My Hero!

Goat Cats

My cats live by a maxim all goats know well, something I learned from Josh KP from the Beekman Farm, just south of here:

"If there is someplace to stand around and do nothing that is higher up than the current place you’re standing around doing nothing, it’s worth the effort to move."

My cats are always up in a tree, sitting on bales in the back of the pickup, or watching me enter the house from the top step. They are cavalier about heights, which I am very very afraid of and avoid at all costs. I consider this a rational fear. If I fall off Merlin at a full gallop I only fall 5 feet. But getting on a plane always feels like it could be the last time I leave the ground. At least with a horse fall I have a chance! But my cats, they would happily perch on jet wings if it gave them a better view of a mole 30,000 feet below the ground, fear be damned.

Wet Lawns

It has been a very wet spring around here. If it's not raining it's wicked humid and the sun is shining, making lawns look more like Jurassic Park sets than landscaping. I mowed the grass this morning and it felt like I should have had a machete and rope instead of my little push mower. The job got done and when I was through I raked up what I could of the fresh chop and handed it to the horses over their gate. In the mornings the sheep have free range on the back pasture's lush grass and the horses wait their turn. With little lambs I don't trust the excitable Jasper not to run one over. So While the two steeds were looking over their fence line like inmates at the herd of sheep ripping grass I gave them some take out. They accepted it but you knew it wasn't good as the real thing. They nibbled on it like I handed them a stale Hydrox when all they wanted was a double-stuffed Oreo field. First world horse problem. They'll make it.

The little twins are growing strong and no longer have long tails. They follow mom and can run like the wind when they want to. It's nice having them here, even if they are only staying till the holidays. Which reminds me, I need to call Greg Stratton about the two hogs in the barn. The girls, Whiskey and Rye are ready for their big day. They are large and eating me out of house and home, along with the chickens! I am spending (no joke) $180 a week deeming everyone fed here. Thats mostly going into bags of chicken feed (a fifty pound bag lasts two days) and three bags of pig grain a week. When all these chickens, pigs, and lambs are in the freezer I will be a lot less stressed out about grocery bills.

In contrast, my weekly grocery bill is somewhere around $35 bucks.

I am putting off a very important post about the future of Cold Antler Farm, and what it can manage to maintain. It's not bad news, just realistic news. A year into self-employment and things are rocky, to put it euphemistically. It's not so much an issue about money as it is about space, resources, and time. I would like to offer some of my American Bresse hens and Roosters to those interested in the famous farm bird of Europe, as well as expand the pork to a woodlot operation instead of the barn. I need to figure out new sources of income as well, mostly on the writing side of things. I have a big idea for a new book I am putting the proposal together for but like all "big ideas" in publishing it takes more magic to get it into a contact that it did to find this farm and move into it. But I am staying positive that its going places. I sure have been doing my research for it.

Tuesdays are slow around here, a day to clean and run into town for the Laundromat. I think I'm hosting some guests from Australia later for a game night with Tyler and Tara, so that should be fun. I love a game night and already have a crock pot full of pulled pork handy, so no one will be hungry while trading wood for sheep during Settlers. If that sentence confused you, it's just trading cards. On a blog where the writer actually trades real sheep for firewood it can get confusing, I know.

Sun is on his way back soon, soon as tomorrow. Thats something to look forward to. It'll make the mowing easier at least! And I'm meeting my dad for dinner in Bennington, which is a treat. He's up this way on a business trip and we are sneaking in some family time and a nice sit down dinner. Thursday is Ben Hewitt's talk here in town and after years of swapping emails and reading blogs I finally get to meet the fellow and his family! Very excited, and his book speaks volumes to me. It's called Saved, and it's about letting go of money as a way to happiness. Trust me Ben, I don't think money will make me happy but I do think it'll get the collection phone calls to stop. My goal is to pay off debt so I can find my way into the life this book talks about. It'll be inspiring for sure!

Ben's In Town Thursday! I'll Be There!

When Ben Hewitt met Erik Gillard, he was amazed. Here was a real-life rebel living happily and comfortably in small-town Vermont on less than $10,000 per year. Gillard’s no bum. He has a job, a girlfriend, good friends, and strong ties to the community. But how he lives his life–and why–launches Hewitt on a quest to understand the true role of money and mindless consumerism in our lives. By meeting and befriending people like Erik Gillard, Hewitt realized that their happiness was real. What was he–and the rest of a deeply unhappy population–missing?

Saved is the humorous, surprising, and ultimately life-changing result of Hewitt’s quest, a narrative that challenges everything we know about the meaning of money. Hewitt uses his sharp eye for story, exhaustive reporting, and his own experience living below his means to bring what he learned into an even larger context. How does money really work? How can a bankrupt society move forward? The answers are not what you think, and Hewitt has written an important book for our times.

