Paulina is Growing

Miss Paulina with a crunchy leaf.

 Miss Paulina alpaca is growing to be a sweet girl. Now a month old, she comes up to sniff at me or be briefly petted before moving on to more serious business--generally nursing because if I am sitting still in their stall, I must have delivered fresh grain for her dam, who will then be occupied enough to allow a long suckle without complaint. Van is a good mother, always taking better care of her cria that herself, but Paulina is old enough now that she will not always stand still lengthy bouts of nursing.

This year's chick, now an adolescent.

Much older than Paulina is this year's surviving chick, who appears to be a pullet--or young hen. Yay! After the year of a multitude of surviving roosters, any young hen is to be celebrated. And since this year's crop of chicks mostly were hatched out in the barn shortly after the cats had been retrained to report there for meals, well, let's just say none of those chicks grew much.

They're never too young to learn the rules.

Indeed, when some of Kimberly hen's first-hatched brood piled out of their nest last June to explore the great world around them, I did my best to instill a sense of responsibility among some of them (see photo) as I rounded the hatchlings up. I daresay, though, I do a better job with young humans.

Paulina is ever alert to the wonders of her world.

Anyway, as we celebrate our pullet and Miss Paulina, a week of hard-freezes has given all of our herd animals fuller, fluffier coats. The alpacas and goats are enjoying the crunchy taste of autumn leaves as much as the Great Pyrenees dogs are enjoying the earthy scent as similar piles of leaves crunch beneath their bodies when they lie to sleep, watch or simply to roll in the leaves.

Fall is such a beautiful season!

Lorraine

Lorraine: She's more coat than kid as of yet.

Leslie's surviving kid, little Lorraine, still has the saggy skin of a newborn--with more coat than kid at the moment. For now she's spending her time indoors, staying within the safety of the stall rather than venturing into the home pasture. Although the weather has been well above freezing, I've left the heat lamp on for the past couple of nights. Kids take a few days to get to the point where they can regulate their own body temperature.

Leslie has more milk than this single kid will drink as of now. Yippee! I love the extra-fatty milk from our Nubian does, and Leslie is promising to be as good a producer as Miss Marcie this season. Praise God for all the blessings of farm life!

Boot Season

Warm days and abundant rain encourage snakes to appear.

This morning I was reminded quite suddenly that the time for wearing Crocs--those rubber clogs that slip on and off so easily--around the farm has come to an end. Biscuit and I were wandering in the lengthening grasses up near the kennel when a spring snake slithered out and away. He did not rush, but he had obviously been disturbed by our mucking about.

Now the snake we saw this morning (pictured) appears to be of the harmless garden variety, this area is known for copperheads and rattlers. As such, I will try to remember to venture out only after donning socks and boots--if not step-in muck boots, then at least ankle-high tie-on shoes.

Springtime

This is just a part of the springtime carpet decorating our farm.

The wildflowers of springtime have begun to carpet the landscape. As the trees explode into leaf and the earth renews her green mantle, I enjoy poking around the farm and countryside because every day looks different and beautiful. If I had time, I imagine I would be out photographing often, but usually I drive by a dozen scenes on my way from here to there and think What a nice picture that would make, without stopping.

The trees, buds, and flowers unfolding present a magical treat. Another joy is the number of young appearing: kids, calves, foals, and fawns abound. Watching the endless cycle of life play out through the changing seasons delights me to no end. I do love life here in Middle Tennessee.

Spring Weather

Starlight's kids are eager to eat after a few hours apart from their dam.

With the warm weather we're currently enjoying, the forage has been shooting up quickly. This provides us with ample opportunity to let the does roam to forage during the day, and snag some milk for ourselves--after the runt little Emmilye has had her fill, before returning the dams to their by-now-hungry kids. At just a few days old, Starlight's kids have not yet begun slipping through the fence to be beside their dam; however, that should start any day now. Today I reached over the fence and carried each of the new kids to Starlight before getting the other dams--Pamela and Marcie--onto the milking stand.

