Thursday, May 17, 2018

Whipperhonker

Mucking the barn by hand is never fun, but it is necessary and (bonus!) it's also a hell of a work out. It's does get complicated to partake in that workout a when three geese tending a nest have taken up residence in the corner of the barn. And in the exact spot where the barn's back door for easy-muck removal is located. So right now the chore is being held off in favor of mucking elsewhere. And for good reason because the geese are actually hatching some of their eggs! This morning I woke up to this little whipperhonker!

In some lighter news I am only one payment behind on the farm, as far as the mortgage goes and the lights are bright and shiny. I'm trying like mad to promote classes, logos, and illustrations on Twitter where I can reach the most people. If I can keep hitting my income goals there's a shot of not only being in the land of happy sighs of a solid roof-tree, but also some better night's sleeping.

I gotta say how helpful it is to run. I am running around 20-30 miles a week right now and it's become the best way to tire out anxiety and focus. While running I think of ideas, solve problems, and burn off the fears that might linger from a bad dream or email. As the days grow longer, hotter, and more humid (I ADORE humidity!) I hope my runs to do. If I can swing it I'll enter the Manchester Vermont Half Marathon again. It's for Make a Wish and while I don't run fast I did complete it back in 2016 and it felt amazing to accomplish it. And a goal keeps me running towards something. Always towards. What's the saying?

Don't look back. You're not going that way.

Monday, May 14, 2018

The Parting Glass

I leaned back against the three sinks, tired and light. I couldn’t stop smiling. From my vantage point behind the bar, towel over my shoulder, eyes and feet tired; I listened to the man with the guitar across the room. The man playing was named Gurt Morlix and it was the last song of the night, The Parting Glass. I was behind the bar because I was unofficially on staff of the brewery that night, helping wash dishes and clear patron’s glasses before and during the concert. As a regular at the brewery, who usually shows up with a border collie and felt hat, I was here tonight to work. Friends that bartend knew they would be busy and the usual help would be watching the concert or otherwise occupied, so I was there to be useful.

I loved it. I loved it so much. I loved being beside a friend. I loved washing the glasses. I loved hearing the stories and songs. I loved being under the high ceilings and chandeliers of the freight depot - a historic building in this farm town that once took locals to New York City every day back when the McClellan Family owned my entire mountain as a sheep pasture. But tonight I was here listening to a man who traveled and sang with Warren Zevon. It was time to listen.

I wish I could keep that moment forever. The lack of moonlight and the way the small parlor guitar and that man’s voice filled every space it could find. If honey was alive and kind, it was how he sounded - creeping into the grain exposed by wind and time. And I had this place behind the show - not able to afford a reserved table but free to help wash pints and clean up the tables outside. I have never felt luckier.

I stay on this farm because it’s what I know how to do and it makes me feel safe. I wake up every day with work I can not ignore, regardless of weather, health, or heart. I don’t know of any remedy for low-grade anxiety or depression that is stronger than this. To wake up and be needed - not loved, not known, not understood - but viscerally needed by over 50 animals means no sleeping in. It means needing to set aside fears and foes and get dressed and make sure everyone eats breakfast and is okay. It means caring about something above all else and then being able to consume it. Farming is the existential ouroboros of the mildly insane. Giddyup.

But it matters. It has made me transcend self. I’ve helped deliver lambs crying and heartbroken. I’ve helped with hog butchering in heat waves. I’ve planted and weeded and laughed. I walked through snow drifts with black dogs and raced up hillsides on the back of a black horse. I’m different person than the girl who didn’t know how to harness a horse or train a hawk. My lines are harder. My voice is softer. I’m more forgiving of mistakes. I’m less forgiving of unkindness.

I’m here still because of song and luck. I rode Merlin at a gallop yesterday morning with the bartender from the concert. We served and washed a bar together and then we were riding as fast as hooves would carry us a few days later. This is how you make friends - moments that stamp wax crests on envelopes - and when we were done with ale and bridles we sat in my sparse front lawn with a thick red wine and toasted new friendships and bad luck.

I’m still here because I get these songs and stories. I’m still here because I know my neighbors and their dogs. I’m still here because when you find a place so perfect and bold that you can pant as you turn around three times before you lie down that it just makes sense…

Home is learning who you are. Here I am.

Good News!

This morning while Mabel was walking down the hill for her breakfast I was watching her back feet. When I bought the mare I was told she had issues with arthritis and was getting injections and special supplements to deal with it. I was also warned that I may not ever ride her much over a light trot, depending on her condition. That was almost a year ago and Sunday morning she was racing beside Merlin at a full gallop. She stopped limping three days after she lived here. She has been off special supplements for months. This isn't because I'm a horse health magical healer, but because (I think) that she went from stall life with some turnout in a paddock to living on a 3-acre hilly field. Now she has full mobility and runs with Merlin all the time in the pasture, but Sunday morning she was ridden for the first time at length out on the trail and I wanted to make sure there was no hitch in her giddy up. Happy to report she is sound as music!

After feeding the horses I walked up to the sheep and goats sharing a pen on the hill. The reason for this cohabitation? The goat's pen has been demolished and is right now a giant pile of manure that needs to be moved via tractor I'm hiring before it is rebuilt. So for now the does and Rocco the buck are with the sheep in their large hillside pen. Everyone seems to be getting along, but what I didn't expect to see was the new addition! Jessa the ewe had a ram lamb! Look at that little muppet!

These are two great pieces of news: a sound mare and new lamb. This weekend has been up and down with troubles* and triumphs, but for now let's enjoy a happy horse and baby. And another cup of coffee for the farmer with three eggs in her pocket.

* Troubles meaning that a bobcat (the farm machinery not the animal) got stuck in the goat pen and had to be pulled out with a truck. The kailyard I planted also go destroyed by the skidding/stuck/struggling bobcat. Also, a twisted ankle. 

Wednesday, May 9, 2018

Spiffier!

I am spending more and more time outside. With the sun shining bright outside and temperatures in the mid seventies it feels wonderful being out in the dirt! Today I got cauliflower and snap peas planted and borrowed a friend's power washer to clean off the house siding. These are small things, but acts of home care and longevity I feel good about. Happy to report the place looks a little spiffier than it did just a few days ago.

Also wanted to add that if any of you have considered purchasing a logo design or pet illustration, this is a great time to do it. The amount of resources that went into getting the power back on was a huge hit to the budget so I am trying not to fall more behind and get things straightened out soon as possible. Happy to offer deals, discounts on classes or lessons, extra sketches. Whatever I can offer from this farming skill set is on the table.  I offer one-on-one fiddle and archery workshops, too. You can sign up by yourself or with a friend/spouse/child for discounts.


Tuesday, May 8, 2018

Walkmans in Church

"Do you have a cassette player? Besides the one in your truck?" was the message waiting in my email when I came inside the farmhouse yesterday evening. I had to stop and think for a minute. I was flustered from carrying buckets of water up the hill to the lambs. My mind was still outside in that ritual world of evening chores. I turned around because I had a Sony Walkman right behind me on the coffee table. Inside it was the same NEWSIES soundtrack I listened to in High School. The cassette had been moved ceremoniously from every car I had owned - one glove compartment to the next for nearly two decades. It was more of a luck piece than anything else at this point, but recently I had dug it up to sing Santa Fe to the goats during morning grain. I replied to my friend Patty that I did have one and I could bring it over next time I was at her farm.

This morning broke with sun so saffron my bedroom seemed to have a retro filter on it. I stretched and hugged my dogs, beside me in our double bed and eager to start the day. Gibson was at the window in no time, checking on the hen and rooster strutting by the front door. Friday stretched with me and took up the space he left her, absolute luxury.

The morning chores were better than usual. The sun was warm but the air mild—around 45 degrees—and in a long-sleeved cotton shirt I felt perfectly guarded from the slight chill. With a podcast in my ears I went about the same old story of hay, grain, water, and checking on the animals. Chicks needed their water fonts cleaned and tractors moved. The pigs needed their water trough dumped and scrubbed before refilling. The horses needed fly spray and I took note that they are due for spring worming. I emailed the shearer again, eager to have the sheep shorn. The work that was once thrilling but is now a warm ember inside me. I can't imagine not being needed this way first thing in the morning by something I need just as much. You can get drunk on it if you don't temper it with coffee.

