Wrapping Up the Summer

Vines beside the driveway

As we wrap up summer here on the farm, the 2010 kids have gotten as big as some of the grasses they are charged with trimming, and the plant life is showing signs of autumn. Yesterday I noticed a black walnut tree shedding swirls of yellow leaves on a morning breeze only to realize that the camera was inside the house. The heat has raged furiously this summer, prompting multiple changes of clothing each day and encouraging sedentary behavior. Even so, we welcome the cooler seasons with mixed feelings--saying goodbye is never easy, not even to days soaked with humidity over whom towering clouds sail until the afternoon thunderclouds loom heavily across the skies.

Walter at work

The 2010 bucklings are sporting some delightful topknots and pompadours. Although the photo does not do Walter's hairdo justice, we find it reminds us a bit of the original Walter for whom Thumbelina's older twin is named.

This Walter has surpassed even Graham in the independence department. Graham who saw no fence as a barrier and no cage as an enclosure is now corralled with the buckling herd behind the barn, but Walter continues to roam free. He prefers to hang out with the goat gals--which is acceptable so long as he is not demonstrating breeding behavior. With a five-month gestation period for caprine critters, we're hoping to delay the goat breeding season until later this fall because a crop of spring kids will have better chances at survival than kids delivered in the dead of winter.

We had hoped to host a buck exchange program, trading BullyBob with a brown Nigerian Dwarf buck named Boots from a nearby farm for a month or two; however, a telephone call yesterday revealed that Boots succumbed to pneumonia over the winter. His owners then divested themselves of Nigerian Dwarfs and are focusing solely on their fainting goat herd. Here at P&CW Farm we need to focus our goat breeding program as well. As much fun as the Nigerian Dwarf goats are, I think we may be leaning toward larger goats for milk and meat.

Marcie and Luther, side by side

After all, Marcie--our Saanen-Nubian cross dairy goat--has so improved our quality of life with her abundant supply of fresh, wholesome milk that she has made us converts for life.Should we ever even consider forgetting milking time, the barn cat Barney will come down to the house and twine himself insistently back-and-forth through our ankles until we get the hint, "It's milking time, people! Get to work!"

The cats take precedence at the milking stand, always receiving the first bowl of milk despite any eager canines in attendance. Only after the cats have been appeased will we collect milk for human or canine consumption.

With cooler days ahead, we can look forward to increased milk production and overall better herd health. Did I say I would miss summer? Not so. Allow me to revise that remark immediately: Welcome Fall!

Cooper Works on the Farm

Having help on the farm is truly a blessing, and today was an exceptionally good day for it. This afternoon when a very young farmer-in-training named Cooper did a stint of work at P&CW Farm, he more than earned his keep. First he went out with our Operations Manager to provide hay to the horses and alpacas, and those goats that are penned up. After that brief introduction he was ready to go to work with me when milking time arrived.

Upon exiting the house we recited "Little Miss Muffet" and carried the pail of whey leftover from this morning's cheese making out to the dogs. Cooper appeared interested that both curds and whey are byproducts of milk, then allowed me to carry the pail uphill because it was heavy for his six-year-old arms. Although a tad miffed that I did not allow him to feed the big, bouncing dogs, he quickly recovered. He took over scattering the scratch grain and managed feeding all of the chickens and our two geese. At about that time I noticed the rumpus the goats Mitzi and Walter were kicking up--on the wrong side of the fence--where they were browsing with Theresa and making noise about it.

Cooper quickly exchanged his poultry-manager persona for a goat wrangler gig. We grabbed up a few lengths of baling twine, hopped the fence (he helpfully jumped when I moved to lift him over), and trundled uphill to meet the escapees. Walter trotted out to greet us first, allowed a twine to be fitted over his collar, then submitted to Cooper's skillful goat management skills. Next Mitzi was caught, tethered, and turned over to Cooper's care. When I moved to capture Theresa (who made quite sure that I never did), Walter and Mitzi took off uphill with a force that surprised our young wrangler. He dropped their lines with a yelp, but recovered nicely, with time enough to recoup Walter's stringed leash while Mitzi and Theresa trotted ahead up the hill.