We cannot claim to be "in milk" for the season yet, since we are still sharing so readily with the kids. But their days as sole recipients of the delicious milk are numbered. As soon as I am convinced that Emmilye can fend for herself, we will be able to enjoy milk regularly again in the house. Can't wait!

Life on the farm is a daily gift for which we are most thankful.

Chilly Temperatures

A misty winter morning as viewed from our farm.

February's wintery weather--mostly in the form of cold temperatures--is manageable, even preferable, for the thick-coated animals. The Great Pyrenees dogs and the alpacas stand or play in the brisk air, or stretch out on the cold ground, all of the discomfort of hot summers long forgotten.

Kids beneath heat lamp; hen brooding overhead.

On chilly days the kids often congregate in their stall, gathering beneath the heat lamps for warmth. The larger Nubian kids, Metro and Erin, romp outside periodically. They are hale and hearty, and growing nicely. Soon, Marcie's new kids will be joining them outdoors.

Emmilye is hesitant to romp outside in the cold.

Since our Nubian dam's littlest, Emmilye, is lame she is often left behind when her littermates romp off to play. Sometimes she appears lonely; however, usually she is settled alone, like a content cat in sunlight, just watching the world from her warm nest.

Marcie's kids: Isabell in front, Kimberly in back.

The twin doelings, now almost two days old, stay in where it's warm, but lie separately from the triplets. Each little goat family is insular at this point; although stabled together, the young kids congregate separately when bedding down.

On days like this I find excuses to spend even more time around the goats. The kids are so dear.

Warmer Weather

Percentage Nubian kids Emmilye and Erin, ready to play.

With the warmer weather today, I slipped the flannel coats off of the two doelings. All it took was to open the button at the neck, then to hold the sleeve while each kid walked out. There's little sense in keeping them bundled up when they could be acclimating to the weather.

Played out, the kids again recline beneath their warming lamp.

Even so, we've chosen to leave the heat lamp on around the clock. The kids venture out of its warmth to caper and play, but only briefly. Being a kid takes work, and their biggest job is sleep. Within a few minutes they tire and return to pile themselves into a companionable heap beneath the warm, red glow.

Our goose enjoying the impromptu puddles the weather provided.

Outside the clouds skid by overhead, loosing drenching rain upon the earth. Our goose, LaLa, enjoys the presence of the multitude of temporary ponds--all apparently provided for her bathing convenience.

Kid Clothing

Pamela inspects her kids.

The thermometer registered 25 degrees Fahrenheit when I headed out this morning. Although our new-mother goat Pamela had been keeping her kids beneath the heat lamp since birth, I still brought out a couple of quilted flannel shirt-sleeves in case the kids were shivering. (Yes, I know, she had three kids, but I had two sleeves ready from when the orphaned Savannah doelings had moved here; I would procure a third coat if necessary.)

The kids were clustered directly beneath the heat lamp, as I had hoped, yet the littlest kid--the one we named Emmilye--was shivering. I popped her into the shorter of the two shirt-sleeves, adjusted the width to accommodate the breadth of her little shoulders, cut vents to make flaps over her flanks and tail, and fastened the button at her throat to keep the tube in place. The stall smelled of diarrhea, a condition not all that uncommon in the first days but one that needs to be monitored and for which counter-measures may need to be taken. I gave each kid a squirt of  goat Nutri-drench, and gave Emmilye three.

Momma goat stands by her snoozing kids.

Next I herded Pamela, who had gone out to the pasture for a drink, back to the stall for her kids. She nosed suspiciously at the newly-clothed Emmilye, but accepted her readily. Still shivering, Emmilye made her way to a teat but grabbed for it ineffectively. After watching her unsuccessful attempts for a bit, I intervened and was rewarded by improved performance once the kid had gotten a fresh taste of milk.

Since I had another sleeve handy, I woke the other doeling, Erin, and dressed her. She is smaller than the buckling, but heartier than the littlest doeling. With a couple of snips at the fabric and a neat button at the kid's neck, I was able to present Pamela with two kids insulated against the cold. Erin nursed briefly, then returned to the kid-pile beneath the lamp. (Note: The lamp is turned off for photographic purposes only, to inhibit the red glare in pictures.)

