Invasion

Last Saturday morning we got up early to get the girls ready to run a 5K benefit race being organized by our middle school.  It was being held to raise funds for a beloved teacher who had contracted a life-threatening infection a few months ago and had accumulated soaring medical expenses as a result of his long stay in the hospital.  It was a drizzly, chilly morning but our spirits were high as we got ready to celebrate the miraculous recovery of the teacher who had just gotten home from the hospital the day before. 

Brian went out to feed the animals as usual, but when he came back in he looked pale and shocked.  Turns out some kind of predator, probably a raccoon, had gotten into our chicken pen and there was carnage everywhere.  We couldn’t believe it as the pen, where the mature hens and bantam rooster were being temporarily housed while our new spring chicks had taken over their normal coop, was surrounded by a very high wire fence with only about a 1 foot gap between the top of the fence and the roof of the barn.  But apparently that had been space enough for the marauder to climb over and take out 7 of our hens and the little rooster.

Upon hearing the news, the girls cried and I tried lovingly to console them and to make sense of what had happened.  Brian was faced with the painful task of rounding up the dead birds and placing their broken bodies into a large garbage bag to be dealt with later.  He was moved to tears, too, in compassion for the birds as well as empathy for the sadness his daughters were feeling.  We’d lost hens before to predators and thought we had all grown a little more detached from the inevitable occasional occurrence, but this loss felt worse.  For one thing, many of these hens had been shown at the County Fair last season and had won lots of ribbons and prizes, and apparently we were more attached to them than we had realized.  And then there was just the feeling of being violated that comes when a predator enters what you had regarded as a safe space.

I really didn’t think the girls would be able to pull themselves together quickly enough to finish getting ready and out the door for the race within the time we had allotted.  But they really wanted to show their support for their teacher and got it together in time to make it to the race.  While it was chilly and gloomy, they were determined to carry on in honor and celebration of the occasion.

At the start of the race, they were greeted by a wonderful and warming sight.  The beloved teacher whom they’d worried about for so long and who had been given only a 7% chance of survival months earlier, was there with his wife, also a teacher at the school, and he was beaming from ear to ear at the sight of all these supporters.  Another teacher was with him and was crying for joy at the fact that her friend and colleague had made it and was on the road to recovery. 

Although we were all still gloomy and sad about our losses for the rest of the weekend, which was not helped by the cool, cloudy and damp weather, we found moments of happiness and celebration every time we considered the bigger picture.  Imagining what our teacher and his family had been going through for months, and the jubilation all that knew and loved them were feeling as a result of his courage and perseverance through this ordeal, sure helped to put things into perspective.

Life Lesson:  Life has its ups and downs; focus on the ups whenever you can

Goat Milk?

One of the things we soon learned about having dairy goats is that once the babies are weaned off their mother’s milk, you accumulate a lot of milk rather quickly.  Even with only one milker in the barnyard producing 3-4 quarts a day, that’s somewhere between five and seven gallons of fresh milk coming in each week.  And although goat’s milk is deliciously creamy and sweet (especially that of Nubians), it’s a little too rich and high in fat for my family to drink straight being that we’re used to drinking non-fat cow’s milk (did you know that goat’s milk is naturally homogenized which means it’s impossible to separate the cream from the milk without a mechanical cream separator?).  So not long after our first goat kids were weaned, I decided it was time to learn to make goat cheese.

Now I thought this was going to be a very complicated and time-consuming procedure that would require all of my focus and attention to learn how to master.  And given that my summers are very full and busy with all the camps to run, animals and kids to care for, and goat shows to go to, I thought I would learn the art of cheesemaking while on our annual summer vacation at my family’s cottage in northern Michigan.  Each July we travel to Mullett Lake, MI where we relax at a 100+ year old rustic cabin that has been in my family for 5 generations.  Life is simple there as we have no phone, no television and few responsibilities, and I thought this would be a great break from my normal hectic pace that would allow me time to really focus on becoming an artisan cheesemaker.  And it just so happened that the first year we had goats was also the first year we decided to drive to Michigan instead of flying, which meant I could bring milk with me!

