Calf Mortal Kombat

We've reached that stage of Rural Chic where nothing is stylish unless it is covered with calf spit bubbles and milk. Annie continues to enjoy her status as bottle baby and devotes an (apparently) substantial portion of her time thinking up new designs with the aforementioned substances. Both she and Penny (officially, "Champagne") are progressing beautifully with their lessons in leading. Both step along like little princesses, with only occasional lapses back to their former mulecalf mentality.


Once they have really mastered the walk, we'll progress to "standing while tied." They are good girls, though, and really only balk when they are unsure about things. A little neck and shoulder rub bolsters them right back up. Friday, they were two weeks old. It's been fun to have two that are exactly the same age. They are starting to play with each other, though they are still a little timid about it. Annie also decided that it would be great fun to try to play with me today. I suggested to her that it would not be, especially when she hits about 700 lbs.

Pics are in order: Calf Mortal Kombat, Penny fleeing calf-eating bugs, Annie

The Price of Eggs

Everyone likes fresh eggs and the image of picking creamy white eggs, laid by happy chickens, out of golden straw nests appealed to us. So, one of our first efforts towards greater self-sufficiency was to buy some pullets (young hens), so that we could enjoy our own fresh eggs. This is usually a simple enough exercise that goes something like this: Find someone with chickens and then buy some.

But given our tendency to over-intellectualize things, the reality went more like this:

1. Decide upon the desired breed, age and number
2. Locate person with appropriate breeds and ages through various classified ads
3. Determine method of transport: fly, drive, otherwise ship. How to pack?
4. Decide on coop features: size, access, position, lighting, heat, security, cooling
5. Decide on run features: length, width, height, material
6. Design coop furniture layout: nesting boxes, storage and chicken ladder
7. Construct coop (made easier through the handiwork of the awesome Todd Davis)
8. Select coop color, hue and tint, then paint it
9. Construct run using chicken wire
10. Research various options for hawk protection
11. Install deer netting across top of run to deter the hawks and amuse the deer
12. Determine appropriate diet to achieve desired nutritional balance
13. Make the difficult decision on plastic vs. metal waterers. You won’t find the kind you decide on.
14. Research all health issues associated with chickens and learn words like “bumblefoot,” Practice using them in casual conversation with loved ones.
15. Join several Internet lists devoted to chickens. Set them all on “no mail” because the arguments are clogging up your inbox.
16. Decide on a few additional chickens, then repeat steps 1, 2, 3, 11 and 12 and add additional task of socializing new chickens

Engineers probably shouldn’t buy chickens.

Based on what we spent for them, the coop, feed and materials, we estimate that we are currently paying approximately $1/egg, though the price continues to decrease. Our first egg cost approximately $2000, though it was actually laid in the crate on the way home. It was a nice egg and Tom promptly claimed it, as well as Lady Hamilton, the chicken that laid it. By this time next year, we will be down to approximately $.50/egg. In about two years, we will break even and pay approximately what everyone else pays in the grocery store (assuming no increase in grocery store prices, which probably isn’t realistic). Beyond that, we will some day in the future (I am not doing the math on this) actually come out ahead.

On our farm, we know exactly what goes into our eggs: snakes, germs, lizards, worms and dead bugs. Chickens will eat anything. But no problem with any of that sneaky melamine or ethylene glycol from foreign countries. If the Big One ever hits Burkeville, we and our trusty chickens will be survivors. Our chickens have good lives. They have names, personalities, a 401K and retirement housing. And in the long run, we ended up with exactly what we wanted: fresh eggs.

"No time to say hello, goodbye! I'm late, I'm late, I'm late!".

Sunrise reflected on the trees from our bedroom window

...as the White Rabbit sang in Disney's version of "Alice in Wonderland". Well, Tom and Jorg's version is much the same as the days fly by and we neglect the blog. A typical day starts around 5:30 am and finishes with us tucked up in bed by 10 pm. In between, Jorg does her day job, and I get stuck into the routine of horses in or out (we put the older ones out at night to avoid the sun, which has been giving us temperatures in the 90s), and feeding, and of course the milking. In addition, making sure the chickens and sheep are OK for food and water. We also have three house dogs (all rescues), two birds, and a cat to keep happy. Not that I am claiming special bragging rights, you understand: we have opted to have animals and they need to be cared for. On the plus side, I am probably as fit now as I have ever been, even in my far off rugby-playing days. My pedometer reckons I walk at least 3 miles a day, and there is a multitude of lifting in the 40 to 50 lb range - feed bags, bales of hay, poop buckets. I've manged to get under the 200lb weight barrier for the first time for several years, and if Bessie gets any more accurate when I'm milking I might even get my hair back from the application of cow poop! So all in all, not a bad life - a beautiful farm in sunny Southside Virginia, busy and fulfilled days, and a lovely wife and companion (and also my best friend), truly we live the good life. OK, I'll wipe that smug expression off my face and go and clean stalls!

Sunset from our back porch

The Myth of the Old Horse

When I was a teenager, it was common knowledge that a 20-year-old horse was old. And we all knew what that meant. The horse would get progressively skinnier and no amount of food would fatten him up. He would cost a fortune to feed. It was only a matter of time before he died.

