Rain is a good thing

We should have one in Willsboro

Kickin' it old school: local butchershops. Also, I like this super-simple recipe for grilled chicken. You've got the grill, we've got the chicken. And arugula, if I can find those seeds...

Oh, and the boys say hi.

Chauntel

Mysterious happenings

Well, I thought I would post at least once a week, and I see that I'm a bit behind. But who isn't? Our garden is especially on the late end, we've just started planting. As of now, it would appear that we only grow tomatoes, peppers, tomatoes, eggplants, onions, and tomatoes. Did I mention tomatoes? So many tomatoes. I love the smell of tomato plants, but it's a bit overwhelming.

Some strange things have been happening on the farm lately. This past week we had a few calves, all of which were born healthy and happy. All pretty normal, lovely little black Angus calves. Except...

Yep. Did I mention we breed BLACK Angus? Or that his mama is entirely BLACK? That last summer we used a top-notch BLACK Angus bull? That there is no way this little boy could be anything but BLACK? I digress. But we have our theories. Perhaps a lonely wayward dairy bull might have wandered over without us noticing. Or maybe this is just one of those crazy one-in-a-gazillion genetic flukes. I mean, he's not even black and white. He's red and white. That's just insulting.

Then there's the raccoons. There have been no less than four raccoon encounters this week, and we know there are more prowling around. Is it raccoon mating season or something? Because they've been out full force and grabbing our chickens like we're a fast food drive-through. We're missing four turkeys and one little piglet. I'm not sure if raccoons are the most likely culprit, but the disappearances have happened smackdab in the middle of the raccoon invasion. Raccoons have always creeped me out a little bit, anyways. They look at like they're reading your mind, like they know all your secrets. And their hands - so slender yet tactile, kind of the way I imagine Professor Snape's hands in Harry Potter. They give me the shivers.

Chill out. I just made an HP reference, the world isn't ending. Yes, I am fully aware that I am a nerd, and an immature one at that.

Okay, anyways - here's the weirdest thing to top it off. After a fitful night of raccoon chasing, I woke up at 4 am to the smell of woodsmoke, like from a campfire. Of course, my first thought was that the barn was on fire. So, naturally, my first action was to reach over, grab my phone, text my dad (who was downstairs) "hey dad, it smells like smoke up here", and then roll over and go back to sleep. I don't think I'm much of a candidate for firefighting.

I got up at again at five to go riding and it still smelled like smoke, and there was a thick, smoky haze covering the sunrise. And the horses were a little on the nervous side, snorting and looking around like something was going to pop out at them. When I got back to the house for breakfast I found out that all this haze is smoke, blown down from forest fires in Quebec. The horses must have thought it was headed straight towards us. And the other animals are ansty as well.
The cows are restless, and the bees are piling up and honey in defense mode. When we work with beehives, we actually use smoke to make them cluster in the hive for easier transport and handling, because they start "packing up" in case a forest fire were to reach the hive. So today is a perfect day to work bees - they're already settled! The downside is they might think the forest fire really is on its way, in which case they'll pack up and then move out. But the wind is blowing the smoke away, so hopefully we don't need to worry. I took the above photo of Mom in the beehives this morning. All that haze is smoke. Insane.

'Til next time, lovies.
Chauntel

P.S. We just slaughtered a batch of chickens this weekend. Pick 'em up at the farmstand - they go fast! ...and save one for me. I'm thinking some fresh fennel chicken...yummy.

College is a two-semester vacation

Hi, everyone. For those of you who don't know, I am the full-time farmhand for the summer. When this was initially dreamed up, my first thought was this is great - I can make my own hours.

Oh, silly, naive little me.

I'd totally make my own hours if I had any. They're all consumed by precariously pregnant cows, the bottomless appetites of piglets and meat chickens, and, of course, the cannibalistic batch of turkey chicks. And my garden! It's not even planted and I already weed like I'm committing mass herbicide. I get up at six (read: I attempt to arise at six, and fail miserably) and don't hit the sack until around eleven. I try to go to bed around 9:30, but my parents are full-on partiers and sucker me into watching The Closer. To top that off, my dog wakes me up around 4 or 5 times to go out, and the turkey chicks I managed to rescue are in my bathroom and peep rather loudly and consistently thorughout the night.

Fortunately enough, I love it, so I'll happily suffer. As for farm updates...it's calving season, but there seems to be a lull in the "they're popping left and right!" hysteria. There are a gazillion chicks in the nursery wing of the barn. Well, not a gazillion. But fairly close. I can't wait until they feather out and can go outside. There are piglets in the barn too, and they need to be out enjoying the fresh grass and sunshine. I just have to find them a shady spot because they're mostly pink skinned, and I, of all people, can thoroughly appreciate shelter from the sun.

