Raindrops fell into the dewy grass and created a quiet hush in the early daylight. Or at least it was hushed until I brought my tired baby and rambunctious kiddo kicking and screaming out of the house to wrangle some birds before 7 am.

Our pastured poultry are raised in pens that we rotate over fresh grass at least once per day. These pens provide plenty of space to forage grasses and grubs, focus the nutrient-rich manure, and most importantly provide safety. Our birds live out their days happily without a care in the world. That’s usually what happens. After having cattle with these pens all summer, our docile mama cows decided they wanted to rip apart our pens, push around the frames and become chicken bullies. 

A few days prior to the general destruction we noticed the girls slightly rubbing and nudging the pens. We attributed it to curiosity and decided to keep an eye on it. Costly mistake.  After wrangling nearly 100 birds, two times before noon I decided the remedy was happening that afternoon once the hubby dearest came home with the pick up. We moved pens, chickens, ducks and kids back and forth across the road countless times.

Bed-time seems to be something normal families do for their children, but as a full-time mama dragging children around as I go about my lady-farmer business there seems to be a trend of working until dark and throwing multi-grain cheerios or Graham crackers at them for a snack. Hubby Dearest helps where he can, but often times that means we are working to dark as a family unit. 

Thus we were moving chickens, ducks, and pens at 8.30pm with kids starting to fuss (Cue more Graham crackers) and the sun starting to sink beneath the treeline. 

As I start to feel the season change from summer into fall I am anxious to see what the peak of our season will bring. I know we will have over 300 broilers, 8 pigs, our first sow, 13 cattle, an incredibly handsome horse and handful of laying lady ducks/hens in September into October. It may not seem like much, but it’s our biggest year yet and it has me giving pep-talks to myself and self high fives on the daily. So many unknown trials, adventures, tantrums, animal escapes, and special moments to come.

Getting pumped for the peak of our 2017 season. Bring it on fall. 

(Smiling instead of getting frustrated)

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)

​As I laid awake before dawn it was silent. My toddler had finally decided to sleep, the house was quiet, and I even considered trying to fall back asleep for a few more blissful moments. Then the first rays of light struck our little farm.

At first it was just one or two birds tweeting their good morning tune in the distance, then a few more trickled into the medley, and soon it was a cacophony of bird calls next to my window. Then the cows chimed in. I could hear them chewing, slurping, and mooing mere feet from my window. Laying hens began crowing at the sun and I basked in the awesome music my farm was making as it woke up for the day, while cursing the daybreak and begging it to be quiet so my kid would sleep just a little longer.

I just tried to keep up with the day from that moment on. Attempted to be a functioning member of society between farm chore rounds. Chores- play date- chores- lunch- chores- nap time- chores- farm visit- chores, chores, chores… and even still, throughout all those rounds of farm related activities, the moment folks come out to visit the farm the animals seem to revolt.

We had customers for a maximum of 20 minutes and in that time the sheep managed to poop in their water, likely the same troublesome sheep re-broke the meat bird tractor, the poults in the brooders made an escape and were wandering off our front porch to their impending doom, and the kiddo took off her boots (which have yet to be found) and was running around like a wild child covered in mystery manure. It was chaos.

Of course the friendly folks did not seem to mind the hullabaloo, but I was frazzled as I waddled around after chicks trying to put them back into the brooders, as I wrangled my poop covered kid and hosed her down for the 10th time, and as I tried to make a short term remedy for the chicken tractor that had been crushed by wooly ruminants! Poultry transport cages were in the front yard, a half done chicken tractor awaited completion in the back yard, and toddler toys littered everywhere in between, it was indeed chaos at the Melville Farms homestead. 

But it’s my chaos. Beautiful chaos. As much as I strive to have things perfect for farm visitors, I’m glad my kid runs wild and free not worried if she has dirt under her nails or if she’s using her dress to collect rocks and dirt clods. I love raising my meat birds in the pasture where they can forage fresh ground every day. Sheep, though they drive me nuts, are all part of the fun. The tiny poults have over stayed their welcome in the brooder, but will be moved into deluxe accomodations on the morrow.  When we finally got around to dinner we ate beef that we raised, fresh peas and cabbage our family grew. After dinner we didn’t watch TV we worked until the sun went down, Hubby Dearest completing the chicken tractor in all its glory, our toddler helping in a helmet so she “was safe.”

Now as quiet falls on the farm and I say goodnight to Melville I’m exhausted, thankful for my Hubby who works so hard on and off the farm, and naively hopeful that my kid will sleep better tonight before our beautiful chaos begins again with the rising sun.

(Play date on the farm with a few good friends!)

 (Bubbles, the ring leader of sheep related debauchery) 

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.