Saturday, March 9, 2013


Friday, March 8, 2013

Fiddler's Come Here!

All of you folks who are coming to Fiddler's Rendezvous tomorrow, this is where we will be camping out! The Freight Depot is a greenish building behind Hubbard Hall and Battenkill Books. It is easy to find, just park in the lot behind Main street. Doors officially open at 10 AM but feel free to come a little early and help set up! See you tomorrow!


A storm came through last night, dropping 4-6 inches of snow on pony and hillside alike. I had gone to sleep sometime around 1 AM and woke up close to 5 and I don't think I was awakes more than few moments before I was dressed and outside with the goats. I thought for certain this storm would bring in at least one bout of labor, but it hasn't. Still no kids...

We are in that wild March dance right now. We tango with half a foot of snow one day, and by tomorrow evening it will be gone and nearly fifty degrees with the sun shining. I am, in all honesty, frantic right now and this weather isn't helping. With a big Two-Day workshop starting tomorrow morning downtown, two goats about to burst, Two manuscripts, and a farm to keep going on a shoestring....I am a little frazzled. There just isn't any time or room to stop and take a breath. And that isn't a complaint, it's just how things are!

I have a lot of errands and meetings today, things to coordinate and such. I have a Farm Family Insurance agent coming to evaluate the place. My current home insurance is being revoked in April. Their reason? "Farming on Insured Property" So some of you folks with a few sheep, horses, or chickens might want to check with your current insurance agents that you are still covered. Allstate has now dropped me in all forms of insurance. I got in two accidents last winter (slid on ice) so they told me they would no longer cover me, and now I have been caught Sheep-handed and my crook is the smoking gun. That's okay though. The folks at Farm Family are used to people like me, it's all they do. I just hope I can manage the new premium, hoping it is less that my current. Anyone have experience with these guys?

I just reread this and I sound like a crazy person. I promise more focus when my life exhales a bit!

International Tabletop Day!

If you read this blog you know about our weekly Game Night. And you know how much I love the people over at Geek & Sundry, who inspired this winter's cabin fever free lifestyle. Having friends come over for Gloom, Dixit, Tsuro and such has been a highlight in an otherwise super stressful spring. When I saw they were going to host an International Game Night I had to sign CAF up. Here from 3PM-6Pm there will be all agricultural based games going on like Glen More, Agricola, and Settlers of Catan! We'll sit inside and play with our board game farms in a totally thematic and awesome afternoon of pizza an meeples. All this with goat kids in a pen the next room over and ponies outside heckling us to come feed them carrots! Beat that!

If you can't make it to CAF, that's cool. How about you host a game night or go to one to see what this crazy lady keep talking about, go to this website, and sign up!

Thursday, March 7, 2013

Live Like Fiction Book Club! Checking in!

So we'll wrap up Dies the Fire on March 21st, and have a big discussion then. But since we are halfway through the reading period I thought I'd check in. I'm curious to know how many of you are listening the audiobook (which I recommend!) and how many are enjoying some old fashioned library book time?

I chose this book to start out this Fantasy/Historical fiction book club because I think it is a genius approach to the genre. It's technically Science Fiction, since the event that happens is work of Nature (far as we know) and it is the people in the surviving groups like the Bearkillers, Mackenzies, and PPA that add any sense of fantasy to the story. Which is really the heart of this book, and why I like it. There aren't any dragons or balls of fire being shot out of witches hands. The "fantasy" elements of armor and witchcraft are mundane and practical. The monsters aren't dragons but cannibal bands and escaped zoo animals. This is a very different, but very much the same world as we live in right now.

Folks who know me well, or even been reading a while should understand why I loved this story. And really, to me its just that, a fun story. I am not interested in anything but a fun ride when I sit down with Juniper and Mike and Arminger. But even as a source of entertainment in a messed up fictional reality: it was this book that made me fall in love with archery and re-join the SCA after a ten-year hiatus. It was this book that inspired me to work harder with Merlin, be brave in the saddle, and stand out in the cold rain for target practice with my first bow.

Some folks are drawn to the post-apocalype theme and the prepping. Some are drawn to the farming, rebirth of myth, and religion (that's my favorite aspect of the book) and others just like a good old fashioned sword fight! I am curious of your thoughts (good and bad!) now that we are at the halfway point!

P.S. Elizabeth of the Berkshires was the one who told me Juniper Mackenzie was inspired by a real life singer, songwriter named Heather Alexander and much of her music is in the book. She is now James Alexander. Life's a ride.

I Love This Bookstore Shelf

Wednesday, March 6, 2013

Head Full of Doubt/Road Full of Promise

I love these guys. So much.
And I love this video. So Much.
This song was written in Knoxville Tennessee.

So was I.

When nothing is owed or deserved or expected
And your life doesn’t change by the man that’s elected
If you’re loved by someone, you’re never rejected
Decide what to be and go be it

There was a dream and one day I could see it
Like a bird in a cage I broke in
and demanded that somebody free it
And there was a kid with a head full of doubt
So I’ll scream til I die
and the last of those bad thoughts are finally out

Storm on the Way

Another storm is coming, more snow the next few nights. I'm hoping its the force that brings the kids into the world. Right now is just a lot of waiting and checking, preparing and hoping. A few inches of snow is welcome, certainly before the weekend hits us around fifty degrees! I am feeling a little overwhelmed, mostly with all the goings on, but the days will come and go and before you know it there will be sunshine and hoes in the dirt. I hope to make this place shine this spring. I really do.

