Keeping Warm

The morning after the snow arrived, the air was clear, crisp, and bone-chillingly cold. This became readily apparent when my fingers began to hurt before I had even opened any gates outside. To unfasten the gate at the top of the orchard, I first had to break the ice coating free from the snap latch. This required me to remove a glove for improved dexterity and gave me a first glimpse of how the chill air would be treating me that afternoon. When my fingers began to ache before the gate was unlatched, I realized just how cold it was outside. After breaking the ice crust miring the gate bottom to the snowpack, the cattle panel (gate) moved freely and allowed me to pass.

Our young roo, Prince Eric, was fluffed as fluff could be--putting as much space between his body and the chill air as he could muster.

The spotted saddle horses, Stella and Millie, were hunched together in front of the chain-link kennel as if by crowding each other underneath the little overhang of roof they might spare themselves further chills. Both their backs and the tops of their sides were coated in ice, and icicles hung like fringe from their full winter coats. They were not eager to move when I asked, but moving them was necessary in order to reach the dairy goats in the front half of the kennel, and then the dog dishes in the back portion. When I glanced up the hill, I saw that Lucy and Janet were similarly crowded together in front of the barn--which was silly, I thought, for they could easily have gained shelter beneath the roof to the run-in portion of the barn in the rear. (Later when I reached them, their coats testified to their having sought shelter during the freezing rains. They were at the front of the barn to ensure that I noticed them when I doled out grain.)

Luther waited by the home pasture gate and Molly and the pups crowded along the driveway gate. All were eager to pile down to the kennel for their kibble. After they had piled into the back of the kennel and the dairy goats had sipped at the warm water I had brought out, I headed into the home pasture and up to the barn. The alpaca mamas and their crias along with Gwen and Mary all came out onto the ice-covered snow to greet me. Goldie Rose's topnot sported a shining ice coating and little Mary skittered alongside her mama--visibly shivering. (She had shucked her fleece coat the day before and been left overnight with just her own black-and-white fur coat and the heat lamp in the stall.)

Something looked odd in the next stall and I glanced over to find both Jennifer and Thumbelina crowded together under the heat lamp in that stall--and little Will was standing squarely on his Auntie Jen's back practically kissing up to the heat lamp. (I had to slide the camera through the stall grate to capture that!) After snapping the photo shown, I then saw Will literally nuzzling up to the heat lamp. Understanding just how chilly the goats perceived the air to be, I bustled about getting Mary suited up in a double-warm getup. The green fleece snugs close to her body and one of the boys' abandoned wool-lined jean jackets provides a secure outer layer. (Yes, the jean jackets had dried from their last use and I made sure that Gwen still recognized her gal beneath the smell of little buckling before leaving Mary in her snowsuit.) 

Before leaving the animals with their hay for the day, I did add layers to the stall divider for the Nigerian Dwarf does. Not only do I want the kids to keep warm, but now both Cocoa and Jennifer are there waiting to kid. That trio and the boys did not get out to romp in the fresh air today, although I am sure they would have loved the opportunity. This year I am erring on the side of caution and keeping the littlest kids sheltered from potential airborne predators. (Mary Packer is not much bigger, but she sticks close to Gwen and moves fast. Besides, to pick her up a hawk would have to take on Gwen and I doubt she would be very receptive to the idea of handing her kid over as a snack.)

Launch My Line

While I do not watch reality television, it is hard to avoid the incessant commercials when watching any show in real time. One of the annoying ads airing currently is for a show titled "Launch My Line" about contestants trying to design lines of clothing for market. For the past couple of days I've been playing with designing clothing to protect our new kids in very cold weather.

At first the boys wore little bluejean capes but those needed work and quickly changed into the impromptu wool-lined jean jackets (okay, goat coats) pictured here. That night the temperature dropped into the low 20's. In the morning I was concerned about Gwen's Mary who had been active enough to leave unclothed the prior night. Smart Mary had bedded down behind a folded table propped up against a stall wall (serving to cut drafts into the adjoining stall); she conveniently loacated herself as close as possible to the heat lamp under which the boys lounged. Clever gal! My feelings of guilt ensured that she quickly got a wool cape. The boys' coats had shifted so that their linings were more to one sidem nut they were still serviceable. Satisfied for the time being, I went about my chores and errands.

In the afternoon when I checked on the animals again, Mary's cape had slid around and she was stepping on it as she moved. Soon she had stepped right out of the cape, leaving it lying on the stall floor like any child's cast-off jacket. Since the boys had been trapped inside the barn (out of sight of predatory birds) for the morning, it was time they got out into the sunshine and I brought them out. (Any predator would be hard pressed to challenge Gwen.)

Alhough the jackets had stayed on the kids, the slippage meant that the little bucklings had thoroughly wet the low side with their urine. It was time to revamp my clothing line.

My morning errands had included a trip to the Lebanon Goodwill, where Wednesdays and Sundays are 99 cent days (on select clothing items). After a couple of nights with temperatures in the 20's, I wanted better covering for the kids and had gone in search of a fluffy-lined coat (fake sheep's wool) to cut up. Almost immediately I found a large, heavy jacket and a full-length wool tweed coat, each marked $24.99 but selling for $0.99 apiece. Silently cheering at my luck, I bundled these into the cart and browsed on only to realize a bit later that these materials were certainly thick and heavy, but that very weight would make cutting them a challenge. They went back onto the racks and I left with a couple of much lighter fleece pullovers--one a thicker vest and one thinner but with sleeves. (Sleeves and tube socks are the fastest young-animal coat materials I have found: cut a piece off and make a hole for the legs, and we're in business.)

