Denise Domning's Blog, page 20

The Supermoon

This “supermoon” has been a killer, literally.

After almost six years living smack-dab in the middle of this predator superhighway, I’ve figured out the cycle.  On normal nights, the hunters come out just after full dark and hunt until around 2 AM, when most of the nightwalking critters settle into their burrows or nests.  The predators then return to give it one more shot just before dawn when the daywalkers begin to stir. This means that around 9 PM or so I get to listen to the yip of coyotes and smell the stink of the javelina.  Then, at dawn, as I start out to release my livestock I hoot back to the Great Horned Owl, who once tried to take a poult in front of me at dusk, and watch the dogs track the lion’s movement up the hill across from my house.  But the nights of the full moon are the worst.  With so much light all the prey creatures are out and moving, and every predator wants to get them some of those critters.

On those nights I can count on walking the property a couple of times, just to share my scent along with that of my dogs.  I really don’t have a choice about making these walks because my dogs, bless their pea-picking little hearts, want to protect me before they protect the livestock.  This is a human-created problem, specifically created by my ex, who insisted that my working dogs and cats were actually pets.  Given that handicap, Moosie and Bear still do a magnificent job.

Take three nights ago when the moon began to seriously brighten and the coyotes invaded the property.  I’m absolutely positive that the coyotes were after the sheep, just like I’m absolutely positive that this is the same pack that took about a half-dozen sheep this year from a place down on Swinging Bridge.  Remember that post where I mentioned Bear snarling for the first time and–I think–biting the coyote that tried to come through a hole in the fence?  Well, three nights ago I heard that same deeper coyote voice.  He must be the new alpha male for the pack.  As he sang out  his “yi-yi-yi”. Bear went crazy, only his barking didn’t rise from the the fence line, it came from the middle of the pasture.  And then Moosie barked from the same location.

That brought me out of bed with a start.  By the time I joined them near the turkey coop, I could hear the coyotes circling over by my neighbor’s house.  Thinking the excitement was over and that the dogs had just gone down to challenge the coyotes at the back fence, I returned to bed.  An hour later, I swore I heard the coyotes and dogs back in the pasture.  Once again, I went down to join them and, once again, by the time I got there the pack was outside the fence.  An hour later, it happened one more time.

By now, I was sure that at least a couple members of the pack were making their way onto the property somehow, no doubt to test if these dogs really were the threat they seemed to be.  But how were the coyotes getting in?

My new culvert grate is multi-layered

I gritted my teeth in frustration. The culvert.

My house sits right below the hill up which JoJo Lane runs. This means that when it rains water rushes down the hill to flood the somewhat flat area around my house. When it really rains the water comes with such power that it can tear up the asphalt.  Hence the culvert.  It was added to funnel as much of the torrent as possible under the road, where all the water and its destructive power is spewing out onto my property, tearing an ever-deepening gully in my hillside before entering the Mason Ditch in what is one spectacular cataract. (Thank you, YDOT.)

Accommodating that much water requires a really large metal pipe and so large a pipe has created not only a predator entry point, but a dog departure doorway.  I think Bear discovered the culvert on his second day here on the Farm.  Being Bear, he convinced Moosie to go with him for a little walkabout.  That’s when I installed the first permutation of the dog-detainer-grate.

So, when the coyotes ended up on the property the other night I knew that my first grate had finally failed.  Not surprising, given the power of the water that passes through it.  Sure enough, when I looked the next morning I saw that it had been dislodged.  No problem.  I went to my store of potential detainer grates, picked one made of even heavier metal and installed it with my go-to fix-all installation package, otherwise known as plastic baling twine and T-posts.  Over the course of the winter, the new grate will be reinstalled on a hinge of some sort.  Because this version has narrowly spaced metal bars, I want to be able to open move it out of the way when the rains come, otherwise the culvert will soon be filled to capacity with rocks, gravel and sand.

Then again…hmm… No, I suppose I can’t let the culvert fill with rocks.  Too bad.

So with new protection in place and having triple-checked all the coops and pens, I started for the bedroom two nights ago thinking I’d be sleeping for at least a few unbroken hours.  I was mistaken.

Just before 8, which is usually my bedtime since I’m usually up at 4, Bear went crazy and left the porch at top speed, a very un-Bear-like pace.  He barked the whole way down into the pasture, Moosie barking with him.  I threw open the back door in time to hear a loud metallic crash.  The sound made me think that the middle turkey coop had been breached.  Terrified for my birds, I dashed outside, flashlight in hand.

All of a sudden, Moosie was at my side and panting the way he does when he’s in kill mode.  Yikes!  Had he broken into the turkey coop?  How? He’d just been on the porch.  There hadn’t been enough time for him to reach the coop and break into it.  More importantly, I installed a second, protective metal door over the original coop door after Moosie’s last little turkey mistake.  I knew for a fact that I’d bungied that second door over the first just two hours previously.  I was certain it was impenetrable.

Sure enough, at the turkey barn all the doors were closed and locked.  There was no sound of distress from either the enclosed portion of the turkey barn or in the chain link guarded middle coop.  As I ran the flashlight beam over the roosting birds in the middle coop, my turkeys calmly watched me in return.  I moved on to the brooder coop.  Safe and secure. The birds inside were more agitated, but nothing like the all-out panic generated by a Moosie incursion or the otter’s appearance in the coop last year.

What the heck?  I had heard that crash.  If not the coops, then what?

I swung the flashlight toward the pigs.  They were snuggled together for warmth but managed to roll their heads toward me in the light.  Whatever had happened sure hadn’t bothered them.

It was as the beam passed over the pasture around their coop that I saw the bird.  It was my biggest tom this year, the one I was sure weighed in at 20 pounds.  He was laying on his side halfway between the turkey coops and the pigs, his head erect and his beak opened as he panted, but his legs splayed in a way that suggested serious injury.

Only then did I recognize what that metal crash had been.  Something heavy had bounced off the corrugated roof of the middle coop, stretching out from where the hayloft ends. The turkeys hadn’t been bothered by it because they’re always up there dancing on that metal roof. The sound was a familiar one.

With that, I was certain I knew what had happened. Because this tom is the biggest boy in the flock, he was constantly being picked on by Tom and Tommy II.  And, because of that, he’d taken to escaping me as I put the birds away.  I couldn’t blame him, not when he was sure to be abused no matter what pen he went into.  As he’d done a time or two before, he must have flown into the old hay loft and hunkered down so I wouldn’t notice him.  And I hadn’t.

There’s only one predator that could have brought such a big bird down from that spot, and it wasn’t Moosie.  (Despite all his efforts, Moosie hasn’t yet mastered climbing ladders.)  The lion must have been craving turkey that evening.  She must also have  believed she was far enough from the house to avoid the boys, who are now a confirmed lion hunters.  That explained Bear’s frenzy as he left the porch.  Dragging him away from that lion once he had her in the tree hadn’t been easy.

That metallic crash had been the lion bouncing once on the corrugated roofing as she leapt toward what she must have assumed was safety.  Only she came down on the wrong end of the barn, too close to the dogs.  With Bear gaining on her, she dropped the bird on her way to the far fence and escape.

Even though blood wasn’t gushing from what few injuries I could see on the tom, I was pretty certain he wouldn’t make it through the night.  Then, much to my surprise, when I placed him in the brooder coop he got to his feet and walked away from me.  Hoping for the best, I returned to the house and went to bed. The boys only dragged me out once more that night, around midnight.  I didn’t bother checking on the tom, since disturbing them at night isn’t good for anyone.  When I went out to open the coops just before dawn I found him curled in one of the nesting areas, gone but still warm.

Unwilling to lose so much meat to my compost heap, I brought him in to process him. My suspicions were confirmed after I skinned him.  There was a two inch gash in his breast that pierced him so deeply it had almost cut his liver in half. I breathed in relief.  It had absolutely not been Moosie who had injured this bird. But even better, after driving off the lion Moosie had come to me instead of finishing the tom.  To the best of my knowledge this is the first time he’s managed to control himself after blood has been spilled.  And Bear!  Bear the Lion-hearted Lion-hunter.  Good dogs.  Good, good dogs.

But I’ve had enough of these successful failures.  I just want to make it through the next two overly bright nights.  After that, I might sleep for a week.