So, a couple weeks before we left for our trip, I ordered some basic ingredients and equipment from the New England Cheesemaking Supply Company, and as we prepared to make the three day journey across country, I packed a cooler with 3 half-gallon containers of frozen goat’s milk.  Each night along the route, I carefully drained the melted ice from the cooler and repacked it with fresh ice from our hotel’s icemaker.  Once we arrived at our destination, I put the by now mostly thawed milk in the refrigerator and waited another day or two while I enjoyed the time to unwind and relax.

Finally, the big day arrived and I was ready to learn to make goat cheese!  I had my trusty Home Cheesemaking book at the ready, along with my cheese thermometer, butter muslin (very fine cheese cloth) and packet of Chevre culture as I gingerly heated the liquid gold in a pot on our cabin stovetop.   The directions said to heat it to 86 degrees, add the culture (which was about 1/8 of a tsp of very fine white powder), stir, cover and let sit for 12 hours at room temperature.  As I sprinkled the powder into the milk I couldn’t imagine that this tiny amount would have any effect on this large pot of milk, and I was surprised at just how little action was involved in these few steps, but I figured the hard part must come later so I pressed on. 

When I checked the pot after 12 hours, I was amazed to find a large, solid round “curd” floating in a liquid pool of slightly yellowish green “whey” – amazing!  The next step called for scooping the curd into a cheesecloth-lined strainer, and then tying the ends of the cheesecloth together and hanging it over a sink to drain for another 6-12 hours.  Easy enough, and more waiting.  After the required length of time had passed, I untied the cheesecloth to reveal a lovely, creamy white mass of something more similar to cream cheese than the dry, solid chevre I had envisioned, but upon tasting it on a cracker, we all agreed it was a success! 

Now, several years and many, many pounds of chevre, fromage blanc, ricotta and mozzarella later, I can’t help but laugh at how mysterious and difficult I thought simple cheesemaking would be.  Admittedly I haven’t ventured into the world of hard cheeses yet (in cheesemaking circles it’s said that soft cheese is easy and hard cheese is hard), but maybe I’ll have to cart some goat’s milk across country again this summer and give it a try!

Life Lesson:  Try something new – it might not be as difficult as you think

Summer Camp

As the days grow longer and the sun feels warmer, I know it’s time to start shifting gears and getting ready for another summer of camps here at the farm.  During the winter, I focus more on my “indoor” profession of Life Coaching, but once the grass starts turning green and the birds start chirping, it’s time for me to shed my professional clothes in favor of jeans and a t-shirt and head back out to the barnyard.

When we first moved to the farm in 2005, I had a vision of combining my years as a horse-crazy young girl with my stint as a girl scout leader to create a riding and farm program for kids.  My own girls had gone to several horse and farm-related camps before we moved out here, and though they’d enjoyed them, I’d always thought there was so much more that the leaders could have done with the rich material of animals, nature, kids, crafts and games.  Also, once we bought the property here in Boulder County, we were pretty tapped out financially, so if we were going to have horses (and eventually goats, chickens, a llama, etc.) they were going to have to generate enough income to pay their way.  Camps and farm programs seemed like a great way to accomplish this goal while allowing me to still remain essentially a stay-at-home mom.

Each summer, we put on 3 or 4 week-long summer day camps.  Some are full day camps and some are half-day, and they are organized according to age of the campers.  Pony Pals is a half day camp for kids 6 and up; Boots, Suits & Brushes is a full day camp that includes swimming and art in the afternoons for kids 8 and up; and Middle School Mares is a full day camp with a backyard sleepover in tents the last night for girls ages 11-15.  Ours camps are small and intimate with no more than 8 or 9 campers per session, and I’ve really gotten to know a lot of the kids well as many come back year after year.  Last year was an especially gratifying summer when I realized that many of my new Middle School Mares had been coming to camps or lessons on the farm since they were in kindergarten!

