So You Want to Grow Your Own Wedding Flowers?

Let me just tell you - it's not the easiest of feats. 

I wish I could just say that it was as easy as throwing some seed out and plunking starts in the ground. There is a lot of planning and work involved in order to pull it off on any scale. 

My sister's wedding was yesterday which is now leaving me breathing space to think and process everything after frantic pace and increasing pressure that has been building since the engagement was announced.  I'm exhausted and sore, but I want to get these thoughts down while it's fresh in my mind (and I really don't want to do much of anything at the moment, so there's that too). 

I ACTUALLY DID IT!!! 

So without anymore ado: 

"Observations and considerations from surviving the wedding flowers process 

or

Things I wish I knew before jumping into this thing"

(I was going to make that the title of the post, but that seemed too long)

1. Have some gardening/farming know-how and understand garden planning

Even if you just have a little bit of an idea of what you're signing up for is a huge help. ;) I'll do some how-to posts of what we did to maximize our chances of success in other posts. 

As for the planning side of things - it's hard to plan to have flowers for a specific day. It's easy to plunk plants in the ground and harvest when they're ready. It's another matter entirely to have requirements for a certain day. To do this requires much planning and forethought and spreadsheets. 

My recommendation? Know when local flowers are typically ready. Then plan your special day during the peak flower periods. You have the spring flush, mid-summer bounties, and early fall bloomers. Early July is the wonderful lull in flower times. You've missed the flowers of May/June, but the July/August bloomers haven't quite come into their own. Just another thing to consider for your big day.

2. Understand the costs

Seeds, potting soil, pots, growing space, site prep, fertilizer, irrigation, netting, TIME. 

Your time is money. Remember that. 

3. Have a back-up plan

I had several because I was scared that nothing would work - put more plants in the ground than you think you need, plant more varieties and species than you want or think you'll need, and know a cut flower source (be it Costco, a local farm, florist, or grocery store) just in case you need more flowers. Because I was so busy with other parts of the wedding, I missed the deadline to order flowers from Costco (2 weeks before pick up). It ended up being perfectly fine because I was able to get bulk flowers from a farm located an hour from the venue on a short notice for a much better price than Costco. :fist pump: 

4. Take some flower arranging classes

The more you know, the more you know, right? Then take what you learn and keep practicing! Give your neighbors bouquets, maybe your goat will appreciate a flower crown, fresh flowers on the kitchen window sill is always a bonus. 

Honestly though, I was looking up Youtube tutorials on how to arrange boutonnieres the morning I was going to do all the arrangements because I had never done those before. :face palm:

5. Be extremely flexible with the final product

Know the general look and colors that you're going for, but be okay if they aren't EXACTLY like those gorgeous pictures you adore on Instagram or Pinterest. The flowers coming in from your flower patch will not, I repeat, not be perfect. There will be bugs, discoloring, blooms with their own opinion on which way is up, and more. If you're one with perfectionist tendencies, growing your own might not be right for your big day. 

Also, be flexible with the flowers and the length of flowers that come in. You don't know exactly when the plants are going to bloom. Those seed packets have a general range of when to expect flowers. There are a lot of factors that go into getting a plant to bloom: start day, day length, pest pressures, accumulated heat units, water accessibility, fertilizing schedule, etc, etc, etc... 

6. The flowers might be more fragile

By growing you're own, you get the opportunity to play with flowers that you might not ever see at a grocery store because some flowers just don't ship well or last that long in the vase after going through the process of getting hacked off a plant in South America, stripped of its leaves, put into a box, and shipped across continents. 

So. All that said, understand that you will need to be careful with the flowers coming in from your patch. Keep them in water, use floral preservatives, storing them in a refrigerator would be ideal after you've made the arrangements, etc. 

7. Know how much time you need to dedicate to this

This was a huge thing for me. I spent most my April afternoons up-potting seedlings into 4" pots, and then in May, my brother and I spent most afternoons prepping the site and transplanting all those babies. Once that was done, we both had a huge sigh of relief. Come the preparations for the big day, you will need to be slowly harvesting to not damage the blooms, give them time to condition, etc. I spent the ENTIRE day before the wedding just arranging flowers. All. Day. Long.

8. Never stop learning

There are so many resources out there for slow flowers, local flowers, growing cut flowers, and arranging your own masterpieces! Hit up Instagram to find designers and growers, pour over books, scour websites for hints, tips, tricks, tutorials, and how they do things! Why try to reinvent the wheel when there is so much information at your fingertips? Here's a few of my favorites

https://www.floretflowers.com/

Floret Farm's Cut Flower Book

The Cut Flower Patch by Louise Curley

Debra Prinzing books  

And this is just the tip of the ice burg.  

And that's it for now! Like I said, I'll be posting more of the nitty-gritty how-to's to give you a better understanding of what you're considering jumping into. 

Apparently this smirk is exactly like my great-grandma's

Yes, I did catch the bride's bouquet. 

I had people ask me if I had planned that with my sister; no, I didn't. I just know how she throws. :P

I also had someone ask me if I had homing flowers. 

Nope. If I knew how to do that, I would be making big bucks selling these flowers to all the brides wanting to set up their single friends.

Until next time!

SG

Ode to the Rootstock of Apple

 Ode to the Roostock of Apple

A Shakespearean Sonnet by Yours Truly

O apple growing in the sky so high,

Arduous and labored becomes the toil.

Remedy the problem, the best to buy;

A rooty solution: what grows through the soil.

M.106, of semi-standard size,

has an early crop yet gets collar rot.

Fire blight resistance becomes quite the prize,

M.7 suited also for cold or hot.

Wintry chills bother it not: M.26;

early fruit bearing yet falls eas'ly ill.

A Geneva 202 is the fix;

dwarf yet robust, it shall fit the bill.

The slightest of them all: G.65.

Shunning blight and cold, it then shall thrive. 

Source

This is so painfully plant-nerdy. At least that's what my sister said when she read it over. ;) This is part of an assignment for one of the classes that I'm taking over the summer. According to the worksheet, I can either write a poem or a rap 'proclaiming their virtues and limitations.' Homey don't rap, but a poem? I can fake my way through that. 