A lot of coffee.

The rest of the morning was spent indoors. The usual to-do list of promoting the skills I have to offer, preparing books for the mail, packaging soaps, and getting artwork completed and in mailers for customers. I made one sale (two short of the day's goal) but knew I had plenty of time to get where I needed to be by dark. One sale is still money coming into the farm. That's something, a step up hill.

I changed into running clothes and got a quick four miles in. The run helped. The music carried me across the now-lush landscape of Washington County. I'm still getting used to all the green. Every year it's a shock how alive the place becomes after such a long winter. That was a gratitude I didn't have to fight to absorb.

After the run I enjoyed a hot shower and got dressed for town. My usual stops of the hardware store, the post office, and gas station were done in quick order. Friday was with me. She hung her head out the window and with her eyes closed took in the day the way I did on my run.

Did I ever tell you that when I stop what I'm doing, any time of day, and howl she howls with me? It might be my favorite thing about the little monster.

Next was the farm work I was most looking forward to that day: the kailyard. I had bought twenty dollars worth of starts (48 plants) with money made from selling goatsmilk soap. Today I'd use the goat compost (a year old) and hand tools to work in the earth and create rows for planting the greens. This was done in the mid afternoon and I felt that sun go from warm to hot as I worked with pitchfork and hoe. The dogs were with me, running around and digging in the garden beside me. They are whimsical and erratic landscapers going through their hole period. It wasn't much help but they stayed out of the way of the sharp points of tools and that was enough for me. I got to wear shorts and a tank top too grubby for civilization and get a bit of a tan.

This was a full day for me. Work indoors, in town, and on farm. I wanted a quick ride with Merlin before the work of evening chores and the soapmaking I had yet to do. So I grabbed my pony's halter and lead rope and collected him from the pasture. If there is one reason above the rest that I am still on this farm - it is this. To walk outside the place I work and use the skills of tacking up and be on the back of a galloping animal fifteen minutes later. To do all that as comfortably as if I had just started my truck- this is wealth beyond measure to me. Struggling here is a song. Sometimes it's lovely and sometimes it's playing jazz in the dark... Like last week.

As we rode I listened to the new song Hunger by Florence and the Machine. Merlin ran and the song crested and I felt like the day was just getting started. Sometimes I can't help but laugh when he really gets going. Not because it's funny, but because this is my Tuesday afternoon. It took so long to get here - and keeping it is a thousand times harder - but no one could take that moment from me. I asked him to go faster and he did and that is mine forever.

The day ended over at Patty's farm. She invited me over to visit for drinks and catching up. Before I headed out the door I remembered the Walkman. It turned out that her husband Mark had found old tapes of his brother's piano playing. The master pianist passed away a long time ago and this would be the first time Mark had heard those songs since his brother was alive. Patty used a Bluetooth speaker by jacking into the old tech with the headphone port.

It felt so personal and beautiful that I slipped away, wanting to let this moment be theirs. As the first soft chords played by a ghost I walked into their old threshing barn. I could hear the music from across the pasture, filling the old space like a whisper in a church. It wasn't my music to hear but I stole some for a moment. Good god, what a day this was.

It was a week ago that the power was shut off and I was alone in the dark. I got through that and now the next thing is on the list becomes the new fight - another mortgage payment, another bill, another day of constantly trying to harness a life of fast horses on Tuesday afternoons.

Maybe some day this will get easier? I'm not sure if I'm built for easy. But I am here for ghosts in old barns, red shoulders, and the straining of my eyes at a dark copse of trees for the first fireflies. They'll come back soon. But I want to see them the way I want to be held at night - not because I need to be, but because my tiny world is better for it.

I'm going to keep writing about these fears and this trying. Please keep reading.


Plants In!

The sun is shining and the kailyard planting has begun! I got 48 starts in the ground. They are planted, watered, fenced and blessed with my own sweat. The starts are from Stannard Farm, paid for by selling the soaps I make myself from the goats watching me hoe and pile. I set those babies into cake-like black soil thanks to the mucking of last summer's goat bedding. What a lovely dance - goat manure and milk being the reason I get an amazing salad or spinach quiche in a few weeks!

Monday, May 7, 2018

Mother's Day is Coming!

If you are looking for a pet portrait, a logo, graphic design work (not web design), or would like to gift any of these to Mom for Mother's Day, I am running a sale now on all of them! I can't get you a drawing in time for the weekend, but you can get a pdf to print out that your mom or friend can redeem for a custom drawing of their favorite pet or animal! Just email me at dogsinourparks@gmail.com

Sunday, May 6, 2018

Kailyard and Considerations

The work of this week on the farm will be all about plants. Some of it truly enjoyable: like planting the first starts and seeds in the kailyard. And some of it backbreaking: removing old straw bedding from the barn with a pitchfork. As a one-woman operation I have learned to stop seeing these chores as all or nothing. I don't have to spend 5 hours forking muck and old bedding. I don't have to spend an entire raining Saturday moving compost and hoeing earth. I can get the same results in a week by doing an hour's worth of the task a day, which leaves time for my part time job and the freelance I do here at the farm. Today in the rain I'll muck for an hour. I'll get some starts from the farm stand down the road to plant tomorrow.

This morning is the Poultry Swap, which I am not attending. I don't feel well, but also don't think I can handle the temptation of the new animals/ideas I might get. Right now what I need to do is stabilize and possibly downsize. I am considering selling some animals and scaling down the farm or phasing out of certain endeavors. Things are in survival mode right now, trying to keep the simple joys going that kept me here without the added stress. I know a horse, hawk, and dog will always be with me if I can help it. They are the reason I feel alive on soft dirt.

Lots of decisions to make this spring. And lots of good work to do while I come to them.

Friday, May 4, 2018

Next Adventures

It's raining after two lovely warm days. If it wasn't I'd be out finishing what I started yesterday in the kailyard. I raked and cultivated with a wheel hoe, preparing the earth to be composted and turned again before I create rows and start planting. That felt as good as I remembered, being sweaty out in the garden. The pigs watched me as I plowed through, and I could see the laying hen chicks biting and the few blades of grass that have arrived on the mountain so far. They were all experiencing the outdoors for the first time in a small tractor I use for "hardening off" young poultry. The lambs on the hill were bleating for more grain, the horses tails swishing in the sun, and the goats were having a head-butting competition that Ida was winning. It was a good day. The last few have been really good.

When I started this blog it was a fever dream. All of the writing was based on passion; this love affair with farming and the dream to pursue it full time. Over the years that, amazingly, has happened and what was once an outlet for energy has become a lovely habit. Writing is something I don't think I'll ever stop doing, and as long as people want to read this blog I'll keep at it.

Now, at 35, ten years after those first blog posts I wake up to the daily reality of keeping that dream fed. I'm happy for it, and proud of the determination and discipline it's forged inside me. Every weekday is a list of clients, meetings, deadlines, illustrations, design, and income goals. It is rare that everything on those to-do lists (a notebook I call The Boss) isn't handled and checked off. Every day I am accountable to that book and the work inside it. And every day I need to use social media to promote the skills I have to offer in hopes some of you take me up on it.

Things have changed in how I live and work on this farm. I realized that I wanted this place to be where I grow food for myself and for neighbors and friends. That keeps my customers close and their numbers small. I don't think I ever want to be responsible for feeding a village, or making the farm my entire focus. I adore the time I spend drawing animals as well as caring for them. The design work I spent 4 years getting a BFA in paid off, and also helps keeps those lights on (most of the time). This winter I started taking on part time work with a local marketing firm to supplement the farm/freelance income. Some weeks they have 2 hours of work for me, sometimes they have 10, but everything helps. Still, it's never going to be easy. Days like Monday remind me of that.

But even if things won't ever be easy, I can get better at them. That's the next adventure.

Tuesday, May 1, 2018

Up!

The farm's power is back on! The electric company left here a bit ago, and everything from the hot water to twinkle lights in the living room are back in order. It's also the first sunny day in a long stretch and it feels like the whole dang county is as relieved as I am to have the light back.