The way I organize the camp day is to teach riding lessons to a small group of 2-4 kids at a time while the others work on a craft or choose from an assortment of other farm-related activities.  I always post of list of these options in the barn and go over the choices with the kids at the beginning of each camp day.  Activities range from playing with the goats, to collecting eggs from the henhouse, playing with bubbles or water balloons, working on camp journals, swinging on horse swings, hunting for toads and free play.  Guess which one always gets the biggest cheer when I read through the list?   Free play!  I’m always amazed how excited the kids get when I tell them they can actually make up their own games outdoors using nothing more than their own creativity and imagination.  You’d think I just told them they had won the lottery.  And they have come up with some pretty amazing, deeply involved games over the years involving teamwork, story plots, strategy, and lots and lots of running.  In fact, some kids resume a game they had started the previous summer when they come back to camp the next year.

In his book Last Child in the Woods, Richard Louv identifies a phenomenon he calls Nature-Deficit Disorder: the disconnection between children and nature.   He sites research confirming that direct exposure to nature is essential for the physical and emotional health of children and argues for a return to an awareness of and appreciation for the natural world.  I have to agree that I think today’s kids are so plugged into electronic media and so over scheduled with structured activities (although many of these are very worthwhile), that they are craving time to just explore and create their own sense of adventure in the outdoors without any specific goals or adult intervention.  I like to think my camps are giving a handful of kids the chance to get a bit more of this in their lives each summer.  I know I sure enjoy watching them do it!

Life Lesson:  We could all use a little more Free Play time outdoors 

Early Mornings

You know that old adage, early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy and wealthy and wise?  Or how about, the early bird catches the worm?  Well, I tend to agree with these sentiments but I can’t help thinking that maybe they were made up by farmers or parents of young children in an attempt to make themselves feel better about the fact that they are up feeding and tending to their critters and kids 7 days a week, 52 weeks a year!

Luckily for me, I tend to be a morning person naturally.  I can remember as a teenager, all my friends would boast about sleeping till noon on the weekends, and I couldn’t manage to make it past 9:00, no matter how late I’d been up.  This often frustrated me, but it also served me well during the summer of my 16^th year when I landed a job as a groom and hotwalker at River Downs race track in Cincinnati – a job that required me to be at the barn at 5:30 a.m. EVERY day of the week.  And when my husband and I had our kids, the adjustment to those early morning awakenings wasn’t nearly as hard for us as for many of our friends since we were already pretty used to going to bed and getting up early.

So when we moved to our little farm and started accumulating our assortment and feathered and furry friends, the daily morning chore of getting up to feed them all around sun up wasn’t too hard.  There is a restful quietness about the place in those early morning hours that I find to be so peaceful and grounding that I hate to miss them.  Even when I’m really tired at first light, I somehow feel the urge to get up and start my day.  Some of my favorite things about being up early include:

~  hearing my little bantam rooster cock-a-doodle-dooing out in the barn yard

~  that first sip of my hot tea with a piece of warm toast and honey

~  watching the foothills behind our house turn bright, glowing red for a few brief moments as the sun comes up in the east

~  walking out in my pajamas and slippers to retrieve the morning paper

~  having some silent time to plan out my day before all the activity gets started

Now don’t get me wrong, there are some mornings when getting up early feels like a chore.  Certainly when I used to work in the corporate world, I dreaded my morning alarm clock and groused and complained every single day.  And if I’ve had a bad night of sleep, I’m pretty grumpy at first light.  But maybe because getting up to feed kids and animals every day is a reminder that I am living the life I always yearned for, I am generally a pretty happy camper.

My own teenage daughter could easily sleep till 10:00 or 11:00 and does so whenever she gets the chance.  But being a high school student AND a dairy goat owner doesn’t afford her very many opportunities to do that.  I’m always amazed at how hard it is for her to get up during the school week, but if we are going to a goat show, horse show or the best – getting up to go to the fairgrounds during county fair week  - she just hops out of bed and faces the early morning with energy and enthusiasm. 

Life Lesson:  How you face the day may be an indicator of the day you’re about to face!

Candy Goats

Our Nubian doe, Skittles, did so well with her very first kidding two years ago that I just assumed the second kidding would be even easier.  After all, her first labor only lasted about 5 hours and she seemed to push her two mini-Nubian babies out almost effortlessly.  I figured the second time around would be a breeze.  But this time we had bred her to a full-sized Nubian and she was big as a house in the weeks leading up to her due date.  I couldn’t imagine how she could get any fatter and she seemed to have trouble just walking from her paddock to the nearby pasture during those last few weeks.  Then there were all the false starts in the days before the birth.  I thought for sure she was in labor at least 3 or 4 times, but each time she’d show signs of labor for an hour or so, and then everything would stop.  I lost a lot of sleep checking on her in the night, sitting with her while she apparently labored, and then going back to bed two hours later when nothing was happening.  I even bought a new baby monitor (the one I used when my own babies were small had long ago been sold at a garage sale), so that I could listen from the comfort and warmth of my own bed. 