Until next time!

SG

A... Deer?

So you're just coming up the driveway, and do a double-take. Is that a deer? :gasp: And it's a stag! 

And you come to a stop. Wait. Is it moving or no? Why haven't I scared it off yet? You roll down the window. Is that even real? 

(In a very disappointed voice) No. It's not. 

But this little guy has fooled many folks! You're not the only one that he's duped. Our neighbor put this up a while ago, we all had our moment of trying to figure out if it's real or not. We all had a good laugh, and the deer remained. From the kitchen and the dining room table, we have an excellent view of the comings and goings of everyone, so we got to see the show of people slowing, stopping, getting out of their cars, taking pictures, and laughing as they go on. 

Then, on Christmas Eve, someone Santa-bombed the deer. How do we know when this happened? We saw our neighbor's reaction(s) to the holiday-decked deer from our dining room table (I guess it's the perfect place to spy on everyone). 

He looks like he partied too much. 

Photo courtesy of our neighbors

Barn Swallows

Source

Do-tee-do-ing. Nothing exciting. Just focusing on getting chores done quickly before Sunday morning church so that we're not late - again. And guess what we find clinging to the chicken wire covering the chicken brooder tanks. A baby barn swallow. We pull out the ladder, put it back up in the nest, and that's that. We didn't notice anything wrong with it, or signs that the parents had kicked it out. Yay, we saved a baby bird. Or so we thought.

Come Monday morning, I didn't even think of checking for baby bird issues, when, lo-and-behold, there's another baby swallow clinging to the chicken wire. Thank goodness it didn't fall into the brooder; I don't want to think of what those meat birds would've done to something not even a quarter of their size. So we pulled out the ladder again to put the baby back into its nest. But this time, we noticed that the nest was tipping. Quite noticeably too! After much deliberation, we decided to use some wood clamps to hold a piece of wood underneath the nest, so it wouldn't tip any farther. Who hated the renovations to the nest? The babies' parents. The flew circles around the barn, chirping loudly, and bickering about the new color scheme while sitting on the barn stall railing. Actually, they wouldn't even go near the nest to feed their brood.

Who's got a Plan 'B'? Anyone? Well, step one: remove clamp and extra wood. Little did I know when I climbed that ladder that our little system was holding up the nest. I ended up on my tippy-toes on the ladder holding up the nest while everyone else scrambled around trying to formulate the rest of plan b. Why did those birds have to build their nest on a wire, I mean really? We set the nest on a more secure ledge close to where they originally set up house, but mommy and daddy bird couldn't figure out where their nest ran off to. They kept checking this other ledge above one of the lights in the barn where they had started a nest earlier in the season (they started building 3 nests before deciding they liked the wire). So we scooted the ladder over to that ledge and carefully put the nest up and we walked away. We did all that we could. That was that. We weren't sure what we'd end up doing if they didn't find their nest.

Later, we were back in the barn, and who was making the rounds making sure that the little brood was getting their fair share of bugs? Yep, the bickering barn swallow couple. They found their nest and their brood of four.

The day is all over the shirt...

It's a hand-me-down shirt that I hadn't worn before. Somehow it wound it's way into the back of the work shirt drawer. Long story short, we fell behind on laundry, and guess what I found. Yep, it had it's debut day on the farm. I made sure that the introduction to my life was about as 'real' as it got. What was on the to-do list for the day? Disbudding and tattooing baby goats. But first...

We had an escapee turkey. She flew the coop and made a jail break. So Jake and I rounded her up and enacted the UN no-fly-zone restrictions - we clipped her wing. Somehow I ended up being the one holding the big bird, and she made her displeasure known. She snagged her domesticated poultry talons on my shirt in several places. (Since then, we've had to clip two more birds' wings - I had a better grip that time.)

Finished breakfast and it was time for disbudding. For those of you who aren't familiar with what dehorning is all about, you have a scalding hot iron that you put on the horn bud for about 25 seconds. It stinks, the kid screams, the barn fills with the pungent 'aroma' (thankfully it was breezy, so it cleared out quickly). After the nasty part of the job is done, you apply some blue/purple goo to help keep things from getting infected and what-not. Then it's all done. The kid bounces back to its mama like nothing happened. Well... one of the kiddos decided to smear the purple stuff on me before running back to mom.

But wait! There's more.

We also tattooed the little does that we're planning on selling (once the paper work is all figured out...). One person holds kid goat tight while person #2 tattoos the ear. And we needed to tattoo both ears on three doelings. :does some finger counting: That's six different tattoos. And the wonderful color that's used? Green. New color added to the shirt! While they were at it, they also rubbed the green ink over one side of my neck. It looked like some sort of monochromatic Picasso portrait; it wasn't until after I ran errands that a friend informed me that baby wipes work really well at getting that stuff off. ;) And I got some pretty hilarious expressions from people. I enjoyed myself. Time to play 'Guess that tattoo!'

When all was said and done, I looked down and realized how dirty the goats were - they had been rolling around in the dirt in the side shed.

So between the greens, purples, and dusty hues, I almost had a completely new shirt! ;)

Turkey Trails

Some say that turkeys don't have brains; that they're 'stupid.' I guess you could say that they have a bad case of bird brains. Yes, they're dorky, somewhat resemble certain politicians, make a sounds like 'Derp!' and remind me of dinosaurs. Despite the odds stacked against them, they're smarter than they're given credit for.

It all started with the fencing guys replacing and expanding part of the chicken yard. One corner of the fence is included in part of the pasture that the derp-derps were in. Let's just say that I forgot about the little fence issue that morning while doing the turkey chores, and they were quick to find the lack of a barricade. They couldn't have been happier. They trilled and chirped their way around the house, barn, and yard. The chicken also didn't have an enclosure, so they were relishing their new-found morning freedom as well. Things were rather noisy, as you could imagine.

We thought that the dino-birds would hang around their pasture since they hadn't really had the opportunity to roam. But then, we couldn't find them. It was all hands on deck to find Thanksgiving dinners #1-14. We checked the road heading up to the neighbor's, we looked in the someday vineyard, we scanned the service road and the some-day vineyard. Nothing. Eli was unimpressed with our turkey searching skills, so he headed up the hill to conduct his own. The next thing we hear, "I FOUND THEM!"