As we reached the tree line, Cooper discovered that goat wrangling can be difficult work. He had to climb through a barb wire fence, encourage Walter to walk with him between the woven fence and the overgrown bushes, and trudge through brambles with his bare legs. We both survived the ordeal well enough, and Cooper quickly took over the gate keeper duties as we all returned to the farm.

Once we were through the gate, the "puppy" Biscuit (who was one year old this June) came to greet us, sniffing Cooper thoroughly and looking him in the eye. Cooper was not put off by this nose-to-nose conversation with a hungry dog, and lead Walter quite competently to "goat jail" where wandering goats become incarcerated until either I fix the fence or forget that they are not allowed to roam free in that area.

Then we fed Biscuit, dove through the mass of hungry goats lined along the fence across which they had witnessed Biscuit being fed, and trekked back up to the milking stand onto which Marcie hopped without hesitation. First the cats got their nightly dish of milk, which was filled with Cooper's help. His little hands aren't quite ready to accomplish the entire milking chore on teats as large as Marcie's, so we teamed up. I blocked off the flow of milk in the teat and Cooper squeezed the milk trapped in the lower portion of the teat into the dish--or at least mostly into the dish. Aiming the milk takes a bit of practice, too.

When I took over and began milking both teats together, Cooper wanted to try that too. I said something about not thinking he would be able to do it and his expression spoke volumes about silly (read "stupid") adults who underestimate wildly-talented kids. I laughed and spoke this aloud, whereupon he reached out and began competently milking both teats simultaneously. He worked until his hands got tired, then he wandered off to race around the barnyard with goats while Marcie and I finished our chores.

When we brought the milk down, Cooper again volunteered to manage the gate--and did so with a surprisingly good understanding of the various factors involved. He managed opening it to get us through without letting any of the goats galloping behind us through, and discouraging Biscuit from following us, too. I was thoroughly impressed by young Cooper's many talents and told him that I would be glad to have him work with me on the farm again anytime. Luckily for me, he expressed interest in returning, too.

Inside the house, plied with sweet potato muffins spread with apple butter, Cooper ordered up a glass of milk. With his parents' blessing, he received a mug of still-warm, just-strained goat's milk. I was surprised to see him gulp down a big swallow at first. But then he stopped and held out the mug saying, "Can you make it taste the way it's supposed to taste?" which garnered a hearty laugh from the adults present.

Once the milk had been chilled with ice cubes, Cooper pronounced it drinkable and finished the lot readily.

Thank you, Cooper, for your hard work this evening. We thoroughly enjoyed having you and your family visit our farm. (If you get to taste the lasagna we sent home with your parents, you might like to know that its made with the ricotta cheese manufactured from Marcie's milk.)

A Day Off of the Farm

Sun

Cattails

Boat

Blue Reeds

Yesterday we took a day off from farming. Oh, sure, the animals got fed, watered, turned out and herded in, but I spent the afternoon out playing with a dear woman who is in town for only a few days. We meandered into Nashville and found the Cheekwood Botanical Garden and Museum. Without wasting words, here is a small sampling of photos from our adventure discovering the Chihuily at Cheekwood blown glass sculpture exhibit, featuring works by renowned artist Dale Chihuily. Since the photos hardly do justice to the artworks, we recommend that folks who are able to do so take an afternoon off to explore the exibit in person.

• Erbium Fiori

Niijima Floats

The Moon

Saffron Tower

[Note: All photos by Jessica. To see more, do visit the exhibit in person; then, go again at night to see the lighted sculptures.]

Bamboo Reeds

Fiori

Walla Wallas

 

 

Looking for Gwen

Gwen is probably my favorite of the fainting goat does we have. When she came to us in late 2008, she was a leader with a contrary streak--contrary enough to have her named for her former owner's unpleasant sister-in-law. I did not find her unpleasant, just strong-minded and sure of herself and named her for a dear friend and former colleague who can appear to have a prickly exterior until one gets to know her. When she arrived, Gwen did not trust me. Humans served a purpose--to deliver food--but were otherwise to be avoided.  [Photo to left is of Gwen with her 2010 kid, Mary, in March; below is Gwen grazing last summer; the shot in the woods is from this morning, showing the contrast between our cleared woods and the full understory across the fence line; and the gray kid below is Raymond at the end of his life.]