 

On Strike

Working at the fence

That’s right.  With all my heart, I’m resisting writing this week’s post. That’s why it’s a day late already (but I hope not a dollar short).

I want to ball up my fists and shout “Down with Management!” or “Unfair working conditions!” Unfortunately I work for myself, and as my own manager I’m not giving myself a break.  The sensible half of me insists that I stick to the computer and finish the few remaining projects that stand between me and beginning my next two books.  But the not-so-sensible part of me is bewitched by these gorgeous Autumn days.

You see, as Mother Earth begins to settle in for her winter nap, she calls to me, reminding me that now is the time to plant!  Go ahead, the rest of you warm-weather gardeners.  Fuss over your Early Girl tomatoes, your California Bell peppers and your rows of Platinum Sweet corn.  Give me the winter growing season and I’ll give you turnips, lettuce, garlic, onions, tat soi, chard, collards, cabbage, broccoli, arugula, spinach, parsley, cilantro, sorrel and much more.

That’s right, I’ve become a dedicated winter grower. I’ve seen my patches under snow for days and still harvested delicious greens after the melt.  On frosty winter days, I browse like the sheep, nibbling on this bit of lettuce, chewing on that radish bulb while oohing over the newly sprouted fava beans.

I don’t want to be at the computer.  I want to be in the north half of my orchard, which is now carefully fenced off from the sheep and ever-more-massive porcine girls. Very carefully fenced.  All of my critters have made a try at that fence over the last weeks.  Of course they have!  The turnips are coming up like crazy.

Whoops.  I spilled the large bag of turnip seeds I intended to use over the whole space of that garden.  There was nothing else to do but rake them into the soil, moving them as far out into the newly turned dirt as possible.

You know, until two years ago I didn’t really understand turnips. Oh, I’d used one every so often to flavor beef stew, but that was it. On the whole I thought they were pretty ugly and useless. I mean, white with purple tops.  Really?  Then I met  Richard Stevens.  He hales from the deep South and, after touring the garden, asked if I’d ever grown turnips.  I gave him a scornful “no” then did a little research.  Guess what? There’s nothing better to rebuild your garden soil than growing turnips over the winter, then turning them into the soil.  And, by the way, EVERYTHING follows lettuce.

So, in went my first package of turnips.  They not only grew, they grew very well.  I harvested my first bunch or two and prepared my first few turnips the way Richard suggested.  I was blown away by how good they were.  Hey, Mikey!  I liked them!

At any rate I swear, every one of those spilled seeds sprouted.  What else was there to do but harvesting turnip greens by the bushel basket full?  What to do, what to do?  They’ve been all in my soups, stews and sautes. I still have another bushel basket or two left to thin. I think the greens are too tender to freeze so that leaves me no choice.  What do we do with stuff we can’t use here on The Farm?  We feed them to the pigs!  Hence the big girls working at that fence.  They like turnips, too.

But here I am at the computer writing this post when it’s70 degrees outside and in the garden is a large patch of bare beautiful deep brown dirt just begging for seeds.

More radishes.  Yep, that’s the ticket.  I need to plant more radishes.

Turnips & Tat Soi

I despise radishes, but for some reason the “me” that tastes them and doesn’t like them is disconnected from the more inner “me” that recognizes something in them that my body craves.  So I eat them with my face screwed up and hating every minute of it.  In fact, I crave them so much that I rarely get them truly washed clean.  Maybe it’s not the radishes I want, but the dirt itself.  Well now that’s a fairly disgusting thought, even more disgusting than radishes.

Maybe I can talk myself into planting the rest of my garlic instead.  Nope.  I’m holding out for St. Martin’s Day on the 11th, the traditional Northern European day for planting garlic.  You can take the Medievalist out of the 12th century but you can’t take the 12th century out of the Medievalist.

I know!  I’ll end this week’s post by telling myself what I really have to do right now is go down to the garden and take a picture of what’s growing to add to this post.  It’s a dodge.  I know what will happen as I make my way down there. The non-sensical, stubbornly independent part of me will pick up the hoe.  In that case it may be a few hours before this gets posted.

But at least I’ll have that picture.  Wish me “Happy Planting”!

A Dog, Two Pigs and a Mushroom

Poor Bear.  He got bitten while I was off visiting relatives, although my farm sitters didn’t recognize the marks as a bite.  Theories ranged from Pink Eye to a bee sting.  That’s because they don’t know Bear the way I do.  He’s way too mellow.  One might even say incautious.  He’ll do silly things like let the turkey poults nestle next to him (drives the hens into a frenzy) or go to sleep in the pig enclosure.

It only took one look for me to recognize the placement of the two bloody spots. I instantly knew  what had happened.  He’d laid down near the now-fully grown hogs/gilts and closed his eyes.  It must have been just too tempting for one of the girls.  Which one, you might ask?  Well, my money’s on Boinker.  That’s because she’s the one who likes to make newcomers dance by chasing their toes.  She’s also the one who, as a little bitty 40 pound weaner crawled on top of Bear, then slid down his side to clamp her even-then-formidable jaw on his paw.

Of course, now the girls are more like 150ish, very possibly more.  Not only are they solid, they’re darn fast.  Which makes Bear’s lapse of caution all the more interesting.  I’ll say this much–he gets positively antsy around the girls these days.  If they get within ten feet of him, he’s up and moving.  Yep.  Pig bite, or rather love bite.  If she’d meant to hurt him, Bear would have been blind in one eye or even dead.

Hogs are definitely terrifying, mostly because they’re not just strong and fast, they’re smart. Not that any of the other animals on the farm are particularly afraid of them.  The turkeys rush in to grab bites of food right next to the girls’ snouts.  The sheep jockey for position around the trough as well, trying to grab mouthfuls of “the good stuff”.  (Although I am committed to 100% grass-fed sheep, the sheep are far less committed to this goal.)

I even caught Oinker playing with the sheep the other day.  She chased them until they started doing that odd all-four-feet-at-once bouncing, then tried to bounce the same way.  Impressive at 150 pounds! Where is my camera/phone when I need it!  Never in my hand, that’s for sure.

Oh Bear!

Back to Bear.  Although he may now be cautious around the pigs, it doesn’t translate to the rest of his life.  This morning he was sleeping with his head under my Focus. Luckily for him, I knew he was there.  Honestly, that dog!

On to the mushroom portion of this post.  My loyal readers–you know who you are :-D–may remember that I plugged a cottonwood stump with shiitake spore.  Last spring, I got about a pound off the stump. It being Autumn now, and Autumn and Spring being the two seasons that mushrooms fruit, I decided to check to see if there was any sign of more shiitakes.

 

Well, something’s happening but I don’t think it’s quite what I was hoping for.  There’s a long pale brown line topped by a glistening white circular crown growing up one of the stump’s woody ribs.  I’m positive it’s not a shiitake.  It actually looks, um, a little inappropriate in the Disney/Little Mermaid sort of way–hence the lack of picture. But while I was examining that stump I glanced down toward the ditch and gasped.  There was a HUGE native Oyster mushroom growing out of a chunk of that old cottonwood that had been left to rot.

Having never harvested anything this big prior to today, I wasn’t really certain that it was edible. It smelled good, but, hey, it’s a mushroom and I’m no mycologist.  No sense taking chances.  So what did I do?  I broke it up for the pigs and turkeys to eat.  They have far better sense about these things than I ever will.  I’ll go down later and see if I wasted a great asset or made the right choice.

Monarch Caterpillar?

Although I didn’t bother adding this to the title of today’s piece–it was long enough as it was–I want to share an interesting tidbit.  My friend Ken Sanchez is an amateur Lepidopterist. When he was up visiting earlier this summer he insisted he saw a Monarch butterfly.  Now, I’ve seen both Queens and Viceroys around here, but I was positive we don’t have Monarchs here.  After all, there’s no Milkweed and that’s what Monarchs want, right? Then a few weeks later I found this caterpillar on my Morning Glories.  I took the picture then put the leaf back where I found it and went on with my day.  I didn’t give it any more thought until this morning when I was standing in the driveway looking down at the huge patch of turnips that I accidentally overplanted-the seed package broke, so I just raked all the seeds into the soil–and what looked like a Monarch butterfly when soaring past me.  Wow!  What if? Way cool!

