Jumping on the Leaf Piles

Fall may be about the excitement of crisp breezes and planting bulbs, but our goats--and alpacas--agree that fall is about the fun of fallen leaves. When our good neighbor Tony was clearing his yard yesterday, I understood why the goats were clustered by the fence adjoining his property when I saw him dumping two barrels-full of leaves over the fence for them.

With the enthusiasm I remember from childhood, they race to whatever pile is newest, gathering around to gobble up the crisp, crunchy leaves. For some reason I had gotten it into my head that maple leaves were preferable over oak leaves for the ruminant diet--maybe the oak leaves are more acidic?--but the livestock have worked hard to disabuse me of such notions. All leaves are welcome: newly fallen or dried brown are equally welcome.

Perhaps it's another hangover from childhood that the same leaves that were so exciting when they first appeared, lose their appeal with time. Tomorrow the leaves left from today's binge will sit, ignored. The goats and alpacas will instead wait for newly-fallen leaves to be delivered into their grazing areas.

Whatever the reasons, fall is definitely a thrilling time of year.

Dairy Updates and Decisions

One day earlier this month our friend Bird dropped by to milk Miss Marcie, who was very obliging and cooperative.

Very soon our large dairy does may be traveling to C&M Valley Farm in Readyville, the place where Marcie was born and raised, for breeding. By next year we may switch to a meat-goat buck, but for now we'll focus on dairy. The C&M Valley genes are worth the drive, and now that our dairy does are at ease with road travel, why the trip should be a breeze. Or so I hope.

The sad news is that Miss Marcie, our in-house Dairy Queen, recently tested positive for CAE, or caprine arthritic encephalitis. The disease is highly contagious between doe and kid, and any kids that Marcie may have in the future must be pulled from her before she can even begin to lick them dry. Our veterinarian, Dr. Travis Whitlow DVM at Kinslow Veterinary Clinic, told me that arthritic symptoms do not usually appear until around age four. (Marcie is three, I think.)

For now we'll simply keep Marcie from doing what she does best: nursing kids. Our stores of frozen colostrum from Miss Marcie will get tossed (making more room in the freezer!), and she can no longer be our go-to nanny goat for orphaned or weakened kids. Dr. Whitlow and I did not discuss the chances of Marcie's simply carrying the disease versus developing full-blown symptoms. Denial is a form of self-preservation; I want a little time before considering the swollen, arthritic joints, lameness, and death that may be in Marcie's future as early as next year.

The breeder from whom I purchased Marcie was devastated to hear the news, and hoped that Marcie picked up the disease here rather than on her farm. Since her herd has been negative, I gather she hasn't tested all her goats in the past year or so. This means that I'll want to test our entire herd now, to see if any other animals have been infected, then segregate positive from negative does especially near birthing time, as the disease could be passed to other does through discharged mucous, placenta, or afterbirth. 

Graham, the Nigerian Dwarf kid orphaned at birth just prior to Easter this year grew up on Marcie's milk. He will be one of first to get tested; I don't know if bucks are usually tested or just does, but both Graham and the now-deceased Nubian kid Maguire benefited from the stores of Marcie's colostrum in their very first hours of life.

Ignorance was a much simpler state, but what has been learned cannot be unlearned. (Yes, much gets forgotten here, but even I will now know to test the herd annually.)

Pamela and The Boys

Brad (housed beneath the hay storage trailer) and Pamela pause for this photo op.

 It hardly seems like she's had time to cycle again, but Miss Pamela is back to hanging around the stinky bucks. I'm amused to see that she's most taken by Brad Pitt--apparently she thinks he's a movie star or something. She's forever bawling in frustration, then sticking her nose into the shelter under the hay trailer where Brad's temporarily shacked up. In return, Brad smooches and moons about Pamela, fawning enough to build any doe's ego. Sometimes he'll break away to chase Harry and Hugh away from "his" gal, but it's all posturing because both Harry and Hugh are too short to court Miss Pamela successfully.

