Milk: It Does a Body Good

Two kids from the same litter savor sweet grain. MollyMoo, kid #2 (rear), has grown into a heifer; Kendall, kid #3 (foreground), is healthy but much smaller after having had to fight for meals.

We have missed having fresh milk in the house. Once the Nigerian Dwarf kid Kendall caught on that she could get meals on demand by just showing up at the milking stand, the milk supply in our refrigerator dwindled away. She'd wriggle through fences and come bawling when she saw me outside the barn around feeding time. That tiny kid could nurse her Auntie Thumbelina dry and still take on Milk-Jugs Marcie. Indeed, after countless days of being unable to sneak Marcie to the stand without Kendall's butting in, I had begun to despair of ever having fresh milk in the house again.

It may need to be said that this late in the season, Marcie is not producing any gallon a day. But even a pint of fresh milk every other day was enough to keep us stocked with enough milk for coffee and cooking. After Kendall latched onto the miracle of Marcie's milk, though, we were feeling the pinch. Now, I do enjoy black coffee; however, I appreciate the luxury of strong coffee cut to a sweet, creamy dessert-type beverage on occasion.

Then finally Kendall began to fill out. Not just after meals, when she would seemingly have drunk her body weight in milk once or twice a day, but between meals, too. When the weight stayed on and the littlest goat had trouble wriggling out through the cattle panel beside the barn, my hopes for sweet, creamy morning coffee rose with each milking event, only to be hampered by other circumstances. Both barn cats and whatever big dogs were handy showing up to beg at milking time certainly puts a crimp on our milk supply. (And the cats were getting good servings because they'd been neglected after Kendall started popping onto the milking stand before I could siphon off a taste for our hard-working felines.) Also, I had gotten out of the habit of bringing a clean pail to the barn, and it was easier to treat the beggars than to hike back down the hill and slip into the house.

Two hard-working doggies have no reason to cry over spilled milk. In snow, it's instant ice cream!

When I did bring a pail, circumstances conspired against me. Twice I hung the milk-filled pail on the corner of the milking stand--out of reach of dogs and cats so that I could finish my chores--only to have greedy goats seeking more grain tip the bucket from its perch. Then came a day when I put Marcie onto the stand without clearing off the inch-or-so of new snow. Need I say more? My attention got diverted, the pail turned over, and I found myself calling the Livestock Guardians to attend to the cleanup. They abandoned their dinner bowls and raced to the scene, eager to do their part.

I was so disappointed that day. We'd been out of milk in the house for too long, and I had had my heart set on sweet coffee for days. Since that day, about a week ago, I've taken more care. Finally, we have a ready supply of milk again, and I get to enjoy dessert-for-breakfast as I wish. Life is decidedly good.

Gatherings of Goat Girls

Dining amid January's "spring" sogginess.

Perhaps it's the weather, I'm not sure. Whatever the reason, our "goat girls" have been gathered along the lower fence-line frequently of late. Usually they gather in hopes of being fed, or to eat when grain has been served. When they come pouring down the hill, especially after a new-fallen snow, they make a colorful show. Sometimes the Tennessee fainting goats' myotonic tendencies kick in, and they're left behind--struggling stiff-legged when they can move, or simply toppled over--momentarily helpless.

Here are the goat girls gathering after a recent snowfall. January 2011.

We thinned the herd earlier this month, and now the largest "goat girls" have new homes. Without their personalities, the tenor of the herd has changed. Now the Nigerian Dwarf does are the pushiest, trying to hold sway over a feed pan without competition. This used to be the large, horned fainter Caitlyn's role.

Now the only peach-and-white offspring left in the herd is the studly Brad Pitt. It's amazing how well Caitlyn's coloring holds through the generations. We've seen three generations, now, and her relatives are always easy to spot.

We do enjoy our "goat girls." Whether they're slipping through the fence--two of the winter kids can still accomplish this trick--or gathering along it, their eager faces are a pleasure to see.

Tagging the Young'uns

Todd got tagged while eating dinner. He didn't even notice.