I am catching up on the lost day of work at home - both freelance design and artwork - but am happy to report that an entire day of going to and from the laundromat (which has free wifi) has rendered every towel, sheet, and bathmat in this house washed. On a rainy Monday in Veryork that little car wash/laundromat in town was a lifesaver. A place to go to email clients, report that the farm was down, and contact friends and neighbors for things like hay delivery, bakery pick ups, and such.

I'll write more about the whole day - from backup chargers in the truck to doing business from a landline and $29 Amazon Fire Tablet (both were lifesavers) later on. But right now I want to thank all the kind emails, tweets, and support sent out when I was in a real panic. It feels very alone here at 10PM in the dark. Having people online check in made me feel safe.

The power has never been turned off here before and won't again. It was a disaster - phone calls, paperwork, banking over the phone (thank goodness for landlines that do not need power to work) everything was slowed down or halted. Anyway - more soon and more farm updates as the week and warm weather progresses! Lots of spring cleaning indoors and out to come. Lots!

Monday, April 30, 2018

Down.

The electric company shut off the power. Electric fences are all down, freezers down, no water, no internet (I'm at laundromat Wi-Fi in town on my kindle). I am terrified. I want to curl into bed and give up and that is exactly what I can't do. It'll be very dark in a few hours.

update: thanks to sales driven through Twitter things are looking up! Going to arrange something with the power company soon as I get back to the farm. All hail landlines!

Sunday, April 29, 2018

Let's Go

It's a soggy and muddy morning here at the farm. Gibson is beside me, his wet fur damping my hip as I sit on the living-room floor in front of the computer to write. I like the smell of wet dog, always have. It's comforting and homey. The coffee is perking post-chores and I am very excited to grasp an oversized mug and partake. Nothing else warms you from the inside out in weather like this than a good drink and outside work behind you.

Things at the farm are moving optimistically forward. There are now four happy lambs here, and possibly more on the way. I've contacted the shearer to come for his annual visit and have a butcher to call soon as well for a pig or two. The sound of chirping chicks is background percussion of this blog post. The brooder here in the living room is life and noise indoors.

Outside the house Aya Cash is molting like mad and dropping more and more feather's every day. The goats are shedding their winter undercoats and (hopefully) pregnant and showing soon. I am running a lot, my therapy and anxiety-fighting activity of choice. I am up to about 20-30 miles a week and it feels good to have a body that can do that for me. I'm grateful for her. There's a barrage of water out there now and even snow in the forecast for tonight - but by Wednesday it might reach 80° and I beyond excited for that! Till then I'm trying to keep up with the quickly-mounting list of spring chores as more babies arrive and the gardens begin demanding their good work. Even an operation as small as this requires my everything.

Everything. What a word.

This farm is what I wake up and live for. It's not just my home, but my entire empire of passions.  One address that holds a woman's hope and force. This farm is where I write, design, and draw. It's where I hunt, ride, run, explore, and grow. It's where I learned to saddle a trail horse, train a hawk, herd sheep with dogs, and butcher my own chickens for Sunday roasts. It's nourishment for hand, heart, and head.

But it is also the source of all my anxiety and fears. There's no safety net here and I am dealing with the realities of not selling another book anytime soon. Luckily I am taking on as much freelance work as possible, and hopefully word of mouth will spread the logo and illustration sales that help support the farm work here. The encouraging part is even when things are like they are now, I have managed to keep just ahead of the wolves at the door. Making a mortgage payment (albeit a late one) every month but regular payments tell the bank you're not going anywhere. I cast new grass seed in the lawn, an borrowing a power washer for the house's siding. I want to stay here as long as I can with the animals and life I built.

This is not a complaint. It's my choice. No one ever said it would be easy, or get easier. But here's what does accumulate naturally: my self confidence. I am nothing like the girl who bought a black pony. Creating and keeping this place has sculpted a woman who is proud of her work and home - however humble. I'm not done telling this story or unearthing the resourcefulness that keeps it afloat. I owe it to me, to the dogs, to the three new lambs I just bartered for, to the bank, to you.

If I can keep going so can you. So let's go!

Wednesday, April 25, 2018

New Kids!

Three new lambs arrived today! Meet the new guys, bought in for fall meat customers. They are Romnies from a local farmer and I am so pleased with them! It was pouring this morning, but by noon the rain pulled back and made the walk to the lamb pen up the hill only mildly muddy (only fell down once!) And those guys are in the lamb pen with Benjen the goat. Bette is still inside, being too small to stay in the fence and still on the bottle - but that Winter's Bottom Kid is finally all grown up outside with the other kids. Err, lambs!

Monday, April 23, 2018

Horse Power

I am checking back in to talk a bit about driving over at Patty's farm, and a lot about Mabel. First off, I need to express how wonderful it felt to drive two tons of horse at the end of thick leather lines under a bright spring sun. To be outside! To be with friends! To have defeated winter and be holding this accumulation of horse power in my hands! Hoo!

And by Horsepower I mean the two harnessed Percherons at the end of the lines, but I also mean the half decade of riding and horse stories I have piled into my heart. I was the girl scared to move at a trot on a horse's back outside a ring with an instructor and a helmet. Now I am this woman asking two horses she knows by name to whoa after trotting across a field with nothing holding them back but 182lbs of farmer. The power you get from these animals is the confidence. I am so much stronger than the girl who was scared to trot indoors.

Now, for miss Mabel. This girl has been nothing but a delight since she arrived last summer. I bought her for a dollar off of a sweet woman in Saragota who realized this half Belgian wasn't the right fit for her. She is no beginner's mount and would have scared the white from my eyes if she was my first horse. Mabel is strong, fast, and a bit jumpy. She's leader of the pack and a force to be reckoned with in the pasture. Every sheep, songbird, chicken, and groundhog knows she's in charge.

Yesterday I took that same strong lady out for some extended grooming and tacking up. I wanted to go on a quiet trail ride with her alone. I was thinking just a mile at a walk, something light and fun. But five minutes into that walk the nieghbor's granddaughter was with her friend on a fast golf cart with a running German Shepherd! Mabel was freaked out, to but it likely, and tried to run home.

I remained calm. I kept her still. She didn't bolt, buck, or rear but she did crow hop and snort. She wanted that horse-eating golf cart out of her sight. The girls stopped the cart and I asked them if I could walk Mabel over to inspect it, see it was okay? They obliged and soon me, Mabel, the dog, the girls, and the cart were fast friends. I was proud of both of us ladies - horse and human alike - for making it a successful ride even if it was cut short. We faced a problem and solved it.

And our tank gained a little more horsepower.

Sunday, April 22, 2018

Learning To Teamster!

Had my first ever experience harnessing and ground-driving a team of horses today! My friend Patty Wesner got a second Percheron, a mare named Ruby. She's a stunning black beauty and calm and true. I learned to drive horses thanks to Patty and Steele, her gray gelding. When she invited me to help learn to harness and drive I was excited, but cautious. I am confident on the back of a horse where I feel in control, but driving has always been the scarier mode of transportation to me. It only feels safer when things are going well, but a runaway cart with a spooked horse (especially on a road with cars) is a crap shoot of terror unless the horse is rock solid. If something goes wrong on a ride I am 4 feet off the ground. If something goes wrong in a carriage - I'm possibly on the last hell ride to my demise into a semi truck. Let's drive horses!

More tomorrow on this adventure! 

Saturday, April 21, 2018

Chirps and Mountain Views

I got an email from my neighbors this morning. A wonderful couple who just returned from their winter migration in Georgia. With them came the sunshine (which they said they were happy to bring with them as a gift) and as we made plans for trading eggs for bread we shared stories from the winter. One of them would be stopping by in a minute to pick up eggs. I said sure, stop on by and don't mind the wee goat. 

When she stopped by to barter she pet little Bette Midler as the lamb scuttled around her legs. We chatted, talked the cold and the distance. It was nice.