Tuesday, March 5, 2013

Rye Whiskey

Meet Rye and Whiskey, the two new gilts here at Cold Antler! They came yesterday around noon, delivered by the men from Windy Hill Farm up in Fort Ann. I was happy to pay the ten dollar extra delivery charge, because the trip up to get the pigs, catch the pigs, and get them settled would have been a full morning's work. With kids coming any minute, the first chapters of my manuscript due, and a morning hay run over to Livingston Brook Farm it was a blessing to have these fine gentlemen deliver these two pretty girls. They made themselves at home right quick.

They are floppy-eared Yorkshire/Berkshire crosses and around twenty pounds each (and that is nothing to be ashamed of at twelve weeks old). They are in their cleaned out stall, with layers of pine shavings and fresh hay to root through and get into all sorts of trouble. This morning they were buried deep in their nest of hay, porcine spooning to stay warm. I poured a crock-pot reduction of barbecue sauce and honey over their piggy kibble and they sure did pop out of slumber fast! They practically ran over to their big bowl and did what pigs do best. EAT!

Here is the song the little gals have been named after. A favorite Old Time Banjo song about the need for fire water, but in all honesty I feel the same way about home-raised pork...

Monday, March 4, 2013

You're Kidding?

I have become a midwife in waiting. It is my main job now, and the thing I am thinking of between other jobs and writing assignments here on the farm. A lot happened today, and much of it things I could tell you about for hours on end, but all of it is shadowed by the tick-tocking of the Doe Clock.

Every few hours I am out with the goats - morning, noon, and night checking on them and their vaginal state. Friends have come and checked in, small off-farm visits have taken place, but mostly I am here. I am here with towels and bottles and a little playpen set up in my living room. I'm reading all my goat book's kidding chapters over and over. I know all the rules of the game, I'm just waiting to play and the wait is killing me. The goats, both of which look ready to explode, must be twice as anxious. We both want these kids out and the milk flowin'.

Friends like Tyler, Tara, and Yeshiva have been with me at Goat Camp. At night they help keep watch. The girls stretch and purr and ooze fluid out their business ends, but so far, no actual births have taken place. These past few days have been riddled with too much coffee and too little sleep. Showers are a rarity. I wake up worried and go to sleep guilty. I keep reading that warning over and over in my books: you should be there… you'll regret it if you aren't and something goes wrong… It feels like my first lambing season all over again...

Well, not entirely the same. Lambing was exhausting but not nearly as personal. This feels less like a job and more like an extended family member being brought into the farmhouse for a long visit. I think it's because dairy animals in general are more personal, more a part of your life than a sheep on the hillside. There are animals I will milk twice a day and know the way you know a college roommate. I have no secrets from these girls and they have none from me. I have stared at their back ends longer than I have stared at any text book and I think I am starting to see things that aren't there. Phantom contractions, mythical discharges, is that a hoof? Nope. It's a clump of poo. Great. Someone pass me the Red Bull… I am convinced both of them are holding out to the last possible second (because they are) and forcing me to feel slightly uncomfortable about my elevated state of caprine voyeurism.

I hope for news soon. In the meantime there's a Fiddle Camp this weekend, two new piglets in the barn, hay delivery, manuscript deliveries, game nights and hawk tests to study for… So much to update on and I will, but right now I am going back outside to check on the girls. More photos as I find the time to post them!

Photo by the gang at

Loving This!

Sunday, March 3, 2013

The Waiting Game...

Still Waiting On Kids....

Saturday, March 2, 2013

It's Happening!

Francis in is labor. She is oozing signs of discharge, having contractions. I have two friends coming over, and hopefully (fingers crossed) Yeshiva driving up in her pickup from Common Sense. I am ready, but nervous. This is Francie's first pregnancy, things could go wrong. She is small, the buck was larger, the chances of it going well are 50/50. But I have friends on the way, an expert on hand, and I am lighting a candle now. Save a prayer if you got any. There are goatlings on the horizon!

The Many Uses of Whiskey

There are not many places more disgusting than a fresh pig pen. It's messy, and not the "fun kind" of messy. Inside my old barn the muck was flying. No matter how careful I was it got in my hair, on my glasses, under my fingernails and in the corners of my mouth. I smelled pig shit. I smelled like pig shit. And every article of clothing I was wearing might as well be burned and its ashes scattered over some unholy site to ward off evil spirits. Cthulhu himself would cower at the things I forked into that garden cart.

You wouldn't think this to look at the pig pen. Hell, the pigs that lived in there didn't even know about the truth below their layers of clean straw bedding. What looks like a benign coating of dry hay is just the surface. Stick a pitchfork in there and you'll uncover about a foot-deep layer of mud, urine-turned-ammonia soaked hay, and smoking wet manure. I filled six garden carts with a couple hundred pounds of the compact goo with a stiff upper lip. I tried to think about what it would look like in a few months, how it would mound around the potato hills and be a valuable asset to the farm. Compost is good. Pig compost is some of the best. Silver linings, etc.

It was still disgusting. But hey, beats a day at someone else's office. Hands down.

I have new piglets coming soon, being delivered in a few days if I can haggle a good deal. After the pen was cleaned out it would get a few layers of pine shavings to soak up anything nasty and then a proper layer of clean straw. Between that and some cleaned out buckets and feeding pans I was ready to take on some new chargers. I already named them Rye and Whiskey. The reason being that as soon as I came inside the farmhouse I stripped naked, washed my hands, and then poured myself a finger of bourbon and gurgled with it. I spit it out, along with whatever pig poo demons resided in it, into the sink. My mouth burned that blessed burning of dying bacteria and I felt a lot better.