When we first started tagging the animals, I did not have the stomach for it. We had to wait for Festus, the cowboy down the street, to come tag the goats. We've come a long way since then: this time around I tagged several kids without their even noticing. (Food was far more fascinating.)

The government's Scrapie Eradication program would have sheep and goat owners tag all their animals. Although I understand there have been no cases of scrapie reported in goats in years and years, it's rather like polio or measles: you get the shot to maintain public health. Once the tags are applied, the goats do not appear to notice them. The application is similar to getting ears pierced: a quick snap with an applicator gun and the job is finished.

Our "numbers girls" are now twice tagged.

Our animals are tagged when they're over a year old. The littlest fainting goats, Number Two and Number Three, got to wait until they were two years old because they were already wearing herd tags when they arrived here. I did not want to add more tags.

But, the law is the law, so now they're tagged. In their case, I guess, tags are just another form of goat jewelry.

Todd Moves in with the Boys of Winter

The goat bucks enjoy some afternoon hay.

After "cleaning house" recently, we have a goat herd that's been thinned to more manageable numbers. No one's residing beneath the hay storage trailer at the moment--almost all of those bucks and bucklings have moved on. The black-and-white February 2010 buckling out of Jennifer, known as Todd, was the sole holdout. He's been moved into buck pen with BullyBob and his sidekicks.

Nigerian Dwarf buck "Lil' Lucky Todd" in the big bucks' pen.

Check out the fresh scrape on Todd's face. That appeared after he'd been in with the big boys--most notably Brad--for a couple of hours. Luckily for Todd, Brad is almost guaranteed to escape from that pen soon, at which time he'll be relocated elsewhere and the youngest buck can catch a break. Until Brad busts out, though, Todd is giving him a wide berth. Not so long ago, Bully was the lead bully; now the pumpkin-and-white Nigerian Dwarf x Tennessee Fainter cross, Brad, is the man about town.

Now that he's grown, Todd the goat bears little resemblance to the man from whence he got his name. Just look at all that hair!

The bucks in this relatively small enclosure have made a fine little "barn" for themselves. What started as simply a tarp covering a corner of the pen has been augmented with insulation panels. Plus, since it became loose around the edges, the front is no longer open--all sides are either fully closed or well-shielded by low-hanging flaps. These boys of winter catch sunlight into the afternoon, then retreat into their shelter when the sun goes down or the clouds let loose.

Our Keets are Growing

Roosters watch their guinea keet neighbors.

Now that the keets are safely housed in the dog kennel beside the roosters, they are beginning to resemble their adult selves. No longer little brown fluff-balls, they're showing the lovely spotted plumage of adult lavender guineas. Their necks and beaks are showing greater resemblance to turkeys, too. As beautiful as the multi-colored roosters are, their individual feathers do not compare to the guinea's patterned feathers.

Adolescent guinea keet.

I wish I could tell the males from the females by sight, but alas I cannot. Since being caught and relocated to the kennel, I have not heard any of the keets make the female's "Buckwheat!" call. Before the move, when all eight keets were together, that call could be heard on occasion. After the move into the trailer, one keet got out and I heard one in the trailer call "Buckwheat!" Unfortunately, I simply "mended" the hole through which the keet had escaped, then allowed the cold weather or late hour to convince me to postpone moving them all into the secure kennel. The next day they had reopened the hole and we were down to two keets in the trailer. I moved them to the kennel, and the day after that netted two more.

Now that we only have four keets in captivity--the others have likely succumbed to the hazards posed (and faced) by wildlife--and while we're hoping that at least one of those we have is female, our hope dwindles with each passing day.

Thanks, NRCS!

Goat girls gather at the fence in hopes of garnering grain.

We've had cold air for a couple of days now. The snow has been nice--pretty, and not too icy--but the nights have been downright cold. We find ourselves thankful for the help of the USDA's Natural Resource Conservation Service (NRCS) local office because the livestock watering system they helped us install has been a godsend these past few days. Whereas last winter I lugged buckets of water uphill as a matter of course, now we have automatic waterers in some pastures and we can run hoses from in-ground hydrants to other watering locations on our hillside.