It wasn't until she left for her errands in town that let out this exhalation of relief. I remembered saying goodbye to them at the start of winter. I told them I would see them when they came back to the mountain and to have a wonderful respite down south. But when I said that there was real fear in my voice. I had no idea if I'd still be on the farm in come the spring. I intended to, but intentions are worth the air you speak them into.

But I made it. I'm here. And not only did I get through that winter with the bottom of -20 degree nights and burst pipes - I managed to keep the farm and my wits through it all. Thanks, of course, to the readers that supported me through sales and scary times. And also through the power of this community - farmers, plumbers, firewood deliverers, feed sellers, friends, and plenty of podcasts. I felt lucky and grateful. I smiled after that sigh. The sun was shining and this was something to celebrate.

I had gone for a run earlier in the morning. A nice 10K; six rolling miles of farm and field. My area of Jackson, NY (just north of the town of Cambridge) was so excited for the sunshine. I ran past butterflies and chattering squirrels, past crows and redtails, and even (I swear to you!) a boy painting a white picket fence. With the vitamin D from above and music in my ears I allowed myself to feel safe for a while.

I allowed myself the permission to be proud of a morning of chores and miles, of the new delivery of baby chicks to the farmhouse this week (Thanks to Strombergs!) and the tuned fiddle by the kitchen door. These are small things and moments - but they shape the season's turning.

After the run I changed and took Merlin out for a ride. He was feeling his oats because it took ten minutes to catch him out in the field! Mabel watched, standing still, as Merlin and I paced around her. But after his initial hissy fit I slid the halter on and promised him just a nice walk in the woods.

We rode up to the top of the mountain. I took in the view of the gray trees without leaves, the brown earth just starting to look green again. Would we be here for the summer?

Even at a walk he was huffing, so we took it slow. As someone who just hours earlier was ready to throw up around mile 5, heading uphill along a highway, I could understand. He found his air and I found my seat and we even trotted a little. It felt amazing to be back in the saddle, back on the horse that taught me to love riding and feel at home on a pony's back.

As we headed down the mountain I had to remind myself of some lucky things:

You have a body that you take care of and takes care of you. You have a farm that you take care of, and takes care of you. You have kind neighbors, a promise of warm sourdough bread in the morning, a date with friends tomorrow, and the sun is shining. As easy as it is to get caught up in the fear of the keeping, there is the joy in the having. And if I don't stop on the back of a dark horse and recognize that I may forget.

Luceo Non Uro.

Wednesday, April 18, 2018

Lambs and Chicks

I am fighting this glum weather with sunny plans and music. I have my fiddle out and set beside my computer's work station. Every so often I pick it up and play a tune. I can't stress enough how much better I feel when I make time in my work day to drink a lot of water, exercise, and play music. It doesn't have to be gallons, miles, and hours of songs. A few glasses, a nice walk, a tune on the fiddle and I'm a better, healthier, kinder me.

New chicks will be delivered via post soon, probably tomorrow morning! I'll head down to the post office with the dogs and use the trip to mail out some soap as well, checking two items off my to do list with a grin.

I'm very excited, guys! New chicks lift up the entire mood of this farmhouse! Their songs remind me that while yes—it is still gray and snowing here in Veryork—by the time these birds are ready to move outside there will be green grass and sunshine. I can't wait for that boost. And like seedlings planted, or gardens plans drawn, these little steps towards production are in motion. And those steps are what turn a house into a farm. If you are using the land you occupy to grow food for yourself and others, congrats, you're farming. Welcome to the club.

In more cloudy news: I am getting suspicious that the other two ewes I am hoping will lamb, won't. This means buying in lambs like I did last year. I like the local Romneys available (like the ones pictures from last year) but would rather sell animals born here than ones I had to buy in. So fingers crossed for more lambs, kids, flowing milk, and wool in the next few weeks. In the meantime - I'm focusing on the work that pays the bills these days - design and illustration, as well as farm plans like dairy, eggs, lamb shares, and shorn beasties.

Monday, April 16, 2018

Bad Rain & Good News!

The wind outside is intense. Angry weather is roaring through the valley and even with the protection of the mountain some trees are down in the forest and large limbs have fallen near the driveway. Every few hours I head outside with the dogs to check on the horses and the flock, the sounder and goats, the poultry and hawk, and start the truck in the race against a possibly-damp distributor cap.

So outside is a howling mess but inside is a kinder, quieter, mess. Right now Bette the lamb is curled up by the wood stove, a defrosted quail beside her for Aya Cash's dinner. The dogs are close to me, curled up as well. I'm already feeling worn down from the day's client list and phone appointments; but generally optimistic. Here's why!

Good news! The weekend was a success and I was able to mail a mortgage payment this morning! This is the uphill clawing needed to catch up, and I will hopefully mail another this month to be even safer. Between this and a phone call this AM with some questions about taxes I had with my accountant - a HUGE sigh of relief was exhaled. May this weekend hopefully keep me (fingers crossed) ahead of any danger to my home.

More updates soon. Let's all pray no lambs feel the need to be born in the slurry outside!

Friday, April 13, 2018

Keep On!

My goal is to make enough money this weekend to mail a mortgage payment to keep the farm solvent and safely mine, even though it is behind. The 15th of the month is my cut off, and while I've been able to send in a house payment every month - it hasn't been enough to catch up. I'm trying to earn that through the work and skills I have to offer and in spring that means selling soap, classes, logos, and pet portraits.

So if you want to support this scrappy farm - now is the time! Logos, illustrations, classes, soaps! I can also offer signed books in bundles with soap orders, speaking events, dulcimer classes, fiddle lessons, etc! Email me at dogsinourparks@gmail.com

Thursday, April 12, 2018

Thank You

Readers,

Every once in a while I will suggest you consider subscribing to this blog. It's entirely free to read the posts, see the pictures, and share the adventure. It always will be. But all authors, artists, musicians, and creators depend on the people who appreciate their work to be patrons on some level.

If you own my books, thank you. If you share my blog posts, thank you. If you have come to a workshop or event here, thank you. And if you simply want to kick in $5 a month towards feed and hay - I thank you. It's a small way to both encourage me and help keep the lights on.

Like NPR stations, I'll be here to tune into whether you wish to subscribe and be a patron or not. But I do ask if you enjoy what you read here and do not already subscribe - to consider it. Please only do so if you feel the writing has value (as entertainment, inspiration, etc) and you can manage it.

Thank you,
-j

Want to make a one-time contribution?
https://www.paypal.me/JennaCAF

For a monthly contribution to the blog and to be a regular patron:


Digging Up The Positive

The farm is slowly thawing, with tiny shoots of green just starting to hint at their occupation. When you live halfway up the eastern slope of a mountain daylight is scarce, especially this time of year. If there's cloud cover it feels like sunset starts around 5PM as the sun starts to head west and shade the farm.  But this morning the sun was shining and there wasn't frost like yesterday morning. In bed I heard birds singing outside as I started to come to. It feels like change, I hope for the warmth promised by experience and rotation - more and more the older I get.

Last night I was visiting friends to use their washing machine and their farm was already starting to look green, out in the open fields that all face to the west. It's an odd feeling to be jealous of geographical placement, but there I was. I was grateful to use their machine, and for the clean sheets and towels, but coming home to the farm last night was hard. Panic is washing over me, and I wrote about it in more detail and then deleted the post. I don't know what good comes of focusing on the negative. Every day I wake up with a farm of animals that need to be fed, with a list of clients to address, with soap to make, packages to mail, and besides promoting what the farm has to offer - all I can do is the work itself and be calm and certain things will eventually get easier. And I need to remind myself that they are getting easier, day by day.

Keep digging out. Be patient with how dirty and tired you get trying. Be kind to yourself. 

Wednesday, April 11, 2018

Spring Flirting

Morning chores are behind me and the dogs are eating their breakfast of warm rice, a cracked raw egg, and kibble. I'm on my second cup of coffee and planning the day. We're in this shoulder season before true spring and it's like flirting.

