducks? Livestock.  Easy to call.  Funny livestock, but livestock.

Rabbits?  Same.  Cute and furry and nice to pet, but livestock nonetheless. 

So it leaves me to ponder our newest additions, these two:

They are not really pets, or are they?

Dave

They are barn cats (or garage cats until the barn is built). 

They are definitely not livestock.

Dave's sister, Eleanor

What are they, then?  Farm hands?  Co-workers?  Employees?   Not much thought went into their adoption--we didn't go 700 places looking for them.  We have them because I went to Agway to buy straw.  Isn't that how it always is?

Weeks ago, I told my understanding and wonderful husband that I really needed a barn cat.  The chipmunks and mice have been getting into the animal feed, and I can't have that.  The stuff's expensive and very needed, and I can't have mice eating it and chipmunks stealing it.  He agreed, on the condition that the cat doesn't come in, so he wouldn't have to add a litter box, or have the cat meet our boys (messy), and so on and so on.  Fair enough, and I agreed.  Well, I went to Agway for said straw and saw Dave and his sign that said $15.  Not bad, I thought.  I played with him a little to see how ferociously he attacked fingers and how docile he was with people and decided he was a good combination of both.  In the cage with him was his sister, Eleanor.  She was quieter, so I really just wanted Dave.  Up to the counter I went, with my daughter in tow, practically floating in the air with excitement, and asked for Dave.  I was then asked if I would take both.  I don't need both, though, I just need the one, I said, but they didn't want to split them.  The decision maker?  They offered me the both of them for $15.  Not $15 apiece, but $15 in total.  Deal.  Two little mouse hunters for the price of one?  Absolutely. 

So there we have it.  Our numbers have increased (AGAIN),but this time we took on co-workers.  I guarantee they will be loved (they already are) and played with (a LOT) and treated really well, but they have a job that our other boys do not (unless you call sleeping a job), and they don't sleep on our beds at night.  Again, the line gets fuzzy.

But happily fuzzy, I would say.  Happily fuzzy.

Linking to

"So this is a working farm."

My dad said as he looked over the work-in-progress vegetable patch.  What did I say?  "Well, yeah".

Gosh, I sure am clever sometimes.

The reason he said it was because yesterday I did something that I've been wanting to do forever, but it's taken me years to get to where I thought I was ready.

I registered our farm's name and became a small business. 

I still don't feel like I'm completely ready.  There is so much for me to learn.  But I'm taking the steps I need to and asking lots of questions.  I don't know as much as I'd like, but I will.  What I do know is that farming is something I truly, down-in-my-soul believe in.  Not factory farming.  This kind of farming.  Where I can work with a small patch of land and really make a difference.  Where the animals will be raised humanely and treated wonderfully.  Where I can not only feed my family, but others with the good, clean, fresh food I raise with my own two hands.  We've been selling eggs for months.  I'm ready to go further. 

You want to know something?  I'm not brave.  I'm worried that, because I am new to this, I'll end up with 40 dozen eggs and 1 tomato to sell.  But I guess that the 40 dozen eggs will be something, so it is what it is.  I will start very small.  I will stay small.  But I will make a difference, I know it.  I will feed people the food they should be eating--good, fresh food--and I know they will see the difference.  This is something I believe in.  I really hope that I can do it.

Welcome to my farm, everyone.  We are open for business.

They May Look Like Weeds To You...

But to others, they look like dinner.

Thought you'd enjoy the dinner call.  It evolved over time, and now they know it well.  Just note, when I say "Chick, chick", that's not who comes first.  :)

But they do eventually arrive. 

It's June 1st!! Let's Have An Update!

May was a busy, busy month.  It just flew by.  I know I didn't get to post as often, but that's because I was so busy.  In a nutshell, here's what happened, and what's happening now.

The garden

To me, this is the heart of the farm, the real production center.  It was a ridiculous amount of work; and it's still not done.  2310 square feet in all, it has required back-breaking labor from the day I pulled out the rototiller. 