Feathered rovers, Lawrence and PrettyBoy, strut in search of grain.

Do I spend mornings breaking ice over water buckets and tanks? Absolutely, but then I can add running water to the tanks, and replace the frozen blocks in buckets with fresh water--with ease. The readily-available water has meant that the penned chickens, guineas, and goose enjoy fully-refreshed water supplies with greater regularity than before. The horses, cats and dogs, most of the alpacas, and the free-roaming poultry and goats can help themselves from fresh well-supplied water at will. Even when the temperature drops into the teens, they can reach water with just a bit of effort.

Although I have met local farmers who could avail themselves of the USDA NRCS  or the TN Dept. of Agriculture (TDA) programs but do not because they resent government interference and oversight, we here are most grateful to the programs that have allowed us to provide better care for the animals on our farm. Thank you, NRCS staff.

Big White Doggie on the Porch

HGD: Human Guardian Dog

Every morning before we step outside, we are confronted by the sight of a big white doggie on the porch. For some reason, the Livestock Guardian Dog (LGD) who stays down by the house at night has decided that we are worthy of his notice. It started this fall or winter. Now he parks himself just outside the front door after he has finished patrolling for the night, preventing anyone from entering or leaving without first consulting him. Of course this raises our self-esteem, that this canine who spends hours each night warning off coyotes and other predators, should see fit to expend energy guarding us--even if he chooses to do this job with his eyes closed.

His presence is far more reassuring than was that of our long-ago scrawny puddycat Sissibelle. True, she guarded us faithfully during our first year here on the farm, and left clumps of black, matted fur about the front doormat as reminders of her dedication; however, she never struck us as an effective of a protector compared to any of the LGDs--whose sheer bulk can be a deterrent to even the most determined of human interlopers. And his voice--a chest-deep, resonant bark gives all of those whom he guards a peace of mind that no cat's meow could ever communicate.

Thanks to our canine protector, I sleep quite soundly at night.

Why We Like Edwards Feeds

The Edwards Feeds operation provides a visible landmark in downtown Lebanon, TN.

Just a pebble's throw from being smack-dab in the center of Lebanon, Tennessee, our favorite feed store dominates the skyline: Edwards Feeds. A long-time family business, Edwards Feeds is the natural outgrowth of Edwards Hatchery and came into being after Big Agriculture encroached upon three generations of poultry farming spread across much of Middle Tennessee. As I recently told the owner, Tim Edwards, their loss to the mammoth commercial poultry industry was a gain for us: the area's small farmers. His family's decision to switch to grain production has allowed countless animals opportunity to consume fresh, thoughtfully-formulated feeds made with grains grown right here in the southeastern United States.

I appreciate being able to provide my livestock with grain that I know to be fresh, high-quality, and formulated with a conscience. Sure, everyone lists the ingredients on the label, but at Edwards Feeds the staff speak knowledgeably about the source of the ingredients and their reasons for inclusion in each mix. Price hikes are made with consideration, too; when prices rise, I know they are not about gouging the consumer, but about an equitable exchange of money for product.

Edwards Feeds seen from the parking lot at an uncharacteristically quiet moment for business.

When Edwards Bargain Mix for beef cattle on pasture (that, yes, I feed to our goats and horses) jumped from $6.75 per 50 lb. bag to $8.00 at the close of 2010, Tim was on hand to explain the price hike, to warn that the price would jump again shortly, and to explain that if I could wait three weeks he had been able to lock in the price on his next shipment of a particular ingredient enabling him to bring the price back to the $8.00 even, through March.

Indeed, speaking candidly, as always, Tim indicated that he is "not proud" of the Bargain Mix, a lower-cost  alternative feed offered at the height of the economic recession when many local farmers were struggling. I made a point to thank him for providing it, allowing that it had helped us--and presumably hundreds of other area farmers--by giving us a way to stretch our feed dollars during a tough time. Mixed with higher-priced formulations for horses, goats, or alpacas, the Edwards Bargain Mix stretches our feed dollars here on P&CW Farm.