Take a guess as to the turkeys' whereabouts. Just take a guess. Yep, they were in their pasture trilling and chirping like nothing happened.

Is It Tasty?

We've been trying to figure out how to get all the goats all of their herbal dewormer in a sane, easy way. The bag has been sitting on the counter for goodness knows how long now - starting at us. Taunting us. Telling us we don't know what the heck we're doing. After much self-pep-talk and mulling over, Mom and I finally dug in and gave it a try. We did the math for how much all of the critters on the farm needed (that included the dog, cats, llama, chickens, and goats). We did the medicine balls accordingly. The ooey-gooey, brownie like things sat on the counter as we contemplated out next move and tried to convince the first cat that it was just molasses (She didn't buy it, by the way... she much preferred the meat that we were cooking up for lunch). The dewormer bars weren't even on the counter for more than 5 minutes, and Jake and Jess had both come through and thought about eating the 'treats.' At least we were able to stop them in time. Eli on the other hand... well... He came running through after the initial, "You don't want to eat that." So he missed the entire bit. He had a 'brownie' in his mouth in a flash, and he spat it out even faster. "What is that?! That's disgusting!" It's for the goats, kiddo. "Are they okay for humans?" Yeah... It's just an herbal mixture you'd get if you had worms, and you didn't swallow anything. So you're all good.

To prevent any further human consumption or mishaps, we headed out with our plate of goat tasties to see if we could tempt the goats with them as easily as we did Eli.

They didn't dig 'em. At all. Just a couple sniffs, and they were on the other side of the barn. Except for Morgan, who will eat just about anything. She downed her dose and made a move for seconds. We still had a plate full of noms... The turkeys weren't so easily convinced. The cats wouldn't have anything to do with it. The only animals that ate (and enjoyed) their treats were the chickens (after we mixed in some oats and seeds), the llama, Morgan (but you knew that already), and the dog. Yeah. The dog. She loved dewormer snacks.

We still needed to get the goats their doses. So we headed in to try a different mixture. They like nut butter and apples. Maybe they won't notice if we add in some extra ingredients... They were on to us before we even walked in the barn. And snubbed it from the far corner.

Did we learn anything from this? Ehh... I think Eli did. ;)

Baby Day!

We've been anxiously waiting all week for Mazy to have her baby/babies. For the last two weeks we've been able to feel some knobby legs kicking around in there. We've been feeling her tail ligaments to keep tabs on how close she might be to kidding. A the while she's bagging up more and more every day. Last night, the poor girl's udder looked like it was going to pop, and her ligaments were the loosest they had been. Just in case, we put Mazy in the cleaned out kidding stall with some heat lamps. Just in case. Right before bed, Mom and I headed out to the barn to check on mama goat - no new developments. At 6:30 this morning, Mom checked on the goat again, and still nothing. Although her ligaments were pretty gosh darn loose. We knew she'd kid today.

Fast forward only an hour. We get a call from the post office saying they had a cheeping box with our name on it. The baby turkeys are here! We've also been waiting for them all week. Mom started pulling herself together to go pick up all the tiny dinners. 

Jess had already headed out to the barn to do her chores when she hears this 'BAA!!!' Ohmyword. Baby goats! It's twins - a boy and girl. Jess comes in and tells Jake the latest and greatest in news from the barn (since he was the only one in the kitchen at that time). Jake runs up to tell Mom then runs out to the barn (with just a t-shirt and shorts on, might I add). There were two shivering little ones in the corner opposite the heat lamps. We just missed the birth (whine whine) 

Once we got the twins warmed up a bit, we realized that we still had to do chicken chores, meat chicken chores, goat chores, milking, and fetch the baby turkeys. Oh yeah... At least we already had a brooder tank set up for the turkeys. ;) I think our barn has reached maximum capacity now.

Well, I'll stop babbling and let you see all the new little ones! :D  

Turkey dinner. In six months.

Mamma goat. With a cutie bug in the background.

Thing 1 and Thing 2. That's little mister on the left and little miss on the right. We're thinking that we like the names 'Benedict' and 'Beatrice' from Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing. We'd call them 'Ben' and 'Bea' for short. :)

Our next doe is due in about 2 weeks! :D I don't know how we'll be able to contain all the cute that's going to be running around. 

Trip to the ER: part 2

His bike handle

To see the beginning of the story, go here. I think leaving you on a cliff hanger for a week is mean enough.

Where was I? Oh yeah. We were leaving Urgent Care to go to the emergency room at a different facility. I left my copilot sister in charge of the cell phone. :boring ring tone: It was the parental units. They were at home, and apparently Emily relayed the story in a tizzy. We were going to meet them at the ER.

Well, we beat them there. By a very long shot. ;) And it wasn't F1 racing down the highway either. We pulled up to the special ER entrance and headed in. We did the same thing as before - I headed in to get the process started, Jess helped Jake in. When the gals at the desk saw Jake teetering in, they stated (in a very nonchalant way), "Can you get him a wheel chair?" What if I want the wheel chair ride? Oh well... We sat him down and carted him into the back. After a quick general assessment and some questions, they gave him his bracelet with his info in it and directed us to the ER floor. I'd never been in the ER before. Jake hadn't either. I would ask who was more bewildered - me or him. But he was still pretty dazed with a 'deer in the headlights' sort of expression and not remembering much. The nurse helped him onto the bed, got him a hospital gown, and hooked him up with the electrodes.
And in come Mom and Dad. I told 'em my part of the story, just as I had told the nurse, then headed out to the lobby to bring my heart rate down (I'm pretty sure that my pulse was racing five times faster than his).

Back in the waiting room with Jess and Oma, we did just that. Waited. I've decided that even though 'emergency' is part of the ER's name, they're not in any sort of a hurry. While chilling out and sucking down water bottles that we found in the cafeteria, Jess told me that she had never seen Mom run as fast as she did from the car to the hospital. Even with all the rodeos that we unintentionally have when animals escape or we're running after coyotes. I chuckled at the mental image that I got of Mom sprinting. Since we were just waiting... I thought I would call our neighbors (Jake had spent the afternoon playing games with them) to see what time he had left their place and to fill them in on what was going on. It appears Jake was only 'missing' for about 30-45 minutes - the time that he left their house and the time that he walked in the kitchen.