But things have changed a lot since then. We know a lot more about dental care; we have softer foods for horses that have started to lose their teeth and foods with a better nutritional balance for this group. We know how to keep them properly hydrated so they are less prone to impaction colic and we have better medications to ease the aches and pains of those old guys and gals with arthritis. We have medications that can help treat age-related conditions such as Cushing’s Disease.

The horse in the photo is Bear. Bear was a severely malnourished horse when we obtained him at the ripe age of 27. He had a body condition score of 1 (a weight and condition index that ranges from one to ten). He also had severe rain rot and a rough coat that indicated that he was loaded with parasites. Today, he is 38. Bear has very few teeth and thrives on a diet of soupy senior mix. We put a lot of water in his food because, if it is a mash consistency, he will choke on it. Bear receives regular dental work because, otherwise, the teeth that are opposite of those he is missing (and there are many) will not wear down and will become sharp and uncomfortable. But while all of this is important, none of it is difficult, expensive or time-consuming.

Some horses, like some people, just have good genes when it comes to aging gracefully. But nearly all horses need a little help from their friends to keep them comfortable. Bear loves people, especially children, and his girlfriend Lily. He has a good life and with a little help from us, should have a long one.

For more information about the care of senior horses, please visit our friends at Traveller's Rest Equine Elders Sanctuary at: http://www.equineelders.org/

Since you’ve asked...

The name of our farm, Triskelion (Tris-kel’-yun), is the symbol of the Manx national flag and the motto is that of the Isle of Man. As many of you know, Tom was born there. The son of a dashing Royal Navy Officer and a vivacious, curly-haired Manx girl, young Tom spent his formative years in Douglas (the capital), sloshing through tide pools, watching pond yachts, getting shot by arrows and losing his shoes in the mud.
Tom later moved to England, where he spent the remainder of his childhood and most of his adulthood, before meeting Jorg and moving to America (for a second childhood, Jorg occasionally swears) .

When it came time to give our Burkeville farm a name, we opted for Triskelion, as the motto reflects our stubborn optimism that no matter what life throws at us, we’ll be okay. It also speaks to the resilience of the White Bird horses, who have been through so much, and who, whichever way they’ve been thrown, still stand.

Udder Relief

Tom and Champagne

So there I was, rookie milker Mayfield, loins girded and ready for anything Bessie could throw at me. Just me and her. Coach Robin Dodson had run through the game plan, but had her own herd to attend to. Lovely wife Jorg was gone, earning the moolah* that keeps this whole show on the road. The milking machine was set up and ready to go, surge tank in place and the bagpipes (aka the "claw") hung on the gate. Empty bucket for milk, soapy water for cleaning, iodine for the teats, and strip cup to let down and test the milk. Stainless steel shining like silver, and the parlor set up for the incoming Bessie. I had considered rushing out and investing in the complete "how to dress like an NFL linebacker for dummies" outfit, and I had my old cricket box (the one with the dent, that still brings tears to my eyes after all these years) but commonsense prevailed, and I entered the fray with strong boots and and an iron will. The game plan suggested by coach Robin was to plug two of the inflations and do two quarters at a time. That not only saved two of the four hands I had been using, but it maintained a good vacuum as well. The drawback to the whole approach was the need to insert myself between the gate post we had erected to keep the cows from moving sideways too far, and the cow. Now Bessie is a mini-Jersey, but even a mini-cow is a cow and perhaps that helmet might have been a good idea after all. Of course the upshot was that Bessie had sussed out that having a dish full of grain, as much hay as you can eat, plenty of water, and with only a minor annoyance around her udder, that life in the parlor was actually OK. Let rookie Mayfield do his best and so would she. Because good readers, Bessie is a Princess. Rosebud is a perfect lady, quiet and reserved, wonderful for the newbie milker. Bessie on the other hand, is unashamedly a people cow. She loves her bumbling owners and likes nothing more than to tell you so. Her reluctance to milk stemmed from that first 24 hours, when Annabelle decided that she preferred the bottle to the teat. Plus, of course, rookie Mayfield's total inability to control a simple milking machine claw. We both came out of the encounter looking good, and Team Mayfield is now ready for the World Milking Championships - well perhaps not, but we are making progress.

*moolah: money; also famous lady wrestler (possibly with bagpipes) Lillian Ellison; and of course first syllable"moo" - I love English word play!

Bessie and Annabelle Lee: Rosebud and Champagne Surprise (like mother, like daughter)

Walk this way

Depending on your frame of reference, this line either conjures up a vision of the wonderful Marty Feldman as Igor in Young Frankenstein, or brings a classic Aerosmith song to mind. If it's the latter, I apologize- you will probably be hearing this song in your head all day. If you are a 4 day old calf living in Burkeville, it may represent a new and frightening experience in your short life.

Learning to walk at the end of a lead rope is necessary for both the safety of the human and the safety of his or her equine or bovine friend. The smart owner will teach this important life skill when calves and foals are very young, before they really get some power when they dig those little hooves in to say "I don't wanna!" The bovine variant on this behavior (demonstrated beautifully in the photograph by Champagne, with accomplice Pamela as Vanna White) is to simply throw yourself on the ground and refuse to move until the bad person stops doing that thing to your head.



Annie, who still refuses to nurse from her mother, has learned a few extra things in her more frequent interactions with people. One of these is that people can generally be trusted, even if things seem a little funny. She is learning to step forward nicely, with just a little encouragement.

Note: No calves harmed themselves while camouflaging themselves as casually tossed hay bales.