Farm Fresh Blog

Some things in life are a given:

* Dogs will barf on the bed.

* Goats will get out.

* Sheep will . . .

. . . fill in the blank after you read this.

Other Half worked all night. He got in bed at 7:30 am. I try to minimize the noise around the house when he's sleeping. Unfortunately dogs still bark, cows still bellow and sheep still . . .

Anyway, Other Half had been asleep about two hours when I heard the plaintive sound of Roanie calling her baby. I ignored this for a while. Babies wander off and blow their mammas off all the time.  BUT . . . the hollering continued. Then I heard the answering call of her baby. It juuuust didn't sound right.  In fact, it sounded WRONG.  So I whooshed through the screen door to find Roanie standing in the yard, staring at me.

"HEY!  You with the thumbs! I need some help!"

"Roanie, did you misplace your baby?" I asked as I started walking around the yard looking for the adventurous waif.

Then I saw Briar. Her face said it all.

"I didn't do A THING!"

Okay then. I rounded the corner of Other Half's work truck, fearful of what I would find.  And here's what I saw . . .

Yep, Roanie's baby was stuck like chuck . . . in a truck. (forgive me)

I'm guessing she got on her knees to crawl under the truck to graze. When she stood up, her fat little self got stuck. Seriously stuck.  Like I couldn't budge her little tubby ass stuck. 

I tried pulling. I tried pushing. I tried folding her legs under her so she'd drop down out of the crack. Nope. Nada. Nada Nada Enchilada. Stuck.

So I got a camera.  And a drink.

  YES! 

And people wonder why I haven't kicked my caffiene habit yet!  Those people DONT HAVE SHEEP!

Anyway, after I photographed the scene, and put some more thought into it, I decided that this was certainly a two-person job.  Yep. . . Other Half had been asleep for two hours. He had worked for 12 hours. 

It wasn't pretty.  (There was lots of cussing. And threats of butchering.)

But he eventually got out of bed and went to examine the situation.  Yeah . . . she was still stuck.  There was more cussing. He finally stomped over to the flat-bed trailer and returned with a heavy-duty jack.

   THIS . . .

. . . soon led to this!

(And people wonder why I'm still drinking. I'll be keeping Starbucks in business as long as I have sheep and goats.)

So now can you fill in the blank!

* Sheep will . . . . get STUCK!

 And even though she's a girl, I'm naming this lamb "Chuck."

Remember Bully the Blind Bull?

  Read: Hindsight

We shot him up on antibiotics and gave him a month.  If Bully did not show a marked improvement within the month it would take the antibiotics to get out of his system, we would have to butcher him. Life on a ranch is simply too dangerous with a blind bull. Today was Bully's due date with the butcher.

We've watched him closely. He was separated and placed in a board arena with a "Seeing Eye Cow" and we saw a bit of improvement. He could navigate the arena and was gaining weight again.  Last week we turned the girls back in with him. He did fine navigating them.  Today he proved to us that he could see a little. We turned them loose in an area with a pond. I worried that Bully would fall in the pond and drown, but he did fine. I'm not sure how much he can see, but part of his vision appears to have returned. Most of the blue is gone, but you can still tell that some is there.  The important thing is that he can see us and can navigate the pasture again.  The infection appears to have gone. The rest of the herd is fine.

So we made the decision to keep a bull calf from this year's crop (just in case), and cancel Bully's appointment with the butcher.  For now, this fella has dodged the bullet.

As humans, we tend to arbitrarily assign value to things. A simple rock becomes worth a great deal . . .

Some have more value than others . . .

Note how the sun bounces off it. Feel the smooth, cool surface. The dip in the middle. See the beauty of it?

No?

Look again.

Really?

You don't see the value in this?

"But . . . but . . . it's a just a rock."

Ahhh . . . but it's not!  This rock has something more precious than a monetary value. This rock has history.

I brought this rock to the new ranch this weekend and proudly set it by the door step. It looked like so many other rocks on the ranch, Other Half just had to say,

"Tell me again, why THIS rock is so important."