Two days after her official due date of May 27^th, with the girls out of school for the summer and both having friends sleeping over, it looked like she might finally be ready.  I checked on her as the girls were getting ready for bed and she was once again doing the labor dance:  paw at the ground, lay down, circle around, get up, change sides, and do it all again.  I was sure this was it so with the girls in their pajamas and the camera at the ready, we settled in on blankets covering hay bales and watched and waited.  It was fun and exciting for the first hour or so, but eventually everyone got too sleepy and decided to go to bed, with the promise from me that I’d come get them when the babies were arriving.  Again, I checked in on her during the night, but nothing.

I went to bed and had vivid dreams about Skittles and her labor.  At one point I clearly dreamed that when I checked on her in the morning, a baby was just coming out and I had to run up to the house to get the girls.  As often happens in dreams, my legs felt like they were mired in quick sand and I couldn’t get up to the house to alert the others.  When I finally managed to tell them and got back to the barn, the babies were already there.  To say I had a restless night of sleep that night would be an understatement, but of course, Skittles wasn’t having it much easier.

Around 5:00 am the next morning, when I got up to go feed the horses,  I glanced in Skittles’ stall assuming I’d see her there snoozing (it was all very quiet).  Much to my surprise, she was crouching low and I could see the amniotic sac beginning to emerge – just like in my dream!  Fortunately my legs seemed to be working just fine, as were my lungs, and I ran to the house and hollered for everyone to come quick.  Back to the barn in a flash, I got there just in time to see the first little kid slither out onto the straw-lined floor of the birthing stall.  It was a tiny little black doeling, with long powdered-doughnut ears – adorable!  Everyone was there by now marveling at the little cutie, and I figured the next one would be here any minute.  But again, she proved me wrong and we waited and waited for another 45 minutes with no progress.  I started to get concerned and decided to call my goat advisor, Melanie.  When she answered the phone I said, “Skittles had her first kid but it’s been almost an hour and she hasn’t...oh never mind, here it comes!”  And with a big push, out came a big, beautiful brown baby boy.  He seemed half again as big as the first one, and I thought no wonder she was so fat and uncomfortable.  We waited again for what seemed like forever, and Skittles still seemed restless and uncomfortable.  About an hour later, just as Melanie arrived, she started straining again and Melanie went in to help her out.  A baby emerged in the breech position.  It was still and lifeless and a check for its heartbeat and breathing revealed it was stillborn.  I feared that the girls would be upset and that Skittles might be, too, so I quickly removed the little brown doeling from the stall and placed in a towel in the tack room.

Luckily everyone was so thrilled with the two healthy little kids that the sadness of the stillborn was drowned out by the joy and excitement of the new arrivals.  Megan named the kids Starburst and Hershey in the candy-name tradition and we spent the rest of the morning cooing and cuddling them, taking pictures, and admiring their silky long ears.  Eventually the girls’ friends went home and it was just the three of us as my husband, Brian, was out of town.  Believe it or not, he was actually on a trip with his mother and brothers to bury the ashes of his father who had died the previous fall.  And back here at the farm, we were preparing for a burial of our own.

I dug a hole deep enough to ensure that the coyotes and raccoons wouldn’t dig up the body, and then went to fetch the little doeling that I had earlier placed in a small cardboard box.  I asked the girls if they would like to see her body before we buried her, and much to my surprise they said they would.  We tenderly unwrapped the towel and carefully viewed the perfectly formed little body, marveling at how sweet and peaceful she looked.  We decided we should name her and I suggested Baby Ruth, since she would always stay a baby.

We each gathered a bouquet of flowers from the yard, and after placing the box in the deep hole and covering it with dirt, we set the flowers on the grave, held hands and sang Amazing Grace as a light misting rain began to fall.  It was such a tender moment and one filled more with gratitude than sorrow. 