The life-saving helmet

Meanwhile, Em and Eli held down the home front. Very well might I add. They got dinner finished, animal chores done, and they were playing games.

Dad decided that we could probably head home since we were just playing the waiting game at this point. I just needed to retrieve my car from the Urgent Care and get Miss Jabberwocky feeling full again. ;) Once home, we packed dinner for Mom (we all have wonky food restrictions - hospital food has become a big no-no) and sent it back via the Oma-express. We got the goats milked, the last of the chores wrapped up, Eli to bed, and settled in for a chick flick (Pride and Prejudice anyone?). The crew at the hospital was gearing up for a late night of more waiting.

Well, long story short, they ended up taking Jake up to another ER because the CT scanner at the hospital they were at was 'under maintenance.' After more waiting, a scan, stitches in his chin and an x-ray later, it was time to go home. It was about 1 o'clock when they came up the driveway. The doctor's diagnosis? A concussion. And a pretty decent one at that since there was memory loss. But there wasn't any internal bleeding, broken bones, etc, etc, etc. When looking at him, he should have at least broken his cheekbone and possibly chipped some of the bone around the eye socket.
After a while, he was able to recall someone stopping to ask him if he was okay. He soon remembered leaving our neighbor's house and turning onto the road. Then he remembered sitting in a grassy patch in the sun. But the actual accident? Nothing. Maybe it's for the better.

Come that Monday, he headed off to classes for midterms. I guess he got quite the reaction from everyone. ;) Our chiropractor couldn't believe that he didn't break any bones. The natropath couldn't believe how well he's healed in the short time that has lapsed since the accident; within 5-7 days after crashing, you could hardly tell that he hit his face as hard as he did. We've come to the conclusion that we must be on the right tract, diet and supplement-wise, since he healed up so fast.

So. After the lengthy, drawn out retelling of this tale, what did we learn? Two things:
1) ALWAYS WEAR YOUR HELMET! No matter how much it clashes with your colors, makes your face look fat, or leaves your hair in a funky, sweaty mess. It could mean the difference between a headache and the drastic change in your lifestyle.
2) If you see a biker on the side of the road, you need to stop and start asking questions beyond, 'You okay?' Start by asking what year it is. ;)

Trip to the ER: part 1

Whew... It had already been a long week. By Friday afternoon we were all pretty beat and ready for a quiet weekend. Mom and Dad were in town finishing some errands, Jake was out on his bike ride, Eli hanging out in his room, my sisters and I just chillin'... nothing much.

I was getting dinner started when Jake comes staggering in the kitchen, "What day is it?" I turned to look at him... I think my jaw hit the floor and my eyes became the size of dinner plates. "What happened?" was all that I could manage trying to take in the sight of my brother in a very bloody state (I could use a more descriptive word... but I'll try to keep this rated PG). His knees were thrashed, his gloves had been shredded, and his face had a serious case of road rash. "What day is it?" he kept asking Okay. Umm... after a few moments of starting to clean up the wounds, my sisters and I realized that this was more serious than our first impressions. Just getting him to sit still was a challenge - he kept trying to see what day it was. I started asking him what day of the week it was. He didn't know. What month? Still drew a blank. Okay, how 'bout year? "2012." :blink blink:... What happened? He couldn't recall anything that happened that afternoon. He hit his head harder than suspected. We tried calling Mom and Dad but to no avail... we called oh, about a dozen times in 2 minutes with texts thrown in for good measure. Inhale. Exhale. Think. Delegate. Umm... You - stay with Eli and hold down the home front and try to get a hold of parental units and Oma. You - come with me, Jake might need more help than what we can offer. We get Jake situated in my car and start down the driveway, lo and behold... the empty tank light was on. Oh snap. At least everything is downhill from our house. ;)

I would have flown down the mountain, but the curvy road proved painful for Jake. All the way there, I asked him basic questions that he would know the answer to. Everything that he could remember was very slow in the coming with major points missing... At least he remembered having 'evil geese.' I whooshed into the parking spot closest to the door that wasn't for handicap. Although, in retrospect and considering the situation, it might have been fine...I rushed in to the front desk to get him signed in while Jess helped him hobble up. "Was he wearing a helmet?" "When did it happen?" "Does he remember what happened?" So many questions. When they found out that he was having memory issues, they said he needed to go to the ER for a CT scan. I think my car can get there... it's already sucking fumes though... And in walks Oma. I think I heard a fanfare when those doors opened. After they checked his vitals, we loaded up in Oma's car and headed around the mountain to the nearest ER. We still hadn't gotten a hold of Mom and Dad...

...to be continued...

"I've got worms!"

If you've met my little brother, you'll know what sort of non-stop character he is. Anything can spark his imagination or pique his interest. We were at the county fair one summer meandering through the master gardener section, and someone was there with a booth about worms. No, not parasites... earth worms. The wriggling kind that aerate your soil, help eat the compost pile down, and become chicken fodder. Nothing exciting there. But he thought the idea of having a bin full of worms as pets was the coolest thing ever. We already had the tiered worm bin from our previous attempt at keeping worms, Dad ordered some worm bedding (I think we ended up with some coconut shell stuffs), and Eli was all set to welcome his worms home. He had studied the handout from the worm booth and some books that we had on the shelf. I think he memorized them actually... He saved up his tooth fairy money to buy himself some new pets. His box of worms finally arrived via mail carrier. Actually, there were some worms that worked their way out of the box and into the mail truck. I feel sorry the the mail lady. I'm sure we have developed a reputation at the local post office... He came running up yelling, "I've got more pets than you! Do we have anything we can feed them?Look at them! Aren't they cute?"

Fast-forward about a year. My dad's aunt is visiting (we hadn't seen her since... well... I think I was but a wee tot); she hadn't met the charismatic storm that is Eli. Immediately following introductions and welcomes, Eli comes bursting in saying proudly, "I've got worms."

