at the lake, end of august

Going into the fourth day without power except for that provided by the tractor running very loudly right outside the front door (and watching as the diesel delivery truck pulls away from the farm - chaCHING!) the kids and I decided to head to the beach.  No sooner did I spread out the blanket and head down to the water than - snap - camera battery dead.  Think I have a spare?  Nope.  Think I could plan ahead and charge my one battery up before taking the kids to the beach on a beautiful day?  Nope.  Well, I could blame that on the sporadic availability of electricity at home.  Anyway, I took one shot today.  

But, AHAH!, I just so happened to take photos at our little local beach almost one month ago to the day. Less water in the pond back in July, but otherwise, all was the same.  Same outfit.  Same spot.  Same trucks.

Same impish grin.

Same water lilies blooming away in the marsh just beyond the docks.

And the same sweet baby girl with a slightly frustrated face, dreaming of her escape from the carrier to run and jump and splash like her brother.

But of course one month has passed since I took these photographs.  Greta has learned to roll both ways, makes a very distinct MAMA sound, and is just beginning to push up to her knees.  Before long, she will be running alongside her brother.  And even in the space of just one month, Thatcher seems to be a tiny bit taller, less round in the face...  By the time we arrived home, the power had been restored.  The battery went straight in the charger.  Have I ordered a spare?  I'll get around to that tomorrow.

ceci n'est pas un lac

Down the hill and across the road is a lovely, flat, low-lying hayfield, bordered by a small stream - a crick as some people call it - maybe ten feet wide and shallow enough for wading cows to cool themselves in on hot afternoons.  On Saturday, this field was filled with neatly raked windrows of hay, almost - but not quite - ready to be baled.  And here is the hayfield yesterday afternoon, courtesy of Irene.  Although it is obvious that the hay in this field is a loss, there was no other significant damage on the farm.  All of our animals are high and dry, and so far we have not found any trees down on fences.  The corn crop is still standing.  The barn roof held up just fine in the wind.  So it was purely exhilarating to see the power of the water pounding through our fields and pastures. 

When I was little, my Dad and I liked to drive out after bad storms to watch rivers flowing across the roads.  Watching a river in flood brings me back to these childhood excursions in an instant.

In the distance, a blue heron enjoyed new digs.  Families of ducks were also happy to claim new territory, even if only for a few days.  It is incredible to see a landscape utterly changed.  

The waters will recede, almost as quickly as they arrived.  Craig plans to mow hay this afternoon.  

On higher ground.

The power is out, and may be out yet for a few days, but we have a generator and the old Ford tractor is running it like a champ.  This little generator is powering our household and - most importantly - the six ginormous freezers holding our complete inventory of frozen meat.  All is well here at the farm.

second cutting, part two

Yesterday was a perfect day for making hay.  Warm, windy, lots of bright sunshine.  Out went Opa (as Craig's father is known to all of his grandkids) with the rake and the old Ford tractor, and following him was Craig with the round baler and the Kubota.  The baler is used, but new to us this season.  Being able to bale our own hay means that we can take advantage of shorter windows of good weather to mow, rake and bale one or two fields at a time.  Of course it also adds another thing to Craig's plate, but so far we are very happy with the decision.  It was a big decision.  Even used, this was not an inexpensive piece of equipment.  That being said, paying someone to do the baling for us was not inexpensive either!

Two generations, working side-by-side, here on this family farm.  

And here is the next generation, waiting in the car with Mama, mesmerized.

supper time!

There is a bit of an art to feeding a group of very hungry 500+ pound hogs.  First, gather up all of the dishes.  Place outside the electric fence.  Fill said dishes.  Grab Dish #1 and run in one direction.  Toss over fence.  Grab Dish #2, run in the opposite direction.  Toss over fence.  Repeat until all dishes are where they should be.  This routine has developed over time and through experience.  Craig knows well, there is definitely such a thing as a Hog Ride...

In this group are six sows (all now bred) and one Berkshire boar - Luki.  When Luki arrived, he was just a tiny little fellow, all of six weeks old and maybe fifteen pounds.  It took him quite a while to warm up to us, but he has become one of Craig's favorites.  Luki loves to have his belly rubbed, and will flop over on the ground to let you know just what he's after. 

Wonder why Thatcher prefers doing chores with Dad?  Perhaps it has something to do with the ride...  Mama walks.  Dad drives.  And yes, that is a car seat strapped into the Gator.

I asked Thatcher, What's next?  I thought he said something about the potty.  Then I realized what he had really told me - Go feed Spotty!  Exactly.  He knows the routine better than I do.  