Brad and Pamela return to the business at hand: earnest flirtation.

Today I had help moving some cattle panels to make temporary enclosures. It's high time to breed the does, and we'd like to put the bucks into service before they get discouraged. After all, they've been waiting for date nights for weeks and weeks now. Of course, as soon as I felt proud for making the goats hold off fall breeding until deliveries could come into the first warmth of spring, someone pointed out that the wintertime births are advantageous because the cold air keeps many germs at bay. I hope this does not mean that we can expect more kids to thrive in the warm temperatures only to decline as they battle increased incidence of  parasitism and disease.

For today, Pamela alone taunts the bucks. Once they are pastured together, the breeding will be the focus of activity. I just need to space the breeding enough so that kidding season will remain manageable. 

Musical Chairs?

"Ol' Ms. Winfield, has a farm, e-i-e-i-o. And on this farm she has a goat whose name is Harry, not Joe."

Harry and Hugh exchange greetings.

Harry  has pals with him tonight. Finally. Hugh Jackman was my first choice for pairing with Harry because the two are well-matched in size and appearance, but Brad Pitt wasn't about to let Hugh go off on an adventure alone, so he got in on the act.

A quick study, Brad saw when I lifted Hugh out of the buck pen that it would not be hard for him to exit the same way. After all, the residue of uneaten hay had accumulated along the lower fence enough that he could reach across its top. One hop and the little dickens was over and out. I left him to wander while I got the smaller goats together.

Harry and Hugh getting acquainted.

Hugh and Harry hit it off immediately. Their similarities make them an attractive pair together, and I would almost swear that their similar size cemented the friendship. Under the trailer, they bumped heads but without the rearing and ramming normally associated with goat play. Even when one of them did rear back and posture, the meeting of heads was always gentle and friendly.

Brad was easy to move because he is taller than Hugh, and his broad horns make super handles. He and I actually traveled nicely together--he with four hooves on the ground and holding my hands around his horns. Once inside the under-the-trailer enclosure, Brad glanced over at the two black-and-white goat boys, then focused on the serious business at hand: eating hay.

Alpacas check out their surroundings.

My evening was not finished, though, as more moves were slated. Romeo and Hamilton, two of our male alpacas, were chosen to move on up to the greener pasture. Although Hamilton was wary of being haltered, both males traveled well on the lead. The three of us ambled together through the fallen leaves, down past the penned-up roosters and the house, and entered their new pasture at its front gate. I made them circle the perimeter with me, and locate the automatic waterer, before letting them loose to enjoy their new digs. Far better than the dry lot where they have been staying, this pasture has a smattering of green grass left, and bountiful quantities of new-fallen leaves.

The equine Welcome Wagon: mares and filly approach to meet their new alpaca neighbors.

The horses were curious about their new neighbors and ambled through the woods to check out the action. Before all of the greetings could take place, I left the four-legged animals to their own devices. I had chickens to gather.

A few weeks back I purchased a two-piece already-assembled hen house. Since then I stained it to protect the wood and installed a four-foot fence much of the way around it, finishing the loop with two three-foot pig panels. Now I'm encouraging the hens to settle there at night. Eventually, they will remain in an enclosed yard throughout the days, too--we're none too thrilled to be losing hens to the dogs, especially now that Biscuit has told his pals that freshly-killed chicken is indescribably tasty.

Hens beside the new hen house.

I was able to gather two hens tonight, in addition to the one who stayed of the pair I had "settled" there yesterday. Chickens, even those who know you're after them, are easy prey once the sun goes down. They sat on my lap to have their wings clipped, then traveled together without incident to the new spot. I will be curious to see how many are still in place behind the fence when I come out in the morning. As they frequently roost atop four-foot tall fence panels, the fence is actually there to merely encourage them to stay, and to deter the dogs.