A hot shower and I was good as new. New piglets are a good thing. Very, very good. And as if their arrival wasn't enough there are goat kids about to pop out any second! Kid Watch 2013 has begun. I have bottles on the ready, towels handy, and high hopes. This is going to be one busy week ahead...

Donated Auction Item!

A very kind reader, Mary, is offering up one of her handmade quilt, It is 20' x 26" and features a beautiful little crow. It works the same way as any other silent auction item. Email me a bid and if you are the highest bidder, it will be yours! Thank you Mary!!

A Lot of Goats in Here

When it snows outside, like it is now, the chickens tend to turn into goats. They leave the farmyard and join Bonita and Francis in their pen in the farm. I can't blame them. The barn is windproof and well ventilated and they can scratch around the dirt floor looking for hardy bugs or treats in the goat turds. Not my idea of a pleasant Saturday morning, but I'm also not a chicken.

It's Snowing in Jackson

Silent Auction, Support the Farm

I decided to host a silent auction this weekend as a much-needed fundraiser for the farm. The idea came to me last night, while trying to figure out ways to make things work. I am offering a few things, all of them important to me and hopefully speaking to who I am as an author, dreamer, luckless slinger and wild woman. They will be a part of a silent auction.

There's a hood for a female redtail hawk, one of my own hunting arrows (broadhead, traditionally wrapped), hand-spun and knit wool from Sal (bobbin not included), a stone frog that was found in my yard when I first moved here, a hand knit e-reader case with my initials in antlers, and the fiddle I moved to Vermont with, from Idaho. That last item is really special. It was played in Tennessee, Idaho, Vermont, New York and PA. It has no strings and a broken sound post, it isn't playable anymore. But it is the instrument I loved and became a fiddler on. It would look nice on someone's wall.

To bid you simply email me at with the name of the item you are interested in as the subject line, and in the body of the email the amount you would be willing to offer. On Noon, EST, Sunday I will respond via email to the highest bidder. I will not be responding to any emails save for the highest bidders, but I thank anyone who makes a bid. All items will be shipped this coming week.

And the auction items are......

Puppy Sitting

Meet Darla, my weekend charge. She's here for a few days while her proud owners Patty and Mark are in the big city for a birthday visit with her daughter. I was happy to host the little darling. She's an Old English Sheepdog pup, around three months old. So far she's been very well behaved but the day is young...

Friday, March 1, 2013

You Do Too Much

You do too much. I am told this all the time. I am told I have too many hobbies, too many obligations, too many animals holding me down on this farm. Sometimes I believe them. Sometimes I think about quitting TKD, selling animals, throwing in the falconry towel, and just keeping a few chickens and some raised beds with a couple or three sheep. Life would be easier. They are right.

And I would be miserable.

I do what I do because it is what fills my mind, body, and spirit. I live in this frenzy of activity not as a victim but as a celebrant. It's important not to compare your life to others, something all of us do (me too), but important to be mindful we shouldn't. What is too much to me may be not enough for someone else. What is too much for another person might make me run into walls just to hear my heart beat from sheer boredom. Comparing yourself to others is a trap. Don't do it.

Some days like today are overwhelming, and scary and those words "too much" become ghosts. They keep me up at night. But every morning I know what I am capable of, and what this farm stands for. What feels like fear today is inspiration tomorrow and nostalgia around the fireside in a season. I'll figure out the mortgage, the freelance, the bills, the manuscripts and the workshops. I'll deliver the kids and the lambs. I know bright spring is just around the corner....Yet it's this in-between time that makes me jumpy and makes me doubt myself. It's not what I have taken on that scares me, it's that I'm not doing enough. Not doing enough to make this farm work, to make myself healthy, to make mistakes disappear.

You know what I think? I think wasted potential is a lot scarier than feeling overwhelmed. There is no monster greater than regret. I wouldn't wish it on any one.

Yes, I do too much. It's what I do.

How March Starts

Door to My Office

Strumsticks & Snap Peas

Right now Cold Antler is a weird place. Outside it is cloudy, mild, and the wind keeps picking up. This allows little slivers of sunlight to hit the slush puddles just long enough to lift my spirits before the wind covers him up with clouds again. What results is a bi-polar weather pattern we call early spring. It is March. It feels like it.

I stared at Bonita and Francis for about half an hour this morning. I think we'll be seeing goat kids in T-minus two weeks. Bonita is HUGE and I am already collecting bottles and pails and towels for the new kids. They will be living in the house for a bit. Something I have not totally thought through, to be totally honest. But I'll figure it out. I'm never worried about figuring it out. On a farm things happen and you deal with them. If you can't deal with them you find a neighbor or friend that can and you deal together. This is how pig pens and milking stands are built. I'm just happy all my floors are linoleum.

To welcome March I started my day with music and seeds. I planted these little snap pea seeds in a cracked mug full of vermicompost. That black gold from my kitchen's Worm Factory was a sight for sore eyes. I spooned it into the clay mug, which says Farm Girl on it in big black letters. It got cracked after much love and use, and now it is being used to grow food and I think the person who gifted it to me would be proud of that evolution. When the seeds were planted I got out my new Strumstick, sent to me by the folks at McNally just this week. I had emailed them asking if they wanted to remain blog sponsors. They did, and we worked out a barter option where I got a new instrument from them to replace my last one, which I broke by accident. I always request this moon and stars pattern, which is fitting with the moon in its waning phase as we speak. In a few days it'll look just like that crescent.