A broody hen atop her clutch of eggs.

Before I left the stall, a hen came in to claim her spot on the nest she had made in the corner feed tub. At first she flapped her way up to a way-station and stood there to cackle until her rooster--just outside--returned the call. Then she flew onto the feed tub and settled down, right at home in her stall with a new family of goat companions beneath her roost.

Soup's On

Morning sunlight reveals this hen is guilty as charged.

This morning when I went out to the yard, I found that the Leghorn chickens had killed one of their own. This did not really surprise me because one of the hens has sported a bloody throat on and off (mostly off) for a few weeks now; however, it did irritate me. These white egg layers have been consistently producing jumbo size eggs, even through the winter months, so we're sorry to lose a good laying hen.

This hen was caught red-feathered, as it were.

On the bright side, the night had been quite cool so I had no qualms about picking up the hen to pluck her for our stew pot. Given the sub-freezing temperature, several of her feathers resisted plucking and I'm afraid that it will be easiest and quickest to simply skin her before cooking. Now that I understand that animal fats are good for us to eat, especially the tasty ones--chicken skin, bacon, butter from unpasteurized cream--I resent losing this tasty treat, but it won't go to waste. Someone will get to eat it.

Mmm mmm, chicken is on today's Sunday dinner menu.

Summer Wanes

Sunset from our front porch.

We have had a busy summer, filled with extra-hot days and visitors from out of town. We have enjoyed having distant friends come for a taste of Middle Tennessee. The porch swing and rockers have been well-utilized as we've sat to visit and catch up. A dry spell has challenged our container gardens, so we have had ample reason to visit the farmers markets in Nashville and downtown Lebanon.

Dairy does recline in an dry kiddie pool.

With the two bucklings gone, we're back in milk, which makes me extremely happy. Nothing tastes better on a hot evening than freshly-churned goat milk ice cream, and nothing can beat the taste-sensations of fresh goat milk ricotta. Ms. Leslie Lupine goat is learning to stand like a lady at milking time and every day with her milk is a treat. Her udder is more fully developed than it was at her first freshening, and I'm appreciating how udders and teats differ from doe to doe and even from side to side on a single doe. Our primary milkers are Leslie (pictured) and Marcie, neither of which is a "show goat" (with well-matched udders), and each of which have markedly different mammary structures from side to side.

Hank and Stew show off their meaty physiques.

We retained the buckling Stew and renamed him Studebaker--something I may have mentioned earlier--because he's become a meaty model of his sire and is built like a truck. We are proud of his development and while we still compete with him for his auntie Marcie's milk, we see him as a poster buckling for the old ad campaign: "Milk, it does a body good." He will make a fine little herd sire alongside Hank.

With all the hot weather and the absence of recent rains, area trees are already beginning to drop their leaves, giving the landscape a foretaste of fall. The few cool days have been most welcome; everyone here perks up when the mercury drops.

Managing in the Heat

Our herd sire and dairy queen hide in the shade on a July morning.

Managing in the heat this month has been a challenge for everyone. During the heat of the day most of the animals disappear into the shade--under a building overhang, beneath a vehicle, in the cool of the woods--and only venture out late in the day.

Heat stress leaves Marcie, our dairy queen, panting heavily by mid-morning. Heat stress caused, I believe, one of our alpacas to miscarry. Although I did not find a fetus, she transitioned from clearly pregnant to clearly barren overnight. Heat stress even finds the hens panting when I encounter them about the yard.

The only creatures who appear immune to the heat are the guineas. We appear to be down to two now, but those two can be seen busily scooting about the property--crossing fields back and forth, and popping out and back over fences--with their heads down. They are always focused on their work which they take very seriously. I guess, then, we can credit them for the relative lack of ticks we have about the farm of late. It's always nice to be able to do tick checks without finding any offenders attached.

The alpacas and goats down a tub of water laced with cherry-flavored electrolytes daily. While the container stipulates that the electrolyte-water be the only source of water provided to the animals, I ignore that directive. The ruminants drink it dry daily, even though they have access to a number of automatic watering troughs around their pastures.