Thursday, June 20th
7:00 pm
Battenkill Books
FREE!

Monday Nights Mean Possible Owlbears

My Part Time Job

I spent today at the British School of Falconry in Manchester Vermont. It's about a thirty minute drive from Cold Antler. It's also the location of my summer part-time job teaching archery to beginners. Today I was there to instruct a family from New Hampshire in a two-hour course in traditional archery. We started with a safety lesson and instruction on stance, arms, draw, and aim and then spent 45 minutes learning to shoot targets in a beautiful open field. As we shot the occasional Harris Hawk swooped by to visit us and I couldn't hide my smile as I told the archers on the line to hold. I thought to myself, This is my JOB now. I work at a place where falconry and forest hikes are something I am paid to do. This never stops amazing me, even a few weeks into the gig.

We shot under cloudy skies but it didn't rain. The weather held off. When everyone felt confident with their mad skills we went for a walk through the forest. There's a trail that leads around curves and bends to 3D animal targets hidden in the foliage. My students got to really use what they learned out there on the target stretch, aiming at large bear and deer targets from platforms and behind posts. It was a great way to spend a Sunday afternoon. I felt like I was on vacation, too!

I found this video online of the British School of Falconry. If you watch it you'll see my new place of work, meet Rob my boss (the English Gent) and get a feel for what my office life is like now! And if you are ever up in this area and want to learn what its like to hike with hawks on your arms, stop by for a lesson. This is the last season the School will be at this beautiful location connected with the Equinox Resort. So come and book a lesson and hawk walk, and you may see my truck parked there too. If you do I'll be out in the archery fields! Make sure you wave!

Announcing Bed, Book, and Bok Bok!

Two days of raised bed gardening, writing, and chickens! In this workshop we'll spend a weekend together making something out of nothing. We'll go through the entire process of turning a patch of lawn into a vegetable garden with nothing but a hoe, some boards, nails, a hammer, and the natural compost from this farm. We'll plant it too, and talk about what is being planted and why. We'll also cover basic ways to turn that hard-working patch of lawn into a three-season salad bar by adding a simple poly-tunnel cover to it. It'll be an outdoor workshop, rain or shine, and together we'll work a little piece of land into something fantastic; a backyard grocery. You can go home and do the same thing on your own turf and have a little backyard salad bar with a plastic cover that can extend the kale, spinach, and lettuce we'll plant right through frost! It's never too late to start a garden, even in late July!

That will be with the bulk of Saturday. The afternoon will involve a rest under the Maple tree to talk about writing, books, and I'll do some reading from stuff I am working on for the future. A little literary performance plus a long Q&A about blogging, publishing, and the genre of farm memoir. That night there will be a campfire (weather permitting) at the farm. No plans but to enjoy each other's company at that. It isn't part of the workshop as much as a private party to enjoy campfire light and fireflies and some fiddle tunes.

Sunday will be a day entirely about things that go Bok. A full day dedicated to backyard chickens! We'll cover everything you need to know from bringing home your first chicks or adult layers to nutrition, health, predators, and butchering. There won't be a live demo of an animal being butchered but there will be a discussion about it and explanation of how it is done and options for those not interested in gutting poultry. Growing your own food doesn't have to be all or nothing. You can pick apples and take them to a mill to be turned into cider. You can buy started six-packs of veggies from a greenhouse. You can pay for a professional to slaughter your fowl. More mindful and agricultural living isn't about doing it all yourself as much as it is knowing where your food comes from. Consider this a beginner's weekend on all fronts!

This is a great workshop for people in towns, urban, and suburban areas. It shows you how to take those very first steps towards a more self-sufficient life. The skills to create a raised bed garden transcend many levels of growing food, and the basics of solid chicken care are the foundation for any future dreams of dairy goats or draft horses. Make this the first step in getting your hands dirty and face smiling. And absolute country living newbies are welcome! You don't have to know a single thing about gardens or poultry to attend, and you may even get the most out of it! So come visit the farm, spend two days working and laughing with amazing people from all over the Northeast (and sometimes farther!) and stay for a hard cider and fiddle tune by the campfire.

Date: July 27-28th 2013 in Jackson
10AM-4PM both days
Cost: $200
Class Limit: 15

photo by jon katz

Falconry Update! Welcome to the New Age!