As of now, it is almost entirely planted. The only things lacking are the sunflowers, some of the herbs, and the lavender that's being held hostage by the grower in Canada.  I also need to replant some of the corn, because, before the fence went up, the geese went in. 

That lovely multi-coloredness you see in the center there is me reusing my feed bags as a pathway.  Doesn't look pretty, but it's effective.  Those bags are plastic and will never break down.  I'm also using old pool covers as path liners.  Those are the green blocks.  I'm not too far along with the path liners, but I'm getting there. 

So far, I've amended my garden plan at least 5 times, and I still have more to change.  This is really a test year.  As I haven't gardened such a large area before, I am unsure of how to gauge space.  Some things I feel are too close together; some too far apart.  I'm going to have to take careful notes of yields.  If I don't like them this year, I'll have to adjust for next.

The weeds are rapidly taking over, so I've begun to mulch as well.  I'm using straw and dead leaves and shredding them with the shredder I borrowed from my parents.

Works like a charm. 

The Bees

I never bring my camera out with me when I check on them, so this is about as good as it's going to get, I fear.  The bees are doing very well.  The last time I checked them was May 19th, so when I went out this morning, I wanted to see if the brood was increasing, which happily it is.  They have also made a good amount of headway in honey stores, and they must be eating something, because the feeder jug has stayed pretty full.  I found the queen, which made me pretty happy, because though I could tell she was there, I was glad to see her.  She's made lots of babies.  Good girl!

The Animals

I know I've written about them the most, so I don't have much to tell.  The geese are losing their yearly fluffy underfeathers, so it looks like it's snowing outside.

As for the "raiding party", it's grown to include the new ducks and Ophelia, when she can keep up with them.  Here they are coffee klatching.

As for the chicks, they've gotten bigger...

...and messier.  And the roos are starting to look like roos.

Even the Silkies, who were the UGLIEST birds on the planet not too long ago, have become less ugly.

Note that I didn't say they were cute.

And all of them have taken to leaving the brooder and the garage whenever they feel like it and running (conservatively) around the yard, which I encourage. 

So all in all, we're chugging along at a good pace.  I am looking forward to a little calm this month (ha ha ha!!).  Hope you all are having a nice June the first!!

First-Ever Livestock Tailgate Sale

We've really arrived in our corner of the Hudson Valley.  Not only are we expecting a brand new Tractor Supply (oh yeah!!), but we just had our first ever livestock tailgate sale in the local Agway's parking lot. 
Did I go?

Do you even have to ask?

It was small, but still awesome.  I was just thrilled to have had it being held here, you know?  'Bout time someone recognized that there are farmers right around here.  It was moderately busy, which is good news.  There were lots of chickens (I was good--I didn't even look), bunnies, and ducks.  Someone had peafowl, and one person had Nubians.  I'm not ready, but hell, I was SO tempted.  I got her name and number for next year.  She'll be hearing from me, for sure.

I went to find a bunny.  We still have Robert and Petunia, but this is what's been going on:

They've been shacking up.

Ok, maybe that's not the whole story.  Turns out, Robert and Petunia were canoodling for quite a while.  One would hop over the center divide in the hutch and they'd be together.  I'd separate them, and then the other one would hop over the divide and they'd be together again.  Eventually, I just gave up.  If Petunia was going to get pregnant, it would have happened long ago, so there was really no point in separating them after the fact.  However, she never got pregnant.  And then "she" started mounting Robert. 

Know where I'm going with this?

Yeah, so "Petunia" is not a Petunia, after all.  Though he hid it REALLY well, from me and the guy I bought him from, Petunia has got a penis and Petunia is not a girl.  The story of my life right now, really.  Make that strike two on my part--Emmit was strike one.  I'm still learning, let's just leave it at that. 

Anywho, "Petunia" is in no danger of becoming pregnant (obviously) and it seems the boys really like to be together, so now they live together.  Petunia has been renamed Bunnicula, and he couldn't care less.  It's worked out well for several weeks now, so what's done is done.  However, it left one side of the hutch uninhabited, which is uncool, since I like to use all the real estate available to me all the time.  Plus, rabbits are pretty cheap to feed, so I figured what the heck?  I'll go shopping.