While feeding the animals I was breaking  ice from water stations and crunching on frost across the dead lawn, but by mid afternoon I'll be out in the sunshine on my run convinced river swims are moments away. The whole thing is confusing and I like it. I should be heating the house more but I'm not. It seems like the fire times are behind me. I should be outside preparing for new life; lambs, seeds, chicks, and clean lawns. I raked up winter hay scattered around the yard for an hour yesterday. All I accomplished was making brown earth with snow clods on it less hay-scattered but green stuff will come. Ya gotta have faith.

I'm still waiting on two ewes to lamb. I have kids (I hope!) on the way as well. Spring butcher dates to arrange, banjo strings to tune, seeds to start, and brooders to clean. The weather is cold enough to allow me to hesitate on those things. But I am certain in the coming weekends there will be chicks at the post office and pitchforks of compost filling beds just waiting for cold-season crops.

Right now I am enjoying daily soap making, thanks to the goats of Northern Spy Farm in Vermont. My friends Dona and Brad let me pick up milk when I need it since they already freshened their Nubians and my freezer stash from my Alpines has dried up. The soap pictured above is a new experiment: bar soap! It's made with milk, coconut oil, olive oil, lye, honey, honeycomb, and oven-dried and ground spent grains from the local brewery's maple porter. It makes a scentless, exfoliating, soap of local goods. In my Norse animal mold it is just lovely. Already sold six bars on Twitter last night!

Follow me on Twitter if you want to hear about dating life, pop culture, and see more pics of the animals and farm. Right now I am keeping that part of my life off this blog but happy to share in that more casual space. 

Tuesday, April 10, 2018

Escapes and Teamwork!

I'm just back from a trip down my mountain road in search of escaped ewes. Spring means breakouts here, and I was in the shower when the alarms sounded. The system works like this: Ewes of young, athletic, ability leap or crawl under downed fences from winter windfall. Older sheep like Joseph, Brick, or Monday don't feel like exploring but still feel left out. Joseph is attached to the ladies and lets out a bawling baa that everyone in this house knows that something is up. I was halfway through moisturizing in the steamy bathroom when the dogs exploded with barks about Joseph's complaints. Goodbye self care, hello herding.

We got into the truck, me barely together with wet hair and blotchy skin from the hot water. A quarter-mile down the road I could see the fluffy sheep up in the forest, heading for the road. I pulled over and the dogs ran down into the forest, leaping across the stream, and ran up the mountain after the flock. It took moments for the woolies to turn on their heels and I shouted praises to Team Cold Antler!

The flock is back and my afternoon will include at least an hour of fence repair, looks like. Not the most fun way to spend a morning that isn't snowing or raining, but I couldn't be more proud of the dogs. They live like kings and work like dogs.

Wednesday, April 4, 2018

Get Me Going

As I'm typing an April snowfall is happening outside the window. The farm is sated from evening chores, the house is somewhat orderly, and my to-do list is checked off. So there is this feeling of low-bar accomplishment and determination. I got through this mud season day. I got the work done, the animal's settled, the place warmed up. What is left of a day fire is turning to coals in the stove and I am planning my first order of meat birds for spring. But in this snowfall, in this spring prep, I am thinking about summer. About how good it will feel to be sunburnt and bug bitten. About how great the sweat will feel and weeding before a thunderstorm will be. It's enough to get me going, I guess.


Sunday, April 1, 2018

Hot Shower, Clean Sheets, Fresh Coffee.

I was thrilled to find the seven eggs in the barn, tucked into corners and old rabbit nesting boxes. They were blue, green, and brown - my Easter egg hunt of the day. After weeks of snow and storms the hens were finally laying again and what a bounty! I slid them into my pockets with a grin before continuing my water rounds from the goat pen to the pigs. Or, where I hoped the pigs would be...

I just wanted those pigs to be minding their fence, which I rewired yesterday after I noticed three had escapade and were loose all over the farm. Thanks to Gibson and Friday they were back in their paddock in no time and busy with dinner grains - good dogs like those two make all the difference on this One Woman Farm. Second stroke of luck this morning: the pigs were exactly where they were supposed to be, thank Frey.

As I carried the buckets to the four black porkers (growing too slow for my taste if you'll allow the side comment) I thought of the possibility of baking some kind of mini soufflé later, thanks to my recent egg surplus. A complimentary dessert to my Sunday dinner thanks to the hens. I already had a big braided loaf in the oven, the kind that was boiled first and brushed with oil and sea salt before baking. I had defrosted a small ham steak for dinner and some goat cheese from last summer. The idea of a meal from these hands: fresh bread, my farm's meat and goat cheese, and a dessert of whipped eggs felt good enough to make my mouth water. Not a bad meal for a gal with two low digits in her bank account till she makes some sales. There are many ways to be rich.

I came inside and decided to spend the holiday with some self care. One of my favorite indulgences is a long, hot shower. I scrubbed myself down with the goats milk soap I made, another gift of the land. Another way to feel wealth. I felt my sore thighs, trying to be gentle with them as I washed. I noticed all the black and blue marks, the scratches, the scars. A farm woman is a range animal, for certain.

I wasn't upset at the sight of those flaws at all. Yesterday those legs carried my hobbit frame across eight miles of landscape, a truly great run in the sunshine! I ran to the town of Shushan and back! I came home to a strength workout followed by my first ride of the spring on Merlin (after I herded pigs). We weren't out long but I laughed as my thighs stung on his back. I was too happy to feel a gallop under me for the first time in ages.

I continued the Self Care Sunday with changing my sheets, something I do every time I shower and a mug of hot coffee. I hope I never get to a point in life where a hot shower, clean sheets, and a fresh cup of coffee isn't enough.

In other news: Bette the lamb is happy and healthy. Benjen the goat buckling is still sleeping indoors with us at night, but outside all day doing goat things. No new lambs yet, and I hope for two more at least - but I have the name of a local guy selling out his flock and hope to get some lambs from him at discount to raise for the customers I have. The promise of that shepherding work is good enough to make me feel like the farmer I intended to be.

I need a rooster, if you can believe it. This farm is oddly silent in the mornings. Falkor the Silkie rooster doesn't crow alone and he only minds the three hens in his care. I may have a lead on Craigslist, but I sent out the call for a mature rooster on Twitter as well. Here's hoping the word gets out.

The rest of my Sunday will include practicing Whiskey Before Breakfast on the fiddle, and possibly harnessing up Merlin in his collar and lines for some ground driving. I am trying to stay put and enjoy the food, activities, and goodness of this farm today without interruption of errands or off-farm adventures. This place is everything I worked to have and fight to keep. It gets all of me today.

Support Welcome! If you ever want to pitch in for hay/feed or just general morale support or writing contribution you can do so at: https://www.paypal.me/JennaCAF If you don't, that's fine too.

Easter Wishes!

To those of you who celebrate Easter or Passover, enjoy this day! This farm is celebrating in a small way by baking some braided bread and defrosting goat cheese for a delightful meal. I am grateful for the stored flour, yeast, salt, and cheese. Planning ahead for tough times and ensuring full bellies on a sunny day before hens are laying or gardens can be planted. I am not Christian but feel a day of rest that celebrates the work of hands and animals on a small homestead is festive enough to warrant some restful downtime. I hope your Sunday is relaxing and spent with family and friends that bring you nothing but kind and grateful feelings of Spring!

Friday, March 30, 2018

Bring On The Mud and Music!

It's a rainy day here at the farm. I have to head out for a hay pickup shortly, and am hoping to hear back from a possible lamb customer, but besides that it is a very quiet weekday. The house has muddy paw prints and the fire I lit this morning during chores has died down. It's far too warm out these days to use the bit of firewood I have left on luxury heat, so I am letting the embers do their quiet dance and bow out till dark.

Most of the snow is melting and being replaced with the smells of dark soil and wet hay. The horses were both soggy this morning from the soft rainfall. While feeding out their morning rations Mabel shook and made sure to share the wealth of muck and shedding hair on her back, covering my whole front and splatter on my glasses. I laughed for a solid minute!

It is such a joy seeing this horse that I was told would be too lame to do anything above a walked trail ride jump and run and boss around Merlin like the queen of the pasture she is. I can't wait for the snows to melt on the mountain and the ground to firm up again so I can spend summer afternoons with her again out on the trail.

