Tool belts are always in style

Tool belts are an under appreciated  item. Useful, practical, and when Hubby Dearest has one on- sexy as hell. Oh menfolk, with that hammer loop filled and a pocket full of nails you are a gift to women-kind. Not to say women can’t rock a tool belt. There are plenty of gals who prove that tool belts never go out of style.
However,  I am not as handy as some of my fellow ladies and appreciate my Hubby Dearest when he dons his belt of tools and builds me a wonderful woodshed or storage for my obscene amount of plastic totes (all filled with very important things of course).
Every homestead needs someone who is at least moderately handy with tools and though I can pound my share of nails or screw in some new hinges, it is always nice to be able to bat my eyelashes at the ole ball’n’chain and get a new pig pen!!
Today’s adventure is to plan out our pasture perimeter for our pigs this year. We aren’t in the pig breeding and farrowing business yet, so our space and shelter requirements are fairly minimal. But, coastal weather is highly variable and a little planning goes a long way.
This year we are getting a small handful of weaned pigs and will pasture them for approximately 6 months until they are ready to move along to someone else’s freezer.  We will be cornering off about a half acre for these porkers and will be documenting the process in blog posts to come!
My personal belief is that pastured pigs are happy pigs. They get to forage, exercise,  and explore which is a huge benefit to their quality of life, improves the quality of meat produced and as an added bonus they smell like fresh daisies instead of a “pig pen.”
So a huge shout out to my dear hubby who will be constructing the fence, the feeding/watering station,  and the shelter. I can’t wait to see that tool belt put to use.

image

(Our lead hen Little Blacky assisting in the pasture planning process)

Free Range Cluckers

I grew up on a small farm in the Pacific Northwest.   It wasn’t a ranch the size of a small country.  My parents didn’t run 1000 head of cattle.  We didn’t muck out stalls from dusk until dawn. It was 10 acres backed up against timberland. It was beautiful.  It was perfect.
Now, my tiny little homestead is an exact acre, we’re attempting to increase our acreage, but who knows if or when that will ever happen. No matter though, I have been slowly but surely turning this abode into a working small farm.
Thankfully my parents have allowed me to raise a variety of animals on their farm (just down the road) as well as my own so I can follow all of the best management practices I preach on and on about in my day job -water quality this, soil integrity that, compost is the bee’s knees,  and so forth.  But, our acre is being put into production this year!
Part of our increased effort is expanding our layer chicken flock.  These birds have it good. They have the entire acre to literally range free and they even sneak over into the neighbor’s horse pasture to mix it up every so often. Yesterday morning however they took their ranging to a new level.
The ever faithful dog Ted likes to let himself back into our house when I forget to push the door shut all the way. Try as we might, he refuses to learn to shut the door after he comes in! Thus, when he came bounding in the house pleased as punch and I was changing sweet baby Q in the back room, the door was left wide open and those free range cluckers of mine let themselves into the house!  I came back out to the living room to find our lead hen drinking out of Ted’s water dish and Bertha the Wyandotte relaxing in our kitchen. Luckily the gals didn’t poo, but it was quite the ruckus as I attempted to shoo them out, Ted tried to help, and Q was laughing at us all.  Very lively start to our morning in Melville.

image

Later that day Q and I went to try out her new swing and as the flock came running towards us, she began giggling uncontrollably. Squealing.  Reaching for those pesky hens. So of course, like every good farming mama would do, we spent the next 20 minutes chasing the chickens around the yard.

image

There is no doubt in my mind that our chickens are spoiled rotten, beloved by babies, and range perhaps too freely. Expanding our flock will be an adventure!

image

(Welcome to the flock wee little Ameraucanas!!!)

Slobber, snot, and smiles

The rain came down in sheets last night. Wind ripped through the air testing our newly built wood shed.  When we woke up the sun was shining, the birds were singing, our chickens were pooping on my front porch, and I noticed the daffodils emerging from the ground as a reminder that spring is just around the corner. Sweet baby Q however,  was vomitting.
Not only did we find out she has an ear infection and stomach bug, she’s coughing up a lung. She is tough. She is smiling and laughing when I would be throwing myself a pity party in a puddle of my own snot.
This morning I dragged her smiling and puking out on a consultation farm visit that I had to conduct for my day job. Her cute-baby powers (even at half strength) won over the hearts of those farmers, operators and government officials instantly.  She was running the show from her front-pack baby carrier and those men were wrapped around her slobbery fingers.
Rain blew in as the farm visit ended early afternoon so sweet baby Q and I were able to fit in hours of phone tag with doctors, clinics and labs. Many veteran parents most likely know how to tell when their infant needs medical help, but as a new mom I like to call my doc as if we were besties. Too many poop variances, puke characteristics, and freak symptoms for me to confidently navigate without consultation from a medical professional. In most circumstances I like to default to natural remedies, but when my 5 month old is quickly dehydrating, giving herself wry neck with her head cocked because of her ear ache, and choking on her phlegm, I need more than my essential oils (though I love my oils dearly).
I now know that everything stands still when that little girl gets sick. My new farm business, my day job, and the whole world pales in comparison to baby Q.
 Her smiles are free yet they are priceless and I will do absolutely anything to keep my girl smiling.

image

(Photo: picture taken on farm visit in Lewis and Clark Astoria, OR)

Good Morning Melville

At times it is hard to drag myself out of bed when it is still dark outside.  My sweet baby sleeps sprawled out over the entire queen size bed, the heater is on, and the pillow calls to me.  Alas, the dog’s tail is thumping against the wall as he asks to go out, I can hear the chickens waking up just waiting until the first rays of sunshine peek over the trees to start screaming how hungry they are, and the pressure to feed miscellaneous other creatures before work starts setting in.

This morning, just as I masterfully extracted myself from the blankets without waking the baby, I stepped on my husband’s sock drawer (that he forgot to push back under the bed).  True to form, I begin to fall reaching for my faithful dog Ted who jumped out of the way –uncharacteristically agile – as I bit the dust into the desk chair.  That sweet sleeping baby turned into a screaming ball of fury.  Thank you hubby dearest.

So sweet baby Q and I proceeded to feed our little farm one-handed, in the rain, and in our jammies.  However collecting eggs with one hand can be tricky.  It involved me holding the nesting box hatch door open with my foot, leaning baby Q away so she doesn’t get chicken goodness all over her and reaching into the nest box to pluck each egg out to delicately drop onto the ground.  Not sure if any of you have seen this 6ft mamma in athletic shorts and barn boots completing this charade, but I think I make it look good.  You may be asking, “ why doesn’t she devise a clever hook to keep the nesting box hatch open?”  Good question and yet I seem to forget. Every. Time.

It can be a pain in the tush to complete the farm-feeding-fun at the butt-crack of dawn in soggy jammies, but the pasture-raised eggs, the free range pigs, the hormone free beef are all worth it.  I am able to feed my family, my friends, and the community.  It is a blessing I am privileged to take part in.

The rain always seems to stop as soon as I am done with chores and today was no exception. The sun rays began to pierce the fog to create beams of warmth and rainbows.   The trees dripped rain drops onto the pasture to create percussion beats to the songbirds’ sweet melody.  I nursed sweet baby Q, ate my ridiculously delicious eggs, looked over my little farm and thought good morning Melville.Good Morning Melville