By the time I was done this evening and ready to come in the house, my head was spinning with the game of musical pastures we had just played and a version of "Old MacDonald has a Farm" was formulating itself on my tongue. Luckily for those within earshot, I am easily distracted, and did not pursue the song after I got into the house.

Safe Travels & Construction Challenges

Goats on the move, traveling in their newly-modified trailer.

Today I needed to transport our dairy goat girls to the vet to have blood drawn for CAE testing. (More about CAE testing in another post.) Sure I could have "done it myself"--Not!--but I've never drawn blood on a goat before (or on anyone else for that matter--getting alpaca blood drops for DNA testing is not in the same league). Although the farm has a practically-full-fledged medical assistant with experience in phlebotomy on staff, she has only worked with humans, and she insists that one should never draw blood from the jugular vein. ("But that's what the instructions say to do!" notwithstanding.) So we needed to get to Kinslow Veterinary Clinic to have the blood drawn and to be taught to draw the blood ourselves in the future. Today's challenge was safely transporting my sometimes-high-strung dairy goat girls to the vet.

Beginning with the little 4' x 8' trailer that I haul behind the rattletrap farm pickup truck, I set out for Lowe's (via the transfer station). I had meant to stop to see the welder over on SE Tater Peeler who helped us before, but I must have been lost in thought because we sailed past that turn and I didn't even realize that we had missed it until we were another mile down the road. Once we got the trailer unearthed from the trash and recycling, we headed to Lowe's with the plan to swing by the welder's shop on the way home. (We don't have a phone number for him, so the drill is to just drive by and try to catch him when he's in. Not very efficient, I know, but he's retired from full time work and prefers to just be caught when he's on site.)

4-1/2" angle grinder

No one that I spoke with at Lowe's understood my request for "metal stock," but that was okay as I was standing practically beside it by the time I found someone to ask. (When the trailer had been up in Macon County and I described my vision for raising the sides to Artemis, she told me it would be easy to do--beginning with metal stock for the upright supports. Once I had the terminology, I was ready to shop.) The electrical department had both EMT stock for cheap and rigid stock running close to $1.30 a foot. I gathered enough of both to use the strong stock on the corners and the more-easily-bendable stock along the sides. It helped that I had the trailer with me because I was able to take the materials out to the lot to determine if they would work (fit) before checking out.  (Two huge impediments to the realization of any building visions that I have are lack of terminology to know what to request and lack of confidence that the materials, once found, will work. So, I take baby steps.)

Thin-bladed hand saw

Back on the farm I got busy hunting for the pipe-cutting tool, without a clue as to where to look. I came up with an angle grinder (but no safety glasses or metal cutting blade) and a thin bladed hand saw that I imagined was made for sawing metal. The little saw worked on the EMT stock, but slowly, very slowly. I called our operations manager for direction to the pipe cutting tool. While looking in the places to which I had been directed, I found another little hand saw with instructions on it to always wear safety glasses, so I took that to mean that it, too, was made to cut metal. I did not find the pipe cutter.

The new little saw worked much better and I burned through the EMT stock without much trouble. Measure twice, cut once? Ha. That would take brains. After I had cut the first 10' section on stock into one 2' scrap section and two 4' usable sections--the siding I planned to use is 3' tall and the space into which the stock would fit was about 6" (okay, maybe 4"--no, I did not measure), I realized that there might be a better way. I might even be able to get three usable pieces out of each piece of stock! (Duh.) Of course, 120" is evenly divisible by 3, with the resulting 40" pieces being just the right size for the job. (Thank goodness I made my wasteful cuts on stock that cost less than 18 cents per foot!)

Only in the evening, when our operations manager returned to the farm, did I learn that the two little hand saws are designed for wood. And although I was able to cut the rigid pipe with the angle grinder--I know it would have been easier with a cutting blade, but I must work with what I can locate--I received a brisk dressing-down and review of safety procedures. I'll be given a tool safety refresher class sometime this week. (I'm eager to have the shop finished and organized so that I can find the tools I need when I want them. Hopefully before spring...)