Last night I met up with three friends at the Depot, (our town's train-station-turned-brewery) and worked up the nerve to ask the regular players of the Thursday Night Celtic Jam if I could play with them? I didn't have my fiddle but I did have a tin whistle and so I joined in for a song or two. It felt so great to meet the crew, shake hands, and see some of their amazing instruments. One man has a vintage Gibson J-45 (the guitar my dog is named after) and some vintage fiddles were there. Author Jim Kunstler was there as well, on his guitar and fiddle. It was a lovely night of music, and Friday was with me asleep at my feet while we played.

I am going to be positive as possible about the farm. I don't know what else I can do? Be calm, and positive, and hope for the best. Keep playing music and enjoy the gift of a beer bought by friends every once in a while. Outside the Depot everything was wet and windy last night, but inside were friends and dogs, beer and music, stories and song. I don't know anyone so anxious about money who manages to feel so wealthy.

May sunlight, luck, and good work find us all.

Wednesday, March 28, 2018

Could Do Worse

Winding down the month of March and the farm is still covered in snow. It is melting in sections, but living on the eastern side of a mountain means shade all summer but winter gets an extended stay. Things here are volatile but hopeful. A part-time job I have been working at just considered hiring me for 20 hours a week instead of 8-10. That could happen in the following weeks, but if it doesn't, at least the cold will have passed and energy and money put into heating the homestead can go towards seeds and gardens and chicks. I am so ready for spring I am tuning my banjo.

Earlier today my bread dough flopped. Maybe the flour or yeast I pulled from winter stores was too old? Maybe the kitchen was too cold? Instead of trashing it I rolled it into donuts, boiled it in salted water, brushed it in olive oil and sea salt. Baked into "bagels" which they technically aren't but damn if I didn't make the best out of a mediocre situation. Story of my life, baby.

Right now I am trying every trick in the book to stay solvent. I would be lying of just making it wasn't the goal. I hope things turn for the better, that some luck swoops in, or sales pick up. If not I know I have stale bagels and sunlight on the way. A girl could do worse. 

Tuesday, March 20, 2018

Eight Years of Gibson!

Gibson recently had a birthday, eight years old! He was the dog I dreamed of in the first paragraph of my very first book. The dog I secured online for a farm before I even bought a place to call our own. And the dog I picked up from the Albany airport in early summer of 2010 and brought home to his own 6-acre sheep-filled abode! Gibson means the world to me, and has been there for every triumph and tear on this land. I love you, Gibson. I love you every minute of your life.

Monday, March 19, 2018

Curated Lives

I have been thinking a lot about curated lives, a discussion I was introduced to via Dax Shepherd's podcast. In an interview with his wife, Kristin Bell, they talk at length about how much our society has changed and how modern social media effects our mental health. I'm paraphrasing but the gist was this:

We used to live in groups of a couple hundred, at most. When human civilization was new—and our social brains were forming—we were used to being celebrated for being best at something. In groups that small you were the fastest runner, the best fisherman, the best squash grower, the best hunter... You could excel and be awarded by your community for your contributions.

But now we are constantly on social media and instead of comparing our lives to another hundred people we're comparing them to several million. And we're comparing the real selves we know to the curated lives of strangers - people showing the pictures they want you to see, and ONLY those pictures. It's a recipe for a real bummer.

So now you're no longer content knowing you're the best goat herd in your village. Even if that is true you can scroll through the Instagrams of several thousand goat herds online. Goat herds with perfect lighting, effects filters, personal stylists, etc. None of us can compete with the best of the best in a selection pool of the millions, certainly not while looking at models with goats on screen while we eat our second bowl of oatmeal in our stained yoga pants...

As a blogger and memoirist I thought about this a lot. My Instagram is guilty of this, too. My blog, books, and Twitter account certainly aren't. (Arguably, I'm sharing too much of the imperfect on those.) Am I part of the problem? Even if you don't like reading what I am going through is it giving you the inevitable comparison hangover?

This is what I am thinking about heading into another Lambing Season Sunset. Should I post a lamb covered in placenta and out of focus on Instagram? Probably not. I should probably just focus on getting that lamb fed, warm, safe, and docked. But as a farmer sharing her life and story online I'm also mildly responsible to be realistic as possible. Kristin Bell's often on Instagram without any makeup talking about the raccoon ruining her yard. And she posts the entire process and team of people it takes to get her ready for an awards show: the spray-on makeup, boob tape, hair extensions, stylists, etc. I hope this blog does that for you, showing you the real story behind the chaos of a dream. The boob tape of a farm.

Misery is comparing ourselves to others. But as the podcast shares (and I can't recommend this podcast enough, especially this episode and the one with Ellen - Ellen is great but the discussion about the 4th Step in AA and how to better deal with people you resent is AMAZING) - it shares that while we may feel horrible comparing ourselves to the best stranger - we can often be happy comparing our current selves to our past. We get better as we get older.

Friday, March 16, 2018

Making My Bed

I keep writing and deleting posts here. It's been two days of starting passionate confessions and then removing them. I begin with this brutal honesty about my insecurities and real doubt I'll be able to keep this farm. How it's been too long without a book deal, loan, or lucky break. I write about not being able to sleep at night, about how long that has been going on, and how if I was in a relationship with anyone who mildly cared about me they would have convinced me to quit years ago (probably around the time both the toilet and hot water both didn't work).

I write about my winter angry as if I'm treating someone I love horribly. I made an enemy with my morning reflection. I haven't slept through the night in weeks. The stress eats you. The responsibility claws into you. And the fact that every mistake and failure is shared here or on Twitter makes it more like a public self-flagellation than anything else.

You get the gist.

These are not upbeat posts. Few posts this winter have been. It's been horrifically cold. An obsessed troll sent police officers to my door. I have managed to *just* keep ahead of foreclosure every month, which gives me about two days to exhale before I realize I'm already in trouble again with time. Rapid heartbeats and cold sweats are normal. I got sick recently and I don't think it had anything to do with disease.

Some times I'm glad it's just me here, because I mean to stay. I mean to see this place through till summer comes home. I have no idea how that'll happen but I know that every morning I wake up and I make my bed. I make it even though no one else will ever see it but me. I make it because it starts my day with the tiniest courtesy, the choice for order in a life so tenuous I started getting chest pains. I walk down the stairs to begin my day and remember these three things:

I am not a victim and never have been.
This is my fight and I chose it.
I can either keep going or quit.

And for some reason I choose to keep going.

I chose this life because it taught me the meaning I was searching for: a reason to exist. I know that sounds whimsically pretentious (at best) but my luckiest moment in life was when I found the upside-down puzzle piece of farming by accident and realized it fit perfectly into the hollow piece inside of me. Agriculture connects me to my ancestors, to myth, to religion and sex and celebrations and death! It lets me be civilized and an animal at the same time. It gave me strength and skills I could never even imagine while sitting in a college typography class forever ago. It brought me horse feathers and hawk talons and the glorious drunk-exhaustion of checking for babe lambs at 3AM in a snowstorm.

This life makes me feel wealthy in ridiculous ways. I recently got an email from friends swimming with whales on vacation by some steamy archipelago. All I could think about was how sad it was they could just pick up and leave a home that didn't need them. The poverty of their reality was palpable. Island vacations feel like a distraction to happiness, a job someone has to do to appear normal. That is, of course, my crazy belief. They feel the same poverty and pity for my story knowing I can not leave. We are both correct. We are simply different religions.

Living on this mountain with this particular mix of animals gave every season a story. Spring is for new livestock being born, shearing sheep, the first cold crops planted and prayers for warmer days. Summer is for fast horses, trout fishing, running across long stretches of farm roads, and lazy river swims. Fall is for eating all the hard work of summer, for bonfires, for ghost stories, for hunting, for preparing for long cold nights ahead and the real fear of not making it through. And winter is for flying trained hawks, snowshoeing through the forest, and proving those fall fears false.

Homesteading requires the sacrifice of presence. That cost is too high for most people to pay, at least on their own. Travel is social currency. Fill your passport and you're considered worldly. Stay on six acres by choice and you're a bumpkin. I'm a college educated, several-times-over published author but in any social setting of consequence that means very little when people hear I haven't spent a night away from my farm in over six years. My lifestyle goes from earthy and quaint to a recluse, or worse, prisoner.