For those of you following along in my Falconry Journey, here is an update on all things hawk in my life. Back in April I took the state's written exam for prospective Falconer's. I needed to score an 80 or higher to be allowed to move forward with the process. I studied and studied, and studied some more and I ended up scoring a solid 91 on the test! A few weeks later I got a packet of "next steps" which includes all the requirements I need to prepare to trap, train, and own a bird of prey. I have the summer to build a MEWS (hawk house), weathering area, gather supplies, and get a state game official to come and inspect my property, supplies, and the hawk house. If I have this all collected, built, and signed off on by the state I am allowed to get some paperwork signed by my mentor Ed Hepp and mail in my official license application. Whew. I'm getting winded just writing about it!

It's overwhelming to me, too. But I am just setting it into little steps. My next step is to have Ed come to the farm and exam my property and find the best place to build the MEWS. Once I have his advice in my head, I will save money up and gather the help of friends to build the little 8x8 house for the redtail (or kestrel). That is where my head is at right now. Get Ed to the farm, listen to him very, very, very hard and write down everything he says. He knows more about this sport than any book or exam paper ever could teach me. Once I have his opinion/blessing I will plan the building of the structure.

Once I have the house made I will need to build the weathering area next, which is an outdoor chain link area that sun, wind, and rain can get on the hawk. It needs a special bath tub and perches, but it should be easy enough to create thanks to a dog run at Tractor Supply. When both the MEWS and weathering area are up I need to order some hawk gear like hoods, jesses, a travel box, and a digital perch scale from some outfitters and I'll gather them by and by. I already have some of the gear I need like my left hand gauntlet and a creance. If you have no idea what I'm talking about don't worry. All I'm saying is I need hawk tackle and so far I have a glove and a leash. I already have all the state's hunter's safety requirements and a small game license so that huge part of the process is already done.

I hope to have everything here and ready for State Inspection by early August. Then I can gather my approved paperwork and have Ed fill out the stuff that lets the state know he is taking responsibility for me as his apprentice and will be joining me on our first hunting trips. When all this is done, all of it, I am allpowed to send it all to the capital with a check for $40 and they will return to me a bone fide Falconer's Apprentice State License. It legally allows me to trap and train a wild juvenile red tail hawk and be its keeper while we learn to hunt together.

After a few hunting trips I am free to take my hawk on my arm, saddle up my horse, and ride into the autumn mountains with my black highland pony while a hawk flies overhead! Can you imagine it? I can. And when I do imagine it the Pentatonix and Lindsey Stirling are covering radioactive as the soundtrack. (Thank you, Grace Helbig for the link.) That is one badass version of that song, created with only two stringed instruments, a human beat box, and a few voices. Every time I hear it I want to be cantering Merlin up a hillside in October with my own hawk alongside us, swooping ahead on the trail as as hunt pheasants, rabbits, quail, and squirrels. I shake just thinking about it. I mean, if you're going to be excited about one life, might as well be your own...

And That, boys and girls, is Living Like Fiction!

It's This Kind of Afternoon in the WC!

Hello, Harto!

Hannah Hart's travel show (which is a show about people trying to film a travel show more than a travel show) is amazing. The My Drunk Kitchen Web Series star has created something you should not be missing out on. Why? Not only is it funny as hell, but every city this woman and her crew visits to make a funny video also corresponds with a food drive. This youtuber has collected over 70,000 pounds of food for charity and has been involved in every aspect of food in foodbanks across America. Check out her show and see if you can help out at a local event. It kicks off in San Francisco and is currently, I think, in New Orleans? Here's the first city and mini documentary (just 7 minutes long) about what the show is doing to fight hunger.

A Year Since

It's been one year since I left my corporate job.

Every Day!

You know that saying, Do something every day that scares you? Well, when you run a small farm that isn't always a choice as much as a demand. I'm scared of heights but not as much as my livestock is hungry for hay. Since my pasture space is small I need to feed hay all year round, at least to some of the stock. This late in the season/early in the new season hay is scarce. I find myself crawling up into lofts and ancient barn spaces to find it, like a quest from the old storybooks. This is a photo looking down the handmade wall ladder to a second story loft in an old barn in Cambridge. I climbed it in cowboy boots. I didn't look down. It scared the crap out of me!

You Alone Up There?

I was driving down my mountain road when I saw a neighbor out for a walk. I knew her by sight as a local but had never introduced myself to her. She was a retiree, out for a mid-morning stroll and enjoying the daylight I was racing to burn. I pulled over and said hello and explained where I lived and made smalltalk. She was polite, of course. Then she asked a question a lot of folks around here ask me. "Is it just you at that place?" and I nod and smile and say yes it is, and without fail the response is negative. Folks look either overwhelmed -eyes rolling up into their heads, or piteous, or some even get concerned. It's the opposite reaction I get from people online. You guys see Cold Antler as something heroic, a dream come true. Around here people see it as a lot of work, and one person at the wheel. It isn't heroic to them at all. It's lonely.