...

The look on my poor aunt's face. You could tell that she was thinking the problematic kind of worms. The kind that plagues carnivores, herbivores, and omnivores alike. The symbiotic relationship that is rather one-sided. We couldn't fill her in immediately. We had to relish the moment. The thought of having parasites is not exactly pretty. Let alone being that enthusiastic to inform others to your, umm, plight. We all had a really good laugh after explaining that it wasn't what she thought it was. 

Anways.

Sorry, random story. That memory came flooding back after watching The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey. 

Siamese Twins?

Who'd a thunk that two apples could become one? 

We found this abnormality when picking our apples.

Conjoined apple twins? 

Two apples, two cores, one stem.

Midnight Roundup

Photo courtesy of Becker Productions

The sky was clear and calm, the stars were shimmering, an almost full moon hung in the sky, and a crisp, autumn chill was in the air reminding us that winter is just around the corner. The forecaster said that it was supposed to be pouring rain and windy, but that weather front was no where to be seen. It was just the sort of night that you can get wrapped up in a fleece blanket in front of the fireplace with a knitting project and a cup of tea and be in a state of perfect bliss, except for the thought of getting up and getting into your bed which is chilly since you haven't put on the flannel sheets yet. Oh well.

The movie credits started to roll; everyone headed to bed. The house was silent; you could hear the humming of the fish tank filter on the other end of the house. RING! RING! That's enough to get you to bolt upright with wide eyes. Something's wrong. Dad answered the disturber of the peace.
Hello? Yes, it is. 
The peeping Tom in me listened to every word trying to catch a hint of what is being discussed.
Well, I'll round up the posse, and we'll be right over. 
Gulp. Everyone's in their doorways now.
"Who was it?" "What's going on?"
"The sheriff. The cows are out." Is that a metaphorical term or an actual dilemma that needs to be addressed now?  "Get changed; we need to get over to the neighbor's." Excuse me for a moment while I try to bring my heart rate down from the initial adrenaline rush of the phone ringing.
We quickly changed into our grubbies, threw on our boots, tossed on our coats, and headed to the truck. "Did you get the flashlights?"
"Do we need grain buckets?"
"Don't forget the halters."
We sat in the truck and waited for Mom, "I couldn't find my boots..." (In her defense, our mud room is in a state of chaos since the washing machine went belly up)
"Did you see any cows in the pasture when you were doing the chores?"
"I saw two cows."
"What color were they?"
"Solid brown."
:facepalm: "Those are the other neighbor's cows..."
"How long have they been out?"
"Since about 3 this afternoon."
"There's only one halter..."
"Watch for cows." How often do you hear that?
"I see lights."
"There's the police car."
"That's a good sign."
"Oh, look. There they are..."
Two meat cows standing in the middle of the neighbor's lawn, munching away like they hadn't done anything wrong. The family was all out to witness the sight, the sheriff was there to do his thing, and there was me. With a halter in my hands. Those cows were on to me. Mom kept the one busy with the grain bucket so I could try to slip the halter on. My hands were shaking from the cold. Bam. Done. Phew! One cow down, one to go. We tied her off to the truck to be taken back to her pasture. While they were slowly herding her back home, I was left with the whipper-snapper of a 'wild' beef cow. Me versus the cow. He won. I can't keep a tidy line by myself. He wanted to stampede down the steep hill. Who was I to argue with a cow that big? By all means, I'm not going to stand in your way. At this point, I really wanted a horse and lasso (not that I would know how to use them, but that's beside the point. An ATV would've been nice too.)
The rest of the crew came back.
"Where's the halter?"
Snap. 
So Jake ran back to get the halter while the rest of stood around 'supervising' the renegade bovine. With the halter in hand and flashlights beaming, we, as a group, headed down the uneven terrain. The cow's all the way at the bottom? Wait, is that a trail into the woods? Oh, please no. Well, Nathan got the cow to start coming up the hill; the runaway started trotting along the pasture fence. If only we could make a part of the fence disappear temporarily; this job would be so much easier.

Oh. My. Word.
"Did you see that?!" Nathan shouted.
"Uh-huh."
The cow had slipped through the supposedly electric fence via slightly farther apart wires. I'm starting to believe that cows could jump over the moon as the old nursery rhyme states.
"Why couldn't he have done that earlier?"
"I think we found our escape route."
"Where do we put the cows for tonight? Will they get out again?"
"We can stick them in the upper pasture."
"You young'ins go herd the cows in the upper pasture. We'll take the truck back." Can I take a ride in the truck?
So up the hill we tromped, uttering things about how tasty those cows are going to be and maybe a butcher call is closer than originally anticipated. Oh look. They're at the feeder munching away like nothing happened. I think that their halos were on fire. :cough: We stowed those two into their new pasture and secured the gate behind us. The gate to get out of the pasture was so well locked that we had to hop the gate (in all our muddy glory).
"Are we sure that the fence is working?"
"Shovel."
We tested the fence. Nothing. Drats. We inspected the red snapper box. Still nothing. Double drats. You could grab onto that fence with a death grip and still not get shocked.

An hour. The whole ordeal only took an hour. It could have taken us all night. It could have been a deluge for Noah's second flood. We had the light of a full moon. There wasn't even a wisp of a breeze. Nothing died (the dog that tried defending his territory, well, that's a vet bill...). Of all late night calls to get (from a sheriff!), I guess that a summoning to a midnight roundup is pretty minor. All things considered.

Have Your Bug and Eat It Too

We were hot. We were tired. We were cleaning out and sorting the freezers. 

Lo-and-behold, we found the beetle.  

And yes, he has a story behind his frozen stasis.

We were coming home late one night from a friend's house after worship practice. We were tired, in desperate need of some zzz's, and had a bad case of the giggles. Jess was coming through the garage with her cello on her back, and this beetle was smack dab in the middle of the walkway. She thought that it was something else until it started hissing at her after she passed it. Swinging around to see what was making the noise, she tipped over all the bikes with her cello case. Needless to say, my brother thought that the whole scene was hilarious, so he decided to preserve the bug. Well, we need the freezer space for the many, many chickens that need a cold resting place, so the bug had to relinquish his space and jar. Time to say bye-bye to buggy. 