Miss Mary Packer's new coat was the first freed from the scissors. Once it was on, I saw that I had added unnecessary extra holes for threading also-unnecessary ties with which to cinch the coat on more tightly. (That design had worked well for the boys the prior night, but was totally unnecessary this time around.) The fleece tube hugged her body quite well and only needed to be turned around to make the narrowest part of the sleeve into the collar. She suffered my attentions with aplomb and was soon out cavorting about with Gwen again.

Will and Walter's coats had held well, but both were wet with urine and so in need of a change. I had fun using the remaining sleeve to line the two denim capes that had been my first (discarded) attempts the prior day. Working with wriggling kids makes fittings challenging, so each cut is a gamble, but I rather like how their duds fit when I was done. Something about the fleece-lined jean jacket look says "farm boy" to me.

For the record, the wet on little Walter's coat in the photo is water, and the dirt on their coats is "clean" in that my bluejeans tend to emerge from the wash still looking a tad worn.

So, what do you think, Dear Reader? Am I ready to launch my line?

Torrential Rains

For the past two nights the rains have come in torrential waves, in awesome deluges that drown out other sounds and restrict movements. Yesterday when I went to see the lowline cattle across town, the stock tanks that generally need filling with a hose were brimming full. After returning home, I had the privilege of witnessing Nature's power up close. With bright flashes of lightning just outside the window, immediately followed by resounding rumbles of thunder, I took the precaution of unplugging the computers--something I rarely even think to do these days, even though I was raised to pull plugs all around the house whenever lightning struck within three miles of home.

Sitting inside, sorting through mail, glancing up at the windows every so often, I was surprised when once I could not see past the porch railing. Since our view is generally quite grand, such restriction got me up and out onto the porch to see what I could (or could not) see. By the time I reached the door, the downpour had lessened but the photo looking off of the porch corner still captures the rain sluicing down over the gutter (which usually flows smoothly but just had more water than it could accomodate), the muddy ground that has more flowing water than actual soil or vegetation visible, and the dimness of the trees just at the bottom of the slope.

Of course, what follows such heavy rains but striking rainbows. Not five minutes after the first photo I looked up again to see bright sunshine on the hayfield across the street. When I stepped out onto the porch this time I was treated to two after-shower rainbows gleaming down in front of the recently-passed dark clouds, with our farm (and that of our neighbor) its pot of gold at the rainbow's end. I snapped a couple of pictures, then turned to go back inside, only to be struck by the blue sky unfurling across the heavens. The contrast to the dark clouds not-yet-past the ridge was a treat.

Once the rain subsided, I geared up to slog out into the barnyard. Before feeding time, I needed to finish closing the last opening in the perimeter fence through which the large dairy goats had thought to wander earlier that day. The three girls nimbly followed me as I slipped and slid down the hillside, and supervised as I unrolled a section of fence over the opening. They seemed entertained by my company--content to munch the brown leaves they picked up off of the rock pile near the fence--and not in the least concerned to be fenced in safely. Indeed, their priority was dinner, and they enthusiastically escorted me to their little shelter as soon as they could pry me away from the fence, and made sure I set out an ample portion of grain for the three of them.

Miss Pamela Chrysanthemum is rounding out more fully with each passing day, and although she will approach me, she still startles if she thinks I could be looking at her or even thinking of looking at her. I'm not sure what I'll do about containment when she kids, although I'm thinking of fencing in the low-lying shelter, adding a floor above wood pallets in case the heavy rains return, and loosing some dogs in the front area to keep the goats feeling safe. With their long legs, these goats travel rapidly and I am loathe to think of restricting their movements, but for the sake of newborn kids I can do it.

When the large dairy goats had received their grain, I turned to look up at the sky before wandering closer to our little branch of Spring Creek, that waterway that hardly moves when it has water at all. The roiling waters were a treat to behold with their whipped-up white caps and fast-moving debris . Branches that generally hang well clear of the waterway where now dipping in and out of the rushing waters.

I love these many gifts that Nature bestows upon us on a daily basis. From the lady bugs, earth worms, and ever-changing soil all the way through the joys of birth and the power of lightning, wind, and water each gift is special and unique. My life here in Middle Tennessee grants me ample opportunities to witness Nature in action and for that I am truly thankful.

Miss Mary, Hardly Contrary

The first Tennessee Fainting goat and first doeling of the season was born last week to Gwen, our fainter herd queen. The delivery took me by surprise. Even though Gwen's midsection had been rounding down, the thought had not occurred to me that she would be delivering anytime soon. Gwen delivered her kid while out in the back pastures and the dogs were there to clean up any mess she might have left, so she was able to introduce me to her already-dried and scampering kid when we met in the driveway by the barn at dinner time.

The temperature had become warmer during the days, but still freezing at night, so the pair was promptly settled into a barn stall with a heat lamp. Gwen is a responsible and experienced mother, so after witnessing the kid nurse, I let them be for the night.