Spotty's piglets are now two weeks old, and just as predicted, they're busy stealing her food.  Is it a Mama's lot in life to never enjoy a peaceful meal?  Can you see in the photo that while one group is digging in her feed dish, there are a few opportunists getting in a stealthy suckle?  Sneaky little scamps.

And as soon as supper is done, it's back to caring for the kids...

haying round two & hog-tillage

Craig's back to work haying - it's time for the second cutting.  First job is mowing.  After the hay has had some drying time, and while Craig moves on to other fields with the mower, his father (age 81!) heads out with the rake to flip the cut hay into windrows.  Once the windrows are fully dry, Craig will head out with the round baler.  Think we're done once the hay is baled?  Nope.  Then it's time to bring all of the bales home.  Some will be loaded into the hay barn (already more than half full with the first cutting - about 160 1,400 lb round bales) and the rest will be stacked into a long pyramid and covered with tarps.  Then we're done with haying.  For this season anyway...  We all feel better knowing the hay barn is loaded up and ready to see the cows through a long winter.

After I dropped Craig off at the tractor (where he left off mowing yesterday evening), I decided to stop by and say hello to one of the groups of our almost market-weight hogs.  They were all lined up along the fence, digging, rooting.  That long snout comes from our Tamworth boar.  The Berkshires have a shorter, more compact snout.  But no matter how big or small, those snouts are pure muscle.  Best rototillers I've ever seen.

at the end of Greta's day

Every day on the farm begins and ends with chores.  In the evening, Thatcher joins Dad for hog feeding and checking on the cows, while Greta rides along in the sling with Mama to feed and water the chickens, gather the eggs and care for the horses.  The chickens we have in the mobile coop are a mix of Rhode Island Reds, Araucanas and what I call "heritage mutts" (chicks hatched here on the farm).  We've just received several very handsome roosters as a gift from a friend (I have yet to spend the time online determining their breeds), so it will be interesting to see what comes out of the incubator in the next round of hatching!  (Below you will see two of the heritage mutts and one of the new roosters - he's especially proud of that comb!)

Greta is already eager to help.  We start 'em early around here!

Before I'm ready for it, Greta will be out of the sling and toddling along, scattering chicken feed as Thatcher loved to do when he had just learned to walk.  For now, I'm treasuring the sight of these ten chubby fingers, busy reaching out for everything within their grasp, her sweet warm body nestled close.

tuesday's delivery

Every Tuesday, we deliver 25 dozen eggs to a nearby dairy farm.  Since Greta's arrival, this chore has found its way onto Craig's to-do list (with plenty of other things) but he was off in another direction today picking up a ton of feed (literally - one ton of hog feed) and several boxes of hot dogs at the butcher's and trying to pin down the guy who should be coming any day now to combine our barley.  So, Mama and Thatcher and Greta piled into the car with the eggs to head over to Cornwall.

Ready to go!  Raincoat covered in yesterday's hog meal?  Oh well!  Not much we can do about it now...

On the way home, we decided to stop at the local Audubon Center.  In the rain.  But we were prepared - even Greta - and I'm so glad we stopped.  It is often so easy to just focus on the chores, and forget to make the time to do something for the pure joy of it.  

This tiny pond was completely surrounded by frogs!  Look, Mama!

This is the Purposeful Strut.  Often spotted when heading off to do chores with Daddy.  

No need to wait for Mama to help with the gate.  There's more than one way to bust into a garden.

Just a few paths in the woods, a lovely garden, a pond, a bog and a bridge.  A whole world of wonder for my boy.

Note to self: Always make time to stop.

pile o'piglets, and other pleasures

Piglets are very good at eating, and even better at sleeping.  This is how they do it:

Here is the view from the door of Spotty's hut.  Craig builds all of our hog huts.  The A-frames you can see on the hillside were his first design.  He has now switched to building a square hut with straight sides and a sloping roof as it gives our sows more room to maneuver inside.  We started out using metal Port-a-Huts for farrowing, but have found them to be a bit small for some of our bigger sows, and they have become prohibitively expensive in the past few years.  Farm carpentry to the rescue!

Here is Greta checking out a group of hogs.  She looks a little suspicious, no?  If you could have been watching the antics going on in the pasture, you'd understand the face she's making.  Lots of running and jumping and snorting...  

This is our road, looking back toward the barnyard (which is just beyond the bend).  Just thinking about it now, I realize that I have spent the vast majority of my life living alongside a series of very similar dirt roads.  Given the small number of dirt roads remaining within a 90 mile radius from New York City, I wonder what the statistical likelihood of this is?  Sort of like winning the lottery.

Better even than winning the lottery.