So I told him what I'm telling you:

"This rock has been in my family for years. It's travelled across the country. I brought it from North Carolina. When I was a child, this rock sat under the water spigot at my home. I still remember setting my dirty toes on the smooth surface and turning the spigot with tiny fingers to clean the dirt off my bare feet.

    A generation before that, this rock served as the stepping stone at the door of my mother's playhouse when she was a little girl. It was found in the Pamlico River of Eastern North Carolina, thought to be a ballast from a ship.  Ships were weighted down with these rocks, which were then dumped when they entered the shallow waters of the river. This area was frequented by pirates and the ballasts are commonly believed to come from those pirate ships. This area was reportedly the stomping ground of Blackbeard. This rock has HISTORY!"

And so, more precious than diamonds and pearls, this stone has continued its journey from the shores of Eastern North Carolina to the rocky hillside of North Texas. When I finally build my little cabin, my "Girasole", my place in the sun, this rock will serve as the stepping stone at the doorway. 

And who knows, perhaps it will continue its journey, handed down through generations, a silent observer to the history of our family . . .

through others . . .

. . . who see great value in rocks.

In this corner, we have Al. Weighing in at . . . too damned much . . .

Al is a registered White Dorper ram. He is 5 - 6 years old and in his prime.

In this corner, we have Briar.  Weighing in at about 80 lbs . . .  

Briar is a Big White Dog, and all hair. She is beginning her third season and entering her prime.

Briar is taller than Al. Al outweighs Briar considerably.  Briar, however, is smarter than Al. 

"Don't get excited. That's not sayin' much."

Yesterday the sheep were near the front gate as we were driving the truck out. Other Half was opening the gate, and in his own little world, oblivious to the drama playing out in my rear-view mirror.

Al saw the open gate leading to the open highway and decided, as sheep are wont to do, that it would be a good idea to explore the "other" side of the gate, so he began walking quickly toward the highway. Briar, who has gotten in trouble for exiting this gate in the past, blocked the ram and politely told him,

"Off limits for sheep."

Al puffed up at the dog. Suddenly Briar didn't seem as big in my mirror. 

"Who says?" the ram demanded.

Briar puffed up.  Hmmm. . . Objects in mirror are closer than they appear. Briar blocked him again and growled,

"I says!"

The ram then tried to bull (ram) his way around the dog. I noted that Other Half was reading mail and thus not privy to this conversation. The Border Collies were in the house. It was up to Briar to avert this disaster.

She didn't attempt to get into a ramming contest with him, but merely stood taller, growled and refused to give ground.  The big ram hesitated.  Briar took her chance and stepped forward. Al took a step back. Then Briar backed that ram away from the gate, step by step. He finally gave up, turned around, and walked off.  Briar turned around, wagged her tail, and ambled toward Other Half, who was blissfully unaware this exchange had taken place.

If Briar lost this battle, the ram would be on the open highway and things would have gotten hairy.

"Hairy" is my middle name!"

 "Oh, gag me . . ."

Exploring new places is fun, but it's even more fun when you can experience them through the eyes of a child.  Suddenly, even the mundane becomes new and exciting.

For instance, who would have thought throwing out deer corn was so much fun?

 Lilah & Grandpa

Climbing sand dunes on the beach . . .

becomes the most entertaining activity of the hour.

Hunting for fossils with dad is much more interesting than matching shapes on a piece of paper.

And let's not forget our favorite sport!

Looking under rocks!

Lilah shares a love of this activity with her Comrade-in-arms. 

Needless to say, since this is rattlesnake country, this sport will be taken off the line-up of activities for 2012.

Sidenote:  This was Dillon's first time for free play with children. While the Border Collies are leery of small humans, Dillon has decided that he very much enjoys their company. Tiny humans are slot machines for dispensing cookies and he's all over that idea.

