The Blessed Event

As our only two faithful readers will recall (you know who you are and we love you), Tom, Rhonda and I braved a couple of blustery, cold days in February to introduce Bessie and Rosebud to the soon-to-be father of their calves, Son of Fat Louie. This exercise was performed after a protracted learning curve during which Tom and I learned to spot both the subtle and not-so-subtle signs of bovine heat, which include: fence pacing, mounting, cologne from CVS, and gaudily uncoordinated shades of lip pencil (or lápiz de labios *snicker*).

The girls were bred a week apart, and if you count exactly 282 days, this makes their due dates November 24 and December 1. Of course, we know this is total nonsense. Neophyte cow owners we may be, but we have fully internalized Rule #1. Rule #1 is that all of the other Rules are entirely subject to your cow’s opinion of them. In our experience with Bessie and Rosebud, their opinions on everything are largely tied to the item’s association with food, the availability of brisket scratches, and the degree to which their opinions correlate with our inconvenience. Especially that last one.

If we start with that assumption, we can precisely narrow down their due dates by identifying the two days in the months of November and December on which the most of the following factors apply: night, a week night, or a night before a holiday that involves substantial preparation (extra points for that one); temperatures below freezing; wind chill greater than 20 degrees; following a day of unusual effort or exertion on our part; conflicting with an important event; measurable precipitation (more extra points); one or both of us sick with the flu; house on fire, regional thermonuclear event in progress and one or more horses developing symptoms of colic. The more of these conditions are present, the better the likelihood of the blessed events.

This simple exercise should determine, with complete accuracy, the date of our new arrivals.

We can hardly wait.

V.2.1.

This past week, Tom and I were making pretty good progress on the Ark. We’ve easily exceeded the two of every animal requirement (we apparently have enough to populate a second planet) and we were trying to decide which energy efficiency tax credits would apply to the new construction. Sadly, our work was interrupted when our Bank of Ark Card reduced our credit limit. So we are forced to wait out the deluge from the cozy confines of the chicken coop, which is fortunately well-supplied with eggs, resentful chickens, raw milk and 10 lbs of fresh kale (thank you, Keith and Michelle).

Like many other people this past year, we learned pretty quickly that we will need to change a lot of the assumptions we’d made about our place in the world. It’s becoming apparent to us that “survival of the fittest” probably means “survival of those who can get their heads around their new realities the quickest.” Our strategy involves paying off our few remaining credit balances and being conservative in our spending. These two steps will give us the most flexibility should our situation deteriorate. But when the list of things that can no longer be assumed includes employment and retirement, we really have two choices. We can live in a state of perpetual disappointment mourning the loss of our plan. Or, we can recognize that the small gifts we sometimes give ourselves, like an afternoon with a best friend, are now bright and important events to be savored and remembered.

Last night, while the wind was howling and the rain was blowing sideways, we made our first fire of the season. The horses, cows and other animals were tucked up high and dry for the night and we curled up in bed with a glass of wine, a trashy, Spanish magazine (we are learning, or relearning the language, depending, and we can almost say “lápiz de labios” without snickering), and a mandolin that we are attempting to master. My accent has become so bad from lack of exercise that I sound as if I am speaking Spanglish in southwest Arkansas. Neither of us has yet managed to coax the mandolin through an entire tune, but over the pounding of the rain, we thought we could hear some faint but enthusiastic replies from the direction of the pond. For a few hours, the world was smaller and kinder, and defining the long term wasn’t quite so important.

Okay, so this wasn’t exactly the plan we started with. But we left a lot of really important things off the Beta version (and wrote in some real garbage). Hopefully, Tom and Jorg Plan v.2.1 will have better priorities. And maybe a Gantt chart. I always liked those.

Buenas noches, y’all.

(Photo: Noah's Ark, by Edward Hicks, 1846)

The Perils of Factory Farming

Jorg and I are vegetarians, at least Jorg is, I do eat fish and only gave up meat entirely a short time ago. However, we don't proselytize and believe it is up to one's own individual conscience whether you eat meat or not. Consequently, we rarely mention the fact, other than in passing references to the likelihood that our farm animals will live out their lives happily eating us out of house and home! But I would like to draw our reader's attention to the link, with the caution to read it carefully, as it is not an opinion piece against meat eating per se, but against the methods that produce that meat. I leave it to you, the reader, to form your own opinion of the validity of his argument.

http://www.cnn.com/2009/OPINION/10/28/opinion.jonathan.foer/index.html

Norman the Wonder Horse

Tom and Norman in less confrontational mode

So, there I was minding my own business, passing the time of day with Robbie the farrier as he worked on Norman's front right. Next thing I know I am flat on my back unable to move my arms, and being stared down at by both Norman and Robbie with decidedly confused looks. As I reconstruct the event it seems Norman was growing tired of standing on three legs and moved back and upwards. I stopped that little sorte, but leaned forward as he came forward and down. Norman's head then moved with the speed of a striking cobra, and I was taken out with an uppercut to the jaw that Mohamed Ali would have been proud of. Lifted off my feet I performed a backward swallow dive (and probably one and half twists, a reverse pike, a double lutz and sundry other contortions!) landing on my shoulders and, ultimately, my head. Now I swear by the good old British working class cloth cap - goes with the whippets, and fish and chips. Mine is actually Donegal tweed, and as good a protection from a hard, earth floor as you can want. My paralysis of the arms was momentary, and as I had no visual or auditory impairment, staggered to my feet in a jiffy. I did, however, have a continuous tingling down both arms, and extremely sensitive upper arms. Needless to say trimming was suspended, and Jorg on hearing the news proscribed immediate rest, and a visit to the ER as soon as she got home.

