The Almost Great Escape

It took a day for me to recover from my efforts in thwarting the Great Escape. Now that I've had a whirlpool bath and taken massive amounts of Ibuprofen for joint and muscle pain, I can look back on the event and laugh. (Sure.)

If you've followed this blog for any time at all, you know that we own a big bovine called Tinkerbell, who is the ringleader of our cow herd and has an adventurous spirit. She's the one who was found under a big round bale after breaking into the hay shed one year and the one who somehow got into the woods for a summer vacation another year.

On Monday morning, I heard loud mooing coming from the area near the lawn of our house. This is fairly unusual, as cows only moo when they really need to. This time, it was excitement which was responsible for the noise.  Tinkie was pushing down the pasture fence to munch on the uncut grass and was threatening to completely mash down the fencing to get onto the lawn. Other cows were cheering her on and starting to anticipate the security breach. It was a riot -- literally.

The pastures have been chomped down to the ground due to the lack of rain and we'd let the cows roam over three so that they'd have a chance to eat grass as it grew slowly. The lawn, however, has been neglected as far as mowing is concerned, and it was just too tempting.

I quickly got dressed and ran out to yell at the cows to stop. They did not stop entirely and when I went back inside to figure out what to do, they just kept on trying to get onto the lawn.

I picked up a stick and opened gates that would lead to the now harvested hayfield where there are sections of lush grass regrown. I tried to drive the cows out of the pasture near the lawn, hoping they'd see the open gates and circle round to the field. They were confused. Why was I upset with them? Weren't they using ingenuity and initiative to take care of their own needs?

So, realizing that they wouldn't leave off the attempt to free themselves of the pasture fence, I started walking from the pasture they were in through the other three, calling "Come on cowies!" over my shoulder. Eventually the brighter ones began to follow and, well since they are herd animals, the whole forty-five or so cows followed. Once they saw the final gate into the hayfield open they began to run through to the lovely green grass. Our little Hereford, Dinky, kicked up her heels in delight.

Okay. I shut the gate and began the uphill climb back through the pastures, closing gates behind me as I went. Then, I saw the five calves.

Cows "park" calves in safe places while they graze, periodically checking on them and nursing. These were the smallest herd members and became aware of the ruckus, grouped together, and timidly tried to figure out what the heck just happened and, just where were the mammas?

So began a second herding. Calves are instinctively shy of human contact and tend to run away, rather than follow or drive in front of you. It took patience and many arthritic trips up and down those hills before they finally caught sight (and hearing) of the herd. When they grouped near the gate hours later, with their mothers looking anxiously for them, I was able to reunite all herd members in the same pasture.

If you've ever thought you'd like to be a farmer and enjoy the quiet pastoral life, I think it is in the spirit of complete disclosure that you know that some days are like this.

Playing "Beat the Freeze"

Potted plants are being ferried down to the greenhouse each time I drive down the hill. I'm loading the Mule from the porches around the house.

Overnight temperatures are flirting with a freeze in the high thirties and low forties.

Yesterday, I spent some time cleaning up the sunny end greenhouse and the potting room. Today, I'll continue in the middle and shady end.

We pulled massive wisteria vines down last week off the middle and shady end greenhouses. There was so much material that it still hasn't been disposed of.

The idea -- and it works well -- is that the plant will naturally shade the greehouses in summer and then, when the leaves fall in the winter, sunlight can again warm those sections. Except that it has been growing for ten years and the branches have become so massive that less and less sunlight has been able to penetrate the sections. Wisteria began to grow INTO the greenhouse through whatever small openings it could find. Talk about a scary Halloween tale!

I doubt we killed the wisteria. It'll be back -- like Jason, or any other zombie. I'll just make it my business to cut it down drastically every autumn. Hey, it beats placing shadecloth over the large greenhouses!

It's noticeably brighter in the sections which were covered in vines. I'm hoping that I can motivate myself to continue upgrading and cleaning. The propane tanks were filled last month and small electric heaters are at the ready. There'll be no heating until the bitterest weather, and that will be just to keep the potted plants alive until Spring.