In a cage FULL of New Zealands at the sale, a sea of big white bunnies, there she was.

A gorgeous orange baby. 



That was it for me, folks.  Look at those ears!!  Like satellite dishes.  She's beautiful.  I know she's a rabbit meant for eating, but that ain't gonna happen.  I am smitten.  The man I bought her from was positive she's a she, and I checked (that's not worth much, but hey), so she's Petunia.  Gorgeous girl that she is.

The boys would LOVE to get their fuzzy paws on her, but no way.  She's off limits.  Get over it, boys!

"Hey pretty lady!  You busy later??  We can show you around our hutch!  You like alfalfa?  We like alfalfa.  Come on up, we'll talk about it."

I went through the rest of the sale, and wound up buying a couple of ducks to add to the bevy.  Unplanned ducks.  You know how that goes.  Turns out my husband, who I would say tolerates my growing army of livestock (he's not a farmer kind of guy) actually really likes the ducks.  I had no idea.  He thinks they are funny, because they are so vocal (they are all girls, with the exception of Charles).

Handsome, but silent. 

And they are.  Jane, Phoebe, and Suzie form a "raiding party" on a daily basis and chase after the geese, which is freaking hilarious.

Bowling pins with bills.  The three amigos.

So yeah, I get it.  Being the dutiful wife that I am, and wanting to encourage his love of farming as much as possible, I bought him a couple of ducks.

They are a Khaki Campbell cross, and thankfully (and this was the selling point), they are old enough to not need brooding.  With 22 chickens in the brooder right now and a few Guinea fowl on the way in a week or so, I don't have room.  Plus, ducks are pigs to brood.  

The one on the right in this picture is Lizzie, named by my husband, since they were for him.  She's 8 or 9 weeks old, by my reckoning.  The one on the left is unnamed as of yet, as we're waiting to see if it's a he or she.  I flipped him/her, and didn't see anything, but sometimes waterfowl don't want to give it up.  Right now, I'd say girl.  But we'll see.  Or hear, rather.  I know Lizzie's a Lizzie because wow, she's got plenty to say.

Nicely, the girls we have already, though they do not like wild Mallards, welcomed the new recruits with open wings.

Oh, heeeeyyyyyy buddy!

Acclimating them to one another was a non-issue--they are one unit all together.  It's all good. 

So, we've increased our farm's numbers again, happily.  The place just gets louder all the time.  :)

And the Nest Sits Empty

We've come to the conclusion of the Ginger saga.

Ginger sat, pretty much alone, for 30 days.  She fluffed her nest, she turned her eggs, she got down very rarely.  Unfortunately, it was to no avail.  For a long time, I would try to see in her eggs.  I put them on the candler not long ago, and I couldn't see a thing.  I thought this was a good sign.  But then today, the eggs really started to smell.  So I took them, little by little, and candled them in different positions until I could finally see through them.

It was not pretty.

No air sac, no sign of life.  Just putrid liquid.  They were all the same.  Since they smelled pretty bad on the outside, I could only imagine what they'd smell like on the inside.  I didn't want to take the chance.  I walked them, a few at a time, to the wooded side of the property, and broke them open.

Why?  Because I had to see what was inside, that's why.  Closure, you can call it.

Well, I can tell you, it was green and slimy, and holy cow, the smell almost made me toss my cookies.  I am glad I didn't throw them in the garbage.  And I'm very glad I walked them to a far end of the property. 

All that remains of Ginger's eggs

So, not the ending I was hoping for.  As for Ginger, she saw me take the last egg right from underneath her, and she didn't bat an eye.  She got down soon after it was removed, and joined the gaggle again.  She did go check quickly on the nest once or twice afterwards, but I think it was out of habit more than anything else.   She seemed pretty happy to be eating and moving around normally again. 

She's very young--not even a year old.  It would have been a real surprise if this had worked out.  Still, I am disappointed for her.  She tried really hard.  Maybe next year.