And lastly, a final note on my late harvest tomatoes.  Boy, oh boy am I praying that the first frost holds off for a few more weeks.  The tomatoes I planted back in late August are going great guns.  Apparently, after the bees had finished sucking the good stuff out of all the fallen apples (and recovering from their hangovers), they went to town on the tomato plants.  I have dozens upon dozens of beautiful little green tomatoes, tomatoes untouched by the usual nasty thieves and nibblers.

I can hope all I want, but my bones suggest that frost is just around the corner.  I suppose that’s okay too.  I can turn those green tomatoes into Green Tomato Chutney.  I love that chutney!  It pairs perfectly with chicken, is great with rice and probably would be good with black beans, my new favorite bean soup bean.  The only caveat is that you have to open the windows and doors while you’re cooking it.  The stink is similar to well-used sneakers.

Oh yeah, that’d put Bear’s head back under the car in a heartbeat.

Homecoming

Vacation–real vacation, not just a hiatus from the computer–was GREAT!  I can hardly believe how much fun I had.  There wasn’t much “doing” but there was plenty of high-class wine and five star food—the highlight of my trip was sharing meals with relatives I adore.  I’m so proud of my nieces.  Melissa has just graduated with her MBA and Danielle is on her way to becoming a Sommelier, thus the wonderful wines. The girls and I went for a walk on the night the Cubs managed to snare their space in the Series, passing many a blue-clad fan along the way.  We came across a gem of a restaurant–de Quay. It specializes in Dutch and Indonesian food.  Sounds like a strange pairing, but it’s not as weird as you might imagine.  Indonesia was a Dutch colony and the Dutch are really fond of Indonesian food.  It permeates their culture and the evening was spectacular.

At any rate, after all that fun coming home was a little hard to do, mostly because I knew returning meant confronting a couple of out-of-control piggies.  You know how you plan and fret, getting ready to go on a trip and then, just before you leave, something goes wrong?  Yeah, well that’s what happened this time too.  Two days before I left, Boinker noticed that the charger for the electric tape that keeps the girls where they’re supposed to be wasn’t working.  Or rather, was working part time.  On, off, on, off.

How did I figure out what Boinker had noticed?  Simple.  She kept appearing outside the tape.  At first I put this up to the fact that she was squeezing out of the nesting boxes at the back of their little house, which used to be a turkey coop.  Every morning as I approached their house I’d hear “wham, wham, wham”–Boinker working on opening the hinged roof of the nesting box.  Once she opened the roof, she could brace little piggie hooves on the upper edge of the box and launch herself over the tape.  No harm, no foul, as it were.  Not so Oinker.  She’s bigger and heavier than Boinker, which means she wasn’t able to contort her bulk to fit through the nesting box opening.

That evening I asked Derek to nail boards across the middle of the nesting boxes. Foolish me for thinking this might prevent more escapes.

The next morning who do you think trotted across the pastures to greet me at dawn?  You got it.  Boinker.  That sent me dashing back to the barn to check the charger.  Sure enough, the GFI had once again tripped.  Muttering curses, I reset the outlet.

Here’s a tidbit for you: Check to see where your hands are before you do such a thing.  I screamed like a banshee.  It was definitely back on.

That evening I went down to feed my critters only to discover that I now had TWO pigs out of the poke.  No longer muttering my curses, I ran back to the barn and once more reset the GFI (being careful about where I put my hands this time).  In the meantime, Oinker had returned under the tape and was now awaiting dinner in her usual spot.  Not so Boinker.

There’s no helper like a hungry piggy.  She herded turkeys, climbed on bales of straw to watch me work and tried to poke her head through the chain link panel keeping her out of the turkey coop.

By then, I was frustrated and worried.  How could I leave my renter Derek and my friend Su to watch pigs who were a lot more free-ranging than I intended?  But there really wasn’t much I could do but scold Boinker roundly.  I told her that if she wanted to eat, she’d have to get herself back over the tape.  As I told her this, I placed the newly filled the pig troughs right where I usually put them, on the INSIDE of the tape, a tape that was once again pulsing with electricity.

Boinker watched helplessly as Oinker grunted happily and began to eat. You see, although Boinker is the smaller gilt, she’s dominant.  This means she gets to choose which trough she eats from and Oinker has to take the reject.

Huffing in horror, Boinker began to pace back and forth on the wrong side of the newly recharged tape.  Then all at once she stopped and her jaw squared.  Her eyes narrowed.  (That’s hard to discern on a pig since their eyes are so small, but I swear it happened.)

With no further ado, she climbed over the tape.  Oh yeah, it was charged.  As pink pig flesh met sparking white tape, Boinker released a stream of staccato squeals.  It sounded exactly like “Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!”  The moment she was off the tape, she gave a quick shake as if to say, “That wasn’t so bad,” then dove into her dinner.

Uh-oh. What had I done?  Charger on or off, those girls had just lost all respect for the tape.  The only choice I now had was to replace that outlet and decide if I replaced the tape with hog panels or electrical wire.

Just as I expected, the next morning both piggies came through the tape as I went to tell them goodbye.  I felt terrible about leaving those two hooligans on the loose, but it was too late for a quick fix or regrets.  All I could do was tell my animal sitters that I was sorry and drive away.

Derek sent a quick note that first day saying that all was well.  Reassured, I didn’t check in with Su. She sent a text mIdday Day Two:

“They both want scratches on their heads and want to eat my shoes! What do I do!??”  This was accompanied with a video that, when I figure out how to get it off my phone, I will share.  It shows the girls pressing relentless forward as Su films and backs up.

My reply: “Dance faster.  Or feed and distract.” I heard nothing back, so a half hour later I followed up with “So, are things ok?”

Su replied with, “Yes, things are fine.  I will have to look over my notes to see if the notes flow from page to page as the pigs grabbed them when they fell out of my pocket while they were running after me.  They were so excited to see me and kept going after my shoes so I was running away trying to ditch them behind the barn. My notes must have fallen out along the way.”

There just wasn’t much more to do after that but laugh, so that’s what I did.

 

 

Vacation?

I haven’t left the farm for “time off” since July 2015.  Prior to that excursion, I think I’d only been on vacation once since I moved onto the property in 2010.  The only reason I decided to try vacationing in 2015 was that my ex was still living here.  (Honestly, I kept asking him when he was leaving and he kept dodging the question.)  Since we shared livestock duties, I knew I could trust him with the animals.  My trip was a disaster–I wasn’t in the right space to attempt relaxing–so I ended up returning home after 3 days instead of staying the full week.  It was a mistake.  Surprising the ex wasn’t a good idea–he wasn’t the only one surprised.  Rather than a happy homecoming it resulted in the complete destruction of what little remained of our relationship.

So, with some serious trepidation, I’m once again attempting vacation. This year, two of my nieces both achieved important life goals; Missy graduated with her MBA and her sister Danielle is now a Level One Som.  When I asked them what I could send to commemorate their accomplishments, they demanded a visit. So I’m off to Chicago while my renter Derek tends to the critters.  I wrote him instructions and thought I’d share them with all of you.  Here’s what’s ahead of him for the few days I’ll be gone.

Dawn: Only the Sheep and Pigs get fed in the morning

In the house:

Wash both of the blue pig food buckets with a bit of soap. Take a quart of yogurt from the refrigerator and put a pint into each bucket.  Go to the barn where you may meet Spots, the barn cat, at the cat food feeder.  She likes to be petted as she nibbles, but she’s pretty shy and it’s possible you may not see her at all.

To each pig bucket add 3/4 green scoop of sprouted seed and 3/4 green scoop of Hog Pellets.  There’s a wooden spatula that you can use to mix this as it’s much easier to dump out when it’s mixed.

Take a small white bucket and mix together about 1/3 of the green scoop of sprouted seeds and 1/4 of the green scoop of granulated hog food (brown garbage can).  This is the sheep’s morning treat and goes into their blue trough in the orchard.   Leave the front gate of the orchard open so they can graze in the netted area until you have released the rest of the crew.  If you let the out, I guarantee you’ll have unwanted helpers.

On the way to the turkey barn, open the duck coop, open the chicken coop.  At the barn, only open the three front doors.  Leave both back doors closed and locked.