When that February rolled around, complete with icy temperatures, Gwen delivered a precious buckling--Raymond--and became the first to turn our laundry room into a maternity suite. By the end of her stay, she had decided that I was an acceptable human. After all, she'd been inside for a few days and found that I responded to her every concern and usually did so with unusually tasty treats or soothing neck rubs. She learned that if I offered a tidbit, even if it seemed to be an unusual food, it behooved her to try it--because she was almost sure to like it. Applesauce, raisins, fruit chunks, hot oatmeal with nuts and a bit of molasses or honey, all were worth her serious consideration.

By the time she returned to the herd, I had a friend. Gwen was no longer just a herd leader, she was our herd queen and the liaison between the fainting goat herd and me--the human who served them. When I called the herd back to the barn for dinner, Gwen would often lead the way. Now, when the goat herd greets me, Gwen will hang close to get attention. She isn't pushy anymore. She knows that she is special and will get some extra care if she just stays close. True, Marcie--our dairy queen--gets the most attention these days, but Gwen seems to know that she's still queen of the fainters.

Last night I did not get home to the goats until dusk. We've been experiencing some miserably humid and hot days, with heat index in the triple digits and often the air temperature as well. By the time I was about done with chores, I realized that I had not seen Gwen anywhere. I called for her but did not get an answering holler--as I might have had she been somehow stuck and within earshot.

This morning I headed out to comb the woods and was quickly accompanied by much of the herd. As a group, they have done a bang-up job of clearing out the understory. Sure, it's still filled with stems and little, denuded saplings, but I'm sure it's only a matter of time before it'll be clear, I am sure. We had a pleasant stroll, but saw neither hide nor hair of Miss Gwen. And her kid, Mary, did not seem distressed in the least. At first I didn't see Biscuit, one of our LGDs and wondered if he might not be with Gwen, but I saw no place where Gwen could have wriggled through the fence (and if she had, she would have been leading a good portion of the herd). Then, when Biscuit joined our group, he showed no evidence of having been feasting on fresh meat.

So, I'm stumped. Perhaps she came out yesterday when Caitlyn shot through the gate, but I did not see that happen. Plus, if she were down front here, she would have responded when I called for her. Maybe she was "just old," and found a quiet spot to die, but she had not been wasting away or acting frail in any way that I noticed. She's been quiet and patient, unlike her assertive "gimme-the-grain" persona that appears sometimes, but I did not think she was ill.

The herd is due to be wormed. Not only has it been some months since I last wormed any of them, but some show the paleness in the gums and beneath eyelids that FAMANCHA uses as a gauge of parasitic overload. Later I'll do that and comb the interior of the woods more closely. With the understory denuded, though, opportunities for a large gray-colored goat to disappear are limited.

Please, Gwen, be all right. I like seeing you each day and I'm missing you now.

Putting Old Hose to Work

Unfortunately, the topic of this entry is more suited to conversation than to reading, for the ear may confuse what the eye cannot. Please try to imagine that you are hearing this, not reading it--at least for the introductory paragraph.

Here on Precious & Celestial Wonders Organic Farm, we're an equal opportunity employer. Not only do all the residents and animals have to work, we've even pressed some old hose into service. Dragging the poor things out of a lonely retirement, we've cast the the old hose into the fresh air and sunshine where they can pamper our growing fruits and vegetables.

As the watermelon and butternut squash plants come to fruition, I'm reminded of the folly of our keeping plants raised up off of the ground. Sure, it seemed to be a good idea at planting time, but now that the growth is producing weighty burdens, the produce needs support. Enter, old hose.

Cut off at the knee, a long, silky tube is just the right size for slipping around a young fruit. Tied to the fence at its top, the old stocking becomes a sling at the ready, waiting for the growing weight to press it into real service. For the watermelon, I started with old knee-highs, but I suspect that they will require replacement (or at least augmentation) as the fruits develop. Here, the butternut squash rests inside the worn-out stocking, veiled in a bit of mystery--it seems--but mystery that will fade away as the vegetable develops to fill the cloth.