The next female name we had in line for use was Mary, for the wonderful, bright, and energetic woman by that name whom we know from New England. Married to Walter (whose name was used for our first buckling of the year), the warm, nurturing, no-nonsense Mary is also mother to our dear friend Judy (whose name was used for the alpaca cria born to Myfawny, a.k.a. Van, last fall--Judith TwilightStar). All of the members if this family have been very good to us over the years and are treasures in our hearts.

By making our animals their namesakes we are sure to think of the human name-donators frequently and with pleasure. 'Tis true that over time the connection will fade as each animal grows to assume a personality with the name, but still every so often (if not daily, at least weekly) the connection will surface and I'll take a moment to remember the human at one point or another via a snapshot from my memory bank. I'm very glad we chose to name some of our animals this way because it keeps what could be a lost connection alive in my heart.

Gwen's little Mary is a delightful, bouncy kid--a far cry from Gwen's last kid Raymond, who was born in a freezing-cold barn and even after spending a week in our laundry room under a heat lamp, was slow to gain his walking legs. Plus, while Raymond was a full fainter, Mary's sire is BullyBob our Nigerian Dwarf buck. It's from him that she got her blue eyes and the little pendants at the top of her neck which we call "goat jewelry." Like the original, our Mary is vibrant and has a definite spring in her step. She's curious, always eager to learn more about the world around her--tasting my boots and jeans, trying to fit her head through the sheep-and-goat panel squares separating her from the young male alpacas, and dancing from corner to corner of her restricted stall space.

Our little Miss Mary is a delightful gal, hardly contrary except when I pick her up and hold her too long away from her mother. When that happens, she exhibits lung power worthy of a future trombone player. She's quite cute, our little Mary Packer.

Canine on the Job

The dogs work hard at night. The are busy keeping tabs on the activities around the farm after dark. Last night they were in a barking frenzy, at a pitch indicating they were confronting an intruder, causing me to step out on the deck to see what I could see. I couldn't see much of anything in the dark, but my nose told me that a skunk had been in the area--not too close, thank goodness, but definitely in the neighborhood.

This morning when I went out, Molly and the pups showed up like they always do, but when Luther showed up he was uncharacteristically dirty. His coat was yellowed and his head was muddied. When he came close to the gate, I understood. Luther was the brave soul who confronted the skunk last night. Luckily for him (and for us), he had not gotten really up close and personal, but he clearly had gotten close enough to regret the encounter. The poor guy must have spent a good deal of the night trying to banish the odor from himself.

I don't notice his skunky odor unless he's right next to me, so he clearly got off easily. I wonder if this will be his last encounter with a skunk? Some dogs learn from such experiences, and Luther is highly intelligent. Will the urge to chase outweigh the desire to preserve his dignity and well being? Only time will tell.

Fears & Gifts

When Thumbelina and Jennifer took Thumbelina's twins out to play in the yard this morning, all that occurred to me was that they have a sunny, warm place to romp and play. The bucklings started their day climbing the "mountains" of wood beside some planter boxes and exploring the nooks and crannies beneath the piles. Perodically I checked on them and found they stayed together pretty well, and Thumbelina was attentive to their needs. Once I caught Jennifer tasting the bark from one of the young trees in our still-potted orchard, chastised her, and moved on--the tree would have to wait until later to be saved.

In the mid-afternoon Jeff stopped by to arrange a time to work on the "hot" portion of the fencing enclosing the rear acreage. I urged him to come up and meet our new twin bucklings, but when we arrived only little Walter was evident. "No matter," said I. "He'll turn up. He's probably asleep somewhere." Even so, we looked about a bit--under raised-box planters, behind pots, and beyond wood piles--without catching a glimpse of the younger twin. We visited and talked for a time, occasionally breaking away to perform less-perfunctory, more thorough searches without success.

At one time the dogs barked, jogging my memory and causing a painful realization. Earlier in the day they had barked furiously at one point, causing me to stop work in the barn and look down toward the house. At the time, I had seen no signs of any approaching vehicle or intruder and returned to work. Looking with Jeff, I was reminded both of the barking incident and the demise of Thumbelina's 2009 doeling--a sweet little tidbit carried off by a hawk on its first day out of the barn. The sinking feeling of regret and fear turned my previously-chipped mood to one more somber.

When I shared my fears with Jeff, he told me about watching hawks hunt and assured me that once I witness the phenomenon, I won't forget it. "They cruise about," he said, illustrating with his hands, "and when they spot prey they'll stop and just plummet, going straight down until they're just a few feet off the ground, then they'll unfold their wings with a phoomp! and the mouse, or whatever, is popped into the air by the rush of wind and the hawk flaps upward and sails off with the prey clutched tightly in its talons."

We looked a bit more, then moved on. At first I carried little Walter for safety, but we were leaving the orchard area where the does were penned, so I set him down. Thumbelina kept her remaining kid close by her side, and baaa-ed pitifully as she searched for little Will. I recalled how distressed and crushed she had been last year after her kid had vanished, at least with the remaining buckling by her side she seemed to be taking the loss more in stride. Feeling thoroughly deflated, after all how could I make the same mistake two years running? Just because the kids had been beside the house this time (whereas last year they had been out behind the barn when Jessica Lynne got snatched), why had I been so sure they would be safe? When would I learn from senseless errors and stop being so obviously wrong?!