Lounging just inside the door, a welcome cat snoozes beside a bucket of peanuts.

Last spring or summer, I received a call from an alpaca farmer relocating to Middle Tennessee. As I do whenever the subject of feed arises, I made a point of informing her about Edwards Feeds. When it became apparent that we both liked to feed the mix formulated by alpaca-expert Dr. Norm Evans, a formulation Dr. Evans actually entrusted Edwards to mix under their own label. When our talk turned to price, she was astounded to learn that Edwards provides that formulation for less than half of what she had been paying, in Georgia I think. (The exact numbers escape me, but I recall quoting something in the realm of $16.00 for a 50 lb. bag, and she was disbelieving because she had been paying closer to $36.00 for that quantity!) As I said earlier, Edwards' grain is priced fairly, never exorbitantly.

Other aspects of Edwards Feeds that I appreciate include being recognized and remembered as a valued customer, and being helped in every way they can help. Usually this means that they will locate and order an item I need that they don't keep in stock--such as those automatic livestock waterers that have made my life so much simpler, or stocking a product they did not already carry--in our case it was a food formulated for adult large breed dogs in a brand they already carried.

The staff is friendly and nice, the service is prompt, the feed quality is excellent, the prices are fair, and everything from feed to fence panels get loaded for me--efficiently and cheerfully. What's not to like?

Thank y'all at Edwards Feeds for the quality you add to my life!

A Log on the Fire and a Rooster in the Pot

Rooster waiting for the cone to be shortened.

Happy New Year! Today we finally got down to the business of making fresh chicken stock. Plucking up a rooster from the flock in the pen was too easy, as was lugging the hefty guy down to the killing cone I had fashioned from a piece of tin roofing, but the killing part was not easy at all. First, the cone was too narrow. Wider than those seen in catalogs, it was either too narrow or too long to be workable with a bird the better part of a year old. So I "rolled up" the bottom "hem" of the cone and the rooster's neck had plenty of stretch to it.

At about that point I started to get queasy. As such the camera got put away and I just worked to get through the job. First problem: if I'm to make cuts along the neck to drain the blood, how do I do that without the blood pouring all over me? In twisting the rooster's neck to the side to make the cut, I exposed what I imagine was his windpipe which bubbled up with air. At least hitting the jugular vein only took one cut, and I left the carcass draining into the bucket while I set about heating water.

Okay, so I should have started the water quite a bit earlier, but I was a little unsure if I would actually have a dead carcass to hot-dip and so I postponed that step. Then it appeared that the barbecue's gas tank was empty (no, I don't have a gauge on it yet, silly me), so I figured I'd skip the dipping and simply skin the bird. Since most of the fat is in the skin, we know it's better to eat skinless chicken, and even though we've been told that rooster is tough so we're just cooking it down for the broth, skipping the skin will still be better for us. So we did.

After the trouble I had slitting the bird's throat, I was pleased that the rest of the operation went smoothly. Well, except when I was cleaning the severed neck to put in the pot and found myself washing out a vein clogged with coagulated blood. My stomach flipped again then, but I guess a little queasiness just testifies to my humanity when I'm slaughtering meat for food?

Anyway, now that I'm in from bedding down the animals and the chicken has been simmering in the crock pot for some time, my appetite is being whetted. When I just checked on the broth I discovered that the "tough" rooster meat shreds easily with a spoon. Although that suggests that the meat may not be terribly tough, I do remember the first chicken we processed--when Luther and Molly were pups and killed one of those exciting flapping animals. That chicken was chewier than the proverbial shoe leather.

Whatever the outcome, I'm excited to be broadening our cuisine. Frozen goat and fish are fine, and from the farm we've had endless varieties of quiche, but winter is the time for chicken stock, and we know exactly where this rooster has been and what he's been eating. No hormones, no antibiotics, no inhumane conditions. Yum!