By then, Boinker will have escaped the pig coop and be running along the tape, waiting for her breakfast.  Fill the two troughs that you have hopefully remembered to leave outside the tape the night before (otherwise you have unwanted and pushy piggy helpers) with the contents of the blue buckets.  Do not bring their food troughs over that tape until you have released Oinker from the enclosure.  Be sure to push the door of their coop as wide as possible so there’s less chance of a pig locking turkeys into the coop at some point during the day. There’s a line of baling twine there that I use to tie the door open attached to the chain link panel behind the door.  Return over the tape another time for your filled troughs and place them inside the tape line a few feet apart.  The girls will tussle a bit as they settle into their own troughs.  The turkeys will swiftly come to help the pigs eat their breakfast and that’s fine.

Back at the turkey coops most of the birds should be out.  Pull the red metal gate over the open door of the middle, main coop.  It leans against the fence and stays in place without being fastened.  On the brooder coop, pull the inner gate over its entrance, then rotate the outer gate (the one that’s tied with baling twine to the pins) over the inner gate, lifting its end onto the concrete so that edge is even with the inner gate edge. Using the chain on the inner gate, connect the chain link gate to both of the metal gates.  The staggered gates keep the sheep from breaching the coop and stealing turkey food.

Hopefully by this time all the turkeys in the roosting coop (the one with the double doors) have “flown the coop”.  If they haven’t, you can use a branch or something branch-like (I’ve been known to use electric tape stakes) to encourage them to exit.  You cannot stand in the doorway and do this as they won’t fly over you, so (keeping an eye out for turkey bombs) you go into the coop to the door that connects the roosting coop to the main coop and gently tap the birds as you urge them toward the middle of the roosts.  As they move, they’ll arrange themselves so they can fly out.  Standing any other place in the coop will result in a bird trying to press through the wired air gaps near the ceiling and panicking.  This can cost you 10 minutes as you wait for it to calm down and exit.  Once all the birds are out, you can close the double doors and, once all the doors are closed and gated, you can open the back gate of the orchard and release the sheep.

Take your buckets back to the barn and leave them near the food.  Your morning chores are now done.  This usually takes me about 20 minutes.

4:30 PM: Feeding, watering and putting all the animals away

All the animals get fed in the evening.  You start with the contents of the dogs’ bowls. If they haven’t eaten everything from the previous night, you’ll take the leftover meat down to the barn and divide it evenly between the two pig buckets. To each bucket add 3/4 green scoop of sprouted seeds and two good-sized handfuls of fermented pig food from the white bucket topped with the upside down metal trash can lid.

Next, find the two little white buckets.  For the sheep, put the same proportion of feed as the morning: about 1/3 of the green scoop of sprouted seeds and 1/4 of the green scoop of finely ground, unfermented hog food.  For the ducks, put approximately ½ cup of sprouted seed and ½ cup of turkey food in their bucket. Feeding starts with the sheep and the ducks.  It’s best to separate the process into two trips otherwise you’ll have unwanted helpers and spillage plus thievery will occur.

Sheep & Ducks

The water tub for the sheep won’t need to be changed while I’m gone unless the turkeys or other birds have fouled it.  The sheep don’t actually drink from that tub.  It’s there “just in case”.

Take both buckets and go to the back door of the orchard.  The sheep will be waiting for you in that generally area, since everyone on the farm knows that evening means time to eat.  When they see the buckets, they’ll come running.  If they don’t notice you, call “Sheep!” and they’ll be right there.  Once they enter the orchard close the gate behind them.  You may have to step inside a bit to get them past the doors.  Know that if you don’t close that gate, you’ll lose them. Fill their little blue trough with their treat. They’ll love you if you throw them any fallen apples you find in my garden…HOWEVER, be sure to lock the gate between the garden and them or catastrophe will ensue.

Once the sheep are eating, take your buckets out the back gate of the orchard, being sure that the gate is locked behind you.  Sometimes Tiny, the ewe, will get confused and try to follow the empty bucket and you.  Just push her back inside the orchard and close/lock the gate behind you.  Go to the duck coop and open the door closest to the pond–the one over the metal ramp/trailer tailgate that the ducks use to enter their house.  You’ll need to lightly press your shoulder to the door to open the latch.  Inside, you’ll find a white plastic tub closest to the ramp and a small metal dish behind it.  This arrangement is critical.  For some reason, if the ducks can see the metal bowl it will startle them and they’ll hesitate about entering their house.  While you’re looking in the house, check for the orange tabby who finds that house the perfect place for his afternoon nap. Chase him out if you see him.

Empty the tub and refill it with pond water, then replace it. If there’s any food left in the metal bowl, dump it on the ground then refill the bowl from the bucket you brought with you.  Replace it behind the tub.  The ducks will swim close to watch you as you do this, commenting all the while.  Close the door and return with your buckets to the barn for the next round.

Turkeys/Chickens & Pigs

By this time, the turkeys will be flocking toward their coops, anticipating their daily ration of sunflower seeds.  Back in the barn, you’ll fill the larger of the two small white buckets to the top with sunflower seeds from the open bag. Take this bucket and the pig buckets (and two bags of turkey feed if it’s time to refill the trash can at their coop) to the turkey coop.

Strew the sunflower seeds in the barren area between the brooder coop and the pig enclosure.  Call Tom and make sure he gets a pile in front of him.  Hold back about 1/8th of the bucket for the stragglers and chickens who want their seeds in the area near the gate to the brooder coop.

Once the seeds are distributed, open the gates on the coops.  Push the red gate flat against the main coop wall so it’s not in the way when you can latch the chain link gate.  It’s important to get the big gray gate as close to the front of the main coop as it will go (it confuses the birds), but the smaller, inner gate can stand open wide.

Using the white bucket, collect chicken (and turkey, if any) eggs.  Right now the chickens are laying eggs behind the bales at the wall between the coops, although there is sometimes one egg under the leaning board opposite those bales. Collect whatever you find, then go to the chicken coop.  The girls have been laying in the far corner of the coop.  Once you have the eggs, be sure to put that bucket where Moosie can’t get to it.

By now the pigs are screaming for their dinner so you might as well feed them.  Take their troughs outside the tape and fill them from the buckets, then put their troughs inside the tape again.  While they’re busy eating, go into their coop and dump out their water trough (through the chain link, since it’s heavy). Bring the trough across the tape to the area where I left the triangular door.  It’s capping the hole in the mound.

Returning to the turkey coops, collect all the waterers and put them near the pig waterer, then return to collect the feed bowls out of the coops.  You’ll replace the bowls in the coop in the exact places they came from–this prevents birds from roosting over them and making a mess in the food–but in case you forget where they go, here’s the arrangement. There are four bowls in the brooder coop and five bowls in the main coop.  The bowls in the brooder coop are arranged equidistant down the central aisle.  In the main coop, you’ll put three of the largest bowls near the wall between it and the roosting coop, arranged near but not under the roosting pipe.  The fourth bowl goes near the wall between the brooder coop and the main coop, back behind the two pallets supporting the ends of the western roosting pipes.  The final, smallest bowl goes at the back of the coop in the isolation area, near the square water bowl beside the back door.

Dump whatever remains in the bowls onto the dirt/hardpack areas at the front of the turkey coops, then bring all 9 bowls to the metal food/trash can.  Each bowl gets two scoops of food in it except the odd, flattened metal container from the brooder coop which will only hold a little more than one.

Once the food bowls are in place, encourage Tom (if he’ll let you) into the main coop first so he is sure to eat.  Tommy II usually follows him in.

Back behind the coops, empty the bird waterers, rinse and refill to the top.  Before you replace them, rinse the mud from the pig waterer, then replace it in their coop.  Bring the hose under the tape (which works sometimes and doesn’t work others, so don’t touch it), push it through the chain link–it’s not long enough to go in through the coop door without crimping–and begin filling.  Keep an eye on the porcine girls.  One of their favorite games is to pull the hose out of the trough and run with it.  This is why I feed them before I fill the waterer.

While their water trough fills, replace the turkey waterers.  By the time you’ve finished doing that, the pig trough will be full. Turn off the hose and close the back door to the main turkey coop, make sure the big double doors on the roosting coop are closed, then open the back door to the brooder coop and find a nice long branch.  Congratulations, you’re ready to herd turkeys.

