I know it's bad manners to just have these long, quiet periods but it is what it is, I guess. There is a crispness in the air I would not have expected for another month but there it is. As someone with who's mostly North Atlantic, in her recent ancestry, I certainly don't mind, though it's doing a number on the warm weather crops. I see green tomato something in my future. The squirrels are crazy busy too, dropping pinecones from the heights and running around chattering. But it's still the time of year when I can eat a bowl of fresh peaches for breakfast (so does not make me sad). Which reminds me, I need to grab more peaches after work. Canning, canning, canning. This weekend I need to deal with freezers and the cold room situation. In other news, my hens are thinking this is a good time to hatch out. I know what you're probably thinking - it was too hot before and now they're comfortable but you know, it didn't get as hot as that. No, I can't figure them out but right now I have teen aged chicks, brand new, hatched on the weekend chicks, and two mamas on a nest. In goat news, Athena kidded out at the end of May. As usual she had three (doe, buck, buck), got them out like a trooper, cleaned off and cared for, and well mothered. Ironically, I decided that we were taking a break from breeding. There are tonnes of wonderful things about breeding, the obvious: babies. But also there's a deeper excitement of new life, the potential for milk (I say potential because ever year I start off well intentioned but fade), and just the fun of watching the sillies grow up. The bad isn't all that bad either. Ok, it's bad in the moment but it's part of life and most definitely part of farming. You can't get away from it in farming, no matter how hard you try. So, why go on hiatus? I just can't part with the babies! I love them way too much. We neutered all of the boys so I'd have to pressure to move any of them on. I love this year's doeling, Hekkla, and have decided that if someone needs a doeling, I will sell her but I hate that part. So, for right now, we're taking a break. I also have a tonne of personal life stuff going on so, we'll take the next season off and see what comes. So, there's your update. See you sooner, than a couple of months, I hope!
Just as I was leaving for work there was a big fuss in the yard - raven cawing, hen shrieking, dog barking, and the high pitched shriek of a baby chick. I got over to the site just in time to see a raven with a dark, limp shape in it's talons as it flew off.
Dejected, I went over to the nest to see if any eggs were left and heard "peep peep peep" from the hay shed. Sure enough, a wee baby had survived the attack. So, of a nest of about a dozen eggs, we had one baby but really, better than none. Weaving with Freyja the dog cat in is always an interesting adventure. Fortunately, my healing up dog is always happy to guard the loom. Here's the work in progress - the warp is a random cone of something that feels like it's got mohair in it. The weft is a random assortment of handspun. The finished cloth
So, when you have chickens you realize a few things, some faster than others. One of the things I learned quickly is that, just like people, there are variations in personalities in the flock. This hen: is without a doubt, my favourite. She's a lovely, inquisitive sort with a steady personality.
Today, whilst I cleaned the coop, all of the other curious critters followed me in and scattered when I started tossing the new bedding around. Not this one. As usual she first looked at me as if to advise me I'd disturbed her peace and then went about scratching and pecking around. With the second armload of bedding, she didn't even look up. She just fluffed up her feathers, shook off the random bits that stuck to her, and continued on. So, the very beloved farm dog. LG and I came home midday a couple of weeks ago to find Winchester sitting in the yard looking just off. Instead of his usual bounding over to the car, happily greeting us, he just stay in place, looking flat and off (I know I already said that but it's the word that best describes it). So, we get closer and can see that he's shaking and covered in drool and he's got these expressive eyes that are saying "help" and not really moving. We aren't sure what's happened because he's not talking. Given his, um, impulse control problem with food I'm wondering if he's been poisoned by something he's found or compost or... ? So, then the diagnostics start: head to toe assessment. He's defensive around the face and head, and no we're thinking that he may have been hit by a car. We notice there's some blood in his drool. LG, the ever growing/ever hungry teen goes in to start cooking himself something to eat and I go in to phone the vet to see if they'll fit us in. They tell us to come right away. LG shuts off the stove and, in spite of teen pangs of hunger, helps me lift the injured pup (ok, older man) in to the car. We get to the vet and he's no more interested in the vet (a stranger to him -we'd never seen her before) looking in his mouth than he was me. She's seen a bit of abrasion when she could get a little peek and suggests sedating him to get a better look. Of course, we do that. Even under sedation, he's aware of where we are and if he's people are around. How do I know? He was sedated with his head in my lap, as soon as I moved away, he squirmed and started moving again. I came over and patted him, he'd slightly wag his tail. Vet patted him, no tail wag. That's how attentive he is. Or regular vet leaves the surgery he's in the middle of to help out. Finally we get his mouth open wide enough to see inside and there's a massive tear, at least 4inches long. The theory - he's torn his throat open on a stick. It's nothing that can be mended - to wide, poor location, and not much that can be done. They ensure there are no splinters in the wound (there weren't, thank goodness) and tell us that they can reverse the sedation in about 20mins but there's not much they can do for him. So, we go feed the teen and come back. When we get back there, Winchester is groggy but ready to go and cannot wait to be home. We collect the anti-inflammatories and antibiotics and head home. Now, I'm not a big fan of prophylactic antibiotics but my goodness, I couldn't be more grateful for them in this case. So, we watch him closely the first night (I might have slept on the floor with him). He's pretty tragic: but he's alive. With an injury like that, it's not a sure thing that he would be.