Well I don't know about anyone else but I don't like to leave jobs unfinished, even if I should be resting, so I put out the horses waiting for trimming, milked the cow and took the muck spreader out to empty! All ready for when our volunteer Becky arrived. Of course Jorg didn't quite see my valiant efforts at normalcy in quite the same light, especially as I didn't answer my phone (loud mower!). After a short reminder that blows to the head, even with a miniscule brain like mine, are dangerous, and blows to the butt painful if not terminal, we set out for the ER.

With all the discussion going on at the moment about the healthcare system and its failings, it was quite impressive to see the triage system up close and personal. Whenever I have gone to the ER in the past, there has always been that 20 minute period after being seen that is devoted to examining the contents of your wallet to ensure payment can be expected. Not this time. I'm sure I wasn't in any real danger from the blow to the head, but they didn't take any chances, and I was seen by a doctor within 10 minutes of being admitted and had had a CT scan, all before the inevitable discussion about my healthcare provider. Top marks to Centra Southside Community Hospital, with treatment every bit as good as you would expect from a big city outfit.

So back to Norman the wonder horse. What he succeeded in doing was to show that I had some arthritis of the upper vertebra, with a bone spur that pinched a nerve and caused the arms problem. I'm now due an MRI to check this out, and have the indignity of a "soft" collar to keep my head straight (fat chance!). So, thank you Norman, and I will remember next time not to lead with my chin!

Basil the Chick

At last some photos of the youngest member of the farm menagerie. Basil and his Dad and Mum Merlin and Saffron.

Busy Times

Alison (left) and Pebbles

The last four weeks have been non-stop down on the farm. In the Rescue we have taken in two horses and a blind pony. This puts us at full strength based on our current accommodation and funding rules. More on our new arrivals will be found on the rescue web site.
To ensure that we have stalls for everyone, should we need them, the milking parlor has taken over the connex hut adjacent to the red barn, so that the sheep can return to their old stall in the red barn. This frees up a stall in the 10-stall barn and allows both Star and Wonder to return to that barn. Change is always useful as it wakes me up from my strict routine and makes me aware of any other jobs that need to be done. So easy to fall into a daily round that ignores potential problems.

Our two silkies became proud parents (no photo yet) and we are hoping that the unseasonal weather will not be too cold for the chick. Mum is keeping a good watch on him/her, and Merlin appears to be shaping up as a good Dad.

Last week we played host to a group from Charlotte Crossing in Charlotte Court House. CC is a psychosocial rehabilitation day support center, offering individuals an opportunity to work on Crisis stabilization, appropriate social interaction and daily living skills. The corner stone of the organization is that: "through Dignity and Respect, each individual can rise above, and over come, adversity in their daily lives as a result of positive interaction. Virginia has had a poor record with regard to mental health support and the farm and the rescue are pleased to join with Charlotte Crossing in providing an outreach capability to the group. We welcomed:

Chris, George, Henry, Larry, Linda, Quang, Stanley and Viola, along with Mr. John Deem and Ms. Owens.
After a short presentation by Tom and Jorg, the group took a tour of the farm, which included seeing Priscilla milked. Despite a cold, damp day a good time was had by all, and the farm and rescue animals were on their best behaviors. Refreshments and a bagged lunch were taken in the tack room, giving everyone a chance to warm up. On a sad note, we learned that Stanley had had a heart attack and died a day or so after the visit. Our condolences were offered to the group and the family.

Lily 1979 - 2009

Tom and Lily

Lily, the sweetest riding horse you could ever want, was euthanized this morning after breaking her right rear hock in her stall. She probably slipped on getting up, and at 30 years old her bones were possibly brittle. Lily had had a miserable few years at riding camp, where she was bottom of the pecking order and last in the chow line. Sent to New Holland auction at the end of camp season, thin and permanently anxious, she was rescued by Susan Churico at Humble Hearts Haven. Knowing that we were looking for a riding horse for me, she got in touch and asked if we would like to adopt Lily. Our first meeting was hardly auspicious. It was a blustery day and Lily was extra anxious, so riding her was out. However, I felt moved toward her and we decided to try again. Now this was my first time riding for many years, and I rode English and Lily knew Western! Ever a patient horse, and apart from the occasional quizzical look over her shoulder, we slowly bonded.

Lily already showed the symptoms of uveitus, more obvious in her left eye, but also in her right eye, and her sight rapidly reduced to mainly shapes. Ever anxious in the company of more than one horse (and now more so due to her blindness) and also fiercely clingy to particular horses, finding her a comfortable partner was always difficult. However, in Bear we had a horse who liked people and mares but not geldings, and we had been looking for a buddy for him for some time. It was a match made in heaven and the pair were inseparable for 3 years. Lily wanted nothing more than a nice stall, a good friend and an occasional grooming. She had the sweetest temperament, and always pricked up her ears when I walked into the barn or past her paddock. As my first ride for so many years she was perfect and I only wish we could have ridden together more. She will always be in my heart. RIP Lily and enjoy the sweet grass over the rainbow bridge.

Bear and Lily