If only one could capture and bottle the summer's heat, to be taken out and savored midwinter. Now that would be a treat worth canning and preserving!

July is Too Hot for Coats

Alpacas stand in the sprinkler's spray to find respite from the heat.

Some days it feels as if I run and run without getting anywhere, and while this sounds very much like I might have described life before moving to the farm, the result is very different. Indeed, while I may spend afternoons shifting fences around to keep animals contained and still rotating from pasture to pasture, some larger chores have been allowed to slide--with potentially dire consequences.

As busy as I have been filling kiddie pools and running sprinklers for the alpacas, what I should have been doing was finding a shearer--and getting him or her to the farm in the Spring. Now Summer is here and our shaggy ruminants who evolved high in the cool Andes are suffering. Luckily I crossed paths with another caring alpaca farmer when I was at Edwards Feeds recently. Alarmed to hear that I had yet to engage a shearer, he gave me his wife's card and told me to call her for a referral to the woman they use. Thank you!

Now our alpacas have  an upcoming appointment with a Miss Gerdi. She sounds like a lovely woman, and the alpacas and I are eager to make the trek to her farm this weekend.

Getting Cool in the Pools

Alpaca Spencer claims a pool filled with cool well water.

The hot days of this season are much too warm for anyone who is overdressed. The livestock guardians continue to shed their winter coats in shaggy clumps, but the alpacas are not so lucky.  Unfortunately for them, I let shearing season slip by without managing to engage a shearer. (They do now have an engagement for shearing fast approaching, I am pleased to report.)

Shaggy alpacas jockey for position beside the sprinkler.

Alpaca fiber is delightfully warm in winter. These days our alpacas spend much time seeking respite in the shade and waiting for the sprinkler to be turned on at different times through the day. They can hear when the hose spurts to life and will hasten across the yard to reach the pools and sprinkler.
 
Their date with the shearer cannot come too quickly. Next year, I resolve to schedule shearing in a more timely fashion. 

Cooling Alpacas

'Paca boys crowd around the sprinkler.

This past weekend I brought home a sprinkler for the alpacas from the Farmers' Co-op. Now instead of hosing down the animals as they jocky for position--getting fairly wet and knocked-around in the process--I just set the sprinkler and turn on the water.

The animals appreciate the convenience, too. I will leave the sprinkler running until they have drifted away. I often did not have the patience to manage the hose myself for that long.



Alpaca gals enjoy standing beneath the sprinkler's falling spray.

True, filling the 'paca pools isn't quite the same, but it's do-able. If I could only figure out a way to fill the pools without them noticing, then call them to play in the water. Ha, that's an unlikely dream.
Better, I need to get on the stick and have them shorn. I missed doing it earlier in the season, and now it's getting critical to unburden them of their heavy fleece.

Sweltering Days

Saturday's new pasture has been grazed down pretty well already.

The heat this Memorial Day weekend is nothing short of brutal. I've been trying to pick the pastures, build garden beds, and plant daylilies, but the process is very slow. One cart of horse "muck" at a time is all I can manage. Every stage of the new garden beds saps my energy. At times the air feels too thick to even breathe properly. Today I hit upon a system that works pretty well.

First I gather a cart of muck or bedding or rocks--whichever step I happen to be on--then take a break to read until the sweat stops pouring off my body. Each time I step back itno the house I announce, "It's brutal out there," which is true but I still turn around and head right back out into it. After perusing another chapter of today's novel, I heave myself up off of the front porch rocker and head back to work.

By the time I planted three dozen daylilies in a little bed, I was ready to head in for a shower and a nap. This is some serious weather.

Today the hay is being rolled into round bales.

Just across the road, the neighbor farmer is engaged in his annual Memorial Day weekend activity: haying the fields. As I made my measly attempts at working about this farm, I marveled at the fortitude of traditional farmers. They work until the job gets done; no rest for the weary. It's a hard way to make a living.

Springtime in the Neighborhood

Wisteria in bloom.

The greenery has been unfolding around us at an amazing speed this year. Each time I look up, I believe the leaves are fuller, the trees' shapes are more rounded, and new flowers are in bloom.


Our neighbors graze quietly beneath the trees.