After Jeff left and I picked up the mail and closed the front gate, I trudged back up the hill. The afternoon's sunshine couldn't touch me; I was officially depressed. When I stepped beside the house to usher the Nigerian Dwarfs indoors I was very surprised to find Thumbelina calmly chewing her cud while beside her snuggled both of her kids, curled up in a spot of sunshine, napping. Both of them! Yee haw! Although gratified, I had difficulty shaking the feeling of loss. The Nigerian Dwarf does and kids returned to the maternity suite--still in the laundry room--and I set about lugging buckets of water up the hill for the rest of our animals. (The hose has yet to fully thaw, but I'm hoping that will pass tomorrow.)

The first two 4-1/2 gallon buckets went to the dogs, birds, large dairy goats, alpaca moms and crias, and the spotted saddle horses. I figured two more trips might be enough for the evening; I would get out early the next morning, I promised myself. Carrying the second bucket of the second load through the upper orchard fence I slipped, dropped the bucket, and landed face down in the spilled water. Even though I managed to right the bucket before all the water was spilled, I was still disgusted with myself and soaked from nose to toes. The paint horse Lucy whickered from the gate and I looked up after rebalancing the remaining water. She would likely drink all of it, and I'd still need to make two more trips. Great. Just great. The evening's chilly air nipped at the wet clothing clinging to my skin. I couldn't finish the evening chores quickly enough; I just wanted to go indoors, change clothes, and turn off for the day.

The Tennessee Fainting goats swarmed down from the barn when they saw me approaching, and over Lucy's rump I caught sight of a bright black-and-white flash. What was that? Smaller than even Number Two (our smallest fainter), and brighter white than any coat exposed to daily life--did someone kid? Who? I had noticed a couple of the gals filling out but hadn't expected anyone to be kidding this week. The new momma was Gwen, the big black-and-white doe who had wanted nothing to do with me last year until her kidding in the freezing weather earned her a week in the laundry room with me responding to her every bleat with food, water, or special treats like fresh fruit and oatmeal. Since then, Gwen has accepted me fully; we're buddies.

Buddies or not, it was difficult separating Gwen and her newborn from the rest of the herd at the moment I should have been serving dinner to all. Eventually they were settled into the center stall of the barn, the rest of the goats were bedded down in their pen beneath the storage trailer, and I was able to move the heat lamp into Gwen's stall and tend to her kid. A doeling, this gal's name is Mary--and it appears that she is indeed related to Thumbelina's Walter because they both have the blue eyes and "goat jewelry" (wattles) sure to have come from BullyBob as their sire. Little Mary let me sing "Mary had a little lamb" to her while tending to her umbilical cord and examining her; she's a very cute gal--almost as pretty as her namesake!

All in all, today's gifts far outweighed my fears of the afternoon and I am thankful.

Thumbelina's Bucklings Venture Outside

Today, for the first time in too long, the air was warm outside. By 11:00 a.m. when I checked the thermometer, the temperature had hit 40 degrees! I wasted no time in bundling the Nigerian Dwarf gals and kids outside--so the bucklings could soak up some of that fine Vitamin D and revel in the fresh air, and I could clean out the maternity suite. Both Jennifer and Thumbelina perked up when I opened the door to shoo them outside. Hanging out in the laundry room indoors is not what they consider fun, even if it does provide life-saving warmth for new kids when the temperatures hover in the teens and twenties. While they were outside, I kept an eye on them--watching Jennifer for any further signs of labor (she exhibited none) and just enjoying watching the bucklings explore and play.

These boys definitely inherited BullyBob's gift for fancy footwork. Watching them careen and cavort, skipping sideways, jumping and turning, could have kept me busy all day had not the farm chores beckoned. Little Walter and his as-yet-unnamed little brother romped and played in the sunshine. They kept going strong for about two hours, and then they crashed hard--curling up together to sleep on the warm asphalt of the driveway. They barely opened an eye or fluttered an eyelash until they were urged indoors at dusk.

Jennifer Labors

Jennifer has been together with Thumbelina for several days now, and this afternoon the pair moved into our laundry room--now a maternity suite. Thumbelina produced twin bucklings right away. No muss, no fuss. Assistance probably was not necessary, but I was present and helped ease the kids into this world. A very competent mom, Thumbelina was in fine form--cleaning her kids, encouraging them to nurse, watching while they rested, then cleaning them some more. Jennifer watched, looming as big as a barn (okay, so a Nigerian Dwarf barn, but huge for her), butting away newborn kids approaching her for sustenance but doing so as gently as one can with bone-hard horns.

8:00 p.m.  When I check on the goats, Jennifer is breathing quickly. Short, sharp breaths. Methinks she's going into labor. I vanish and can hear her lie down again. The new bucklings bleat and their momma answers; I hear Jennifer grunt and shift her out-sized body.

Almost 9:00 p.m.  Jennifer is moving more now--shifting positions, standing, streatching out, pawing at the bedding. No sign of any new noses protruding.

Edging toward 10:00 p.m.  I'm nervous. Why isn't Jennifer's labor progressing? I check online and receive a quick refresher on proper presentations and how to correct improper presentations. When I reach the scenario where one reaches in and feels neither nose, nor rump, nor feet, but ribs (!) and read that the kid is likely already dead, my concern grows. Try to move the dead kid out of the way and usher the live kid(s) into the world, then pull out the dead kid?!