Get this song in your head:  http://youtu.be/CNQXQKflJNA

Since I don't spend too much time inside the walls of a church, I don't think I'd ever heard it until I watched the movie Secretariat.  They play this song as that horse is freightraining down the backstretch, carrying all the hopes and dreams of so many people with him. It is probably the most uplifting music I've ever heard.  You just can't sit still while you're listening - the music carries you away.

Now, that said, (LISTEN to it, trust me!) this was the song playing in my head Sunday morning at 7:22 am as I was walking my dogs on my new ranch. 

  The sun wasn't up yet. Everyone else was still asleep. It was 28 degrees. I donned a heavy coat, put on my beloved doghair headband and fingerless gloves, and stepped out into Heaven.  

 The bog was frozen.  While playing 'grab-ass', Dillon and Trace crashed through the ice and startled birds bedded down in the rushes. As they winged off, Dillon stopped, mesmorized.  Trace completely missed it. (Genes again)

We came to the first creek crossing. The boys raced through the icy water. I had on rubber boots, so I plowed through.  Lily, however, wasn't so sure she wanted to get wet when it was 28 degrees outside. She stood on the bank and examined the situation.

I called her and to her credit, she gave me the sweetest look - no worries, no anxiety, just total trust.

 And then she plowed right in.

  Because I hadn't filed a flight plan and no one knew where we were, I left my frappuccino on the other side so The Family would know that yes, she WAS crazy enough to cross the creek before breakfast.  Hey, things happen! Be prepared. Carry a gun and a cell phone, and leave a trail of bread crumbs. Or frappuccino bottles. Whichever is more convenient. (but be sure to pick them up on your way back!)

And so, with everyone safely on the other side, we continued our frosty walk, and THAT'S when the first notes of the song, "Oh, Happy Day" started  in my head.

"Oh, happy day!"

Do you remember the parable of the man who found a pearl of great value and sold everything he had to possess it?

Well, this ranch is my pearl of great value.  This weekend we packed up the kids and the grandkids and like the Beverly Hillbillies in RVs, we descended upon the ranch. Like Lewis & Clark, we headed out on an expedition of exploration and stumbled upon places of such great beauty that I was moved to tears.  Words cannot express how profoundly thankful I am that God has placed this land in our hands.

 We are simply ecstatic!

But since we returned this morning at 6 am and I must go to work today, I'll have to give you details later! I did update the photos section to include some ranch pics though!

Do you remember the scene in "Finding Nemo" where the little crab lands amid a group of seagulls and they immediately begin squawking "MINE! MINE! MINE!" as they chase him?

Those of you with small children who have been forced to see this movie 300 times will be nodding your heads.  (and now you won't be able to get the seagulls out of your head . . . )

Well . . .  this is the build-up for my big news!

It's mine! It's MINE! 

(actually it's OURS!)

We closed on the ranch yesterday and it's officially ours!  (and the bank's)

Remember Paisley? 

 First time mother. Crackhead.

Paisley finally got with the program and figured out how to use her new cell phone (the baby). She is "relatively" attentive now. (unless groceries are concerned) Because her maternal instinct "finally" kicked in, we may keep her another season to see if her problems were just a first time mother thing. If she does it again next year, she's cut from the team though.

 The kid is doing fine but would like to play with the orphaned calf across the fence.

 But since it's not our calf, she had to wait until today for a playmate. 

This little guy was blessed enough to be born to Dancing Cow. She is the most experienced mamma on the ranch. (and would still give Secretariat a run for his money at meal time!)

So when Dancing Cow doesn't show up for breakfast, it's a good bet she has a calf.  Sure enough, we walk back there and find this little fellow.

Dancing Cow is attentive, but doesn't threaten to run me down.  (goooood cow!) So we hauled his momma some breakfast and checked out the new kid on the block. I was happy to see he was a bull calf. Bully's eyes have improved, but not enough for us to be able to keep him as a breeding bull. An untamed blind bull is dangerous, so some time in February, we'll have to butcher Bully.