For the most part I do not think to pull out the camera to record the sights, at least not until I have passed them by, but some days the camera sits at the ready, willing and able to record spring's progress. Since my camera, the one with which I am most familiar, is on the lam--still, many shots are throwaways. Blurred beyond recognition, or too dark or light, they do not bear saving for future use.

The irises that I divided two autumns back, then moved to new spots along the driveway, are blooming along the old fenceline. They see me off and welcome me home, and I think to snap their likeness about the time my car has pulled up through the front gate and parked alongside the iris bed. But by then the shot is marred by the presence of the car or truck, so each day passes without the irises' blooms recorded. (Indeed, for some months I was convinced that these plants would never bloom again, but each stem sports multiple ruffled, bearded blooms this month.)

Lucy enjoys a new delivery of thistles spread across a bunk of long-ignored grain.

Perhaps the best part of spring, though, is the return of fresh forage after a long winter of hay, hay, and more hay. Indeed, the horses do so enjoy the juicy thistle plants I cut for them, that they have taken to passing up grain in favor of the prickly plants. (Yes, they do get out to graze on green pasture, but their shelter is back in the mudlot so they occasionally return to that paddock for a time.)

After so many months of inadequade forage, it's a pleasure to watch the animals enjoying fodder as it unfurls beneath their feet or along so many branches. Welcome, Spring!

Guineas on Patrol

Guineas on patrol.

Now that tick season has arrived, all five of our guineas are out and about. They range far, covering the area from the barn to the road each day, tirelessly patrolling for bugs and grubs, and watching for danger at every turn. It's nice to hear the "buck-WHEAT, buck-WHEAT" call of the females moving about the farm again. The sound takes the edge off of the males' raspy "ack, ack, ack, ack, AACH!" alarm. As I sit indoors and write this, I can hear their commentary through the now-closed door; they have strident voices.

Guineas sounding the alarm from the kennel rooftop.

As I was leaving the other day, the flock was ranging down by the front gate, moving swiftly. I was reminded of the numbers of guineas a neighbor has lost because the birds choose to range out onto the highway only to become roadkill. The four sturdy boards of our front fencing, and its welded-wire lining have kept our flock safe so far. But they can fly over it in the blink of an eye. I'm hoping the bugs and grubs inside the fence keep they satisfied, so they won't feel the need to venture into the road.

As the temperatures rise and the grubs emerge, our guineas should be well entertained within the boundaries of our farm. I'm hoping they choose to remain close to home throughout the season.

Congratualtions, Pamela!

Pamela's meaty new buckling, Stew.

Miss Pamela got the drop on me. Early this morning she bore a big, red, meaty, singleton buckling. He's a looker, to be sure. I'm amazed by how much chunkier he is that her first kids. Her prior breeding was to another Nubian and her offspring had the fine legs and bone structure of their momma. This little guy is very obviously Hank's offspring.

For one, he's heavy. I would have liked to have weighed him today, but chores sidetracked me before I could look to see where the scale might be hiding. His name, most appropriately, is Stew. Credit goes to our operations manager for selecting a name that's short and sweet, and that promises to be tasty.

A family portrait. Hank, behind the fencing, watches Pamela and Stew.

For another, he has the thick legs of his meat goat sire. So unlike his dam's finer Nubian bone structure, little Stew shows off his part Boer heritage in the thickness of his legs.

Pamela keeps a close eye on her new kid.

Today was a hot one. The air was thick and cloying. After I had moved Pamela and Stew down closer to the house, Stew promptly took refuge in a shady spot and slept the day away. Momma grazed close by, often stopping to check on her little one and never straying far.

Congratulations, Miss Pamela, on your fine new kid. Mmm, mmm, Stew.

Redbuds for Lunch?

Redbuds in bloom dot the countryside.

Spring is here in force, and with it many warm days filled with sunshine. (If I write this loud enough, perhaps the chilly gray clouds overhead will take the hint and float away.) We're readying garden beds for planting and goat stalls for kidding. (Leslie Lupine, our red-brown Nubian doe is due anytime. She had a pedicure this evening in preparation for the Big Event.) Wherever one goes, the bright purplish flowers of Eastern Redbud trees abound--along highways, edging pastures, or in parks.