I don't feel up to the task, but go scrub up, trim my nails, gather warm soapy water and fresh clean rags and a water-based lubricant. Oh my gosh, these goats are so tiny. I'm supposed to reach inside her?!! Guess I'll start by checking her heart beat, not that I'm adept with a stethoscope at all, but t's a place to start.

Jennifer's heartbeat is strong and steady, not racing in distress or thready with exhaustion. I cannot detect any heartbeats around her bloated midsection, but I chalk that up to my ineptitude and choose to assume the kids are fine. I hang up the stethoscope, wash my hands again, and reach for a warm soapy rag with which to clean off her rear end.

Stimulated, she expels a fresh pile of feces, then a strong stream of urine, then more feces. That's it, girl, I think. Keep pushing. But she just grunts and paws. Time to grab the lube.

Thumbelina's backside could stand cleaning up, I notice and want to start there but Jennifer's backside is closer and facing me, so I take a deep breath. "I'm sorry girl, I just need to check that everything is all right," I say as I place cool lube on her vulva. She allows my examination as she did with the stethoscope, but like any female she's not keen on the pelvic exam and backs onto my fingers--making my job easier for a moment before she turns away.

Apologizing again, I give her a break and clean some of the blood and mucous off of Thumbelina. I'm struck by the quantity of fluid that has worked its way out since she was pretty clean when the afterbirth came clear. The littler buckling stands to nurse between her front legs and I watch for a minute then interfere and point him toward Thumbelina's udder. Okay, enough stalling.

This time I wrap an arm around Jennifer's chest then slip in fingers of my left hand. Moving a bit then stopping to allow her to accomodate my presence. Feeling badly for violating her in this way, but determined to set any stuck kid to rights. Her cervix is fully dialated; this is good. I feel countless folds in her uterus without encountering any kid, take this as a good sign--no one is stuck at this point, heck they're not even qued up to enter the birth canal. I give the gal a break, clean up, and beat feet out of the maternity suite. The does are doing just fine without my interference.

11:00 p.m.   Thumbelina and her kids are resting under the glow of the heatlamp. Jennifer is stretched out, head erect, chewing her cud and grunting with every breath. Her eyes are clear. Poor gal, seems like all is normal. Hang in there little goat.

Midnight   Why oh why is this taking so long? Again I consult the 4-H online page Pre/Post kidding preparations for dairy goat does and kids. Little Jennifer is showing most of the early labor signs listed: restless, pawing at her bedding, tail up, swollen vulva, looking back and stargazing, but she doesn't seem to be making any headway. Poor gal. She is certainly not having any fun this evening.

1:00 a.m.  Duh! I get it--finally. Phase One: Early Labor is NOT the beginnings of delivery, only signs of labor starting well before delivery. Well before, like long before. Now I can stop hovering and leave Jennifer be. When she's ready to progress into real labor, I imagine she'll do it. Until then, I need not be worrying about any stuck kids at this stage of the game.

What finally clued me in? The sign she is not showing is a white discharge--like Thumbelina had so clearly earlier. Indeed, as of yet there is no discharge. So that's it. I'm going to bed. Perhaps she'll have made progress by the wee hours when I'm sure to wake up and check on her. If not, at least I hope she won't be showing such signs of discomfort. It's like her body is not her own and I imagine she just wants to get back to her everyday comfort level.

Is this where the phrase "labor of love" was born? I wonder...

Thumbelina Kids

This afternoon when I went out to begin the evening feeding, Jennifer and Thumbelina waddled earnestly across their still-snowy pasture when I appeared bearing buckets of warm water. Jennifer arrived first and drank quickly. Thumbelina's movements were more ponderous but no less earnest. When she turned to leave the bucket, I noticed that she had a mat of straw stuck beneath her tail--a highly unusual occurrence, since there is nothing to which the straw might adhere back there, usually. I looked more closely and noticed a thick, creamy discharge serving as the glue. Hmm, perhaps Thumbelina would be kidding tonight?

I had already cleared out the laundry room in preparation for the two to move indoors, since the sub-freezing temperatures in the daytime would challenge any newborns who might arrive. Bustling back and forth with buckets for the very thirsty crowd, I did a bit in the laundry room each time I passed through. First I added cardboard, then feedbags to the laundry room floor, and set up a sliding door to the rest of the house. By the time I was trudging out the fourth pair of buckets, I saw that Thumbelina was walking uncomfortably, and--yes!--she was most certainly in labor.

Bringing down more feedbags, two of which I first stuffed full of straw, I finished a passable maternity ward by adding a dish of water, then set about bringing the does indoors. There was a time when I could simply pick up Thumbelina and tote her about--she seemed to like the attention, too. That time has passed. So I armed myself with two little buckets of grain, slipped baling-twine leads onto the does' collars, and urged them downhill. Thumbelina was not eager to travel anywhere, but responded to the chance to lip a mouthful of grain if I kept the bucket not more than a few steps from her. Jennifer was far more eager to move with the bucket--without stopping to remove her head--and I finally had to shorten her lead to give Thumbelina a chance.

