This is my first year ever putting in a fall garden. Though, when it is still over 90 some days, can we really call it fall?
Aside from the traditional greens, carrots, peas, and broccoli; my father-in-law recommended we put in green beans and purple hulls as well. I was not convinced at first, as I was certain they wouldn’t thrive in the cooler weather.
I am so happy to report how wrong I was! While the purple hulls are still under attack from black ants, they do look better than the spring crop.
Well, we’ve hit a milestone. It has been 8 days now since our older calf, SirLoin, has made an escape. We added six strands around the remainder of the pasture, and he STILL got out last Tuesday. He was using our handy dandy walkthroughs, which have now been blocked off. I think that has fixed the problem. If not, veal anyone?
And it was blessedly uneventful! To be fair, we had two cows, so is that really even a season? I am so thankful that our second calf was born and that neither cow needed assistance in the process. It is quite lovely to just go into the pasture and see a newborn baby!
Saturday was chicken processing day. It’s been on the calendar for months. And a more perfect day we could not have asked for. Cool, overcast, and slightly misty. We ended up processing 12 birds, and along about numbers 7 or 8, my neighbors called to say that SirLoin had escaped. Again.
Calf Proof. What an oxymoron. They are liquid. More-so than a cat I believe. Our first farm calf was born around the end of June, and he really is a doll baby. We steered and tagged him at 4 weeks old, but otherwise we leave him in his momma’s capable care. He acts like he has two mommas, since he hangs out with our other (pregnant) cow more than his own it seems.
Summer used to be my favorite season. Long days, swimming, vacations, swimming, no school, swimming. You get the idea. After adulthood came along and I had work year round (the unfairness of it all!) with no swimming breaks, summer lost some of its appeal but was still my favorite.
Anymore though, I think I am becoming a fall person. The summer vegetable garden was green as could be (thanks to the garden hose) but simply did not produce. Even our peppers, which are supposed to love the heat, have been dismal. We’ve received just enough rain so the grass didn’t die, but the pastures are pitiful.
Well, my apologies to the previous owners of this farm. They did not in fact concrete the water pipe all the way past the coupling. They did run rebar that far though.
As I knew he would, my dad knew exactly what to do and we got everything dug up in one afternoon and didn’t even harm any abs pipe!
When you buy a house, you hire a home inspector and expect them to know what they’re doing and tell you if you’re in for big trouble down the road. However, don’t be an idiot (like me). Research every single thing on that checklist for yourself. Today, I want to spin the saga of what can go wrong when you don’t cross check the important things. Today, we tell the tale of a lonely water supply well in the middle of a horse pasture that no one checked the details on.
Once, there was a well, a hand dug well, next to a house. The owners of the house had animals across the property that they loved dearly. When the hand dug well apparently ran dry from the approximately 1,000 ft of hose pipe that fed the barn with the dearly loved animals, the owners dug a new well. A mechanically drilled well. Near to the barn, and had piping run all the way back to their house. 1,000 ft away.
Here you see the lonely mechanically dug well. When we purchased the property, it was covered with an old dog house and we have since (kind of) upgraded to the fake rock cover. My dream one day is a nice 10×10 shed. Continue reading “Of Water Wells and Family Ties”
Yes it’s from a movie, and one that isn’t in line with the rest of this post. But it’s an apt quote nonetheless.
Sunday last, we went to the visitation services for my cousin, Joe, who died in a motorcycle wreck just four days before. Monday, the family laid him to rest. My great Aunt has always been a pillar of faith to me and I dare say to much of my family. She said she wanted us all to pray for the driver of the car who was at fault, and I know she is doing the same.
Our chickens turned a year old in April, and in my estimation, were well old enough to start brooding out babies. While the breeds we bought were eclectic (Rainbows from Hoovers Hatchery; dominique and black sex link from TSC, and an americana), I had initially purchased them for meat birds with the hope that I would get some good broody hens in the mix. I want to go on record as saying I have learned my lesson on why picking breeds is so important.
Roger, back when he was my favorite.
I have not been impressed with my chickens thus far. Firstly, lets talk about rainbows, these are not colored egg layer rainbows, but a Hoover’s Hatchery mixed bag of their own making for unique color patterns. I will grant, they certainly deliver on the color patterns. Roger and Drumstick, my roosters have beautiful plumage. But they are MEAN to the hens, pure bullies. I ended up giving my americana away because they picked on her so much. They pick on all the hens, but her the worst. The Rainbow hens lay large eggs consistently, but have shown zero inclination to go broody and have a much darker side that we will get to in a sec.