Now, two weeks later, he's come through and out the other side. Some things have certainly changed for him, it's clearly still painful to lick and the barking's been cut down to a minimum but he's thriving and mostly back to his old self. Which includes trying to entice us to throw sticks for him (I bought soft frisbees - never again with sticks!). You know those times when you may have over committed? Yeah, I am that person, yet again. In addition to all of the home stuff I do, I also work full time. And I own a small business. And I teach textile things. Oh, and I scaled back my regular job to do more private practice work so I went to part time and added in part time. Sheesh.
I share this not for sympathy but because I'm so often curious about how people who are living this homemaking, sustainable lifestyle pay the actual bills, I thought you might be as well. I know that I often wonder if they know some secret that I don't? I'm here to tell you that there are some who have sold a house in an urban area and had enough equity to make it all work. I know a few people in that category. More often than not, at least one of the adults has an off farm income of some sort to pay things like the mortgage; you know, the things we can't pay for in eggs, or herbs or other such things. Anyway, all of this working off farm work and the on farm work, has meant I've neglected the lot of you and I'm sorry for it. Rest assured, this morning brings with it another big shift that will should mean I'm back on track for regular updates. For now, I offer you this - a kitten in a basket (and yes, drying yarn, and a spindling wheel). So, when I went North to get Vespy, I might have also accidentally brought home a trio of muscovies. I absolutely adore them already!
Why muscovies? So many reasons, really. The domestic muscovy duck ( Cairina moschata forma domestica) is a large duck that comes to us from Latin and South America with small wild/feral populations all over the place. They're not related to the mallard derived breeds so any cross between a mallard-esque duck and muscovy will be sterile. They're called hinnies around here though word is they're officially called Mulards. So, how large is a large duck? The males can weigh 15lbs and females max out at about half that. They can be any number of colours or colour combinations of whites, browns, greys, and blacks. Both sexes have red or pink wattles on their faces. They also have seriously epic claws on their webbed feet. In spite of the warmer origins of the muscovy, it can thrive in much colder conditions. Here, they live in temperatures as cold as -30*C. Muscovies are fascinating in the way they communicate, using a variety of hisses and bobbing head gestures to make their point to one another. They don't really quack at all, though they can make this squawky sort of sound if they need to. There are a tonne of stories about the origins of the muscovy name. The story I like best is that it relates to their fondness for eating mosquitoes. And they truly are fond of mosquitoes. I love how they keep the populations down. They lay tonnes of delicious ducky eggs that, if you have a boy and you don't collect them, after 35 days of incubation, will turn into absolutely adorable cheepers. The cheepers will stick with their mums for up to three months because they need her heat to keep them warm. Although they don't form breeding pairs, a drake will help with protecting the hen on a nest, and babies, once hatched. PS - if you've ever eaten Barbary duck, that's the culinary way to say C. moschata. So, in that way of cats who have carved out a cosy spot in your life, we were in Freyja-withdrawal big time. Of our three cats, she is by far the most connected to the family as indicated by her moniker, Freyja the Dog-Cat. She embodies all of the best of both species.
With all of this said, you can imagine my joy when, while out for a run, I heard a familiar little beeping meow at the bottom of the meadow (aka the Coyote Zone). Tired, skinny, and scratched up, she did not do her usual semi-feral run away from the human taking her from the fun. Instead, she practically leapt into my arms and let me carry her most of the way home. As we climbed the driveway, she started to writhe and try to get away but I wasn't going to let that happen. I got her in the house and here she recovers.
Well that was a surprise. Mama had been on her nest diligently but it's been three weeks already? I'm glad I'm home today to see who else shows up.
In addition to The Cuteness, these chicks represent a new phase in my smaller living scheme. My hope is to go another step back and have on farm hatched/raised chicks so I can stop buying from hatcheries. Our last hatchery order had a bunch of chicks from good brooding/mothering breeds in the hope that this will happen.
Ultimately, I hope to
It's not that I don't appreciate hatcheries, of course I do. But, it's one more thing I can do for myself, which is awesome. It's also another step back from commoditizing living beings - something that doesn't feel ok to me.
Of course, in my usual way, I may have overdone it as I now have two muscovies (ducks) and four hens on nests. Sigh. If you ask the people who know me, that sums me up in a nutshell - feast or famine! |
AuthorI'm a 40-something writer and smallholder living in the wilds of BC with my family, our small herd of Nigerian Dwarf Goats, chickens, ducks, dogs, and cats. Archives
August 2017
Categories
All
|