When we reached the gate, I took the second bucket of grain and tossed it over the fence in several individual piles to distract any competition while the Nigerian dwarfs and I passed between gates. In moments the piles were swarmed by the two saddle horses, three larger dairy goats, and a half-dozen chickens. However, when I tried to urge Thumbelina forward again, she was not interested in moving. So I left her in the pasture with the bucket, and trotted Jennifer down to the house and inside. By the time I returned for Thumbelina, of course, the scavengers were ready to pounce. Somehow I got her through the gates and with steady urging she came down to the house.

We didn't arrive a moment too soon. Thumbelina looked around at her new digs then set about bringing two new kids into the world. The first kid, a tri-colored buckling, came quickly. I cleared the mucous from his nose and mouth and Thumbelina set about the task of licking him clean. Suspecting she might have another, I looked behind the new mom and, voila, found another head and pair of hooves protruding beneath her tail. When she seemed more intent on cleaning the first kid than delivering the second and a few minutes had passed without further contractions, I pulled a bit and the second kid slid out. Again, I cleared the mucous from the nose and mouth, and checked the new kid's sex--also a buckling. Thumbelina was busy with her first kid and made no move to inspect the second, so I pulled off a bit more of his birth sac then moved him around to her front. As this kid emerged from the sac, his coat was more like his momma's, a mixture of cream and tan.

The first kid took to nursing right away, but the second was slower and needed guidance to find "his" teat. The bucklings readily shared their momma's milk bar, one on each side suckling away, deriving life and strength from their momma's milk.

All but the first of the photos shown were taken after Thumbelina and Jennifer had enjoyed Thumbelina's "Congratulations Mom" bowl of hot oatmeal, raisins, fresh pear chunks, and a drizzle of honey. They were taken after the rest of the animals were fed and settled for the night, after Thumbelina and Jennifer chowed down much of a bucket of grain with alfalfa shreds, after the kids had their umbilical cords cut and sanitized, and after each kid had suffered a mouthful of the energy-packed Nutridrench I keep on hand for births.

The first kid was promptly named by Phyllis for a dear man from New England, Walter Packer. He happens to be the father of Judith TwilightStar's namesake, and a man whose company is always enjoyable. The second kid's name has yet to be determined.

This promises to be a busy evening. while the photos were uploading for this posting, I stopped downstairs to check on the does and the new kids. Jennifer was breathing hard; it appears that she is now in labor. Stay tuned...

Our Caprine Blimps

Misses Thumbelina (lower left) and Jennifer (upper right) are all but capricious these days. I think it was only about a week ago that I noticed their udders filling up and separated them from the herd. Now they positively waddle when moving around. Sure, they get down to the water bucket, over to the hay rack, and in for grain with no difficulty, but their moves are not spritely.

Since this is their second year to bear young, and since they are sooo large, I suspect that at least Jennifer is carrying twins. Thumbelina may be, too.

As a seasoned farmer (a far cry from where I was last kidding season), I assess the pregnancies from the rear--swelling udders and creamy vulvas catch my attention; however, in the interest of my former colleagues who may be reading this, I made a point to capture this top-view photo for the farm blog. Considering that these two gals are normally quite svelte, the top view says it all: these gals are near to kidding.

Either that, or they're in competition with the Goodyear blimp. (Imagine that for a moment. Now doesn't the idea of caprine blimps put a silly smile on your face for a moment?)

Working at the Car Wash Blues

When Gretchen Greene, our Outback wagon, took it into her head to exploit the loosely-set parking brake and roll into our fence before landing on a strategically-placed bale of straw, she managed to dislodge a bit of trim and sustained a very small dent  above the passenger's side front wheel well. Not one much concerned with appearances, I considered her repair complete when Jeff--of Barns & More, an all-around handy guy and a very good friend--came by and snapped the loosened trim back into place for me. "I wish I could have fixed it completely," he said referring to the small dent remaining. "Jeff," I insisted, "it is fixed." She's a working vehicle, is Gretheen Greene, and bound to sustain a few scratches and dings in the course of her everyday existence.  "Besides," I assurred him, "down here [in Tennessee] y'all don't salt the roads, so it's not a problem." Had we still lived in New England, the cupped opening toward the front of the wheel trim would have presented an invitation for rapid rust.

When, not two days later, barely a half-inch of snow descended upon Lebanon--falling so slowly that the accumulation happened over two days--the roads were salted quite heavily. I promised Gretchen Greene that on the first warm day, we'll be going to the car wash.

Today, though, when I drove her down to the dairy goats' hut to unload some grain, Sweet Stella came along to investigate and found herself a handy salt-lick. A tad grossed-out by the idea of licking at road salt, I suggested that she leave the car be, but Sweet Stella has a mind of her own and ignored my suggestions. Next, we motored up to the dog kennel to unload kibble. Stella followed her mobile salt-lick. Marcie and Pamela, the two dairy goats pictured, thought to join Stella. By the time I was ready to move the car up to the barn, the goats had cleaned off the rear bumper and Miss Stella had pretty well washed the driver's side of the wagon.

I got the message: put out a salt-lick for the horses, pronto. (The goats have salt in their free-choice loose minerals located in their hut. They didn't need to lick at the car.) When we arrived up at the barn, I was gratified that at least Miss Lucy, her filly Janet, and the fainting goats showed absolutely no interest in the salt; they just wanted the grain I was unloading from the hatchback. That is quite acceptable to me.