Herding Turkeys

Start with the youngest ones, who will be gathered along the exterior of the long wall of the brooder coop.  The little guys want to go into that door you just opened.  Trying to herd them to the main door is futile.  I call “Come on Moms and Babies!”, which, surprisingly, works.  Most of the little ones will enter.  Once those headed in that direction have entered, close that door.  Remember, what goes in comes back out just as easily.

At this point I guarantee you’ll have anywhere from 2-8 young toms in the pig enclosure, moving toward the far fence.  Why they do this is a mystery; they just migrate that direction while all the rest are going back into the pasture near the chicken coop.  So I usually go after them first, directing them back to the main coops before I start moving the bulk of the flock.  Sometimes, these wayward fellows will enter the main coop right away, sometimes they’ll join the others in the pasture.  Getting them all in one place is the goal.

While you off hunting down the rogue males, about a quarter of the birds will have made their way into the coops.  Leaving the doors to the main coop and brooder coop open, I go to the farthest birds in the pasture and begin guiding them toward home.  The birds know which coop they want and will direct themselves to the right doorway.

Here’s the key to herding turkeys: If you extend your stick toward their left, they’ll turn to the right and vice versa.  Less is more when it comes to moving that stick.  Waving it, running at them, shifting abruptly will all cause panic and scattering will be the result.  They will often pause enroute to the coop to flap their wings.  Don’t push them if they’re doing this as this means they’re preparing to roost and want to go in.  Also, there are 5 little black hens who use this coop; they’ve gotten really good about following the crowd of turkeys. If you don’t see these girls, check the brushy area between the main coop and the chicken coop.  That’s where they hang out at this time of day.

Getting the young toms inside is the hardest.  Tom, Tommy II and Gabby Gray and Gabby White will often form a gauntlet of sorts, poking and pecking at the little guys as they enter.  As you can imagine, none of the boys are thrilled about this and will scatter if they think they’re about to be attacked.  If you see a crowd forming inside the main coop near the entrance, step inside the door, hold your stick horizontally about at your knees and say “back” as you take a couple forward steps.  They’ll back off, gathering near the doorway to the isolation coop.

The two dark, pretty hens are the hardest to put away.  They’ll dilly-dally and walk you in circles if you’re not careful.  Once you think you’ve got them all in, walk back toward the pig pasture and scan for errant toms, then circle the coops a last time, especially checking between the metal platform and the main coop.  Babies and even some of the young toms will try to settle in there for the night.

Remember, Moosie will kill whatever you miss.  Good luck!

Closing up the rest of the critters

Chickens

By now, most of the chickens will be in the coop, but don’t bother trying to herd any that remain outside.  It just doesn’t work.  If you have to leave the chicken coop open until well after dark, that’s fine.  Moosie won’t climb the ramp into the coop to get to them nor will he let anything else do it.

Ducks

The ducks MUST be put away but they won’t go before the turkeys are inside.  So make your way back toward the barn via the duck house.  They’ll make their way out of the water toward their house as you approach.  However, even though they’ll go to the ramp as if they’re ready to enter, they won’t actually enter until you pick up the black bird catching net. Why this is is yet another mystery on the farm.  All I have to do is hold the net out at them and say “time to go in” and they’ll usually enter right away, female first.  I might have to shake the net a time or two, but usually not.

That said, if they resist at all, or stand with their heads lowered as if peering into the house, you’ll remember that the orange tabby was in the house earlier and may actually have returned to reclaim that warm spot he was so enjoying.  This requires that you skirt the pond, which sends the ducks back into the water, open the doors to the house and either shoo the cat out, should he still be there or assure the ducks that the cat is gone.  I swear they listen for this.

Once you’ve again closed the duck house doors, circle back around to the west side of the pond as they swim east to once again make their way to the ramp. Reclaiming the bird net, move to the north and again give it a shake or two.  This usually results in success, but I have had bad nights, requiring me to put my feet in the water at the pond’s edge with the net extended to convince them they have no other choice.  I hope this doesn’t happen to you. I think I’m buying new ducks come spring, hatchlings that will be imprinted on me so I don’t have to do for the rest of my life.

Sheep/Pigs

I close up the front gate of the orchard and the gate to the pig coop after dark. The piggies will follow me into the coop if they see me.  In your case, you may have to come with a bit of a treat for them.  Pull some chard from the barn garden or bring another couple of handfuls of fermented pig food to put on the ground in the coop for them.  They’ll love you for it.  Once they’re in, back out and close the gate.  The sheep will have settled into the orchard.  No need to chase them.  If you’ve left the chicken coop open, then this would be the time to close it.

Don’t forget to take the pig buckets and the eggs into the house or you’ll regret it in the morning when you have to trek down to the barn in the dark to pick up dirty buckets.

And with that the day is done.

Lucky for you, I’m hiring someone else to take care of the plants and the sourdough starter is in stasis in the refrigerator.

Just Duck-y

It finally happened.  I got the ducks I’ve been wanting forever.  I was ready for them.  Last winter, my neighbor was moving dirt and needed to find a place for the excess.  I had his guys half-fill my dry pond.  It was dry because although it was lined with bentonite clay, which should have dried into a waterproof layer, it leaked like a sieve. Moreover, I had no way to aerate the water, at least not without buying new pumps, putting in electric and figuring out how to hide a gigantic filter box.  So the pond went from round to kidney bean-shaped, which buried most of the cattails, mint, horsetail ferns and the other water-happy plants I’d originally planted at its edge.

When the guy driving the skidsteer came back with his last load I had him move the little yellow chicken coop onto the mini-pennisula that he’d created.  Oops.  No good deed goes unpunished.  His skidsteer (man, I want one of those to play with!) sank deep into the soft, dry clay that he’d just moved into the pond.  He had to go get the backhoe and dig out the smaller machine.

All through the spring and summer the pond waited.  I started filling it from the spring overflow so the oxygen-depleted water was replaced every so often.  Much to my surprise, the plants began to come back and three little Cottonwood seedlings appeared.  And it no longer emptied within hours of taking on water.  Instead, it now leaks more like a cracked pipe, the water slipping away very slowly, seeming to be soaking in rather than spreading out over the pasture.  Even better, it no longer empties completely, stopping instead at about mid-human-calf level.  That’s enough water that critters began to show up.  Toads, crayfish from the Mason ditch, dragonflies and darning needles.  There was a bullfrog for a while early this summer, its deep bass bellow filling the night air.

Moosie really enjoys raw frog. ‘Nuf said.  If only that dog would learn to differentiate between toads and frogs. All I can say is that the toads now come out of his mouth almost as fast as they go in.

Last spring a pair of wood ducks stopped by to survey the area.  I was thrilled and begged them to stay, but the dogs were too much for them.  Then, about four weeks ago my friend Su called.  She also has a pond (much bigger and less leaky) and had populated it with a flock of ducks descended from a beloved pet drake.  But then her dog (a Great Pyr with a penchant for skunks and waterfowl), a few owls, a few raccoons and a few skunks happened.  She brought me her last three, a mated pair and a young drake. She told me they were meat ducks.  I looked them up and think they might be Welsh Harlequin ducks.  They sort of look like Mallards, which are also meat ducks when it comes right down to it.

So I raised bird netting around the pond and we put the ducks inside their new duck house for 24 hours.  I was hoping they’d imprint on it as home, especially since the fast-moving Mason Ditch is just on the other side of the levy from my pond.  It went well for two days.  The three ducks swam as if unperturbed by the watching pigs, sheep, turkeys and chickens, all of whom were fascinated by this new addition to our little farm.  Then on the third night when I went to put them away I found the lone drake had disappeared.  Just in case he’d flown over the netting, I clipped the wings of the other two.

Meanwhile, as the ducks were getting settled in, the turkeys and sheep were doing their best to bring down the knitted fencing between them and the pond they enjoyed. While the turkeys flew over and only needed to be chased out, the sheep kept trying to go through the netting.  How in the world can one ewe get her head through three different sets of squares in that netting, especially since Tiny’s noggin is bigger than the squares?  I mean, she really has to work at it.  The third time I freed her from the potentially deadly netting, I took it down. So far this has resulted in no turkeys or sheep in the pond and no ducks in the ditch.