Dairy does on the move, exiting the farm driveway in "their" trailer / limousine.

Pieces of 3'-tall hog panel, woven between the upright posts and tacked in place with plastic zip ties (for now), completed the raised sides. The goat girls clambered into the trailer eagerly, following the basket of grain I held, and rode calmly--as if they were regular travelers. Leslie lay down, no body-surfing on a moving trailer for her. Marcie, busybody that she is, tried to look everywhere at once. An Pamela, silly girl, did a fine canine imitation: pointing her nose forward and practically smiling while her ears flopped on the wind. They came with me to run errands, too, while they were out, and returned home seasoned travelers.

Briefly: One Blustery Afternoon

October 12, 2010 Breezes preceding a storm ruffle Miss Janet's mane.

Fall is in the air, literally. Today the leaves are flying about in the air on the breezes preceding threatening storm clouds. From the hilltop by our barn, I look out over the fields and note that the hillside is golden in the late afternoon light even on this gray day. Lightning flashes amid dark, dark clouds atop the hillside just beyond the cow pasture across the street. Before I brought hay to the horses, the wind tossed young Janet's mane and pulled at the older mares' tails.

Look closely. How many chicks can you see?

Kimberly had her brood (which appears to be down to six chicks from seven) pecking through the blowing leaves. The birds blended into the foliage so well that I often had to look twice to locate them all. Just for fun I took some photos of them, to see how easy they might be to spot when the picture holds them still. In the photo I see one hen and five chicks. How many can you see?

Harry came to the fence to ask me to say "Hi" to Brooke for him. Hi, Brooke!

This afternoon, finally, our new little goat, Harry, approached the fence as I chattered to him. Since he has been hanging back, not moving, I was pleased to see him feeling bolder. Then I noticed Barney was outside the fence with me, and I thought perhaps the goat had come to see the cat. But no, little Harry had a message he was asking me to deliver. He wants someone named Brooke to know that he misses her pretty smile, and he hopes that she is having fun. I get the impression that Miss Brooke is a favorite of his.

I'm easily impressed by avian architecture.

After everyone was fed and watered and had been settled in for the night, I returned to the house. In front of the porch there are a number of burning bush specimens. Oddly, only one has turned red so far, and it's not one on an end--so I cannot imagine why this one turned before the others. (Anyone with insight is asked to share it.) However, because the leaves are all burning red (hence the name "burning bush"), a bird's nest was suddenly revealed that I had not noticed before. Bird nests, like spider webs, never fail to amaze me. Their creators, working animals and insects, are artists in their own right.

"Slip Out the Back, Jack"

Jack riding home, as seen through our rear-view mirror.

Yesterday we received a call from our friends at Second Life Farm up in Macon County. Their donkey, Jack, had gone visiting--again--and was corralled at the home of the Jenny he pursued, some three miles away. Retrieving him would take two sets of hands and only one was available on their farm, so I fired up our little farm truck and tooled along the scenic byways of Middle Tennessee on a gorgeous autumn afternoon. We met Jack's caretaker along the way and followed her to the spot of his tryst.

This was my first opportunity to meet Jack, and I was taken by the sweet little donkey who was so readily pliable at the hands of his caretaker. (I daresay I would have had more trouble with him. Artemis is strong.) With some urging and a gentle shove, Jack was coaxed into the little trailer. Tied securely--and retied by the elderly gentleman who had been looking out for him--Jack was ready for the slow drive home.

All along the way I kept a watch in the rear-view mirror, wary lest he break free and hurt himself. Artemis lead the way home, slowly--watching us in her rear-view mirror and laughing when she saw me drop the camera as I tried to drive and snap photos simultaneously. We traversed the main drag without incident. As we made the turn onto their road, I watched the occupants of the car behind us witness the riding donkey make the turn away.

Jack: safe at home again, and probably plotting his next adventure.