Hopefully the weather will warm up soon. The vehicles desperately need baths, and I don't want Stella and her fan club singing an encore of their working at the car wash blues.

Barefoot Gardener Visits Wilson County Master Gardeners

(Please note: All photographs with this essay came from http://www.barefootfarmer.com/ the Barefoot Farmer's website.)

One of the pleasures I derive from living here is my participation in the Wilson County Master Gardener (WCMG) program, a collective of community-minded volunteers working under the auspices of the University of Tennessee (UT) and Tennessee State University (TSU) agricultural Extension Service. While I rarely write about my involvement with this group, I find myself today still pleased by the speaker who presented to our group last night. His philosophy matches my own, only it has become better articulated through practice. Additionally, the community-centered aspect of his philosophy is a part of the belief system I am currently developing. Certainly the UT/TSU Master Gardeners include organic practices among those we study and utilize; however, much of the program focus includes practices developed in the past half-century. Those more recent practices emphasize dominating Nature rather than working in concert with Nature’s miraculous gifts to us. Much of current agricultural theory and practice is simply lost on me.


Last night’s speaker, Jeff Poppen, runs Long Hungry Creek Farm in Red Boiling Springs—one of the oldest and largest organic/biodynamic farms in Tennessee. He is affectionately known as “The Barefoot Gardener.” He began writing a column by that name in 1993 for the Macon County Chronicle and has since collected and edited his favorite articles into a book, also by that name. Although I have only scratched the surface of his book (Of course I bought a copy last night!) I see that his practices are far better informed than my own nascent ideology and that I have much to learn from him. The little he had time to share with our group last night resonated more deeply with me than any of the previous WCMG presentations.

What I heard was simple: by working with the earth, respecting Nature’s cycles and the contribution of every being (birds, insects, etc.) to the land, and feeding the land using the resources available on the farm, a farmer/gardener can provide his or her own community with enough of Earth’s gifts to contribute to the community’s sustenance. His definitions of gardening terms are far more basic, organic than those frequently employed. When asked about his CSA (Community Supported Agriculture—a system whereby patrons contribute to the farm and, in return, receive weekly produce for a specified period of time), he did not trot out stories of artfully arranged boxes prepared for each patron. Instead, he explained that each week he will haul produce to a central site where patrons come and select whatever they choose, and any leftover produce at the end of the day goes to charity. He’s a farmer and takes joy in the growing, not the marketing and package presentation. When asked, repeatedly, if he would consider providing for interested Wilson County residents, his first reaction was that we could produce for our own community from within our own community. A Master Gardener observed that we already have a Farmer’s Market in town, not to mention countless roadside stands and tailgate vendors. Work within the community; eat locally.

I liked that Jeff builds, well feeds, his soil carefully—without tilling the soil or rushing his compost. At first, when he spoke about using a tractor to rake, harrow, perhaps even to plow his land, I thought these were the equivalent of tilling—a practice I understand to be destructive. When he later answered a question directly about rototilling, I discovered how wrong I had been, and I was glad to have been wrong. He uses care, handles the soil gently. He even “cooks” his compost slowly, working to keep his compost piles below 120 degrees. I felt validated for having sold our Compost Tumbler before moving here; the high heat did break down the organic matter, but the resulting compost just didn’t feel “alive” to me. Jeff’s talk validated my sense that the good, old-fashioned compost pile like the one behind the tool shed where I grew up—the place where we piled leaves and plant matter every fall—is actually preferable to quickly-cooked compost. Perhaps my biggest disconnect with current agricultural methods is around pesticides; I don’t use them.

When asked about how he manages insects on his farm, he explained that insects are to be watched and learned from—not chemically eradicated. Given the slow view to gardening, Jeff explained that insects turn up when the plants are not thriving fully from the soil. The insects arrive to help break the plant down into the rich soil, the humus, in which plants thrive. “Well, what do you do about cabbage?” asked a Master Gardener. Jeff explained that he does not plant any cabbage (or any brassicas for that matter), until late in the season: when the plants grow into cooling temperatures, cabbage worms are not needed to break down the plant. Only by planting early in the season, and asking the brassicas (cabbage, broccoli, brussels sprouts, and the like) to grow into weather that’s continually heating up—not the environment these plans need—will the insects be needed to break the plant back into humus to be used to feed other plants.

Similarly, he avoids weeds in the garden by weeding, yes, but not just to clean up the garden. He explained that if one weed gets thrives it sends a message, calling to its fellow weeds to thrive alongside it. By disrupting the germination of weeds through hoeing and raking he allows his crops to root and grow, at which time the bean plants (for example) are sending strong messages to recruit other bean plants—instead of weeds calling to weeds.

What does he do about irrigation?, one member asked. He doesn’t, was the simple answer. Again, when the soil is alive and rich, the humus retains the moisture the plants need. I could not have articulated that thought, but I have long resisted watering except in the most dire heat waves. By listening to Jeff, I was encouraged to continue building the soil here slowly and excited to come home to thumb through the seed catalogues that have begun to inundate our mailbox in the annual midwinter migration from printer to dreaming gardener.

Entering the WCMG meeting, I had known that I want to work with the earth and I had some ideas of how this can be done, but Jeff’s vision is far more developed than my own, and he sees layers I have yet to discover. Tomorrow the forecast is for snow; perhaps I’ll get to stay inside and indulge myself by reading his book!