Flash forward to this afternoon...

I'm sitting in my room and Jess comes in, "Sarah, where's your camera?"

Umm...

A couple minutes later she comes in again, "I need help getting this picture."

Okay...

She wanted to immoralize this bug with a picture. She had a place setting all laid out, it just needed some sprucing up. And they needed help figuring out the camera. :evil laugh: 

With Jacob holding up a table cloth as a backdrop to hide the messy kitchen, old linens pulled out, we grabbed a champagne glass and a rose to finish it all off. Now for the piece-de-resistance! 

The beetle. 

With garnish. 

Is this what I really ordered?

We could probably start a restaurant with insect delicacies. 

Yummy.

Fowl Play

If you're petrified of chickens, I'm sorry if you have nightmares after reading this...

With every truck load that we take to the butcher, chores become that much easier. Or maybe it's just a matter of perspective. Either way... We've got the annual chicken invasion in full force. There's chickens in the field, chickens in the blueberries, chickens in the orchard, chickens in the pasture, chickens in the coop, chickens in the barn, chickens in the brooders, chickens in the garden (where they're not supposed to be), chickens eating the flowers in the garden, chickens by the front door, chickens in the chicken tractor in the pasture in the farm. Okay, I'll stop. ;)

I think I've got birds on the brain. It makes sense - we had over 300 meat chickens  running around at the same time (and that's not counting the layers or the other poultry that we have). We had a mad dash trying to crank out chicken tractors to accommodate the masses. I think we're crazy.

With the sheer volume of meat that we have cruising the hood, we've seen some weird stuff too. But nothing quite like the dinosaur bird. Yeah, if I believed in evolution, this bird would be getting in touch with its original reptilian state. Yet it's a runt of a Cornish Cross, if you can believe that. Let's just say that doing chores in that chicken's pasture is never boring, and if I had a soundtrack to my life, the Jaws Theme would be playing. Chickens peck, to be sure, but this mini-monster has this thing with toes. It will hunt your little piggies down and bite HARD with no thought of letting go. This dude wants your flesh. o_O So I dart to-and-fro to quickly get those birds food and water. But the other night, Mom needed to count the bigger meat birds in that pasture to give the butcher a close estimate of how many we'd be bringing in the next day. I didn't warn her in time. Next thing I know, that little bird is chasing Mom all over the pasture for a good 10 minutes trying to get a bite. It was a youtube moment - if only I had the camera handy. I guess I was laughing too hard to even think of grabbing the camera. :P

Not to sound morbid or vengeful, but I think that we all look forward to a certain chicken dinner in our future.

Meet the Herd: Dreamer and Ebony

Yeah, I'm still working my way through the herd... Between caring for hundreds of meat chickens and getting the hang of owning dairy animals, we've been busy. So, right now I'd like to introduce you to Dreamer and Ebony. 

Everyone loves a good adoption story, no? Then you throw in some cute critters and a heart-wrenching loss and you have the makings for a Hallmark movie. 

Okay, I'll lose the sarcasm. It's just that when my sisters and I are surfing the channels, we tend to avoid that particular channel since everything so gosh-darn predictable and scripted. Mom likes it since it's easy to watch. ;) 

Anyways... I'll spare you the family drama.

Ebony was just barely old enough to separate from her mamma. Then you throw in the stress of the move, not getting enough to eat, being pushed around by the other goats, and not having someone to stand by her and comfort her. Let's just say that we had a perfect recipe for a lonely, sickly doeling who didn't have a mother to take care of her. 

In a different corner of the barn, Dreamer and her newborn were cuddled up next to a heat lamp. Dreamer kept talking to the little guy but he wouldn't respond; he could barely stand on his own two feet to nurse. He didn't have the vitality, vivaciousness, or gusto that a kid should have. His twin sister was a still-born that morning, and he could hardly cling to life. Poor Dreamer was doing her best. When the baby was in the house in the makeshift NICU, Dreamer constantly screamed for him. When she looked at you, it was almost as if she was begging you to find her baby. The little guy hung on for almost 4 days then slipped away one morning just before we woke up... 

Ebony was hungry and desperate. So she became the opportunist. If one of the mammas was nursing their babes, then Ebony would sneak in for a couple of sips before the doe figured out what was going on. When we were milking, she would hop up and try to nurse even more. 

Hmm... 

We have a mamma who needs a baby... and a baby who needs a mamma. 

But how on earth would we get Dreamer to adopt Ebony?! 

I really don't think that it was anything that we did. But as we let Ebony nurse while we held Dreamer, little missy must have started to smell like her soon-to-be-new-mom. I don't know. But it was quite the day when we found Dreamer, on her own accord, cleaning and nursing Ebony. If Ebony gets into trouble with one of the other goats, she's able to seek refuge with Dreamer, Dreamer is much quieter now that she has a baby to take care of, and we don't have to try to bottle feed a baby that's never seen a bottle before. 

We've still got a ways to go to bring Ebony back to her perky self, but as Ebony nursed, that was one less burden that we were carrying. Thank you, Lord! 

A Huge Relieved Sigh

An alternate title for this should be 'Meet the Herd: Oliver'... but it didn't really fit... 

When we brought our buck home, we finally got a good look at the little guy (and boy, howdy, is he little for a 13 month old buck). He was bony and losing hair. He also had a boil, bubble, abscess, whatever-you-want-to-call-it on his cheek. Since it wasn't on his jaw bone, a friend of ours didn't think that it was CL. A couple days later it burst without our knowing it. 

So we sent off a little vial of blood to the lab to be checked for CL. Just to be sure. An ounce of prevention... If it was CL, we didn't want the other goats to be anywhere that the buck had been. After a week of waiting, the tests came back negative. 

Then, a week and a half ago, he got another one. It was bigger, it was rounder, it was more swollen, and it was on his jaw bone...

We interrupt this post for random factoids: 

CL stands for 'Caseous Lymphadentitis.' Translation - it's a ruminant infection that ends up in the lymph nodes and then creates abscesses in those areas (jaw bone, shoulder, rump, etc...). The microbes that spread CL from animal to animal are released when the abscess ruptures. We had three different locations that the first abscess could have burst. 