No one ever means anything offensive by their looks or response and I never take it that way. I think the idea of a small farm is so rooted in family and, well, roots, that a single person homesteading seems incorrect, especially to rural people a few decades older than me. I am asked if I am lonely a lot, or rather told this about myself. "Must be lonely up there, Eh?!" and I make some sort of joke or smile. I usually tell them the truth, that I'm too busy most of the time to be lonely. And I am.

I was thinking about this a lot today. If everyone around here is worried about my singleness, should I be? Does it make me an outcast? Do people in town think I'm odd, or broken, or an object to shake your head at while you take off your cap? I don't know. I do know that a love life isn't a part of who I currently am. I'm far too gun shy and suspicious of men and their motives, a self-inflicted wound that's festered through bad decisions and poor judgement . I am smart about some things but when it comes to men I am a fucking idiot.

So am I lonely? I don't think so. I'm anxious and scared a lot, but not lonely. When I get stressed out it isn't people I turn to - animals or writing is where I crave sanctuary.  I was always that way. If I am lonely it is such a part of me it isn't effecting me or considered. I'm lonely the way I'm 5'3" and have green eyes. I don't spend any time thinking about it - I just am those things. It isn't a sad thing at all, though I guess it may sound that way. I'll put it like this. When I am around couples I do not envy them or think about being in their place with someone I love. It never even crosses my mind. It would be like going on a hike and wondering what I am missing out on by not being a tree. I'm not a tree. I don't take part in tree things or tree business. Those things are for trees.

Damn am I happy the comments aren't live anymore.

If being lonely is any sort of hindrance I don't realize it. It's like a backpack I always carry around and just assume that the extra weight was always there. I'm sure when it gets taken off at some point (and it will) I'll understand how it feels to be instantly lighter. Or maybe this will always be a One Woman Farm? Either way is fine with me. Too much can happen in a week, much less a lifetime, to have any sort of plans or made-up-minds. I am grateful to be authentically alone. I'd rather be here than in a relationship I feel trapped in, which I am terrified of and wouldn't wish on anybody.

I guess the neighborhood will continue to feel bad for me for being alone here, or whatever it is they feel. Honestly, it's none of my business what other people think about me. That is their work, not mine. I do know anyone who thinks this much about a three-second response from a neighbor probably isn't in the headspace for dinner and a movie. She's probably in the headspace for a long jog and a bourbon. In that order.

Dave the Farrier & Merlin

Braveheart Days

The sheep are currently hiding from the rain and muggy bugs in their two comfortable sheep sheds on the hillside. I can't blame them for their lack of verve, it's been a messy few days. With only Sunday afternoon as the exception, the last week has been nothing by rain. Around this farm it's called "Braveheart Days" because any daylight met with wind and rain and general green-weather uncomfortableness seems like weather to watch a that movie in. So look at this picture of the flock, taken on a non-Braveheart Day and just picture the opposite. Picture everyone smelling like wet lanolin and mud up to their shins and not even the gak gak crak of crows to sing to them. In this moist, humid, damp happy there are just the songbirds and robins.

I like Braveheart Days. I like being out in them, doing chores and I like watching them from the vantage point of a warm cup of coffee. It was a busy morning out there today. I did the usual animal and dairy work and then I had to catch three of the Black Copper Maran's I raised from a batch hatched at Common Sense Farm for a friend who needed to replenish his flock. It was me and Gibson out there in the rain and wet leaves of the forest by the farm, but together we have nailed our chicken wrangling to quite the impressive scene. Twice (two of the three birds we trapped!) were caught by Gibson chasing them right into my arms. When it comes to Jenna or the Teeth Machine, most chickens pick Jenna.

I'm working on writing up some new workshops for the late summer and fall and trying to figure out the rest of the month on paper. So far things are coming along, and if all goes as planned I may even make up some late bills today. But besides farm and office work I have no larger goals than a trip to the laundry mat and light jog if the rain stops to a dull roar so I can plod up and down the mountain here. Not a day of big consequence on this mountain, but a day none the less.