Oh, and for those who may be wondering: Jeff Poppen is indeed the barefoot gardener. I first saw him exploring the Wilson County Fair last August and his bare feet seemed fitting. Last night, as the temperature dipped back into the teens, his attire had not changed, and his feet were shod only in their skin and perhaps a smidge of soil.

01.02.2010: Outlook on the New Year

As P&CW Organic Farm, Inc. enters this second decade of the Twenty-First Century, we pause to take stock of our situation. Incorporated as a farm business in the State of Tennessee for nearly a year now, we are delighted with our lifestyle and seeking to make it a paying proposition. We enjoy the benefits of our limited self-sustainability and enter the new year with a resolve to eat ethically as well as locally. The animals on this farm make our lives richer, albeit our coffers lighter: alpacas are easy on the budget (after the initial purchase) but multiply slowly; dogs multiply too quickly then grow (to eat) even more quickly; cats and chickens pay their own way; and we hope for goats to pay their own way in the not-too-distant future. Veterinary care is a necessary expense and we minimize it by learning to manage some tasks ourselves and/or finding low-cost alternatives. We have grand plans for our farm in the coming year, beginning with providing for ourselves where possible.

Our self-sustainability includes eggs and milk, and—in summer—some fruits and vegetables. We cannot recall the last time we purchased eggs and have lost the desire for the less-tasty eggs found on supermarket shelves. The fresh milk our goats produce is far preferable to any commercial product we have tried; however, we have yet to time our breedings to ensure ample milk production through the calendar year. As we enjoy the last of Marcie-the-Saanen/Nubian’s milk stored in the refrigerator, while she builds up stores for her imminent kid(s), we are eagerly watching two of our Nigerian Dwarf does freshening and hoping that our records predicting mid-February due dates are inaccurate. (Mid-January would suit us just fine, thank you.) As the mid-winter seed catalogs pile up in the mail, we dream of the coming year’s harvest, plan what and where to plant, and try to solve the problems of animals wanting to share the plants (let alone waiting to share the harvest). My prize blackberry patch was cropped down to practically nothing last year, and this continued even after I thought we had protected the plants from our animals. What we don’t produce we purchase.

Where possible, we try to eat locally and ethically. Last year we learned our way to several local Farmer’s Markets, and by asking which products the farmers had actually produced (versus those they purchased for resale), we were able to eat locally. This year we’ll be more careful to ask about each farm’s production methods; not only do we prefer organic for the health of our bodies and the earth, but also we now appreciate that chemicals, pesticides, even peat moss and potting soils may be trucked in from distant corners of the continent (and so defeat one purpose of eating locally). In an effort to support our local economy, we favor local markets and roadside stands; that our state has a handy website to help us in this endeavor—Pick Tennessee Products –is an added bonus. Lastly, ethical meat eating was brought home to us through reading Jonathan Safran Foer’s book Eating Animals (Little, Brown and Co., 2009) and its examination of the cruel and unsanitary circumstances of factory farming and butchering (or processing). A benefit of living in the agriculturally-centered state of Tennessee is that finding meat products from family farms is relatively easy. Recently we purchased a goat through Starry Hill Farm and had the processed meat delivered on Christmas Eve. We have enough in the freezer to take us through the winter and well into the spring (without butchering an animal we had come to know individually). We derive pleasure from living in concert with animals that we do not plan to butcher.

The animals provide a state of emotional well-being not found in city apartments. We love our sweet, fuzzy, gentle alpacas and the luxurious fiber they produce annually and we plan to continue breeding them this year. The dogs bring great peace of mind through their work as guardians, but we’ve had the females we’re keeping spayed (at Fix for Life, the local low-cost spay/neuter clinic) and will not be breeding again until we see fit to acquire another AKC-registered female. For all their doggy-lovingness, growing Great Pyrenees just eat too much for us to support many of them for long. The cats more than earn their keep by reducing the population of grain-stealing rodents, and the chickens carry their weight by both producing eggs and reducing the population of pesky insects. (When we distribute the Spaulding Labs Fly Predators around the pastures, we take great care to keep the cocoons from serving as avian treats.) This spring we will have goats to sell as well as goat products (beginning with goat-milk soap) and hope that the sales will offset some of the cost of maintaining our herd. Finally, we know only too well how quickly veterinary bills can get out-of-control, so we are learning to perform veterinary parasitological evaluations (fecal tests) with the help of our local vet, to give those shots the law allows, and to purchase and insert microchips into our own animals. I trim the goats’ hooves and the dogs’ dewclaws, and will take on alpaca hooves as soon as we have a safe containment system for them. Although I am not eager to do it, I imagine I’ll learn to draw blood myself—to deliver to the vet for testing. The animals are an integral part of P&CW Organic Farm, Inc. and we’re very glad to have them here.
All-in-all, we are in fine shape entering this new year, and we are eager to experience all the joys and challenges coming our way. We invite readers to join us on our journey through this web-log and promise to work at the brevity so carelessly overlooked in the writing of this entry. For those of you who do not have time to read the jottings herein, we urge you to at least bookmark this page. Then, please run your Google searches from the search-box at the top right of this page and shop Amazon through the search-box further down in the right-hand column. With your help, all of the animals will continue to eat well this year. Thank you!