After Jack was unloaded, he was returned to the barn and fed. For all we knew, though, he was already thinking about his next opportunity to slip out the back gate and go in search of sweet Jenny.

Well Hello, Harry!

The new buck looks over his shoulder at our buck pen.

This morning our operations manager directed us to the home of a gentleman in Sumner County who had a pair of goat bucks he wished gone. While I had thought we might just have enough stinky bucks on our farm already, she cited the need for genetic diversity (a fair argument) and explained that at least one of the bucks "fainted" readily. Just before we left home, though, she received a call--the two bucks in question had met with a disastrous end when attacked by loose dogs, but there was yet another buck there in search of a new home. We set out in our little rattletrap farm pickup pulling its not-so-rickety little trailer to pick up a goat about whom we knew very little. My wish was that if it were a fainting buck that it be naturally horned because our best fainter buck, Joshua, is naturally polled--and we have a number of polled fainter does with whom I wish him not to breed.

Harry's pierced ear.

Luckily, the new guy is an adorably cute black-and-white fainter buckling, with horns, born early this year. He looks a good deal like our little buck Hugh, but he will grow past Hugh's limited stature next year. I like that his coat is long, too. After he was loaded in our little trailer, I noticed that he, too, had encountered the marauding dogs--escaping simply with a pierced ear. He must be a fast little guy, I'm thinking.

Although he came with a Spanish-sounding name, we considered our bank of names to be used and chose Harry, in honor of a former neighbor--Harry R. After all, this little goat is hairy observed our operations manager--the same woman who named our barn cat Barney. We are simple people here, and easy to entertain.

Harry contemplates his new digs.

 Harry is settled for the time being under the hay storage trailer awaiting his medical clearance to the herd. He appears to be healthy and I won't likely make him wait the requisite 30 days before providing him with company (softy that I am). Perhaps Hugh would like to be Harry's new pal. I'm thinking he will be--within the coming week.

Nuts!

After gathering nuts but twice, we had nearly a half-bushel of walnuts collected.

The nut crop promises to be good this year. Already we have a basket filled with American Black walnuts from one little tree, and many more still cling to the branches. Hickory nuts, too, are falling in abundance. Now all I must do is gather--and crack--those nuts.

Walnuts are messy because their green fibrous husks cling to the inner shells, and when the fiber is moistened at all it makes a deep walnut stain. This year we'll harness some of that color for woodworking projects to come. Finally we'll be staining--some items--with hues developed right here on the farm.

Walnuts are also problematic in that they are poisonous to some plants and animals. This particular walnut tree is slated for felling because it's located on the edge of a pasture beside the house, one that we would like to use for animals without worrying that the horses may founder from trampling over the walnut-tainted ground.

I've not decided how to handle the walnuts' nut meats yet for this year. Last year I had found an advertisement from someone buying walnuts in quantity, but I have yet to see a similar ad this year. I would prefer to sell them than battle out the nutmeats myself.

We'll take a crack at the hickory nuts again this year--literally. If only I can perfect the technique of extracting the nutmeats without also collecting bits of shell, then we'll be in hickory nut heaven. A couple of years ago, as I was first learning how to tackle this tough nut, I found a gentleman selling the nutmeats online for something like $24.00 a pound, if my memory serves me correctly. Considering the amount of effort it seems to take to extract a single nutmeat, the price actually seems reasonable. The flavor is similar to that of pecans, yet at once distinctly different.

Gathering hickory nuts is cleaner and neater than gathering walnuts. The husks divide into four chunks and fall away cleanly from the nut shells. Nearly all of the nuts we gather are already shed of their husks; the remainder are simple to free: just peel back the quartered husk and release the nut. The mess is created by the vast litter of husks left behind on the ground. I'm thinking of trying to use some of the nut hulls for drainage at the bottom of large planters; they would not decompose fully for some time.