The Three Best Ways to Get Around

Stotting, Proking and Pronging

On the level ground around the farmhouse the juvenile chickens are learning how to become chickens. Just a hundred yards away, on the opposite side of my house, the lambs are learning to be sheep. Both species have a verve you just don’t see in their adult forms. Just as the birds are firecrackers, the sheep are little pistols in their own right. The little Scottish Blackface lambs look nothing like the white angels most people picture when they hear the word lamb. Instead they are born into this world like Muppet monsters, all shaggy hair, tiny round horns, big eyes and hooves most people assume they are goats. A few people demand they are goats, and when I call the splotched hairy babies sheep they patiently correct me. I can’t blame these people for their evaluation, Highland sheep are not common around here or most places. You won’t see them in the 4-H tents at the county fair and since most shepherds around here keep sheep for fiber hobby flocks, a rough-woolen breed like the Blackface wouldn’t be very desirable. Scotties are the breed of tartan and tweed, not baby hats and plush jumpers. So when someone compliments me on my darling goat kids I thank them. Some battles aren’t worth the bluster and frankly, I don’t want too many people raising this breed. They feel special to me, a part of this farm.

The twins are just a few weeks old but already they have formed a mob mentality. It doesn’t take lambs long to become brave. On the sloping pasture they stand, their tiny hooves leaving prints in the cropped grass and moss. Their mother is frustrated, munching on last year’s grass in the form of hay while watching the fresh green shoots grow out of reach beyond the fence. Rotating their time between the pastures is necessary though, less the whole place become a soccer field with many, many piles of sheep droppings. The lamb have little taste for the green stuff and are high on warm milk instead, so they don’t mind their scrappy paddock and the piles of dry hay. Instead of sulking over their diet they do as the young chickens do, and form little packs to run around.

Now when the chickens do this, even at a young age, they appear to have some sort of predatory focus. The birds stalk and race after butterflies and bumblebees. The lambs have none of this drive and run and play for the pure joy of it. In past years when there were half a dozen or so babies they'd all clump together at the top of a hillside and run down it as fast as possible, right into their mothers' dinner party without apology or concern about falls or head butts from annoyed parents. They just shake it off and run back up the hill, or across it, and when running grows boring they simply jump up and down, in place, like as if loaded springs have replaced their shins. This kind of pointless, in-place, blissful romping has several names. It’s called Stotting, proking or pronging to the old time shepherds. I don’t question the need for its own gerund at all. The action is so much more than a bounce or a jump. A good stot is nothing like a kid on a pogo stick or a jump rope. It’s higher, oddly and almost magically higher, and it lacks any sort of sense. The little lambs seemed momentarily hijacked of all sense and fear, trying to stay in that place just above their stubby feet in the sky where the world makes more sense. I confess I tried jumping in place myself a few times while watching them, earnest in my need to understand. But I don’t think forethought or reason is involved in the action. You stot because it’s the best thing to do with the moment and you can’t help yourself. Any attempt to suss out the meaning is a sad regression of intent.

seawolfmusic.com

Homeschooler Field Trip

A local group of homeschooled children came by the farm yesterday for a tour and introduction to horses! They were all little tykes, under four years old, and full of energy and laughs. They got to see the newborn lambs and baby chicks and during their snack break I harnessed up Merlin and explained how carts and harnesses work. They were so into it, asking questions and petting Merlin's furry head. A few of the brave kids went on a little cart ride down the road with me and their teacher and it was a blast to see them light up and smile as Merlin went from a walk into a trot. What a wonderful thing to share.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Should Heaven send me any son,
I hope he's not like Tennyson.
I'd rather have him play a fiddle
Than rise and bow and speak an idyll.

-Dorothy Parker

Caprinecino!

My good friends Dona and Brad over at Northern Spy Farm taught me this. I wish I could take credit for it but it is entirely their invention. They call it the Caprinecino, a milky, frothy treat courtesy of your own dairy animals. Now, this recipe comes from Vermont's smallest licensed dairy, the home of a happy herd of Nubian goats. But it would work just as well with your Jersey cow, Nigerian dwarves, or Friesian sheep! So behold, the Farmer's Delight! The Caprinecino!

How to make a Caprinecino (from Dona's Facebook page)

1. Bring fresh water to a boil.
2. Brew tea (or coffee*) of your choice for two or three minutes.
3. Hold cup, mug or in this case glass under teat.
4. Squeeze fresh raw milk directly into your vessel. Put aside.
5. Continue to milk your doe.
6. When you've emptied your girl scoop the froth on top to the desired amount.
6. Enjoy.

Suggestion. Remember to wait for your last girl so you can sit in the paddock and visit with the girls.

photo by Dona McAdams

Carts & Chocolate

The first time I saw Patty Wesner walk out of her house with a horse collar over her shoulder and a pair of driving lines in her hand, I was in awe. To me the idea that any normal person could hitch and harness a horse and take it for a drive on a public road was a brand of magic I didn't know I was even allowed to witness. Where I grew up no one had horse carts. The only place you could even consider being on one was a ride through Central Park, a pumpkin patch trip at some fancy agri-tourist destination, or some sort of fair or parade. And even then, the only way you were getting on board was if you knew someone or had a lot of money to hand over. No, horse carts were not what middle-class people drove. They drove Ford Tauruses.