  I hate to do it, because he's a great bull, but even a gentle bull is dangerous in this condition.  We have pulled him out of the pasture and he's living in the roping arena with a "seeing-eye cow" for a friend.  That's working out well, but there's no way we can return him to the pasture.

We are waiting to see what the bull calf crop looks like this year.  Last year Bully put some really nice bull calves on the ground and now we regret not keeping one as a back-up.

So this little guy may stay a while.  

At birth he's as big as Paisley's two week old calf.

  She is absolutely delighted to finally have a playmate.  He is less than excited to see her at the moment. One sniff and he decided that he'd better follow his momma instead of hang out with this rather forward "red-headed girl." She was most disappointed. Being the first born calf of the season sucks until the rest of the gang comes along.    

  "Will YOU play with me?" 

Those of us who live on the edge of civilized society, where the line between life and death is narrow, tend to view the world differently.  Son read an email post to me yesterday that summed it up nicely.

"Your worst nightmare is my Wednesday."

That says it all. And this leads us to Life Lesson #7. Years ago I was going through a particularly rough patch in life, struggling through a bad break-up and a new job - one that nightly shoved man's inhumanity and the injustices of life in my face like a cold, wet sponge. To brighten up my world, I began buying little bunches of sunflowers from the grocery store.  That's when I discovered one of the great secrets to life - plunk some sunflowers in a vase, and the world is a better place. 

A particular bunch still stands out in my mind.  When I got them home, I noted the stalk of one flower was twisted and out of sync with the rest. At first, I chided myself for not taking better care to pick out perfect flowers, but then, as I often do, I shrugged and said "This was meant to be. This particular bunch was meant for me, imperfections and all."

So I stuck my imperfect bunch in a vase, filled it with water and thought nothing more about it. The next morning I noticed that ALL the flowers were pointed toward the window - toward the sun. I could not find the imperfect stalk.  All had turned toward the sun.  This moment was a shining epiphany.  I had stumbled upon another of life's lessons.

Life rumbled on, but I never forgot the lesson of the sunflower. Follow the light. Turn toward the sun. Another of life's lessons I've learned is "There are no coincidences. Everything happens for a reason."

Fast forward to yesterday.

After I sold the other house, a reader asked me, "What will happen to Failte Gate Farm?"

I said, "Nothing. The farm is the animals, not the place. Where the animals go, so will the name."

Unfortunately, this hasn't proven to be the case. Yes, the core group of animals is still here, but they are refugees floating in a boat, waiting to arrive at the Promised Land. The farm has indeed, turned out to be a place. This has bothered me. Whenever I think of Failte Gate Farm, my mind conjures up aging wood fences, a vine-covered trellis, a greening welcome gate. The farm was more than the animals.

Failte Gate Farm was to become something else, but what? Like a cat scratching at the door, it stayed in the back of my mind. Ignoring it, I focused on the new ranch - a place where my quaint little farm would combine with his cattle company. This ranch is more than a piece of land - it is a pearl of great value, and I have sold everything I own to possess it.

Like Failte Gate Farm, it is a living, breathing entity.

On it there will be room for a home, a cattle company, and my little drop of sunshine - my place in the sun.

For years I have dreamt of this place, so much like the forests of my childhood, a place to walk in the dappled sunlight, with perhaps a little cabin of my own, to read, to write, to draw, to reflect.

And so yesterday when I was once again, pouring through mountains of homebuilding ideas, I wasn't surprised to stumble upon the answer to the problem that had stuck in my mind like a cockle burr to a shoelace . . .

. . . "Girasole"

I turned the page on my calendar and a vase of sunflowers waved at me. The caption read: The Italians called the sun-facing flower girasole, "turns toward the sun."

Eureka!  I have found it! The name of my place in the sun! Like a stone key unlocking an ancient puzzle, the pieces clicked together - "Girasole"

I no longer worry that Failte Gate Farm is no more. It has become Girasole, ("jeer a sol ae") as once again, I turn toward the sun.