Anyway, I sat down with my new D stick and started playing a favorite folk song, Wild Mountain Thyme. I love how simple, how sweet, it sounds on this little dulcimer on a stick. The three banjo strings are so bright, so alive in the midst of this March howling outside. I got lost in the simple thing, strumming chords and singing along and before I knew it half an hour had cantered along. I heated up my coffee on the wood stove and looked to the little grow lamp in the kitchen hovering over the cracked mug. This is how spring starts around here, this is correct. A few seedlings, a few songs, and a girl ready for all that lies ahead.

P.S. Click here if you want to see the Strumstick in action, and hear it!

Thursday, February 28, 2013

One Year Ago

It was a year ago that I walked this horse into my life. I had no idea what the hell I was doing. I got scared, a lot. I got hurt, a lot. I nearly went broke, a lot! And now a year later I am part of one of the most meaningful and healthy relationships of my entire life. A horse that healed up a broken heart, showed me what bravery was, and lead me to friends I can not imagine living without.

Merlin, you are the best worst decision I ever made.

Stay on the Farm

My editor and a photographer were here earlier this week to talk about my new book coming out this October. The title will be One Woman Farm, and instead of a memoir like my past books, it'll be a fully illustrated journal. Think of it as a blog you can hold in your hands, only you haven't read any of it before. It goes into the story of one turn of the Wheel, October to Holy October. Every month is a story of friends, food, animals, and the journey this place has taken me since inviting dairy goats and horses and new friends into my life. I am really excited for it. It'll be a book you'll be proud to own, or give. I was proud to write it. And it'll be beautiful, illustrated and cleverly packaged. I can't wait!

Music is a big part of this book, just as it is a big part of my life. Deb (my editor) brought along a real treat for us, an old Grange hymnal! We flipped through it over a lunch of homemade potato and bacon soup (thank you Lunchbox or Thermos) and tried to find songs to add, songs most folks may have forgotten. We both want this book to be a love letter to homesteading, a keepsake. part of that means feeding the book with folks songs and stories as much as my own adventures milking goats or with Merlin in the forest. This one may be my favorite, Stay on the Farm.

Come boys, I have something to tell you,
Come near, I would whisper it low,
You're thinking of leaving the homestead,
Don't be in a hurry to go.
The city has many attractions,
But think of the vices and sins,
When once in the vortex of fashion,
How soon the course downward begins.

You talk of the mines of Australia,
They're wealthy in gold without doubt,
But sh! There is gold on the farm, boys,
If only you'd shovel it out.
The mercantile trade is a hazard,
The goods are first high and then low,
Best risk the old farm a while longer,
Don't be in a hurry to go.

The great busy west has inducements,
And so has the business mart,
But wealth is not made in a day, boys,
Don't be in a hurry to start.
The bankers and brokers are wealthy,
They take in their thousand or so,
And think of the frauds and deceptions,
Don't be in a hurry to go.

The farm is the safest and surest,
The orchards are loaded today,
You're free as the air of the mountains,
And monarch of all you survey.
Best stay on the farm a while longer,
Though profits come in rather slow,
Remember you've nothing to risk boy,
Don't be in a hurry to go.


That video may still be my favorite, and I feel like it captures the purpose of this blog and farm: Hope. I think the wanting of something, anything, may be the most powerful force in the world. Be it a person you want to be with, a job you want so much it hurts, a farm to call your own, or even just that first morning sip of coffee. This is a blog about anticipations granted, long as you are willing to do the real work of believing they are possible. My life and my farm are far from perfect. It's messy and scary and there are many broken things. But I can honestly say that there isn't another person on this planet I would want to trade lives with, not one. And when you get to a point where a better version of yourself is all you desire, I think you're on to something.

I made this video the first summer of living at this farm in Jackson New York. I am still in shock that I was able to get a mortgage, move into my new home, and expand the farm as much as I have. When this video was made (summer of 2010, I think?) I had no idea what to do with a cart horse. Hell, I was still scared to ride anything that wasn't at a riding school or equestrian club, surrounded by experts. I had not milked a goat. I had not ever stalked a deer. I was a lot more naive, specially about my romantic partners. I was waking up and going to a job I didn't want to be at, every single day. I lived in fear 97% of the time. And you know what? It was that 3% of hope that got me out. Because someone once asked me on a front porch this amazing question, "Yeah, but if you quit your job you would be fine, right?" And my head split open. No one had EVER said that, certainly not as nonchalantly as if I had asked them how to spell cat?! But it just took that little bit of encouragement, and that 3% of hope, and my world changed.

It may be time to post a new video this summer.

Wednesday, February 27, 2013


Last night was Game Night, an institution here at Cold Antler. Only the core group of us showed up and to be perfectly honest we were all beat. Each of us had a long day, and we were all more ready to plop in front of a movie and shovel food than play some intense strategy game. But then, we set up Pandemic and that all changed....

Pandemic is cooperative game. All four of us were a team, fighting a series of disease outbreaks around the globe. If that sounds ominous it's because it is! But SO MUCH FUN! We cranked up some action movie soundtracks and crawled around the table. Our medics and scientists flew around the world, building research stations and treating infections. All the while more and more outbreaks occurred and we were groaning in terror. But before long we were laughing, clinking beers, and hopping up from the table for seconds of potato bacon soup I had on the stovetop simmering. It was a great time. All it took was the decision to have fun, and we did. Sometimes it comes in a board game box, other times it is outside your apartment on a dance floor. But last night it was in a farmhouse fighting Bird Flu in Essen. And even though we didn't save the world and it succumbed to horrible disease, we had fun trying to keep the human race going. Then we played again, on a harder level, and had our rumps handed to us yet again! But now we are all excited to play it again next game night and figure out how to beat the board. We left excited, inspired, and hungry for more.