It took a few months but Patty taught me how to harness a horse and drive it. I learned with her handsome Percheron Steele and then when Merlin came into my life I eventually learned from him as well. And now just a little over a year later when I got a message on my Facebook Page from a neighbor/ex-coworker from Orvis that she had my favorite chocolate in the WORLD waiting for me, I didn't think twice, I just hitched up the cart.

My good friend James (also a coworker when I worked at Orvis), his wife is from the Czech Republic. Lucy and his daughter Emma just returned from a trip back to the Motherland and brought something very, very special home just for me. KOFILA! My favorite candy ever, ever ever!

Koflia is a milk chocolate bar filled with coffee cream. Lucy's father works at the factory where it is made and every time they head over to the CR they bring back a box for me. Now that I don't work at Orvis any longer the Silk Road to precious trade goods went via my neighbor Nina, who also works at Orvis. She brought the chocolate bars to her home at the base of my mountain and when I saw her little electronic note I told her I would drive down. I meant drive a horse cart, of course.

I love my little red cart and my strong black pony. It took me less than fifteen minutes to get Merlin tacked up, cart loaded with me, and to be at Nina's house a mile from mine. Had I just left my house at a brisk jog it would have taken at least twelve minutes (and that's downhill, not a suburb runner by any means), so to make that kind of time via horse drawn wood and wheels was fantastic.

I drove Merlin into her backyard and tied his haltered lead rope to one of their porch posts. I ran around to their door and knocked. Nina came out to meet me and I asked if it was okay to park on her lawn, pointing to Merlin standing proudly next to her porch railing. She squeaked and told her sons and husband to come outside. The boys, Rowan and Tristan pet the pony and little Tristan came along for a walk in a circle around their backyard. It was a hoot. She handed me a few bars of Kofila and I thanked her over and over. I sat on the back of my little red cart and we just caught up on the local news and stories. The Balloon Festival is this weekend. I know it's a big deal but I hate hot air balloons, the entire concept is terrifying to me. Wicker basket death traps…**shudder*** … Anyway, we talked and laughter and after I wore out my welcome I waved goodbye and headed home with Merlin at a good clip.

When I got home I quickly got the horse out of cart and harness and lead him to his paddock to enjoy dinner and a big drink of water. Jasper was happy to see him return, and the two boys walked side by side out to the field with green grass and room to roll and play tag. I was left with the work of putting away the harness, lines, collar, and gear. As I went about the normal work of it my mind was somewhere in the happy place of pre-chocolate consumption and I didn't realize what I had just done. I had slung Merlin's collar over my shoulder and had his lines in my right hand. I was walking them into my house, now a full-blown initiate into the world of everyday horse cart drivers. Something inside my heart clicked over into a new gear and I couldn't wipe the grin off my tired face. I went inside with a smile bigger than any hard cider or first date ever granted.

Sometimes we don't even realize a dream came true because we're too busy living it. Or, rather, too involved with our chocolate. Either way, that's a fine outcome for a Wednesday night.

Get a Copy of OWF and 3 Workshops!

Hey Folks! For anyone interested, I am offering ten copies of One Woman Farm for sale, mailed right from the farmhouse here in Cambridge. They will be signed, of course, by myself and Gibson. These copies are special though. They come along with a 3-Free workshop certificate inside them that let you (or whomever you give the certificate to) come to three workshops here at Cold Antler. I'll also ad something special from the farm itself in each book. Perhaps a feather, or a lock of Merlin's hair, or a pressed flower. These signed copies and certificates are pre-selling for a flat rate of $100 plus $7 shipping. It's a way to help out the farm and help keep it going as well as to get a special signed copy and an experience at the author's homestead. If you already own a season pass, you can use this to bring along a guest three times or it could just be an awesome discount on any three workshops! I am announcing more soon, for later in the summer and into fall. (This pass doesn't count for fiddle camp or other 2-day special events.)

I am only offering a few copies because I don't want to take business away from Battenkill Books, but I do think getting new people at workshops and events here would be wonderful. So email me if you are interested! jenna@itsafarwalk.com

Rabbit 101: July 20th 2013!

Saturday, July 20th will be a day totally dedicated to starting a backyard rabbitry as a homegrown source of honest, delicious, meat. This will most likely take place at two farms, mine and Patty Wesners', who has been breeding rabbits for the table for years and has quite the successful Flemish Giant operation at her place. Come learn about what it takes in space, money, and time to turn a bit of your land or garage into a source of healthy food.