Trays of peat (and newspaper) pots filled with growing medium are sprouting seedlings galore. Gardeners and farmers examine the earth, checking the soil for warmth, texture, and the presence of earthworms. The cold days remind us to keep seedlings inside, or beneath protective row covers for the time being. Within a few weeks, gardens will begin hosting the young plants in preparation for this year's harvests.

A cluster of pea-like Redbud blossoms.

The Redbud trees lift my spirits and always draw my eyes. Until recently I saw them as mere harbingers of spring, eye-candy as it were, until my friend from Second-Life Farm in Macon County posted a link to an article informing readers of further possibilities. Look closely at Redbud blossoms. Notice how the blooms resemble the flowers on pea plants? Well, apparently they are related.

Following the blossoms, Redbuds put forth slender green pods. While I have seen them in prior years, this year I'm eager to try them--apparently they're quite tasty. The pea-like pods of the Redbud tree are best, I understand, when new--before their seeds achieve significant size. They are said to be tasty in salads and stir-fry dishes. I can't wait to try them!

Check it out on the TennZen blog!

A Close Call for Kendall

Nigerian Dwarf kid Kendall, bundled into the vet supply basket indoors.

Yesterday evening I got up to the barn later than usual. Most of the animals had settled in for the night, but the maternity suite was still rocking: those kids sure are feisty. When I entered the maternity stall, I noticed that Kendall was flat out on her side beneath the heat lamp, not moving. She was breathing only shallowly. Her head was turned back in a reverse "C" posture such that her nose pointed over her spine towards her tail; the posture is not uncommon in dying ruminants, but I was not ready to accept the loss of this doeling.


I don't know if I should take the blame for this one, but here's what I'm thinking. In the morning, after I had wrestled Nigerian Dwarf doe Jennifer to allow Kendall to nurse, Kendall still did not appear full, so I took advantage of Thumbelina's having only one kid remaining and put Kendall on her. Well, Thumbelina was quite unhappy about the arrangement, and I'm thinking that she may just have taken out her wrath on the kid later in the day. I do not know if goats seek revenge, though. It could have been simply the combination of the cold weather, spotty diet, and Kendall's diminutive size that got the kid down.

A sated Kendall rests in her box below the heat lamp after a tube-feeding.

Whatever it was that got her down, Kendall revived when I picked her up--enough to squall for her momma as I carted her away from the barn. Inside, the time the tendency to throw her head back and point towards her tail gradually lessened. Her body was cold, though, and her hoofs downright chilly to the touch. I thought that continued contact with a human's bodily warmth would serve her well. An elastic band was procured to serve as a sanitary belt and a pad inserted beneath it at her tummy and her back, effectively diapering the kid for indoor living. (In recent years I've seen pet diapers in pet-supply catalogs and thought I should give it a try.)

She wouldn't suckle, so I inserted a tube to her stomach and forced two ounces of warm Marcie-milk into her body. This followed by a vitamin B complex injection and warmth were the extent of my medical interventions. If she made it to the morning, I would call the vet for further guidance.

Kendall, sun-worshiping kid in a box.

I cuddled her beside me through the night, and woke to a kid with mucous-filled eyes and nostrils. Dr. Whitlow prescribed a tiny dose of the antibiotic Naxcel which his office staff dispensed in seven diminutive syringes. By mid-afternoon she could stand and look about, but her little body wobbled quite a bit, and when she took any steps they were unsteady.

Little Kendall looks out from her chosen corner.

Late in the afternoon, when I was headed to the barn for evening feedings, I placed Kendall in a four-sided box to contain her, bundled her into a Newborn size hooded jacket (pinned to shrink it to her size), and left her beneath the heat lamp. We were quite pleased when, upon my return, we found she had climbed out of that box, escaped the direct heat, and curled herself into a shaded corner behind the toilet paper storage tube. We were pleased to see her taking some initiative, although she still required tube feeding and did not speak.


The next day or so will be critical. Come on, Kendall, hang in there. We're pulling for you!