Some recent winds and rains have torn at the trailing vines, ripping one watermelon vine to shreds before its fruit could drop to fill the knee-high sling beneath it. Luckily the squash fared better--perhaps because its vine runs along the tighter netting of chicken wire (excuse me, I know that the politically correct term is poultry netting, but it will always be chicken wire to me). The watermelon must provide its own support in addition to that of the widely-spaced rungs of cattle panel along which it's been trained.

Perhaps I'll add some Velcro strips to reinforce each plant's own slender tendrils. Hopefully those will salvage these late-started plants as we enter hurricane season.

Whatever happens, we are enjoying the tomatoes that we reach before the chickens (I daresay they're pretty quick, those birds), and eager to taste the larger fruits when they become ready.

Rich with Ricotta

Thanks to  Marcie's seemingly-endless supply of milk, we get to enjoy such treats as homemade ice milk (a must for this weather) and fresh cheeses. Thanks to Ricki Carroll's Home Cheese Making: Recipes for 75 Delicious Cheeses, making the cheeses has become pretty routine. For instance, yesterday evening we made a fresh batch of ricotta. Being daring, I increased the recipe by 50% to make space in the fridge, feeling a niggling concern at the back of my mind that I may have read warnings against fiddling with cheese recipes--but since the experiment worked, I'm guessing the warnings applied to making milk soaps, not cheeses.

We love the fresh ricotta for its simplicity, taste, and versatility. When no one is watching, I'll mix some into cannoli filling and fill a sugar cone for some minutes of sweet bliss. (Eventually I'll get some cannoli tubes and make my own, but being the lazy sort--and having ice cream cones on hand--this works for me just now.) Often we'll pile the whole batch into garden-veggie lasagna and eat like royalty for much of a week. Ricotta goes nicely into sandwiches, too, especially alongside thick, juicy tomato slices.

Assembling the ingredients for ricotta is a snap. The necessary materials are simply whole milk, vinegar, butter, and baking soda. I usually start with a gallon of Marcie's milk in a double boiler (generally a stainless bucket in a stainless pot or--as shown here--a larger milk bucket), set the milk thermometer where I can easily read it, then begin the process of heating the milk to 195 degrees Fahrenheit. For a long time I would just periodically dip in the thermometer to test the temperature, until one day it dawned on me that the handy clip on the thermometer was put there for a reason. (I've never been the brightest bulb...) Now the heating process is less stressful, I just pass by now and again to check the reading for progress.

Once the milk is heated, I slowly add the vinegar, stirring it in with an up-and-down motion. Watching the milk separate into curds and whey is somehow magical. All it takes is hot milk and a bit of acidic liquid (in this case, apple cider vinegar). The separation can begin gradually or it can happen pretty quickly, depending upon the temperature of the milk--I think. Once the whey appears to be watery-thin, with little evidence of milk solids, it's time to ladle the curds into a strainer and let them drain for a minute. The first time I did this, I let them drain longer than the prescribed minute. I discovered that that method produces a very dry ricotta, and followed Carroll's directions better the next time.

Being an impatient sort, I don't always follow the directions as closely as I might. This last time I used a double layer of butter muslin to line the colander through which the whey was to drain, then--because I had increased the recipe--poured the hot curds and whey into the colander rather than slowly spooning them in. This method emptied the first pot quickly; however, the double layer of cloth slowed the draining process. (The quantity of liquid may have factored in, too.) So I let it all drain a bit longer. Luckily the result was just right for our purposes.

After dumping the strained curds into a bowl, I added the melted butter and baking soda, stirred briefly, and could not resist taking a taste. Next time I'll wait until the mixture has had a bit more time to complete its change from separate ingredients to cheese because as divinely tasty as this first bite had been, I could still detect the baking soda's fizzy workings in progress.

Finally, I transfer the mixture to a smaller bowl, cover it, and set it aside to cool a bit before refrigerating. By morning we have a finished cheese that's perfect on toast or with eggs (farm fresh, of course). And, once cooled, the whey becomes a treat for greedy dogs, cats, and chickens--and there is always plenty to go around.

Thanks to Miss Marcie, we are rich with ricotta on this farm.