This workshop will open with introductions and personal stories, including my own about changing from fiber to meat rabbits and why. After that we'll head out the my little breeding operation and meet the American Silver Foxes and their kits. We will discuss how to pick out healthy stock and what rabbits are best for you. We'll also cover care, feeding, breeding, kindling, as well as how to harvest the animals. There will be a live demonstration on slaughter and butchering for the freezer (so this is not a workshop for the faint of heart). Also, hopefully heritage breed kits for sale at both farms!

Date: July 20th 2013
Time: 10AM-4PM
At: CAF and LBF
Lunch: Bring a sack!
Cost: $125
Spots Left: 4 (eleven already sold!)

P.S. ONE SPOT LEFT FOR FIDDLE CAMP. ONE!

Tangible Acts

The garden is a place I go to when I need to escape, and I mean really escape. It may seem to our romantic sensibilities that hopping on the back of a horse and running up a mountain side, or taking a walk in the woods with the dogs would be just as much a break from the stresses of everyday life, but not like the garden. Because when you garden there is nothing to mind but the static earth and plants, things that do not buck or whinny, chase squirrels or ask for thrown sticks. In the soil there is just the work of weeding, digging, hoeing and planning and it is done in some deeper recess of the brain that doesn’t require any sort of work to summon. I bring out a radio, plug into an audiobook, or blast music and my consciousness gives over to lyrics and drama, but the work is on autopilot. I do not think while I pluck out stray grass shoots, nettle, and daffodil spikes. My body is in one place and my mind is in another. I’m lost in a story, singing along with favorite lyrics, or rapt at an episode of This American Life. Sometimes I think going into the garden is like stepping into a chamber that transports me to another dimensions. It’s a place exactly like the one I just resided in but nothing matters that used to. Arguments with friends, late bills, that overly large mole I had removed from my left breast… Things that wake me up at three AM most nights are of such little consequence in the garden that a blade of stray grass demands more attention. Mostly because the grass is present at the same moment my need to remove it is, and the remedy is a tangible act I can commit and repair without any dispute.

Tired Gal

The last two weeks have been a blur. I think the last two weeks of any manuscript deadline is. At least it is for me. I reread, rewrite, reorganize and reevaluate and I feel like the deadline is always hovering right over my head. Combine this with the usual stresses all of us share, relationships, money, and life in general and I become a borderline hermit. I may have explained all this before, and if I have I apologize. I'm just out of sorts and trying to get back into them.

With that said, the farm kept going along through all of this. There are a pair of lambs here and those boys are strong as mini tin oxen. The garden is plodding towards respectable. I have lettuce, onions, kale, peas, broc, chard, green beans, tomatoes, cucumbers, basil, zucchini and pumpkins planted. My grand ideas for a horse-plowed pumpkin patch and a 1/4 acre of sprawling gardens didn't happen, but planting season isn't over yet. I may not hit the dream goal this season but I am getting in a bit of feedin'earth that is healthy and the house doesn't look like an episode of Hoarders - having achieved that during a manuscript deadline on a springtime farm I feel more accomplishment than I care to admit.

I have much to write about to you guys. I want to talk about this weekend's soap making workshop in the thunderstorm and today's adventures on horseback through the woods, but right now I am climbing back up the writing roller coaster's cranking and clinking chain. I just dropped the plummet fall of an 80,000 word manuscript and haven't gotten back to the creative peak just yet. I am enjoying my little holiday between the deadline and the blog's maw.

But don't worry. You guys know me. Every time I say I'm taking a little break or will post less I start pushing out love letters and manifestos. I'm here. But tonight I am tired.

Yeti, Hanging Out

DONE!

I handed in my fifth manuscript! Now back to a slightly less-stressful life!

Searching For Ships

There is this legend about the first natives who saw Columbus's ships approaching. The tales says that the scouts watching the seas from the shoreline couldn't actually see the billowing masts and great wooden vessels until they were a couple hundred yards from shore. The reason being that the human mind can't see what its brain has absolutely zero prior knowledge or concept of. It has to suss out the information and get it to the eyes and back. So the ships were invisible, inconceivable to those without the slightest notion of a giant trading ship. A similar legend was told of the Mezzo-American tribes who at first sight of a horse and rider, thought it was one animal instead of two. These are, most likely, hooey. But entertaining and eyebrow raising hooey, and for all we know could be as true as untrue. Point being, the mind sees what it wants to see, what it is trained to see, and what it expects to see. Which is why there is a plethora of ghost hunting shows on television now.