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

LLF Book Club: Thoughts so far?

So what are your thoughts so far, on the first introductory chapters of the book? What would you do if all of a sudden a painful flash appeared and the world changed? Did you find yourself leaning more towards interest in the Pilot or the Songwriter's story?

image from deviant art - by Briuhn

Monday, February 25, 2013

The Best Animated Film of 2013!

The Winter Wool Weekend

Sal's wool was drying by the fire. Only the cord-thick tips were still wet. In the middle of all the workshop chaos I couldn't help but stare at them. A few hours earlier they had been on the whether's back, coated with lanolin and wet from damp snow. Now it was clean and smelling slightly of lavender from the castile soap I had done the last few washings with. I reached over to turn them on the drying-basket, probably for the fifth time that hour. I wanted any excuse to touch it. I have been living with sheep for years, knitting even longer, but the magic of making fabric from a beloved animal has never been lost. What had me so entranced was how shiny and pearl like the locks were. Lustrous was what Kate had said, one of the workshoppers, and it really was the only word that would do. What I was gently touching was so precious. Not in the way that jewelry or babies or other delicate things are precious, but in the way of how very much it meant to me. I was holding the beginnings of real warmth in my hands. Raw wool is embers you can touch.

Throughout the two days that was the Winter Wool Weekend here at Cold Antler, a lot happened to that wool and the person fondling it. That wool was washed, dried, carded, and spun into single-ply yarn on a drop spindle. The I borrowed a pair of thin knitting needles and knit them into a small rectangle. Since my spinning is like my life, scrappy, the little project was not a poem as much as it was a folks song. Since the yarn was lumpy and I didn't relax it or ply it with another thing yarn the square was distorted, writhing like a little angry toddler throwing a temper tantrum. Any respectable knitter or spinner would have tossed it into the fire but I looked on it with enough pride to light up the room. What I was holding was cloth. It was made entirely by my own hand with nothing but a sheep, some soap and water, some hand carders and a few sticks. In a world where new sweaters cost 9.99 at Walmart I might as well have just waved my wand and worked a spell. I made cloth appear. I felt unstoppable

Between the story of Sal's Swatch there was much going on. This weekend's workshop had readers from across the country (one as far away as San Francisco!) and a living room full of fiber, critters, and stories. We spent two days living the wool life.

Saturday was all about the production of wool. We started with sheep in the field and ended the day with the drop spindle and the spinning wheel. I took all the folks outside and stood around a circling flock as I talked about homestead sheep and their many uses and blessings. I was holding a grain bag, so it wasn't hard to snip a fistful of Sal's top line off and bring it inside with us. No one slipped on the ice and everyone seemed excited to see what was ahead for the haircut's progeny.

I showed folks how to wash raw wool, step by step. We started by letting everyone touch and smell the raw wool, actually get lanolin in their hands and know what to expect from a raw fleece. Fiber expert, Kathryn, who was here to help with the workshop and has bought her fair share of fleeces, told us what to look for in raw wool. We talked about the healthy barnyard smell it should have, and what else to look out for such as diseased or matted wool and other signs of badness. With that done, we went to washing the bit of pilfered pre-yarn. In the living room it was gently placed in a basin of soapy water and then (without irritation) lifted out. The dirty water was replaced. It would take five total soaks for the water to pour out clean. With that done it was set in front of the fireside to dry.

With the wool having to dry, it would take a bit before I could start carding and spinning it so I sat back and listened to Kathryn yeah us about spinning. She brought along her wheel, a model called the Ladybug and my antique Ashford Traditional was also there beside her. She talked about wheels, tools of the spinner, and roving and then sat down with anyone who wanted to give it a try. People got a personal lesson, always starting with getting the body used to the motion of the treadle, the song of the spinning wheel. Just hearing its near-silent whirring was peaceful. Since spinning wool is a form of production, and we are so used to an industrial world, we were all a little shocked at how beautiful it was in its quiet way. Kathryn made sure none of us got frustrated with our lumpy beginnings. "It's not about making beautiful yarn, not now anyway, it's about training your body and mind to do the work." And so people got into training. People who weren't learning to spin were working with drop spindles, or sharing samples of things they had spun or knit at home. At these workshops everyone is a student and every is a teacher. Elizabeth was on the daybed showing people her spindle technique while Mari was helping me repair my Ashford so I could learn to spin on it. All these people made the day great. By the end of it I had a working wheel, and had spun some rough work onto it. Sal's wool was carded and on a handmade spindle, and everyone who wanted to know something had asked, touched, or figured it out. I call that a day well spent.

Sunday was a slower pace, but just as fun. It was a glorified knitting circle. Part show and tell, part story, and part lessons. Three people arrived having no idea how to knit and left with rows on their new needles (thanks to Liz and Kate!). I spent the day running around between the wheel (spinning may be a new form of meditation at this farm, for I was LOST in it) and making my Sal yarn into a little swatch. We shared our current projects, wore hand-made items, and did our best to encourage the beginners who all seemed to have a knack for the needles. Out of this whole weekend it was seeing the those people learn a craft, and be able to do it on their own, that I was most happy about. Workshops here are never polished and rarely organized but people do come not knowing a thing and leave with the skills and will to make things happen.