We have numerous shag-bark (and other) hickory trees about the place, and we will hardly make a dent in the abundance of nuts with what we gather. The squirrels will whittle away at the rest, remaining well-fed throughout the winter.

Between the walnuts and the hickory nuts, this farm certainly qualifies as nutty.

Mother said, "Don't play with your food."

In Barney's world, dinner is more fun when one plays with the food.

This afternoon while I was by the grain bins for the chickens, our barn cat, Barney, trotted past--head held high, with a rodent dangling from his jaws. I gather that he must have had a different upbringing than I did, for I distinctly remember being admonished to not play with my food at dinner. Not that he played immediately, but in the time that it took for me to pull the camera from my back pocket, Barney had set down his catch--turning what had been his dinner into a toy: a fascinating toy worthy of extended play.

Barney casually looks away, giving the rodent in front a chance to "escape."

After a moment of disorientation, where the rodent simply sat, getting its bearings, the creature chose to play Barney's game--and scurried off. He found a mountainous pile of leaves (mountainous from its perspective, that is) into which he darted, likely presuming he would be safe. The poor little rodent had not counted on Barney, though.

Barney hovers over the pile, listening for the smallest rustle in the leaves.

Soon, Mr. Big Barn Cat, Barney, was hovering above the leaf pile, enjoying his cruel little game. I watched him for a minute or two. While he appeared to be having fun, I did not realize just how much fun he was having until a bit later--when he chose to not show up by the milking stand. To the best of my recollection, Barney has never before missed a milking time. According to our good neighbor, Theresa, he rarely misses a feeding time over there, either.

When I came down from the barn, bucket in hand, Barney was still near his leaf pile. He was no longer beside it, though. No, he appeared well satisfied, sated even. At least the "game" was over for the mole; I'm betting that it did not like playing "Cat and Mouse" with Mr. Barney.

Scenting Babes

The yearling fainter buck Brad sniffing the air for scents of open doe. Brad is FILTHY with the evidence of his ardor.

The excitement of fall is in the air. This afternoon the large dairy goats were wandering about the upper grounds, browsing on freshly-fallen leaves and twigs, seemingly enjoying the warmth of the sun in what is now fairly dry air. When I was gathering materials in preparation for milking, I noticed that the Nubian doe Pamela was hanging around the stinky bucks' pen. Clearly she is in heat, ready to breed, and was checking out the possibilities. I hadn't the heart to tell her that none of our bucks will be hired for the job, that she'll have to wait for me to contact someone with a large dairy buck, but I didn't feel bad because although she was sniffing around their pen, she didn't go to the lengths that I've seen the fainter does go--leaning on the fence, willing themselves through the wire mesh, and generally mooning about the boys. No, Pamela was interested, yes, but not yet smitten.

Our fainter buck Whiskey, scenting a doe in heat on the afternoon's late breezes.

The bucks, on the other hand, were eager. The grunting and snorting from their corner of the universe when she came near was a little concert on the autumn air. And while our most active bucks were involved, of course--Bully, Brad, Sting, and Joshua (although he is more subtle, even suave)--so too was our oldest fainting buck, Whiskey--whose libidinal drive appears to be practically nonexistent. As the shadows grew long and the late day's sun glowed upon the bucks in their pen, I stood to watch their agitation.

BullyBob, nostrils wide to catch Pamela's scent, redolent with accumulated liberal applications of goat buck cologne.

Bully, of course, was busily scenting the air and applying goat buck cologne with a liberal--um, I cannot say "hand"--dispensing of the golden and foul-smelling perfume. I almost miss the teasing our operations manager did last year, watching Bully and singing, "I'm so sexy--unh, don'tcha want me--unh, come watch me pee on myself..." The camera caught the late day's sun highlighting his urine-yellow face and beard.

Breeding time is fast approaching. This coming year we should not lose any kids to the cold and none should be born before mid-to-late March. Finally, a lesson learned and effective caprine management strategies in place.  It seems we're getting the hang of this farming gig. Yippee!