There is some valid science behind this concept though. Scientists call this perceptual blindness, or inattentional blindness. A definition from a study in 2010 describes it as such:

Inattentional blindness is the failure to notice an unexpected stimulus that is in one's field of vision when other attention-demanding tasks are being performed. It is categorized as an attentional error and is not associated with any vision deficits. This typically happens because humans are overloaded with stimuli, and it is impossible to pay attention to all stimuli in one's environment. This is due to the fact that they are unaware of the unattended stimuli. Inattentional blindness also has an effect on people’s perception. There have been multiple experiments performed that demonstrate this phenomenon.

So that's a thing. I'll get back to it in a bit.

Last night was a cool end to a very hot day. The afternoon was a scorcher, exactly like I prefer a summer day. It was in the nineties and humid. I adore humidity. I like being hot and sweaty. I do not air condition my house. I do not try and avoid heat or discomfort. I embrace it. I love the way it forces me to sweat and move like an animal instead of some doughy frump in a morgue. I like the way I can feel beads of sweat leave my brow and coat my back from normal chores and feel the water weight and toxins leaving my body. I swill water and spend as much time in the sun as I can, loving the soupy air. It reminds me of Tennessee, the dark greenness of it all. LUSH is the word! Right now Veryork is alive in ways few places on earth are alive. Every rock is is growing moss, every plant is dripping dew, and every young animal born in the hell of April is learning to pump and lope across forest and hillside alike. It is something to behold, this wet and happy summer. And yesterday I spent it like all my animals did, outside.

I farmed and gardened. I milked the goat and shot my daily quota of arrows. When it got to the point of making me dizzy I rested under the shade of the King Maple with cool water and my unshod feet dangling into the little pool by the well. You spent your whole day in that and your body adjusts. By sunset the lack of sun and light wind had me in a sweatshirt at 80 degrees. My body was so adapted and accepting of the discomfort that the lack of it gave me a chill. So in a sweater and kilt I swayed in my hammock, not thirty feet from the bubbling creek that runs down my mountain road and through my farm. I was reading The Fellowship of The Ring, and stayed out well into dark. A good book can trance you like that, make hours swirl around you until they are gone.

While reading in the dark, in the glow of the e-reader's backlit screen I thought I caught a flash in the corner of my eye. I looked and saw nothing, disregarding it as a glare from my glasses. Then another flash caught my peripheral vision, and then another. I turned to the darkest, wettest, green/black swirl of forest above the stream. I felt like the native looking for the outline of a ship, trying to remember the pace and flash of the holy glow in the distance. My mind strained to call it back, to remember the timing. There was nothing but the rush of my heartbeat and memory. I thought of glass pickle jars with holes punched into their metal lids. I thought of the drive-in movies, and how you knew when the flashes arrived the picture was about to begin. I thought of staring at them from hammocks in Vermont, and from hidden riverside cabins in Tennessee. I thought of Elkmont, the most sacred place in the entire world to me. I thought of standing before a hilltop field by a man I loved, and the disregard for these animals from men I didn't. I thought of all of this, and tried to see the horse and rider through the darkness as two animals. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a common and gentle sound aound these parts and my heart ripped right open.

And then I saw the flash.

And then I saw five more.

And the farm was alive with hundreds of fireflies.

There are places you can go where you can escape discomfort. There are places you can plug in machines to pretend weather doesn't exist. There are people who will tell you that humidity is a horrible thing and should be avoided at all costs. Do not go to those places, avoid plugs when you can, and never believe a liar. Because there is nothing more beautiful in this angry, scary world than a hundred fireflies in the dark of a lightening-kissed sky. Nothing.

Antique Sale!

I'm having a little antique and sundry sale here to help out the farm. All of these items have been a part of the farm for quite some time! There is a radio I bought in college, a wooden Philco with the plug intact. There's Merlin's first ever driving collar (he now uses a better fitting one that is a hand-me-down from when Steele started driving). There is the coffee pot I wrote about in Made From Scratch, a 1939 Worlds Fair Plate, and a thermos featuring a farm scene with kids and horses and dogs. All of these items can be shipped in the US, but the buyer pays the shipping fee as well. Of course, locals can just pick them up.

How cool would a horse collar look above a mantel in a city apartment? How about a radio on your end table that traveled through five states in five years with a blogger you've followed along the way? These items are from my personal collection so I priced them at what I am willing to part with them for. The farm could really use the support and I am happy to offer them to readers and friends. Email me at jenna@itsafarwalk.com if you want to purchase any or have a question!

Prices as follows:

Merlin's First Collar: $200
Radio: $100
Plate: $50
Coffee Pot: $50
Thermos: $50