I'll be putting out flyers fairly soon. Also, please come by the farmstand and pick up some eggs. I think I wash and pack a gazillion eggs a day. Well, not a gazillion. But fairly close.

Chauntel

Weeding strawberries requires donning a suitably intense facial expression, so that persistent non-strawberry species may be frightened away from your zealously guarded raised beds.

This time of year, everyone's a spring chicken

Pedro posing for the camera. In just a few weeks, the grass popped green with grass - it must have been that very last snowfall.

Some brand new Jumbo Cornish cross chicks. They grow very quickly, and will be ready to slaughter at about 6-10 weeks of age. Our chickens go fast, so stop by the farmstand and get 'em while you can!

Fast growing mallard ducklings - they fill the barnyard & ponds with what we like to call a "joyful noise"!

Newton, Veronica, Contessa, and their lambs Violette and Cecelia.

Ma mère magnifique and a very vivacious Violette!

Chauntel + Linda

A mini-album for everyone

These are pictures Quint and I took last summer of the back forty. They give some hope that summer will be here...eventually. It did, after all, snow two inches on Tuesday.






Oh, and one more thing - Mom sent this picture to my e-mail, it looks like one of the first calves of the year? I'm not sure. She can fill you in. All I can say is that it looks like either the fuzzy one is a hefty baby or Dad wasn't expecting his picture being taken.



Enjoy!
Chauntel

Agricurious, Starmers, and other trendy Farm terms February 2010

Thanks! Again Jackie in Wisconsin brought to my attention that December is the last time we posted. Lots going on here that is for sure. I turned 50 on Valentine's Day and it wasn't painful. Chauntel came home from St.Lawrence University and helped Big Daddy with all the preparations. Quentin was unable to attend the festivities here in the Adirondacks but he did manage celebrate Chinese New Year (Tiger) with his Chinese Club at Norwich University.
To get me out of the way, I attended a small animal clinic on poultry and rabbits with a group of 4-H members. When I came home I was suspicious because my farm work clothes were hung up and Big Daddy wanted to take me out for a "drink" when I was in the middle of my chores. Now if you know me, going out for a "drink" would not be on my top gazillion things to do especially when I was in the middle of a farm stomp.
Getting back to the poultry thing, I learned some pretty neat stuff at the clinic especially about Russian Ortloff bantams. I actually connected with someone who wanted to go in and buy Call Ducklings. Call Ducks are minature but quite vocal. I have heard that ducks hunters bred them to be small enough to be put in their pocket and noisy enough to call wild ducks to a pond. They are difficult to come by. These little birds go in the pet/show category as I officially become a "poultry fancier"
Lily and Jasmine the Jerseys are due to freshen in March. They will have Half Scottish Highland calves. Shaun talked me into this. I wanted to AI with a Jersey sire but Pico looked lonely in the Bull Run and so. . . anyway with us being Empty Nesters, 2 family milk cows are 1 too many. Jasmine will be "farmed" out to a farm family down the road to be spoiled. I will keep old Lil here and use my new EZ Milker on her. I think the EZ milkers are dreadfully expensive but I am willing to skip the hand milking and definitely don't want the maintenance of machine milking. I will keep you posted on my product review. I've heard folks either love them or hate them. I would like to use it on the sheep herd of 3 as well just in case.
The chickens and ducks are laying like crazy again. Ponies are fatter than they were 2 months ago except for Palma who always remain Throughbred Thin (runway models of the horse world). Spring is just around the corner.
I recently attempted a roundup of farm cats & dogs to bring to the vets for shots. I thought I was up for the challenge. But someone forgot to give the farm cats the memo and they had other ideas. Dogs enjoyed the whole idea of an outing except Rueben the Cattle Dog. I'm afraid he is an agoraphobic. He hates to leave the farm. But the cats did not enjoy the event so much. . . So if you can imagine the Great Kitty Cat Round Up of 2010. I can tell you herding cats is an exercise in futility. I still have 4 that have to be wrangled.
For the Agricurious, I dread every fall when summer people throw their pet cats out at the farm thinking the cats will love it before the people go back to the city. I can tell you pet cats last about 48 hours before being hit by a car or eaten or beaten up by the half feral cat colony. Its cruel. The cats that tend to survive are "wild" with skills. Hence the cat herding fun I recently enjoyed.