Later that evening, after Megan milked Skittles, she came to me and asked if I thought it was o.k. if she poured a little of the milk on Baby Ruth’s grave so she could have some of her mother’s first milk.  I was touched with the gesture, and together in the darkness, we accomplished the task with silent reverence.  It felt good and right and brought closure to a day that was one I was sure my children would hold in their hearts forever.

Life Lesson:  Life is fragile – Live each day with gratitude

P.S.  Skittles had her third set of kids just 2 days ago – a perfect strapping boy and an adorable spotted girl.  And it went flawlessly and effortlessly.  Welcome Twix and Almond Joy!

Ringo

When you live on rural property, it’s not uncommon to get calls from people looking for a home for an animal they can no longer keep.  I’ve been asked to make a home for horses, goats, chickens, roosters, dogs, cats and even a sheep.  The most common is the “gift horse”, which usually means a geriatric horse that can be used for limited, if any riding but that the owner wants to be sure is well loved and cared for.  Our old Belle was one of these, and though she is older and can only be used for light riding, she does still earn her keep here at the ripe old age of 27 teaching riding lessons and working at summer camps.  But older horses, like older people, can have a number of health concerns and the vet bills can really add up, as I’ve found with my older gelding, Chummie, who is on multiple forms of medication and treatments for some advancing arthritis issues.  So, I am cautious when offered a “free” animal – especially if it’s a horse – and my usual reply is, “There’s no room at the Inn.”

Occasionally, though, a freebie will come along that doesn’t fit the usual mold, and such was the case with Ringo.  When Ringo came into our lives, he was only 7 years old, basically sound and with no big behavioral issues.  Yet he was being offered to us at no cost.  The reason for this was that he was owned by a friend’s young daughter who had started riding a year or two before and had fallen in love with Ringo, who at the time was her lesson horse.  But as her skill level progressed and her interests shifted to more serious jumping and showing, he was not quite meeting her needs.  You see, he has an unusual scar on his face and moves like a Mac truck, which makes him not exactly show material.  Apparently as a three year old, he was kicked in the face by another horse in his pasture, and the resulting scar left a hole beneath is right eye big enough to fit a super ball in.  And for reasons unknown, his hips are frequently locked (despite countless chiropractic treatments) which makes him move in a less than graceful manner most of the time. 

But Ringo has something huge going for him and that is his personality.  He is about the sweetest gelding I’ve ever met, both to people, horses and other animals in general.  And he is calm (aka lazy) and fairly agreeable when only asked to do limited work, which is what our farm is all about.  Besides, he’s also kind of cute.  When my friend, Jen, offered him to me a few years ago as a free horse, with two saddles, a bridle, several horse blankets and a bag of feed, along with the open-ended agreement that she would take him back if he ever wasn’t working out for us, I figured I should give it a try.  So, on a chilly winter day in February, I picked him up from his nearby boarding stable and brought him to the farm for a trial run.

It took less than two days for him to completely assimilate into my small herd, with absolutely no posturing, bullying or fireworks of any kind.  We kept him in the arena adjacent to the paddock where the other horses lived for the first day so they could see him but not interact.  On the second day I turned them all out together and they acted like they’d known each other all their lives.  I spent a month or two working with Ringo on ground work and under saddle, along with a trainer friend, to make sure he’d be safe and appropriate for my young riders.  Although he doesn’t know much and can be sort of stubborn, for the kind of riding we do here, he has gotten along just fine.

I’d like to say that he’s a good fit here in spite of his unusual looks with that big old scar and his clunky way of moving, but the honest truth is that he’s a good fit, in part, because of those things.  Beyond just learning to ride, I really try to teach kids other life skills such as appreciation, empathy, confidence, acceptance and patience and I find that Ringo’s appearance and movement opens the door for some great, meaningful conversation around these topics.  Sometimes kids are a little shocked by the scar, but they quickly learn to look past what’s on the outside and appreciate what’s on the inside.  They’re also impressed by the fact that Ringo is so friendly and willing to have his face petted and scratched in spite of the trauma he endured with the long process of recovery that his injury required.  And his laziness and somewhat awkward movement has made better riders out of more than a few kids in my program – he’s certainly no push-button horse!

