One year in - pics added!
Aug 4, 2018 17:09:45 GMT -5
simplynaturalfarm, elia, and 15 more like this
Post by bluebar23 on Aug 4, 2018 17:09:45 GMT -5
One year ago today, we signed the papers on our 5.5 acres and 100-year-old farmhouse. We were previously renting the house and yard on another farm place, so we brought with us dogs, chickens, pigeons, and ducks.
The first hoof stock we bought and brought to the place was a billy goat. We bought three does, bred them, and sent the billy on to another family. We kidded the does, milked them some, let them raise their kids to weaning, and then sold all the goats… to make more room for the burgeoning cow herd.
We’ve kept seven cows. Six are still on the hoof, and one is now in the freezer. We’ve had two cows freshen, and I was lucky enough to be present for both. We’ve bottle fed five calves (two currently). I’ve milked two cows, and let go of one. My dear husband has learned to love all the others, something I never thought would happen. He now milks with me, twice a day, every day.
We’ve wrestled with barbed wire (no more!), woven wire (only where necessary!), and electric strand fencing (a modern wonder!). We got our 4.5-acre pasture fenced well enough to graze the cows this summer, and even the bottle calves have their own mini-pasture.
We’ve totally cleaned three outbuildings that were full to the rafters with decades of junk: Christmas decorations, tires of all sizes, household items, tools, old medical equipment, pesticides and herbicides, heaps of straight garbage, mounds of dead bugs, piles of dead rodents and raccoons. We found some treasures and a whole lot of trash. We sent off three full dumpsters. Now, we have a barn for the cows and two buildings for hay, straw, and other storage.
We dismantled a useless, teetering deck and recycled the lumber to build a handsome and functional garden fence. We planted some vegetables (even if they went in terribly late). I’ve also learned to identify most of the plants that grow at will on our property. I’ve researched which are edible and which have medicinal uses. I’ve made tinctures, teas, infusions, poultices, and salves and successfully treated several kinds of minor inflictions and ailments, both animal and human.
Our almost-four-year-old daughter feeds and waters chickens, ducks, pigeons, turkeys, and her rabbit. She helped us butcher and process ducks she raised from ducklings and chickens she’s known all her life; we cried, we did our jobs, and we thanked the birds for feeding us in return for feeding them. She forages for “medicine”—she puts on gloves to harvest nettles and knows how to find and chew up a plantain-leaf poultice if she gets stung. She lives in rubber boots and a nappy and asks why, since all the animals poop outside, she can’t too. She likes to try to “get milk from Lissy’s tee-tees” every couple of days, even though she doesn’t have the patience to sit through all of milking. The only time she ever throws a typical toddler fit is if we try to do chores without her.
We’re producing our own milk and skimming our own cream; culturing our own sour cream, clabber, and yogurt; making our own butter, cultured and sweet; and making our own cheese. We have a freezer full of our own beef, which we refer to by name—Maggie. We delight in and give thanks for every bite, with full knowledge of where it came from; not just in terms of genetics and feed, but in terms of decisions made, actions taken, blood and tears shed.
We have learned to stop making plans and start setting goals.
None of this was even a glint on the horizon in the spring of last year. My husband had a new business, and I was between jobs, with no certain prospects. We weren’t planning to buy a house, much less property, or even live in this area. I had long dreamed of owning a milk cow, but without giving it much more thought than knowing it was a deep-seated desire.
Now, in August 2018, our family has never been healthier, happier, better fed, or more exhausted. The place is finally starting to feel like ours. We can’t wait for the next year, the next decade, the next challenge, the next victory.
And, you know, the next cow.
The first hoof stock we bought and brought to the place was a billy goat. We bought three does, bred them, and sent the billy on to another family. We kidded the does, milked them some, let them raise their kids to weaning, and then sold all the goats… to make more room for the burgeoning cow herd.
We’ve kept seven cows. Six are still on the hoof, and one is now in the freezer. We’ve had two cows freshen, and I was lucky enough to be present for both. We’ve bottle fed five calves (two currently). I’ve milked two cows, and let go of one. My dear husband has learned to love all the others, something I never thought would happen. He now milks with me, twice a day, every day.
We’ve wrestled with barbed wire (no more!), woven wire (only where necessary!), and electric strand fencing (a modern wonder!). We got our 4.5-acre pasture fenced well enough to graze the cows this summer, and even the bottle calves have their own mini-pasture.
We’ve totally cleaned three outbuildings that were full to the rafters with decades of junk: Christmas decorations, tires of all sizes, household items, tools, old medical equipment, pesticides and herbicides, heaps of straight garbage, mounds of dead bugs, piles of dead rodents and raccoons. We found some treasures and a whole lot of trash. We sent off three full dumpsters. Now, we have a barn for the cows and two buildings for hay, straw, and other storage.
We dismantled a useless, teetering deck and recycled the lumber to build a handsome and functional garden fence. We planted some vegetables (even if they went in terribly late). I’ve also learned to identify most of the plants that grow at will on our property. I’ve researched which are edible and which have medicinal uses. I’ve made tinctures, teas, infusions, poultices, and salves and successfully treated several kinds of minor inflictions and ailments, both animal and human.
Our almost-four-year-old daughter feeds and waters chickens, ducks, pigeons, turkeys, and her rabbit. She helped us butcher and process ducks she raised from ducklings and chickens she’s known all her life; we cried, we did our jobs, and we thanked the birds for feeding us in return for feeding them. She forages for “medicine”—she puts on gloves to harvest nettles and knows how to find and chew up a plantain-leaf poultice if she gets stung. She lives in rubber boots and a nappy and asks why, since all the animals poop outside, she can’t too. She likes to try to “get milk from Lissy’s tee-tees” every couple of days, even though she doesn’t have the patience to sit through all of milking. The only time she ever throws a typical toddler fit is if we try to do chores without her.
We’re producing our own milk and skimming our own cream; culturing our own sour cream, clabber, and yogurt; making our own butter, cultured and sweet; and making our own cheese. We have a freezer full of our own beef, which we refer to by name—Maggie. We delight in and give thanks for every bite, with full knowledge of where it came from; not just in terms of genetics and feed, but in terms of decisions made, actions taken, blood and tears shed.
We have learned to stop making plans and start setting goals.
None of this was even a glint on the horizon in the spring of last year. My husband had a new business, and I was between jobs, with no certain prospects. We weren’t planning to buy a house, much less property, or even live in this area. I had long dreamed of owning a milk cow, but without giving it much more thought than knowing it was a deep-seated desire.
Now, in August 2018, our family has never been healthier, happier, better fed, or more exhausted. The place is finally starting to feel like ours. We can’t wait for the next year, the next decade, the next challenge, the next victory.
And, you know, the next cow.