A man and two women now know the basics how to make fabric out of string because of a farm in the mountains and the amazing people drawn to it. I know that's not a big deal, but to me it is just like that handful of embers. A spark can start a bonfire. In a few months those people may be wearing hand-knit hats outside to greet the a cold morning. Warmth is worth a lot, and good people are worth even more. But when you get to combine them together on a snowy day you have something special. Thank you to all who took the time to come here. You're what makes this farm sing.

The Real Jenna

One of the workshop attendees confessed I was not what she was expecting. She didn't say she was disappointed or pleasantly surprised, that I was just different. She could not have been a more kind person, and in no way did I take offense. We blew over that bit of conversation fairly fast that day, but in truth I thought about this all night.

When you come to this farm, do not expect the voice from the blog. In person I am a very blunt, in every way. I am built like a war Hobbit, short and squat and stocky. I look exactly like a woman who hauls bales of hay, buckets of water, milks goats, and bosses around stubborn ponies. I'm also blunt in how I talk and interact. I am louder than I would like to be. When I get comfortable around folks (which takes me about 40 seconds) I have a mouth like a sailor (albeit and elegant one). You don't hear that tone on the blog, but in person you meet a swarthy dairy maid with a gutter mouth. I write pretty things, but that's really the only pretty thing about me.

I think the blog also gives folks the idea I have a sense of serenity I certainly do not have in person. I write how I feel when I am writing, which is calm. Sitting down to write means I am forcing myself into a type of meditation. I am still, breathing slow, my mind focused. When I write my heartbeat is down and I am not thinking about losing my home insurance or my grocery list. So what you read is a mental trot of considered things. But at a workshop I am talking fast, running around, and probably still red-faced and hay flecked from morning chores.

I guess you should expect a Tornado. Be ready for the occasional vulgarity accompanied by a body and a force of will ready to run into battle with a war axe. That's the best preparation I can give you for real-life Jenna.

Also, I am working really hard on being more like the Jenna who writes. Really, really, hard. This blog is my journey towards an authentic self I feel inside, know inside, and am fighting like mad to achieve. You read on here about my goals to work with this farm, make things happen on the soil. But most of the work is between the lines, a healthier person in every way. My real goals are to be physically healthier, emotionally healthier, and to find a man out there whose willing to put up with the journey and who I am so excited about I feel like a member of a two-person fan club. Perhaps this post is all about my anxiety over not being the person I am expecting? That's probably the heart of it. But like I said, I am working on it. I hope we all get to meet this Jenna soon. She's got a lot of work to do when she arrives!

Also, here's a photo of a dog in a hat in case you think I am being too broody.

Meet Phil

One of the workshop attendees, James Lawless, gave me a heck of a hostess gift. He handed me his beloved Impala mount, Phil. He said it was in need of a new home and he thought it would fit in here. I was THRILLED to accept it! Now Phil has a place of glory above the record player in the living room. He's on the opposite side of Clark, my favorite deer mount. Together Phil and Clark are helping Mona keep an eye on things. Now I can't walk into the living room without a grin on my face.

Sunday, February 24, 2013

Spinning, Her Back to the Snow

I caught this quick picture of Kathryn, lost in her roving, her back to the snow outside. Boghadair is watching from the comfort of the fire and around this red-haired magical woman is a stack of board games, a horse's bridle, a bit of taxidermy and an iron sheep... A still from a collection of lives in the North Country. I adore this image.

Lovin' The Dark Clan

Gloom may be this farm's signature game. I have played it here at least twice a week with so many different people, but last night took the cake. Two friends who were staying the weekend wanted to play after hearing about it, and I said sure. What I didn't realize was one gal had a theatre background and worked in a goth nightclub in a former life, the other one is a writer working in the world of comic book publishing...

It was an AMAZING GAME! I should not have been surprised, I mean, women who can spin wool can probably spin a yarn (wah waaahh)... I was literally bent over the floor laughing. The stories were messed up and wild, with accents and accidents flying all over the place. Virginia and Kath were naturals, totally excited and into their character's clans and backstory. When you are with people who love improv and aren't scared to work a little blue, wooo!

I got hosed by the deck, horrible drawing, but I never had more fun losing a game. That's what's great about Gloom. It's a chance to tell stories and be creative with friends, and even if you are in last place you still spent an hour being competitive. It's a mental three-legged race in fishnet stockings. You gotta try it.

Game Night is Tuesday, who's coming?!

Saturday, February 23, 2013

Winter Wool Weekend, In Progress Now!

It's been a very busy weekend here, getting ready and hosting two days of wool workshops. I don't have time to write much, but wanted to share a few images from the first day of the Winter Wool Weekend. Today was all about sheep to yarn, the pre-knitting part of the weekend. It's a heck of a crowd here, with some serious spinners and knitters among the ranks. Hold on to your orifice hooks, folks, it's a wooly time here at the farm! More photos and posts soon!

Friday, February 22, 2013

My Hero

Boghadair Ratcatcher!

photo by tyler of

Thursday, February 21, 2013

Attention Fiddlers and Knitters!

The Rendezvous weekend is now officially March 9th and 10. Please leave a comment or an email confirming you will or will not be here at this date, even if you already did so. I need to figure out how many instruments need to be ready, chairs set out, t-shirts, and such all around preparation.