I’m also happy to say that Ringo’s former owner is thrilled that he has a good, loving home where he still gets lots of interaction with people and other animals, plenty of pasture time, and a pretty easy job description.  She and her daughter come to visit him on occasion, but their visits have gotten less and less frequent in part because they have peace of mind knowing that this gift horse situation was a win-win.

Life Lesson:  Turn your Weaknesses into Strengths

Everybody Poops

It probably goes without saying that living on a farm with numerous animals means there is a lot of manure to contend with.  A few interesting statistics might make you appreciate just how much scooping we actually do around here.  For instance, did you know that horses poop an average of 31 pounds a day?  I have 4 ½ horses (if you count the pony as a half), so that’s almost 140 pounds of manure a day just from them.  Factoring in the 5 hours a day they spend on pasture, where they can poop all they want and I don’t have to pick it up, that brings the total down to just over 110 pounds a day.  Or 770 pounds a week.  That’s a lot of crap!

Then there are the goats and llama but they’re a little easier.  For one thing, the llama creates a pile for his waste making it pretty easy to clean up, and the goats have compact little poop pellets that don’t accumulate too quickly.  Or maybe it just seems that way to me because my daughters and the 4-H’ers who have goats here do all the goat and llama clean up so it’s not a big concern for me.

Chickens also poop a surprising amount as I became well aware of when I used to let my hens free range around the farm.  I’d find chicken poo on my deck, in the driveway, on the sidewalks, in the grass...  I’d like to say I keep the girls confined in a fenced chicken run now for their own protection from coyotes (which is true) but deep down in, I’m sure the mess factor has a little something to do with their relative lack of freedom these days. 

Now it might sound like I’m complaining about all the clean-up required around here, and there are times when it gets pretty old (like when the temperature is below zero for a week straight).  But for the most part, I don’t really mind the task.  In fact, sometimes I find it almost meditative.  If you’ve never scooped horse manure before, you may think it’s a really stinky, smelly job.  And believe me, fresh horse manure does stink.  But once it dries and hardens it really has very little odor.  And there’s something about the rhythmic, repetitive action of scooping that is mesmerizing and relaxing to me.  That is, if there is no whining in the background.

It used to be that we tried to make stall and paddock cleaning a weekly family chore.  We figured if the girls had their own horses, they should be doing their share of the work.  That went pretty well the first spring and summer when the whole farm concept was fresh and new, although they were pretty little then (6 and 9 years old) so to tell you the truth, they weren’t all that much help.  But eventually the novelty wore off and the complaining began.  We’d try to make it fun by having weekly themes to scoop by (crazy hat day, loud country music day, etc.) and when that didn’t seem to be working anymore, we tried a more militant approach, tying the chore to privileges that could be taken away if there was non-compliance.  But after several years of the weekly struggle, last fall my husband and I decided to try something new.  We just did it ourselves.  Now I know that may sound like a cop out, but by this time, the girls were much more focused on the goats than the horses, and doing almost all of the chores related to them including most of the milking, grooming, feeding and clean-up.  So we figured they were still contributing to the farm chores even if they weren’t helping with the horse clean up. 

I must say that once I got over my frustration at their lack of help, I found that I actually enjoyed the process so much more now that I could do a little here and a little there whenever it fit into my schedule.  Most of the time that’s when everyone is at school and work and it’s just me and the animals here.  I often let the goats into the paddock with me as I’m cleaning for the sheer comic value they bring to the task.  Their silly antics and funny games keep me well entertained.  And I’ve been known to take a break from emptying manure buckets to pick up a barn kitty for a good cuddle or grab my camera to photograph the horses in the pasture with the beautiful foothills in the background.  I find these quiet moments of detachment from the rest of the outside world to be grounding and renewing for me.  I’ve also had more than a few creative inspirations come to me as I’m scooping poop.  Must be a combination of the fresh air, a little exercise and the methodical nature of it all that frees my mind up for new thoughts and ideas.

So while others do yoga, meditate, read scripture or pray, I scoop poop.  Grab a pitch fork and give it a try!

Life Lesson:  Find your source of inspiration and renewal, no matter how unusual it might be.