That doesn’t mean that something new didn’t move into the ducks’ area.  Bear’s favorite cat, the orange tabby, has made himself at home in the duck house.  And why not?  It’s the perfect cat retreat, the interior cozy and warm during the day, nesting boxes filled with fresh straw.  What could be more perfect for a cat’s midday snooze?

I can tell when Goldilocks is in there.  The ducks stand outside the ramp to their door, their heads raising and lowering as they peer inside to watch the strange and potentially dangerous creature who is sleeping in their bed.

If only they knew.  That cat is bird-proof.  The turkey hens have made it their mission to train all my felines.  One step too close and they spread their wings and race at the cats, screeching as they come. One flap from either duck and that cat would be fleeing for his life, even if he had to swim across the pond to make his escape.

 

 

 

 

Drunken Bees And Helper Hogs

This post started out about the bees but then my two way-too-big helper pigs appeared and I couldn’t resist adding them to the story.  But first, a Moosie update.  His stitches were removed yesterday.  THANK HEAVENS.  That dog turned out to be a terrible patient, mostly because he has no patience with being injured.

It started with the doctor’s order to keep him quiet and confined. Yeah, right.  I put him in the big bathroom near the commercial kitchen (handicap accessible).  It has a tile floor so I could hear him pacing and turning, then scratching at the door.  I settled for letting him sleep on my new-to-me leather couch in the front room and in my bedroom at night.  Not even that kept him quiet. By the end of the first week, I’d given up on keeping him inside during the day, and was instead allowing him to sleep on HIS blanket outside on the porch.  He was actually quieter there because he and Bear could be together.

Then there were those antibiotic pills, to be taken 3 times a day.  He took the first three, then began eating the good stuff in which I was hiding the pill (much to my surprise he likes the Pill Pockets–he usually doesn’t like conventional treats) and spitting out the pill.  Which Bear then immediately ate.  Since that wasn’t really the intention, I gave up.  He’s a healthy dog and didn’t have a trace of infection.

And what about that t-shirt he was supposed to wear to keep him from scratching at his stitches, you might ask.  The second morning I found the dog on the couch and the t-shirt on the floor.  Thinking I had lost my marbles (this is happening slowly, marble by marble), I figured I’d left his shirt off when I checked his stitches that first night. Angry at myself, I restored the beer-sloganed shirt/rag that my renter had donated to the cause.  That afternoon, Moosie was once again naked.  Now intrigued, I again restored the shirt, then kept checking on my too-smart-for-his-own-good dog.  Sure enough, a little while later he slinked off into my bedroom.  I found him with his back feet pressed into the t-shirt hem while he was thrusting his head and shoulders out of the neck and sleeves.  This definitely wasn’t good, since he was yanking and pulling the shirt off over his stitches.  I considered running for my phone and recording it, but I couldn’t bear that he might hurt himself, so you’ll just have to believe me when I tell you that’s what he did. The result?  I set aside the shirt permanently and instead kept an eye on Moosie, warning him not to scratch whenever I caught him lifting a paw.  It worked.  He has healed beautifully, although he now sports a pretty funny looking haircut.

Onto the bees.  There are two times of the year that the sixty thousand or so bees that live in my back Cottonwood tree become a problem for me: early Spring and mid-Autumn.  In early Spring, the bees wake up from their Winter snooze and hurry out, only to discover that not much is blooming other than arugula.  However, there’s plenty of turkey and/or chicken food.  All of a sudden, I find my birds sidling and shuffling around their feed, eying the hordes of buzzing bees with substantial caution.  Birds get stung too.

Although the bees aren’t very aggressive in the spring, this isn’t true for Autumn.  This time of year, as the overripe fruit drops, the bees zoom in to bury themselves in the sweet pulp.  Lost in ecstasy, they carve big holes in the fallen fruit, each hole scored with perfectly straight mandible lines.  But here’s the problem.  The fruit isn’t just sweet, it’s fermented.  That’s right, the bees are getting tipsy. Put a little alcohol in ’em and my usually mild-mannered bees get feisty.

Dang, not feisty.  Diana Galbaldon ruined that word for me when she told me it was Lowland Scots for “farty”.   But you get the idea.  I was stung twice last week picking up apples because the bee wasn’t about to give up her precious booze.  Never mind that this cost her her life and only made me uncomfortable.  All of us–the sheep, the turkeys, me and the gilts–are eying the fruit on the ground very carefully.

Speaking of the gilts, my little girls aren’t so little any more and are beginning to do some of the destructive things that hogs are famous for, such as breaking through the chain link panels that surround their little house.  Boinker is culprit in this case.  Given that she’s a little smaller than Oinker, she can still slip through the head-sized hole she opens in the chain link, leaving Oinker stuck inside the pen.  This causes some riotous, blood-curdling squealing as I approach the back field with their breakfast.  Oinker is terrified that Boinker might get to the food first, which, actually, Boinker usually does despite her smaller size.  I’m sure my neighbors are thrilled with this dawn serenade.

My solution has been to “sew” the chain link back into its metal frame using bailing twine, which is plasticized and pretty darn strong. Yesterday, I sewed the third panel, including cinder blocks in this repair since Oinker had followed Boinker through and really torqued the mesh.

This has not been easy to do, let me tell you.  Hogs are, indeed, like dogs and they have bonded to me, accepting me as another pig in the herd as it were.  This means they insist on knowing what I’m doing and why and if they can help and if they can’t help, can they at least watch from about a micron’s distance? I have had to lock myself inside the pen and finagle my fingers and the twine around snouts pressed to the metal from the opposite side of the panel.

So far my repairs are holding, but I think the twine won’t last forever.  It’s time to consider rebuilding the enclosure with hog panels.  Hah!  I’ve got you now, my pretties!

 

 

 

 

Sourdough Bread

I fell in love with Sourdough bread on my first trip to San Francisco.  I was 18 and living on my own in Denver when my father was transferred to the Bay Area.  Sometime during that first year, I went to visit.  It was my first plane trip and my first trip to the San Francisco area.  I’ll never forget stepping off the plane in Oakland.  The air was foggy and cool, and scented with what I now know is Eucalyptus.  At the time I thought the scent was the most exotic spice I could have imagined.

As I walked through the terminal,  I was startled to see loaves of bread in front of most of the gift stores. San Francisco Sourdough. I’d never had Sourdough at that point, but before the end of that trip I’d not only tried it, I’d fallen in love.  I still choose Sourdough over any other bread.

Even back then, in my young and stupid period, I was a baker and had used my Grandmother’s recipe for Speedy Rolls to make simple loaves of bread.  However, I had no idea what sourdough was or why it was different from regular bread.  It has taken me 44 years to solve that puzzle and that I did it at all is sheer happenstance.

Well okay, not completely happenstance.  It’s the pigs/gilts/hogs or whatever they’re called.  I know porcine creatures the age of my two girls are rightly called gilts or hogs, but let’s face it, when I want them, I shout, “Hey, piggies!”  This starts up the squeals and grunts and they come running at top speed, which, I’ll mention, is fairly impressive.

How are the piggies related to sourdough?  It’s because of my friends Kai and Meghan, who raised pigs/hogs last year.  One of their pieces of wisdom was to ferment the hog food.  That’s where the sourdough came in.  Right after the piggies/shoats arrived, I started their feed fermenting with some of my renter Derek’s kombucha.  Later that week, I went to the freezer to pull out dog food and discovered much to my surprise that I still had a box of sourdough culture in my freezer.

I’d tried making sourdough bread two years ago, right after the ovens went into the commercial kitchen. At the time I was taking an on-line course about fermented foods, and sourdough was one of the items on the list of lessons.  So I bought two cultures, San Franciscan and Parisian.  Based on my youthful experience, I went straight to the San Franciscan and with that the Blob entered my life.

Any else remember that cheesey 1958 movie where a gelatinous and every expanding mound of protoplasm moves through a town consuming everything in its path?  (The remake was a lot better, at least plot-wise.)   Well, shortly after the first time my sourdough starter grew out of its glass jar and adhered to my counter, I named the ferment “The Blob.”  It not only threatened to take over my kitchen, but feeding and tending it seemed almost as cumbersome and rule-bound as taking care of cows.  When I finally had enough, I tried making bread using the recipe from my course, which suggested whole wheat flour.

(Long pregnant pause here.)