And as for you folks coming to the Winter Wool Weekend, be warned! This farm is icy as all get out, and we will be spending a bit of time walking around the farm and working with the sheep (I will be taking some wool from Sal!). Please bring "farm boots" and a big comfortable sweater, hat, scarf and gloves. You may need it for inside too because when the workshop starts at 10AM there's a good chance the house will only be warmed up to about 55 degrees. By lunch we'll be opening windows but just prepare to be comfortable if that is out of your temperature wheelhouse. Also, feel free to bring your spinning wheels, yarn stashes, or any projects you are proud of. I want to show new fiber people what is possible, what they can aspire to create! And one last reminder, bring a packed lunch or eating out cash, as lunch break will be from 12:30-1:30. Workshop starts at 10AM and will go to 4-5PM. See you all Saturday!

Announcing! The Live Like Fiction Book Club!

I decided it would be fun to host a book club as part of this blog! But instead of what you may be thinking, which is memoirs and farm books, I want to do something different. I want to share the works of fiction that inspire and created Cold Antler Farm. These will all be fantasy novels, and if you are new to the genre you won't be disappointed.

Here's how it'll work. I announce a book and then we all get a hold of it. All LLF book selections will be available in three formats for accessibility: paper book, e-book, and audiobook. If you are like me you love a good story but don't necessarily have the patience (or time) to sit and finish a novel in a month - listening is a fine option. Audiobooks are wonderful, and they sure as heck count in this club. You can listen at the gym, in your car, or through a speaker in your kitchen while doing the dishes.

Everyone has a month to finish the book, and then we discuss it here on the blog. It'll be a long string of comments or possibly something like a Google hangout if you want to tune in for a live streaming conversation.

The first pick will be a favorite I heard about through you, the readership of this blog: S.M. Stirling's Dies The Fire: A Novel of the Change. It's wonderful, and the reason I am both an archer and a Mackenzie in the SCA. The book is about modern America, roughly around the late 1990's. The story takes place in the Willamette Valley of the Pacific Northwest. If you live around Bend, Eugene, Corvallis, and such areas of Oregon you will really be able to devour this book, as that is where it takes place. One day around dinner time a huge bright light flashes and all electricity shuts off. But this isn't just an EMP or act of international war. All engines stop working, batteries stopped working, all gunpowder stops exploding, and the world's level of technology is thrown into the Bronze Age. Chaos ensues, but two scrappy groups emerge…

One is lead by a singer songwriter and single mother, in her early thirties. She's at a college bar the night this happens and has to escape a city in flames with her friends to her home in the mountains of Oregon. The other is a young pilot for hire, who is caught in the air in a small transporter plane when it starts to crash into the Idaho Mountains with some wealthy clients…

We follow these two people, along with their fellow church members and neighbors start new societies where agriculture, archery, hand-to-hand armored combat are the norm and horses are the only mustangs on the open road. It's post-apocalyptic fictional fantasy, emphasis on the fantasy and not the horror of a dying world

Why I think you guys would love this? Because in this fantasy novel it is the homesteaders who take over! The only folks who still know the skills to farm and create are folks who restart society. They, and the people who went out of their way to practice hobbies most "normal" people felt were archaic before "The Change" happened. It is folks in the SCA, fencing classes, martial arts, that know how to protect themselves without guns. It is the dairy farmers, leather workers, carpenters, weavers, knitters, chefs, ranchers and cowboys…these are the people who inherit the earth. And all the while trying to be whole again and peaceful while a man who decided to turn Portland into his very own kingdom becomes more and more maniacal. Drama!

This book has adult language and situations. Not a lot of intense sexual content, but a fair amount of violence and choice words. It's one of the books I really think thrives as an audiobook, too, since so many accents are involved. I think its worth starting that membership, folks. You can get a 30-day free trial and download Dies The Fire for FREE if you click this link here.

So whose in?

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Flattery Got Me Nowhere

Ran over to Livingston Brook Farm to pick up a truckload of hay for the gang. While loading up, Ellis and Steele came over to eat mouthfuls out of the Dodge while us humans did all the heavy lifting. Patty always says (and I think she is right) that horses know that hay tastes better from a pickup truck. I wanted a photo with me and Steele but even my fistful of sweetgrass wasn't enough to get him to pose with me. (I think he was embarrassed he was in a purple blanket.) Whatever, horse.

This Made My Day

This illustration of me was made by a woman named Destiny, who wrote this open letter on her blog last night. I read it and was all smiles and tears. I wanted to share this little part of it. (I hope that's okay, Destiny?) I want to thank her as well. I wrote her back and told her how important encouragement is, and how important hearing that you matter to people is. Being a public person, and the internet being a fairly angry place, sometimes it feels overwhelmingly negative. But every once in a while you find out that someone was touched, and it makes this little website feel worthwhile, important even. I'm so grateful for kind letters, even if I don't get back to everyone who writes them. They make a difference.

Dear Jenna,

As of February 16th, it has been one year since I first visited your blog; I’m writing now to say ‘thank you’ because this past year has been the most productive of my life and I know it’s in large part due to the inspiration you impart on a near-daily basis.

My dad died in early 2011 and during his stay in the hospital, we talked about the homestead we’d build when he got better. His chance of recovery was slim and we owned no property on which to build a proper farm but the planning gave us something to hope for and entertained him; he was the only one of our family with actual farm experience and he loved to be in a position where he could teach us new things.

Unfortunately, he didn’t make it. Although owning a quaint little berry farm and orchard has been my dream since I was six, I pushed away all thoughts of homesteading that year; it didn’t seem possible without Dad and we had too many other things to worry about in the immediate future. But then a year later, in February 2012, a co-worker lent me her copy of “The Secret.” That film hit me so hard and made me question what I really wanted– and I was a little surprised to find ‘I Want A Farm’ at the top of the list. How I would get a farm (or even prepare for working on one), I had no idea, but at least now I knew what I wanted so I went to Google for research.

