Drizzle was steady, fog seemed to hang on to the hills as the filtered sunlight lit up the morning. We ignored alarms, hangry animals, and the ticking clock, wishing for a few peaceful moments of shut eye after a night of yipping coyotes at our window which resulted in frightened children and zero sleep. But alas I had to wake up because the predators have found Melville Farms chickens and the daily battle must commence.

We were incredibly lucky for many, many years. Chickens roamed freely unchecked without a squawk out of place, but for whatever reason our luck has run out and it’s been farmer vs miscellaneous predators ever since.  We have a number of safeguards in place and plans for more, but hawks have proven to be insatiable.

Thus, a few days ago, while the laying ladies were minding their own business and a hawk hit my dining room window trying to get a chicken I had had enough. I ran outside with fury blazing in my eyes, wielding weapons and striking fear into the soul of that hawk. I felt like wonder woman, fearsome lady farmer, defender of the land! Upon reflection however I now realise that I probably looked like I normally do in real life: a fluffy-bodied-frazzled lady wearing shorts and bog boots while it’s 40 degrees outside, wielding my broom, chasing a hawk that was long gone, yelling obscenities.

We have lost at least 3 hens and a rooster to hawks now. And my broom wielding has not gone unnoticed by my critique of a toddler, neighbors and the passerby. After I was witness to a hawk boldly swoop into the coop in broad daylight and procede with predatory instincts I decided it was time for a full lock down. All but one of the laying ladies are now cooped up, much to all of our dismay, and the tree roosting Bonita refuses to accept my assistance. 

Bonita laying an egg on the front porch. 

​There is still frost in the shadows and the ranging chickens could be used like a clock the way they follow the sun. It’s mid-afternoon, but really only an hour from sundown. My toddler is trying to tell me she feels better and can go outside naked as snot is coating her face. I just found something crusted on my shirt that could be cheese, baby poop, or snot with no way to tell which and truth be told I won’t change my shirt regardless. Welcome winter.

Today was a day of embracing the insanity of motherhood and pushing onward, upward, forward. Already on day 2 of snot, my newborn has started leaking mucus as my toddler continuously bounces between being so miserable it’s hard to exist and her happy-go-lucky self. I tried to squeeze in a dual nap as we drove around Melville doing farm chores before an appointment with limited success.

While visiting pigs I found another area they had rooted over their hot wire so while the baby slept and my toddler yelled at me from her carseat, I dug out the hot wire dragged off small logs and got their fence back in working order. True to form I got pig poop on my pants so we stopped by the house for a quick change. 

I stripped down to un-pig myself, got caught up trying to calm savage beasts -I mean my adorable children- and wouldn’t you know it, the mailman stopped by with a small package that wouldn’t fit in the mailbox.  Mortified I scurried out of view to find pants and just ignored the entire situation. I am so excited for the next time I see the mail man and we both pretend that he didn’t see me in my laundry day undies. 

Luckily we made our appointment in a flurry of screaming kids and untied shoes, we had macaroni and cheese for dinner, my husband and I high-fived as we each tackled a kid for bed time routine. As we snuggled our sick babes to sleep we texted each other from opposite ends of the house about farm chores, breeding schedules and new pastures. Both dreaming of having a conversation face to face and wishing for a few solid hours of sleep.

Now late evening, my newborn sleeps on my chest, the fire burns low, the dog snores, and the weather report calls for snow and freezing rain. I sigh, kiss baby J on the head and welcome winter.

(Putting my mom car to work!)

(Princess Q inspecting the frozen hose)

Spring seems to be turning into summer faster than I can keep up with.  Life is changing even faster as my pregnant belly bumps into chicken coop doorways and attracts unwanted attention from elderly strangers at the grocery store. But what has remained constant over the past few extremely busy months is that it seems that at least once a week I find myself thinking, ‘this has been the happiest day of my life.’
More than a fortnight ago Hubby Dearest built me a cross fence for our little homestead by the house.  True to form we waited until the weekend that we were getting the lambs to start putting posts in the ground.  Family came out for days of beer, laughter, sweat and fence building as they put together the sexiest fence I have ever seen.  Minutes after the gate was hung I rounded up the husband loaded the kid and we were off to pick up the lambs.  Hubby unloaded the lambs into the field and as I brought dinner into the lawn I found my sweet toddler Q hugging Hubby so tightly and talking to him about the sheep.  The heat of the day started to wane, our bellies were full, and as we watched tiny lambs frolic I couldn’t help but think that it was the happiest day of my life.

