Summer is here.  Kids are out of school, sunshine streams through fluffy white clouds and causes the morning dew to rise off the county road in tendrils of steam, and Sweet Baby Q refuses to sleep.  I feel as though sometimes I loose perspective on how precious each moment is when I go through my day in a sleep deprived trance, but as I look back on the past fortnight I realise how special it has been.  The last few weeks have been filled with firsts:
First round of meat chickens have been harvested using a licensed facility(instead of getting up to our elbows in chicken feathers).
First time I got my daily cardio by chasing sheep with a jogging stroller.
First time opening a business bank account for Melville Farms.
First time I’ve chased a banker throughout the lobby to entertain my small child while opening said bank account. 
Q started crawling for the first time! Hubby Dearest suprised me with new speckled Sussex chicks (first time he brought new animals home instead of the other way around).
Completed my first official 5k race
First time I’ve cried as I reflected how Q is almost 1 year old- though I’m sure it won’t be the last
First time I ate an entire sleeve of Oreos… two sleeves of Oreos… ok  truth it was 7 sleeves of Oreos over the past few days..
And last but certainly not least we celebrated our first father’s day with our sweet baby. The sun warmed the cheeks of our little princess as I basked in the love my darling Hubby has for Sweet Baby Q.
So as I reflect over the most recent stretch of baby-induced-haze I have never felt so blessed that our life is filled with so many precious, exciting, and special moments.

I had to take a breather from chasing the liberated sheep..

..sheep thought it was a good time to socialize with the meat birds..

..after the ruminant returned to the correct side of the fence Q celebrated with a two handed wave!

This weekend Hubby Dearest flew off to a conference for work and I along with sweet baby Q were left to our own devices. The first morning after his departure we woke up to farm animals yelling for attention, fog horns drifting in along with the morning mists, and chicken sh*t getting dragged into the house on Ted’s paws.  As a mother of a blossoming baby who’s goal in life is to put everything in her mouth, the chicken poop had to stop NOW.
After completing the circus of bringing Q into my office for a morning of emails and paper shuffling we continued our journey of errands. I’m not sure I will ever be able to replicate the packing of t-posts, fencing, pig food, groceries, and day – job paraphernalia into my little SUV cross over. Baby Q was thrilled with all the new “toys” shoved around her carseat and giggled as she poked at melting ice cream on the way home.
We arrived on the homestead to find the warm coastal sun cooking the chicken doo onto my front porch. I attempted to dodge and weave the land mines and pooping chickens as I unloaded the car – strengthening my resolve to eliminate the poop on my porch for good.

Thus, I strapped sweet baby Q into the back pack and began fence construction.  I pounded t-posts, I put up fencing, I cleaned the coop, washed the baked butt juices off my porch and wrangled chickens all the while my sweet little babe slept peacefully. 

Needless to say when my chicken run was complete I felt pretty bad ass.  A temporary solution until we move the coop across the creek, but well worth the few hours of labor to keep my baby from ingesting chicken sh*t as a snack.

A special happy birthday to Frank with all his grace and dignity.

Pigs need protein to gain the lbs. We feed them outdated dairy products and veggies that we collect from local convenience stores to minimize our feed costs. Feed, whether it is GMO free or just your average grower variety, gets spendy.
The other day Hubby Dearest took over pig chore duties for the evening. While he was attempting to lean over the fence to pour the milk into their tray he lost balance and high-centered on the hog panel. He was flailing for many minutes trying to get vertical. Apparently the ground wasn’t close enough so he used a pig (who was coming to investigate the milk) to push upright.

While he was taking one for team and doing nightly chores, I was inside- completely oblivious to his misadventure- consoling a very cranky Baby Q by rapping a pig-centric version of Sir Mixalot’s “I Like Big Butts.”

My version: “I Like Pig Butts”

I like pig butts and I can not lie
You meat eaters can’t deny
When rump roast wafts up in my face
And it’s salted just to taste
I get hung – ry
Want to feed you up
So that butt gets plumped
Pasture grazed pork fairing
I’m hooked and I can’t stop staring
Oh piglets I’ll jump in with ya
And take some pictures
I’ll get my oven warming
Because that butt you got makes me so hungry
Oh those markings are akin
To a duroc Hampshire cross
Well keep eating, eating, you ain’t a light weight piggy
I’ve seen you grazing
Pastured hog raising
You’re heat, meat, keep growing fatter please

So farmers YEAH farmers YEAH
Has your piggy got a butt?
HELL YEAH
Well give them milk
And veggie scraps
Even vegetarians gotta shout
Piggy got back

My butcher don’t want none unless they’re market weight son
Piggy got back

Baby Q was thrilled with my performance. She even giggled throughout the encore for Hubby Dearest. He was not nearly as impressed.

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.

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.

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!

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

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.

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