I don’t remember how I found your blog but I do remember that the very first post I read was Biting Your Tail (which I read over and over and cried through each time because it touched me so deeply and echoed so many things I was feeling right then).

In the twelve months since I read that post, I have changed so much. As you often point out, you won’t get anywhere if you don’t take that first step… so I have taken lots of first steps this past year, in lots of different directions, and it’s amazing how much easier the second step is, and then the third. My first step towards farming was planting a vegetable garden (something I’d never done) and this spring my mom and I have plans to more than double it. We also got in touch with our local beekeeping club and are learning about apiculture. We completed a handful of DIY projects and have immersed ourselves in homesteading books and magazines. We still have a long way to go but there’s a goal to work toward now.

But it’s not just farming I’ve learned about from reading your blog; the real core of your writing is about manifesting your dreams, whatever they are, and I believe that’s the thing that keeps your readers coming back for more. You encourage us to declare our plans and intentions, share them with whoever will listen, and open doors and create opportunities in the process. I have stopped believing that ridiculous superstition about keeping your wishes secret or they won’t come true; now I write them down, chat about them, incorporate them into my daily activities. I call for them. And they’re answering; this year, I’ll be quitting my office job to work full-time as a professional illustrator (number two on that ‘I Want’ list).

Beatrix Potter and Tasha Tudor have long been my idols; they lived the way I want to. But, in many ways you have become more inspirational than them; you have manifested your farm through creativity, cleverness, enthusiasm, and grit– not a substantial bank account. Thank you so much for sharing your ups-and-downs with the farm, your excitement, your advice, and your ‘magic’ with those who visit. Words cannot express the value of the gift you give.


Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Night Rounds

photo by tara alan of

Game Night!

It's Tuesday at Here at Cold Antler Farm and that's means Game Night! It's a new tradition here, and it is a hit. Farmers, writers, musicians, or just the everyday variety of friends and readers—they come here for a potluck dinner and a game. But don't think you'll get just any sort of meal and any sort of board game, this is a very certain taxonomy of the species. We eat good, home cooked, farm-raised food and the games are not what you will find on most mall shelves. No darling, we play awesome games. The kind of games that win German awards for making you fall in love with meeples.... That's Game Night. We drink and laugh and talk seeds and piglets between sips of hard cider and spoonfuls of soup hand-crafted by a chef fit for a bistro menu. It is high class geek fantastico.

Tara and Tyler of are regulars. Truthfully they are the co-founders of Game Night and helped make it what it is now. They are recent imports from the midwest, living here in Veryork in a trailer on their recently purchased land, while building straw bale and thatch-roofed house. (These are our people!) Besides being fans of the same games I am, Tara and Tyler are cookbook authors and have graced this farm's table with meals both charming and simple. We have trades wood for sheep over bits of crumbly lemon cakes and shouted over shutgunning Zombies with potato soup in our hearts. Tara has made meals that made me squirm around the spoon with joy, Tyler brought his knife sharpening kit once and made my chef's knife a force to be reckoned with. They make any game or any meal better. Come to Game Night and meet them!

For those of you already writing this off as lame. I get it. If you are (like I was) suspect about board games and convinced they are horrible time sucks and boring traps, I can not suggest Wil Wheaton's Youtube Show, Table Top enough. The games this show features are not your run-of-the-mill games. They are clever, super fun, usually European imports. Some are more about storytelling or role playing and others are really all about dice and chance, but all of them are awesome. I say this as someone who can not sit through a game of Monopoly and avoids any dinner party where Scattergories or Win Lose or Draw is mentioned. I refused to play board games for years because that was all I knew. But now I watch TableTop every Thursday and have bought several of the games featured it in. Each of these fancy games costs anywhere from ten to fifty dollars but I don't see that as anything but an investment. I can buy a game like Catan once and host endless dinner parties with great friends and never get tired of it. The most commonly played games here are Settlers of Catan, Zombie Dice, Tsuro and Gloom. But I just got my hands on that game Agricola, which is as daunting as it is exciting. I am upping my gamer ante with that one…

So tonight is Game Night. It's an institution. I have 4 pounds of pork shoulder in the crock pot and at least six people showing up, possibly eight. (I better sweep up the dog hair). I feel like I'm getting ready for the school dance, all wound up over the chance and laughs.

So folks, consider possibly setting up a homestead game night of your own, wherever you are. It's a great way to really connect with people, learn about them, and enjoy a night. I feel like we don't spend enough time with our friends away from screens and dinner tables. To eat a good meal and then retire for a night of high-stakes laughter, a few puffs of pipe smoke, and harmless ribbing at old inside jokes is a blast. It makes the winter warmer, the food taste better, the community stronger. It's here to stay at CAF.

P.S. Do you know what game is coming in the mail today!? Glen More! The game of living in ancient Scotland and running your farm and clan! Perfect!

photo by tara alan of

Portrait of a Sheep

Wendy Rogers, the talented watercolorist and (lucky me!) reader of CAF surprised me with this image on my Facebook page yesterday! It is Sal! Holy Crow is this woman an artist. A few weeks ago I was just browsing through people's updates on Facebook and was lucky enough to see a painting she did of a forest in winter's sigh. I was so floored by it, by how it made me instantly feel like I was riding Merlin through the Days of Grace before the snow fell....that I had to tell her how she transported me. Some people write, some act, some build, some hunt and some paint. Wendy paints and we are all luckier for it. We get to see her world!

P.S. She takes commissions! Contact her through the link!