A week ago I had a surge of pure happiness as we welcomed the long-awaited first calf born at Melville Farms.  I watched in a hushed awe as she labored, toddler Q even spoke in whispers as she perched on my hip. Hubby Dearest kept bringing out the heifer Molly so she’d settle down and stop trying to mount poor Mable during contractions. I scuttled off to get more grain to distract the excited heifer and in the 5 minutes I was away the calf dropped as a healthy baby bull.
We watched the first wobbly steps, the bonding between cow and calf, and welcomed friends and neighbors as they took peeks at the new addition to the neighborhood.  Eventually the calf worked it’s way onto the fence by the road so even those who weren’t gathered to welcome the calf were able to take a good look.  The sun set as our little bull Norman nursed for the first time and I had never felt more thrilled or happy with our family farm. 

Yesterday the toddler refused to sleep, Hubby had a miserable day at work, a dozen meat birds escaped their chicken tractor and were meandering around in sticker bushes.  I was alerted by excited squawks and thundering paws as helpful dog Ted attempted to play with them, chasing them deeper into 8 ft high blackberries.  I brought a screaming crying Q out to watch as I gently removed the chickens and brought them back into the tractor to find that our laying hen Hotlips was INSIDE the meat chicken tractor gorging herself on the meat birds high-protein grain. It started to rain, my cuts from the blackberries started to bleed, Q began throwing herself to the ground in a tantrum into many piles of poultry, livestock, and dog poop. But later that night when the family sat around the table and laughed at the adventures of the day and we all could see and feel the baby boy growing in my belly roll around in around attempt to join the moment I felt my heart swell, tears pop unbidden into my eyes and I swore it was the happiest day of my life.

So many days are hard, stressful, seemingly impossible. Kids scream, laundry doesn’t get done, clutter becomes part of household decor, animals escape, budgets get tight, toddlers rub horrifying mixtures of poop and mud on their face while you’re not looking. I consider myself incredibly lucky for the brief pauses between the hullabaloo that I can slow down and notice my healthy, happy growing family in those moments of simple joy.

Today has been the perfect close to 2015. 
Coastal weather has been incredibly clear, crisp, and cold with bright sunny mornings highlighting ice crystals and frosted pastures.  Christmas hullabaloo has died down and as I watched Hubby Dearest cough a throat losenge into the bedroom wall last night I couldn’t help but think that apparently germs were spread right along with the holiday cheer this year.
The sun rose right on schedule this  morning, completely oblivious to my pleads for it to stay dark a little longer after my busy night of tending my mucus – filled family.  I went through my morning wide awake but barely coherent and after unloading the hay out of the back of my car to feed the cows I noticed my cat Frank.  Frank was sitting on my roof poofed up like an orange and white pompom after having roof – surfed for 100 yards down the county road to the field gate!

Wrangling a spooked cat isn’t as easy as one might think.. there is  reason “herding cats” is such a good saying. But after determining I didn’t want him running around on the road as he freaked out I wrestled him into the car and took the yowling puff-cat back to the house. Q of course thought it was hilarious and proceeded to do Frank impressions the rest of the day.

(Frank wrangled into the vehicle)

Now as Q wrestles Franky and continues to impersonate his yowling I’m thinking how today truly was perfect. The close of 2015 is the end of many things: my first year of blogging, my first year as  small business owner, and the end of being a mother of an infant.  Of course 2016 brings so many beginnings: a year of toddler-hood, new adventures as a farm owner/Operator, and so many changes, developments and journeys that I can’t even imagine yet.
So whether you head to bed at 8:30pm like yours truly or anxiously await fireworks and a smooch as the ball drops down I wish you a Happy New Year!!
Happy New Year from Melville Farms!!!

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.