Kefir

Kefir smoothie.

We started making kefir several weeks ago after a friend provided the starter culture from her collection. Kefir is a fermented milk product with a sour flavor, somewhat akin to yogurt. Slightly bubbly and thinner than yogurt, kefir makes a refreshing drink. That said, I have yet to drink a glass of it plain. Certainly, I lick my fingers after wiping the lip of the jug from whence the liquid has been poured, and the tartness is pleasant--but not appealing enough (yet) to drink straight.

Indeed, I must confess that it took me some time after obtaining the starter culture to actually try making kefir. While I see that reluctance as silly in hindsight, at the time I was just nervous about trying something new to us.

Kefir grains remain in the strainer after the liquid passes through.

Kefir is quick and simple to make. In this weather a new batch is ready every day. One need only strain the kefir "grains" (which look more like mini cauliflower florets than any grain) from the current batch, then place the grains in a clean glass container and cover with fresh milk. Of course, we use our raw goat milk; although I understand that kefir can be made with coconut milk or even almond milk. In about 24 hours, the new batch becomes thick and gelatinous and is ready to be strained anew.

The strained kefir gets stored in the refrigerator when we have any left over after making the day's smoothies. Kefir is a delicious way to incorporate raw milk into the diet, with the added benefits of being a fermented food.

Drought Recovery, in Progress

Late June, 2012. Land is day; vegetation is gone.

By the end of June, 2012, the land around here was dry, dry, dry. Annual rainfall was down in excess of eleven inches. The water pressure on our well was insufficient to reach all necessary destinations. Many farmers were selling off their herds, while others of us were seriously contemplating extreme downsizing measures. Our alpacas' coats were packed with dust because we no longer had green pastures for them to roam. And we were feeding hay-- precious hay that was not to have been needed until autumn--with little prospect of second or third cuttings becoming available later in the season. We watched our neighbors cutting entire fields of cornstalks, trying to salvage what they could from plants that would not be producing ears. At one time, such circumstances would have filled me with anxiety, trepidation, and dread. These days I have a deep, abiding faith that allows me to accept what comes with trust in the future.

8 July 2012.  Wet promises.

When the calendar flipped into July, the rains came. Steamy-hot days were concluded with showy thunderstorms and the blessedly cool breezes they delivered. We opened windows wide to welcome the fresh air, and positioned buckets and barrels to catch the roof runoff.

The okra plants along the driveway that we had started from seed, and watered by hose just to keep alive, finally put out more than the two or four leaves they had been sporting. They have began to look like plants with a future, although not yet like productive bushes. The self-sown pumpkins down beyond the gate have stopped wilting dangerously. The blueberry bushes are even showing some sprigs of spring green, although it appears that we did lose one of the six bushes we put in this year.

14 July 2012. The land is greening again.

May these rains continue to fall. Although this area is not yet out of drought conditions, we have escaped the Severe Drought label we carried through June and have dodged the sword that has fallen across so much of the country's farmland. Praise the Lord!

One of our remaining two horses, the black-and-white Spotted Saddle Horse named Millie, is close to being sold. Soon she should be romping across 400 lush acres with 80 other horses. Miss Janet, the filly, will be next. That will leave more pasture for the rest.

Hopefully, the rains will continue apace, allowing the land and water-levels to recover fully. In the meantime, we continue to feed hay judiciously, and are rotating the goats and alpacas through the back acres and woods to graze on the green as it appears.

Sweet Potato Patch

Our little sweet potato patch.

We have yet to succeed at growing sweet potatoes, but are giving it a go again this season. We put in a small sweet potato patch in a raised bed beside the house using plant starts from Edwards Feeds, our favorite feed mill located in downtown Lebanon. Later we added a couple of cut ends from sweet potatoes that had sprouted in the kitchen.

This afternoon when I checked the bed, the butt-ends planted a week or so ago were doing well. That is a relief, especially as the weather has been very hot and very dry of late. Many plants indeed many whole crops, are struggling just to survive these days. Thriving seems out of the question.

Already our little patch is doing better this year than in any of our previous attempts. Let's hope the weather breaks soon so that plants can return to the business of growing,

Invasion of Thistles

Thistles laying claim to the land.

 When we moved here in 2008, the front acres rolled smoothly down from the house. Although the grasses were long when we arrived to stay, I can only remember one or two thistles blooming. However, I like the bees, butterflies, and finches that thistles attract and allowed a plant or two (maybe three) to go to seed some three years back. That was a big mistake.

By last year I had taken to uprooting thistles in self-defense, and then feeding them to the livestock. Surprisingly, the horses generally like them when cut to readily-chewable lengths, and even the goats will nosh upon them when proffered. In the pasture proper, the horses nibble many of the thistles to the ground, but choose to eat around plants that they will gladly tackle when I cut them into shorter lengths.



A bucket of thistles cut to create feed.

As busy as the overabundance of invading thistles may be, I can get lost in the pastures just watching (and sometimes photographing) the myriad of winged visitors supping on the flowers. Unfortunately, this year I find the spines to be challenging. They poke through leather gloves, sift their way down boot-tops, and ultimately find ways to burrow into my skin. That can be disappointing.

Next year I'll have to be more diligent in moving fences and rotating grazers through the thistle-infested patches. I know this because the number of plants gone to seed this year has surpassed prior years, and I would prefer to return to less-prickly pastures in the future.

Tiger swallowtail butterfly feeding on thistle flower.

When I was growing up in New England, my mother always let a few thistles flourish by our back porch. With some Scottish ancestors, our family revered the lavender-tufted flowerhead. What I find strange, though, is that the plants never became invasive there. I guess the close-cropped pastures here are more conducive to seeds sprouting than the thick lawn in my mother's yard. Here in Tennessee, thistles are a highly invasive species.

Mother never needed a goat to bail her out. I expect to need all of ours for some years to come.

Summer Coats for Shearing Day

Hamilton is ready to meet the shearer.

Our little herd of alpacas was visited by our shearer this morning. Before she arrived with her able assistant, the alpacas were gathered into a small pen close to the shearing site that was carpeted with plenty of fresh green fodder. Last year they had to wait until quite late in the season to be shorn, but once the temperatures became unseemly warm this past April I believe we've all been counting down the days to Gerdi's visit.

Van's coat rolls off smoothly as Gerdi works.

When our female alpaca, Van, came to the table, her full, soft fiber rolled off smoothly in a lush blanket.

Alpacas line up for an after-shearing scratch.

After the shearer left, the alpacas lined up to scratch their sides along the branches of a young cedar tree. Perhaps it was just my imagination, but it seemed to me that they were relieved to have been unburdened from their winter coats.