And now back to your regularly scheduled post...

Long story short - Mom and Dad spent 4 hours of Mom's birthday at the vet. When she (the vet) lanced the abscess, she said that it was about a day away from exploding (rupturing is a nice way of saying it) and that it was highly suspicious for CL. So the abscess material was sent off to the lab. Apparently the puss test is more accurate than the blood test. Mom was about ready to throw in the towel and put the little guy down. Dad wasn't quite ready to raise the white flag just yet. The vet made the point, "Would you be okay with putting Oliver down only to find out that the test comes back negative?" Okay, we'll cross that bridge after we get the results... 

In order to lance the abscess, the vet trimmed up little Oliver's beard. But only half of it. So he was a lopsided Chinese wise man until we decided that he should get an even haircut. I won't humiliate the guy by posting pictures of how pathetic he looked after his 'spa' day at the vet's.

We waited. And waited. All the while, treating the buck like a biohazard. Only one person goes in to care for him. That person cannot work with the other goats. The clothes that the person wore had to be cleaned asap and kept separate from the rest of the laundry. The special person also has a special pair of shoes that can only be used in Oliver's pen. There is a shovel that can only be used in Oliver's stall and the bedding material cannot go to the compost pile - if we took it out then it's to be burned. 

For a week we toiled, all the while holding our breath hoping that it wasn't CL. If it was, our little goat adventure would be done, and the cow just might have to come home... We hardly had even a glimmer of hope while waiting. Dad decided that he should dig out a deep hole in the back of the property since we had the neighbor's excavator. Wouldn't want to be digging a 6-8 foot deep hole with a spade. Finally, we had to call the vet, "Have you gotten those test results by any chance? No? Do you know when those will come in? You'll give them a call in the morning? Okay. Question for you - how often do you see a CL blood test come back negative and the culture come back positive? Oh really... That's interesting. Well, we'll have to look into that. Thank you!" So... What did the vet tech say?! I didn't find out until later...

The fated phone call finally arrived. Should we answer it or let them leave a message? Inhale, exhale, repeat. Hmm... Here, run and give the phone to Mom! :cue drum roll: We're CL negative!!! :D :D :D

But what caused those boils on his face? One of our does was getting bumps on her side now too... Well, the vet tech's sister-in-law had similar problems and dealing with the same conundrum that we were.

Lo-and-behold, there were thistles in the alfalfa.

You read that right. Thistles. We reached in to their feed and got ourselves stuck with the nasties too. We've been running around in circles and bending over backwards, and it's thistles. They had lodged their spiny little stickers into the goat's cheek, or in our doe's case, she was sleeping in the alfalfa - hence the scabs and bumps... oh the little stinker. 

Looking back on the last couple of weeks, the verse in Proverbs where it talks about how God will make foolishness of man's wisdom pretty much sums it all up. Yeah, we've learned that one first hand. :P

Until next time!
~*SG*~

Just another day

If I were to pick a theme song for life right now, it would be 'Just Another Day in Paradise' by Phil Vassar.

...

I'll wait a minute while you pull that up. It's a good song.

...

Have you listened to it yet? Okay. You may continue reading.

It usually starts the day before - when you come in at 9 pm from evening chores exhausted. Switch out laundry, finish cleaning the kitchen, get ready for bed, and plop down on the couch just in time for the 10 o'clock news. You can't even stay awake to catch tomorrow's weather.

The alarm clock goes off in the middle of a dream, shattering the creative juices that you had going. Oy. Just 15 more minutes? No, because 15 will turn into 60 really quick, and there's critters waiting on you.

Mom and I head off to the neighbor's to milk the cows, leaving the rest of the posse to tackle the chicken chores, but the crew is still in bed. While Mom and I are gone, chaos apparently ensues. A certain someone ate almost an entire flat of berries on an empty stomach and quickly paid the price (keep in mind, Mom isn't home at this time), leaving a sick kid to be tended by ever sympathetic siblings who can fill any situation with plenty of drama. Another someone didn't eat breakfast in time and suffered from a cliff drop of blood sugar levels (for those of you who don't know what that feels like, you're fortunate to not be dealing with hypoglycemia). 2 down. 2 to go. But the survivors have sickies to take care of and chickens to wrangle. Just after they finished cleaning up the mess from bowl-bowing child #1, Mom and I come home from milking the cows (which took a little longer than normal on this particular morning). We were greeted by my brother saying, "Perfect timing!"

Tappa the mornin' to ya too, laddie!

As we got a vivid, dramatic retelling of the morning's events, Mom and I nibbled on some cashews, sipped a green smoothie, checked on the couch potatoes and headed out to milk the goats. There is one downside to the goats warming up to you - they really warm up to you. As in, they are, quite literally all over you, eating your shirt and jumping on the half finished milking stand. Yes, goats can be compared to Labrador retrievers. Maybe it's time to create some order to the routine because letting all the goats in the area that we're milking isn't working. And I'm beginning to think that Pip should be renamed Tom Sawyer. He's a charmer and a trouble maker. When he knows that you're on to him, he looks at you ever so innocently, cocks his head and rubs up against you. You're a suck-up, you know that?

With that said, we need to head over the other side of town to take the milk machine/vacuum pump thing-y in to be tuned up and fixed. Engines should not sound like that or be spewing a gummy, milky, oily mixture. We all have guesses as to what's going on, we'll see what the verdict is.

And the day's not done yet. ;)

I know it's just a season of life, we're having a huge learning curve with these animals, we've had the perfect storm of animal retention and situations that are out of our control. We're just trying to stay on the ride and enjoy it along the way.

Until next time! I think I need a nap.
~*SG*~

Houston, we have goats

I re-read my last post. It is pitifully filled with grammatical errors and plenty of 'what was I thinking?' I apologize for giving you a headache trying to decipher what my brain sorta spaghetti-plopped. In my defense - I was pretty much falling asleep at the computer. 'Nuff said.

Now, to finish what I left you hanging with.