Everyone I know that does leave their farm does so because they aren't alone. Most blogs sharing the country life include a husband, some kids, and an off-camera a second income, health insurance, and a 401k. Let me be clear - none of those things are bad. They just aren't mine.

Cold Antler Farm is not a 501c3. It is not getting checks from the government, not in subsidies or any other form of assistance. It isn't funded by a spouse, or my parents, or some cashed-in investment or magical inheritance. It's one woman waking up and making a list, hoping for luck, and having the brutal audacity to believe she'll do it again the next day.

I have a couple hundred bucks in my checking account, a heart, and two working hands. They're all backed up by a head running on fumes and the proof positive of eight years of figuring it out alone. I let that be the reality I believe in.

We aren't the sum of our mistakes. We're a collection of the lessons we learned from them and person we are trying to become. Every year I become stronger, smarter, more certain, more ready to do whatever it takes to legally keep this place in my name. And I need to believe in that version of me because the other option is leaving the only thing that ever gave this world sense behind. 

I made my bed and I plan to lie in it,
 even a few weeks from now,
even alone,
even afraid.

Wednesday, March 14, 2018

Hard Snow

This dispatch from the mountain comes under a blanket of snow. Three storms in the past ten days, all with significant snowfall. All hitting after a glorious week of grass showing and 65-degree days. Spring exploded onto the scene and neighbors were harnessing their draft horses to spring harrowing. Dogs were dragging in muddy prints. Lambs were born, roads cleared, daylight savings and all that jazz...

Then snow. And that burst in nice weather had me running and feeling great, but I may have outdone myself as I'm dealing with a tight chest and shortness of breath doing things my body rarely even notices doing before - like picking up water buckets or moving haybales.  I am worried it's the flu or pneumonia but I think it's just anxiety. The only cure I know for that is putting my head down and dealing with one issue at a time. The farm is out of firewood, and all income is going towards hay, feed, and bills right now.

In other farm news the little lamb, Bette, is doing well and so far no new lambs have arrived but I am checking every night and day on the flock.  Benjen was outside in his our graduate pen—now a 40lb pre-teen buck the size of a small Labrador—but the intense snow has him outside only when the dogs are I are outside doing chores. So every morning when I come downstairs there is the sounds of wailing cats demanding breakfast, a hungry lamb bleat, a screaming goat, and dogs circling my legs to go outside. It takes about an hour to get the livestock (indoor) cages cleaned out, sanitized, and lined with new hay. Then the work of the farm outside takes over.

If you don't see me writing here often it's because of stress. Everyone wants to share about their passion when things are looking hopeful. When things are a fight writing about them makes me even more stressed out. It's like mowing the lawn on a house you're struggling to pay for - you do it, because that's the kind of mental and community action a responsible homeowner does - but the whole time is mental dribbling about what's next? How will we get through?

My comfort is that this feeling is normal now. That things will get better, or at least, warmer - and complications of fire and snow will recede. I'm mostly worried I am getting sick, but that's not really an option even if I am sick, the farm comes first. So I'm taking it slow, breathing deep, dealing with one problem at a time the best I can, and keeping on.


Thursday, March 8, 2018

Come to Cold Antler & Leave a Fiddler or Archer!

Come to this farm this summer (or fall) for a special trip to see this place and leave with a new skill and the tools to practice it at home. I offer half and full day workshops in either fiddle or archery for beginners. The requirements are easy - come willing to learn with the ability to hold a fiddle or draw a bow, and we take it from there. You don't need to have any athletic or musical experience. These two passions of mine can be taught to anyone with the will to learn, a sense of humor, and the stubbornness to practice at home. I provide the instruments (class comes with your own longbow or student fiddle!) and you leave learning how to play your first song or safely shoot your first bow.

These classes also make great gifts! Want to give your spouse the ability to play a song or shoot a bulls eye? You can buy them from me and get a printable pdf emailed you can set into a card or wrap as a gift. The card lets the gift receiver set up their own date and time for the class at their choice. Classes here include:

Fiddle Indie Day: A student fiddle, spare strings, bow, and case. Class covers care and feeding, tuning, your first scale, your first song, and practicing at home. Play among sheep, goats, chickens and horses on the side of a mountain. Half or full day options - full day includes more practice time, a second song and scale as well.

Archery Indie Day: A palm wood long bow and string. Class covers care and feeding, safety, equipment and range rules, instinctive archery shooting and aim, target practice, and beginner tips and lessons in bow and arrow fitting.  Half or full day options - full day includes more practice time and a woodland field course shooting through cover, down cliffs, and at animal targets on trail.

You can also sign up for both in the same day, which means a morning of music followed by an hour lunch break and then an afternoon of archery. Prices vary by amount of students and times. Base price for a half day with fiddle/bow is $250. Email me to sign up at dogsinourparks@gmail.com

P.S. I also have done custom classes in Chicken 101, Goats & Soapmaking, Mountain Dulcimer, Beginner Horsemanship & Driving, Rabbits, etc. Ask for a custom class if interested!

Tuesday, March 6, 2018

Keep On Truckin' Thanks Kiva!

Good morning from Cold Antler Farm! Thanks to Kiva this farm was able to buy this truck years ago, the same summer I picked up Friday from the airport in Albany. It's an 1989 F150 and if a vehicle could be an avatar, this truck is me. I love her. I started her up this morning and she roared like a happy tiger kitten. This will be our third summer together and it was all because of that loan.

That loan was paid off early and this past summer a second loan was taken out for farm updates/truck repairs - happy to report this morning that second loan is 20% paid off! Staying up on those repayments to the people who have faith in the farm is so important. Those lenders are what keep this going and I am so glad. I hope to pay it off early as well. I also make sure the money I put into Kiva is recirculated back into other farmers around the world. I think I have re-loaned the same $75 seven times now? Helping people in the US and abroad with their farms and businesses. I'm posting this today not just to say thank you and to share the update on the loan but to encourage those of you who haven't logged into Kiva to relend some of the money that was repaid to you. It's just sitting in your account today, and if you don't need to return it to your own bank you can help make a farmer's life easier. Never loaned money with Kiva? Check them out and see who you can help shine!

Or, maybe you run a farm and need to apply like I have in the past. If you do apply and get approved, please let me know via email or Twitter/Instagram. I will signal boost your story!

Sunday, March 4, 2018

Sunday Off

After a week of oddly warm weather I'm a little off balance with the return of the snow. I was getting back into the habit of daily running and even flirting with the idea of riding my horses, but the storm has covered this place in a new coat of snow and winter has returned. It has snowed lightly all day.

I spent most of this Sunday taking time off from my work and besides packing up some books and soap for the post office - wasn't very productive outside farm chores. I need to remind myself it's okay to take a Sunday off once in a while. When you work for yourself it's hard to know when to stop or when to allow yourself to slow down. Especially when clients waiting on illustrations or designs are off from their work and have time to email changes and updates over the weekend.

So I have an under bite and grind my teeth when I sleep. Apparently this is the perfect storm for destroying non-silver fillings. I just flossed and an entire root-canal porcelain filling popped out the size of a peppercorn. This isn't pleasant but since it just happened I thought I'd share about it since I'm worried about it and have manifested a headache. Looks like I'll be on a liquid diet till it's repaired. Fun.








No new lambs have arrived since Bette.  I am checking a few times through the night and hoping for good mothers. The goats aren't due till near the end of April to May, depending on how well Rocco succeeded in doing his one job. He is mighty short compared to them and so I am only half expecting kids.

Geez, the tone of today's update sounds dark. It was a cloudy day running on little sleep with a broken filling. But it was also a day I woke up on my own farm, cared for a crew of healthy animals, bottle fed a baby lamb and bodacious goat, and still managed to get some boxes ready for the post office. And those warm days will come back, and maybe a liquid diet of juice is exactly what I need to aid in my running and fitness goals. You known what, just writing this paragraph helped.

Sunday off!