Yuck.  Just plain yuck.  Even the soft parts were hard to chew.  Not only that, it didn’t rise.  Shortly after that, I offered the starter to anyone who wanted it.  I think Kai and Meghan might have been the ones who took it.  In fact, that starter might have been what Kai used to ferment his hog food.  In that case I got my money’s worth out of it, because his experience with my starter has resulted in the best smelling food in my barn.

So, after I got the Parisian culture going and my new Blob was overflowing its glass jar, I added the excess to my fermenting bucket of hog food.  The smell became sweet and the heat it generates is pretty amazing.  Putting my hands into the food to measure out their portions always makes me smile.  There’s only one problem.  The ferment in that bucket hasn’t ever died.  I haven’t had to add any more starter since late July.  But I don’t want The Blob in the house to die, just in case.  So here I am again, once more tending the ever expanding starter and finding it impossible to just compost the excess, not when it’s perfectly good starter.

What to do, what to do?

I started with pancakes.  OMG!  They were delicious and the recipe (below) is as easy as my usual, unfermented pancakes.  But honestly, not even I can eat pancakes every morning. And that means I still have more starter than I can use.  So, off I went to my favorite recipe book…Google.  I typed in “sourdough” and up came a recipe for bread.

Grimacing at the thought of that first, awful experiment, I read the ingredient list.  It was simple, truly basic bread: water, flour, starter, salt and sugar. But instead, of whole wheat, this recipe called for white flour.  All of a sudden, I was remembering my first taste of sourdough bread. I stared at the recipe, wanting to make it that instant but pretty sure I didn’t have enough time, even though I already had enough fed starter to play with.  If the the loaves came out flat and lifeless like the first batch, would it be because I hurried or because I just don’t have the knack for sourdough? I settled for risking it.  Really, what did I have to lose except time and some flour?

So, I dumped the starter into a bowl, added the first increment of flour and the water.  I checked in an hour.  The batter was already reaching the top of the bowl!  Ha, this was going to be great!

I added the rest of the flour, sugar (actually agave syrup), and salt, then kneaded only to be drawn away because it was time to put away animals.  I returned to the kitchen to punch down the dough.  Gack!  I didn’t add enough flour while kneading; it was too sticky.

Ah well, in for a penny, in for a pound.  I formed two gooey oval loaves on my parchment paper covered baking sheet.  Then, to speed things up a bit, I turned on the oven and set the loaves to rise at the back of the stove where the heat escapes.  I checked back a full hour earlier than I should have, but time was running out. I was supposed to be at a neighbor’s house, helping him celebrate his son’s wedding.

The loaves were about half as high as I would have liked, but it was use it or lose it at this point so I put them in the oven.  Twenty minutes later I took out two fairly well browned flat loaves.  They sounded hollow when thumped, even though I was sure they had to be gooey on the inside.  I left them to cool while I drove off to the celebration.

The next morning, I shuffled into the kitchen, stared at the loaves, then pulled out my ancient bread knife.  I  sawed one of the loaves in half.  Much to my surprise, the middle wasn’t gooey at all.  I cut off a slice and slathered it with butter, then took a bite.

My eyes closed.  It was a little heavy, but the texture was great and the taste was…sigh…just what I wanted.  I swear I could smell the Eucalyptus.  I’m making my second batch as I type this and this time there’ll be no skimping on how long I let them raise.

 

Sourdough Pancakes:

2 cups fed starter (it’s stopped bubbling and rising)
1/4 cup olive oil (in my case that’s 1/4 cup melted butter)
1 egg
2 tbsp sugar (I use agave syrup)
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp baking soda dissolved in 1 tbsp water

Mix the first five ingredients together while your greased pan heats to medium.  When the pan is ready, stir in the baking soda/water.  That will add air to the batter, giving you light, fluffy pancakes.  Using a serving spoon to add the batter to the pan.  They grow like, well, like The Blob so what seems like a little batter can spread over the whole pan.  Cook the first one and throw it out (the first one is always a dud).  From there on, cook each pancake until the bubbles on the batter’s surface break and leave little holes that don’t close up, flip and cook until the bottom is golden brown.

Sourdough Bread

1 cup ( 9 ounces) “fed” sourdough starter
1 1/2 cups (12 ounces) lukewarm water
5 to 6 cups (21 1/4 to 25 1/2 ounces) All-Purpose Flour, divided
1 tablespoon salt
1 tablespoon sugar or agave syrup (optional)

Pour the cup of starter into a large mixing bowl. Add the warm water and about 3 cups of flour. Beat vigorously. Cover this sponge with plastic wrap and put it aside to work. This period can be very flexible, but allow at least 2 hours and up to 8 hours. A longer period (at a lower temperature) will result in a more sour favor.

After the dough has bubbled and expanded, remove the plastic wrap. Blend in the salt, sugar/agave syrup, and remaining 2 cups of flour. Mix until the dough comes together, then knead, using your hands, an electric mixer, or a bread machine set on the dough cycle, until the dough is smooth and elastic. Add only enough extra flour to keep the dough from sticking. Place the dough in the bowl, cover, and let it rise until doubled, 1 to 2 hours.

Divide the dough in half. Shape each half into an oval loaf.  You can either use parchment paper to cover the baking sheet or lightly grease it and sprinkle with cornmeal to prevent sticking.

Cover with a tea towel (Do people still have tea towels? If you’re someone who doesn’t, use a clean cotton kitchen towel.), and let rise until doubled.  This can take up to 2 hours. Set aside the towel, put a couple of slashes in the top of each loaf, then bake in a preheated 450°F oven for approximately 20 minutes until golden brown.  Slide the loaves off the sheet and let them cool on that tea towel you may or may not have.  If you’re like me, you’ll cut into one end while it’s still much too hot and eat the end piece.

PS I have active starter if anyone needs some.  Just remember, this is like buying a dog or adopting a kitten.  You’ll be caring for it for the rest of your life.

 

Frankenstein’s Tail

Well, he did it.  Moosie finally bit off more than he could chew. Or rather tried to bite something that could chew him.

Yesterday morning I got up at my usual 5:00 ish to find the boys pacing frantically outside the kitchen door.  Considering it was still dark–okay, it wasn’t really dark.  How could it be with that amazing moon?  It’s been so bright that I keep waking up thinking it’s dawn.  It’ll be nice when it wanes some.  Anyway, I ignored the dogs and did my usual morning stuff.  That consists of making tea, emptying the dishwasher, filling the pigs’ buckets with their morning yogurt (I make them goat yogurt), and turning on my computer to check my email and my rank on Amazon.

I admit it.  I enjoy seeing where in the hierarchy of authors (this is not the same as the hierarchy of angels although it sometimes feels like it) I fall on any given day.  Lately, it’s been especially fun as I’ve flown to unexpected heights.  I keep praying that it keeps up a little longer.  I need a tractor! Doesn’t have to be new.  I’m fine with used but well maintained.

All the while that I’m doing my thing, the dogs are pacing, Moosie pawing at the glass (I hate that “scree”), Bear doing his little dance. It’s the moon’s fault that I didn’t give them that much attention.  When the moon is this bright every critter that lives around here–fox, bobcat (saw a paw print in my garden, dang it), mountain lion, skunk, deer (they’ve been grazing in my lower pasture all summer), and stinky old javelina walk the road.  And that’s exactly what the dogs had done all night: they’d barked along the stretch of fence that lines Page Springs Road. So, I figured whatever it was that had them excited was on the road, safely beyond their reach.

At dawn I donned my Wellies, grabbed my pig buckets and started out the door.  Much to my surprise, both dogs went running to the gate that separates me from my neighbors.  Given the hour, this was so strange I figured I ought to check it out.  You see, the only time either dog acts this excited and heads for that gate is when the neighbors are having a party.  That’s my dogs–the world’s first and foremost party animals.  I mean, what’s not to like about families gathering on the creekside?  There’s water, children who feed them all sorts of tasty things, toys, other dogs, more children, grownups who also feed them tasty things then ooh and aah over Bear’s size and gentle nature and comment on Moosie’s bright blue eyes.  And did I mention children who feed them tasty things?  Moosie heads for that gate the instant he hears the first unexpected car pull into the neighbor’s driveway.