We were about as prepared as we were going to be with what little time we had. Barn stalls sorta cleaned, no milk stanchion, a sad lack of goat chow and treats, milk machine-like contraption still in the box that it was delivered in and the manual still sealed in the plastic sleeve, and enough of a general idea of what we were getting into to be overwhelmed. What are we getting ourselves into?

Well, Saturday came, and we drove, and drove, and drove. It's at least an hour-long drive to get to the farm where the goats were. The back two benches of our 12-passenger van were taken out to accommodate three big dog carriers (Dad got a 'Fur'rarri. It's quite the plush carrier, if I do say so myself), and we loaded up whatever else we thought we might need (including collars for the little escape artists). Dad, Mom, Oma, and I all headed out. We stopped at probably one of the coolest, most awesome farm and feed stores ever. It's an old, restored mill, complete with original scale, gigantic wooden beams, and hardwood floors. If I join the work force, I want to work there. After we loaded up the goat fare, we were off once again.

As we walked up to the goat shepherdess' dwelling, we weren't greeted by the pack of poodles and mini dogs like we were last time. The farm was oddly quiet compared to previous trip; something didn't feel right. I found out soon enough: the pregnant doe that we had purchased delivered twins that very morning; one was a stillborn and the other was barely clinging on to life. It's one of the risks that you take with a first-time freshener; the caretaker was having a hard time with the whole thing. I was under the impression that she had never had to deal with this sort of loss before; she adores all of her goats. I'm kicking myself for not offering to bury the body for her; I didn't think of that until after we got home... I guess that goat farmer J--- had called my parents about the ordeal before we left. Why do I always seem to miss the important calls? :shrugs: Anyway... J--- didn't want to have the mamma or newborn around anymore; she was emotionally spent. What are we to do with a preemie?! We were no where near set up for this sort of thing. The surviving kid had to be pulled since he was stuck; the little guy was cold and had slim chances of survival. Shepherdess J--- kept saying that something just isn't right with him, he's just not vibrant like the other kids, doesn't seem to have the gusto that most goats have... Oy vey. Diving in head first, we are.

Eight goats wrangled up and loaded up into their respective carriers, and paper work all filled out, we mounted up for the ride home. I held a spritely, sassy little doeling on my lap, and mom held the newborn. It was certainly a trip that will forever be etched in all of our memories. ;) Imagine - a whole herd of mini goats who had never been away from their farm were now cruising down the highway at 55mph with complete strangers. I think I'd vocalize my opinion in the matter too, if I were in that situation.

At home, the mini-man, Eli, kept asking when we were coming home with the goats. He's been waiting for this day to come. When he woke up that morning, he told Mom, "Guess what today is! We get our goats!"

We pulled up the driveway after 6:30, but the day was far from over. We still needed to get the goats moved into their new home since we had nothing set up. The barn stalls had no bedding in them, no water buckets, no nothing... just what the llamas had been using. And all that was at a level where llamas could reach it, not mini caprines, and it was all covered in spit wads. We certainly are prepared, aren't we? Well, all that to say, we didn't come in until after 10. We were thoroughly whooped. But Mr. Preemie needed round-the-clock care. Mom was up all night with the goober.

Sunday morning came way too fast. We had goats to milk, potluck lunch to put together, church stuff to pull together and set up, worship music to assemble, etc, etc, etc... And everyone just wanted to sleep. Sorry, no sleep for you! Responsibility calls. I don't think that I've ever felt so piece-mealed, yet people kept commenting on how good I looked. I guess when I'm frazzled and brain-drained... :P Some of the young men also kept asking if there was anything that they could help us with; I couldn't even keep up with a conversation. Well, we stayed awake during church and miraculously drove home in one piece.

Meanwhile, while most of the crew was at church, Mom was at home with a tired 7 year-old, a tummy-troubled couch dweller, a preemie, and the phone. Yes, the phone. People wanted to come see the newest members of the farm family. Why not, says I. Come on over, she said! Well, one of the visitors was a friend who has been in the dwarf Nigerian business for about a year now. She was able to help give the goats a more thorough looking over. We got a little more than we bargained for. Our buck has turned into a rescue case, poor little dude... He was at the bottom of the pecking order.

The rest of Sunday was spent nursing preemie, continued work getting things set up for the goats, goat supplements and medicines, and naps (for the humans, the goats were wide awake). We still didn't come in until after 9:30. Keep in mind - we still have boat loads of high-maintenance chickens all over the place that require attention too.

The only promise of a better night's sleep would mean that Mister Tiny would have to stay out with his mom. But it's too cold to leave him out there yet... We were able to get the two of them together though. She had been searching and calling for him. We brought him out, she recognized him, and immediately started excitedly licking him - it was certainly a reunion that almost brought tears, it was that touching. After he got a bath, it was time to bring him in under the heat lamp again since he was getting cold.

Monday - Memorial Day - a day of continued barn work. Oma came over for the afternoon, we had bbq steak... we were starting to settle into a 'routine' if you can call it that. The initial buzz and excitement started to wear off. We were even able to get the little guy to be with his mom all afternoon - in a special pen that we made specially for the two of them and under a heat lamp of course. Things started looking up even if the little squeaker had to sleep in the house again that night.

It's Tuesday now. It's one thing to be greeted by a gloriously sunny day as you wake up feeling more refreshed than you have in the last several days. It's an entirely different matter when you go down to find that the preemie died during the night. I still have to go out and bury the poor little guy since my brother is gone all day. We did everything we could. It was hard to go out and milk his mamma, and she was standing there asking us where he was. Our relief was the spunky little doeling that gave us plenty of comic relief.

I'll write more after I get some pictures of the herd.
Until next time
~*SG*~

Insta-herd

Well... We did it. 

We brought home 9, read it, 9 goats today. 

100 miles round trip. 

3 large dog kennels filled with caprines.

Windows open to let out the manure smell.

One buck - Oliver,

A wether,

3 doelings,

2 milkers - Jill and Mazie,

1 brand-spankin' new mamma who hasn't figured things out, 

and one tiny, struggling newborn who is less than 12 hours old.

Mom held the newborn; I'm held one of the doelings.

Everyone else is in the carriers.

We are crazy.

We are diving in head first.

Here it goes.