Friday, March 2, 2018

Chess In The Storm

It's lambing season and I am dealing with a snow storm on four hours of erratic sleep. Every time I did fall asleep I woke up an hour later, went to the window with Gibson (Friday stayed in bed) and listened for the cries of lambs. Every 4 hours we are outside checking, more often if a ewe seems to be close to the big show. I'm kind of a mess right now but presently dry, in clean clothes post a hot shower, and my nail polish is only slightly chipped so bring on the world.

I was up until Midnight last night. I was finishing up my last check on the ewes before bed when the first fat flakes of this storm started to fall. My friend Leah was over for a Girls Night, and we had just finished a movie with the dogs when I asked her to help me put on Mabel's blanket before she headed home to her own farm. She held the flashlight while I attached the snaps and buckles that secured the big mare's blanket. Mabel stood so well for us both, despite the snowfall and dogs racing around her legs. She's a good one, her.

I woke up for the day around 4:45. I went out to check on the flock again and the storm was in full force at that point. I walked up into the fields with a flashlight and my two collies, racing around me. When they got too far they were lost in the squall and my heart beat too fast for comfort. The sheep were in their shelters and the horses were under the old apple trees. Merlin refuses to use the pole barn unless there's hail or meteors. Mabel's blanket was her bulwark against the elements. I said hello to them before heading back inside to make breakfast and start the day's first cup of coffee.

Now that you're here, let me explain why I'm bottle feeding Bette Midler. Here's why: I'm just one person. It was after 8PM when I got home and discovered her. I wasn't expecting lambs for a week or so at the earliest. When I tried to see if her mom would claim her; Hannah ran off - a black sheep into the black night. She was leaping across a three-acre hillside. Time for decision...

 I knew I could set up a jug for her in the smaller sheep shelter and put down fresh bedding. I could run inside, gather supplies, set up heat lamps and extension cords and tarp up the wall with the loose boards that let snow in. I could install a water bucket on a snap clip, build a gate, and then run around the field alone trying to catch the ewe on the lam (Off the lamb?!). I could try to bribe her with grain but that seemed impossible without including two big horses and six other sheep also gathering in a tight space for grain. I don't have health insurance and I wasn't going to try and pull one 150lb animal out of a flurry of grain crazies in the dark with a bossy 1200lb mare. So instead of that "easy" option I would have to chase, corner, trap, catch and drag Hannah into this jug setup I built in the 25º dark. Once her and her lamb were inside said jug I'd have to pin her against the wall and force her to let the lamb nurse. If I managed all that I would sit with them and repeat the process into the night hoping they would bond so Hannah could raise her. You know, the easy way for us shepherds!

But I didn't do any of that. You know why? Because it was easier on every animal on this farm to just bottle feed the ewe for a few weeks and then bring her to the flock. I wasn't going to play social worker to a deadbeat young mom. I would bring the lamb inside, wrap her in a towel, dry her, feed her, and have her asleep in my arms within two episodes of The West Wing. I have done it many times before. I took a vote of all the residents in the house and no one cared if a lamb joined our living room menagerie so that's why Bette Midler is inside. And with this storm raging I am glad. Her next bottle feeding (and my next coffee infusion) is set for twenty minutes from now. I'm all about that schedule.

I have two ewes left to lamb. Hannah gave birth to little Bette and Marnie and Jessa (same age as Hannah) have yet to deliver. My oldest ewe, Brick, is now pushing 13 and I don't think she has a lamb in her which is a shame since some of the finest ram lambs this farm ever produced were her own. So unless I get two sets of twins I'll be buying in some meat lambs to raise on pasture and grain, which I did last spring to fulfill shares.

That's how spring goes on a farm like this. The ol' chess board gets dusted off and set up and the strategy for a summer begins. Lambs are one piece, piglets another, chicks, poults, ducklings, kids.. all pieces. My chess board would be just the knight pieces - but instead of horse heads they would be every beast I raise and able to move in every direction, levitate, and then die or make more pieces...

Actually, now regular chess seems like a breeze.

I just got off the phone with the electric company about a payment plan to stop the power from being shut off. Not a pleasant way to spend a snowstorm but I don't want any of you thinking this is some ski resort in the mountains. I put all my energy and sales into the last mortgage payment and fell behind on the electric bill, which spiked rocket high during the intense deep freeze in December/January. Another chess piece on the board, another problem to solve.

Guys, farming isn't for everyone.

Whew, I am so messy right now. A little raw, a little anxious. I put a big pot of dark roast coffee on the stove and have another ten pounds stored in the larder. The does aren't freshened yet to be providing cream on tap here, but I do have powdered creamer and 20lbs of stored sugar. That's a true comfort at a broke place fueled by caffeine fumes. The storm might be howling out there but inside things are comfortable enough. A good song, hot drink, and dry socks make all the difference in attitude around here.

Onward into the storm, into lambing, into choices and luckless slinging and all the dirty joy.

Thursday, March 1, 2018

One Half Lamb Share Left!!!!

If you live locally (I am north of Albany, NY) and are interested in a whole or half lamb (with option to buy tanned fleeces off your lamb as well, if you buy the whole) - please contact me now! My lambs are either born here from my stock of Scottish Blackface/Romneys or they are bought in from local farmers in the spring and raised until butcher time in October or November. Expect a whole lamb to weigh 40lbs in meat (not live/hanging weight, but actual packaged meat). You are also welcome to choose your lamb from photos once they are born/purchased. CAF lamb are raised on grass, outdoors, with sunlight and rainfall and two bossy horses keeping an eye on them. References on request if you need them.

To inquire:  message me through email, Instagram or Twitter! I have 2 shares to sell for the coming spring. Thanks for your interest!

Tuesday, February 27, 2018

Hello Dolly!

The first lamb of the season arrived last night and there she is! She's a bottle baby and doing well. She is eating, pooping, walking and communicating just as a bonnie little lass should. as her mother Hannah wants nothing to do with her. That's another story for another post but right now I want to share the sweetness of this black sheep. I named her Bette Midler, just because when I first saw her I said "Hello Dolly!"

She surprised me. I wasn't expecting lambs until next week at the earliest. But when I got out of the truck after having dinner with friend's at their farm I heard the distinct bleating of a baby. I darted my eyes into the dark pasture and saw this tiny gal navigating around Merlin's plate-sized feet! Forever a gentle giant, he side stepped without hurting her and I scooped up the loud and eager lamb and realized she was still damp. Whomever gave birth to her didn't even have the mothering instinct to clean her off. It wasn't freezing out but the temperatures were dropping fast so I wrapped her in a towel, defrosted and warmed up some goat colostrum, and she took to the fireside and bottle right quick.

Lambwatch 2018 has begun!

Thursday, February 22, 2018

Still Hawking!

It's been a wonderful falconry season here, and not because of the hunts (which are always great) but because of the people. The new apprentices in the area have been so fun to get to know. When I get a chance to help a new falconer their trapping and training it brings back the first feelings of excitement I had for the sport. It's magic and feathers. But besides the new kids; friends I have had for years in the sport are becoming more like family. I think if you're the kind of person that wants to take on a bird of prey you have a lot of in common with others of like mind!

I am so in love with these animals, this sport, these people. I hope to do it for the rest of my life, and learn to work with other raptors like kestrels, goshawks, merlins, and falcons of other sorts. I am in no rush, and truly love the partnerships I have had with all three of my redtails - but new species and stories are out there. What a magical and heart-beating sport outdoors!

Earlier this week my sponsor Leigh and his other apprentice, Liz, and I all got together for a hunt. Aya Cash did so well, chasing a rabbit at least twice her weight up a hillside. It slipped but hearing all the whoops and cheers from the group was a rush! I also got to watch the excitement of Liz taking her bird Auburn out for the longest session of free flying it ever did. That bird of hers was in the air and trees for a good 40 minutes and Liz came home with her. I could tell she was getting nervous but the relief on her face when the bird flew back to her at the end of the hunt was like watching someone win a medal. What an accomplishment for a 17-year-old! What a day of snow, friends, hawks, rabbits, and hard workouts! And it all ended in a friends' kitchen with cookies and bourbon (for the adults) and cocoa for those who do not imbibe. A fine day.