So, figuring I’d better check to see what was going on next door at this early hour, I opened the gate.  Both dogs thrust past me at full speed.  Instead of running for the house, they made a sharp right turn and raced up the hill for a giant pine tree with branches that brush the ground.  The tree exploded with motion.  Moosie yelped then yelped again as Bear gave his fiercest growls.  Then a medium-sized javelina burst out of the branches and raced at full speed toward the house and the gate beyond it that leads to the corral on the neighbor’s lower pasture. That barred fencing lets in all sorts of creatures from the wild, overgrown wasteland that fills the mile or so between their property and their next door neighbor.

Both dogs were after it just as quickly.   Now terrified for Moosie, I shouted for them to return.  And, thank heavens, they did!

Just as I expected, Bear was unharmed and Moosie was bleeding.  With no choice but to do my morning walk, I didn’t dare look until all the other animals were fed and/or released for the day. By the time we returned to the house, Moosie’s berserker nature had receded, leaving him shaken and hurting.  A chunk of his left jowl was torn loose and he had six good sized tears on his right side, one of them revealing the muscle beneath his skin. Gratefully, nothing important was damaged and he wasn’t spurting blood–in fact he wasn’t bleeding much at all.  That was a blessing because it was all of 6:30 on a Sunday morning and there’s NOTHING available as far as emergency vet care anywhere close to Cornville.

So, I washed his wounds and bandaged what I could, then went to the internet.  My choices were Flagstaff or Prescott.  Sigh.

Sunday is my cleaning day, the day I do laundry, wash my waterers and feeders and clean the bird coops.  Given the drive and his injuries, it looked like I was going to lose the whole day.   Knowing Moosie was hurting but not dying, and resigned to doing what needed to be done, I fed myself (I don’t operate well without food), then carefully slipped on Moosie’s collar.  Moosie doesn’t much care to ride in the car.  Where would I take him?  I mean, the dog lives in the dog park.  So Derek helped me lift him into the back of my Focus.  Like I said, Moosie’s not good with the car, so he immediately climbed into the front passenger seat.

Keeping an elbow in Moosie’s chest to prevent him from trying for my lap, I took off down the road, having chosen Prescott over chillier Flagstaff.  As I reached Cornville Road, I glanced at the gas gauge.  Time to gas ‘er up.  I love my Focus!  She gives me 35 miles to the gallon, more if I coast some.  There are spots on the 17 where I can coast for miles.

As I pull in at Crazy Tony’s, I find myself staring at the door to the Cornville Animal Clinic.  Dr. Oler is my vet, and a good one, too. That’s when the brain cells that had shut down the moment Moosie first yelped decide to click back on.  I remember that the clinic is open on Sunday!

At 7:41, I’m parked in front of their door, more than grateful to wait the twenty minutes until they open.  Surprisingly, I wasn’t the only one waiting nor the first one in the door at 7:58.  A dog and cat (and their owners) hit the doorway ahead of me.  Within minutes, Moosie is being lead into the back with a promise that, although he’ll look like Frankenstein’s monster when all is said and done, he’ll be fine.

Poor Moosie!

And so he is.  Right now, he’s wearing an old nightshirt of mine and resting comfortably on the chaise near my desk that the cats usually use.

Bear, after being told three times that Moosie can’t play for the next 14 days–and despite doing his best to convince me that he only wanted to bite his own tail to make Moosie feel better–is laying behind my chair.  That’s the closest I’ll let him get to his best buddy.

I know better than to fall for that “bite my own tail” routine.

 

Unexpected “Vacation”

My apologies for missing my post last week.  After a lovely holiday weekend spent with friends who came up from Phoenix to escape the heat, I did something stupid.  That’s not an unusual thing for me.  I mean, I’m the woman who scooped a rattlesnake into a bucket with a piece of cardboard.  In this case, on Sunday, after everyone left, I lifted something heavier than I should have tried lifting.  I felt my back tweak as I did it, but (being me) ignored the warning sign.

In my defense, I have an auto-immune disorder that affects my spine and I often feel “tweaky”, at which point I pop some turmeric and go on about my day.  Well, this time the turmeric didn’t help.  By bedtime I realized that this pain wasn’t quite be the same thing that usually affects me.  By the next morning, I was certain it wasn’t.  Standing hurt, sitting hurt and laying on the bed was agony.  Typing was out of the question.  Heck, thinking was out of the question.  Not sleeping well renders me a babbling idiot.  Argh.

Actually, I think if I had one of those big exercise balls to sit on I would have improved more quickly.  That’s not possible, not as long as I have Moosie.  Moosie LOVES those balls.  He looks like a circus dog, moving it around with his front paws as he bites at the thick plastic.  It takes him about fifteen minutes to render it defunct.

At any rate,  the point of all that is I couldn’t do anything.  Okay, I couldn’t do anything for me.  I suffer from HD.  That’s ADHD without the AD, since I tend to be abnormally focused. I cannot bear to just watch the television, or rather the iPad, since that’s my preferred popular entertainment delivery device.  If there’s something’s playing on my iPad you can bet I’m not really watching it.  Instead, it’s playing in the background while I’m washing dishes or sweeping floors or cooking.

So I made my way through six movies (watched in bits and pieces, depending on how long I could stay standing), the best of which was The Man Who Knew Infinity.  Wow! Imagine complicated mathematical formulae appearing in your brain the way Mozart received music!  Fascinating movie about someone who should be as famous as Einstein.

When I wasn’t sweeping the floors and watching movies, I went out to the gardens and stared at the ground, wishing and hoping.  In between, I walked back and forth between the house to the far barn, because walking actually made everything feel better.  This kept the sheep busy.  They have become terrible beggars.  The minute Cinco, whose “baa” is beginning to sound testosterone-infused, catches sight of me, he comes running–just in case I’m bringing something edible.  He even tried nibbling on my fingers the other day.  And no, he’s not starving to death.  All three of them look properly plump.  Perhaps a bit too plump.  But they would walk with me on the other side of their fence, hoping and wishing.

Yarp!

Once I reached the far barn I’d be greeted by my not-so-little-anymore gilts, who make very certain they stop just short of the electric tape.  Yep, the tape works.  Although I have three lines of tape run at the lowest levels of the poles–the highest one is just below knee-level to me, making it easy for me to step over–I could take out the two lower tapes and use them elsewhere .  Every time the girls get close to the fence, they pause, reach out toward the tape with the tips of their snouts and sniff.  Can they smell the electricity or do they get a little buzz at that short distance?  I always know when they make contact.  No doubt the neighbors do as well.  I swear their “YARP!”s  echo for miles.

For the record, the turkeys are careful with the tape too, ducking their heads nearly to the ground so the bare skin on their noggins don’t touch it.  Given that feathers are great insulators, they let the tape slide over their backs.

While I meandered around the turkey barn, I’d spend a time with Tom, watching and worrying.  I’m pretty sure that he’s going blind.  Is this why he and Tommy 2 are so bonded?  They’ve become inseparable, grazing together away from the bulk of the flock these days. There’s none of the aggression between them that I’ve seen in the past between Tom and his sons.  They don’t even press themselves into the scrums forming between this year’s little toms.  In the past, Tom has always participated in the great “king of the coop” game, making sure all the boys know that he’s their one true king.  I guess that’s not necessary this year, what with Tommy 2 so clearly heir apparent.  So the elder statesmen stand back and watch as the younger lads circle each other, grabbing snoods or wattles and yanking until one of them peeps “Uncle”.

On the way back to the house, I’d stop in to take a peek at my new ducks.  Thank you Su!  Not only did my friend give me her adult ducks, twenty-six days ago she provided seven fertile duck eggs.  Those eggs have been sitting under two broody hens in the turkey coop.  (Where else would hens go to hatch eggs, right? Sheesh.)  I should have ducklings on the 15th. Su assures me the hens will raise the ducklings as ducks.  She says her hen Emma raised two clutches of ducklings, taking her odd little babies to the kiddie pool were the babies did their ducky thing while the hen was content to watch.  I’m not sure my girls are all that smart, but you can be certain I’ll be reporting in on any duckling arrivals next week.

Oh, and obviously the enforced time out of the chair and away from the computer did the trick as here I am, once more typing away.  Then again, I promised myself I wouldn’t be doing any more heavy lifting.  It’s no more than fifty pounds for the next few weeks.  In case you’re wondering, it has to be fifty pounds since that’s the weight of a bag of turkey food.   And so it goes…