I'm cutting down big weed/trees and throwing them into the goat pastures, where they are found with great glee and eaten with gusto. We had a day and a half of rain only this week, and there isn't all that much weedy material in the pastures. So, I'm killing two birds when I attend to the "neatening up" around the farm.

Buckets of small yellow tomatoes and any distressed larger tomatoes go to the chickens along with excess chard. This provides them with extra, tasty nutrition which they seem happy to have. We are still eating Cherokee Purple, which finish ripening in the house.

The last of the hay was cut and baled last week. It was trucked over to the barn and placed under the overhang just before the rainstorm. Today, a helper will assist in placing it on the hay elevator and stacking it in the loft.

Sailors Take Warning

This morning started out with fluffy pink clouds which quickly took on bright coral bottoms. Moving quickly from North to South, Light grey clouds followed, gaining charcoal accents.

Not a drop of rain all day or yesterday, but it was a bit chilly and windy.

Tonight, looking out the same window, black altostratus clouds sporting small brownish puffs, are strung across the grey sky over a lemon colored sunset.

Rain

When I heard the rain beating down on the roof in the middle of the night, it was with a profound sense of relief. The land will heal now. Grass will grow again and the cattle will have something to eat besides precious hay bales meant for the dead of winter. The springs and wells will replenish themselves and the constant worry over water for the animals can recede somewhat.

I'm still recovering from several hours at the Farmers' Market, where I prepared apples for baking on the grill and oversaw making "apple piggies." It was much hotter than I anticipated and it really caught up with me by 2 p.m.

In the meantime, back on the farm, husband managed to get the square baler fixed and his Saturday helper helped him get the bales on the trailer and into the barn for stacking. Our new set-up, where hay elevators are now under roofing and placed in openings into the lofts is working well. The helper then stacked the hay neatly in the loft. We have more hay to cut if there is a dry spell later on in October.

Today, supposedly the temperature will plunge into the sixties and we'll have more seasonal weather all of a sudden.

Last week, it rained hard for less than ten minutes. I got soaked and so did the entire goat herd. We were pretty happy for the seven or eight minutes despite our sogginess.

Now, we're looking for days of rain. Hurrah!

First Day of Fall

'Uneventful. Hot, humid, with a chance of rain that won't materialize. All is dry. The trees have started to change color.

The pond in the pasture, which had overflowed its banks and taken over a lot of the field in the Spring is now nearly a mudhole. When I let the geese out of their night shelter, I noticed something moving in the middle of the pond. Looking closer, it was a giant snapping turtle with smaller ones on its back. Turtle Island?

Migrations

Early this morning, I watched several large flocks of birds against a pale pink sky. They were traveling toward the NW. I am not sure where they are going. I noticed the first large group yesterday morning.

The pale pink sky is "bluing up" but there is a thick cloud cover. My eyes are hurting, so I think it is going to rain. None of the forecasts are calling for rain and we haven't had any in the past two weeks, despite predictions for rain over the weekend.

There should be a special forecast run by old people with arthritis and dry eye syndrome. We could keep statistics on accuracy and challenge the meteorologists on TV.

I've used up all the wine making vessels available to me for the present. There are standard wines from Concord and Merlot grapes; experimental wines, like peach and white peach champagne; and crazy wines, like yellow tomato with ginger and lemon.

I've made yellow tomato jam, hot and sweet and there are still tons of yellow pear tomatoes needing to be picked. I was going to label the jars "Toe-Jam" but then I reconsidered. The purple Cherokee are also coming on strong enough that I've been dicing and freezing them. -- Don't make me pull out the quart canning jars!

September

The goldenrod is blooming. Blue morning glory is climbing over fences and old trees. Cooler temperatures make it a little more pleasant working outdoors, although we're still flirting with 90 degrees for highs this week. The drought has done some damage to fruit trees and garden plants, although some things seem to have loved the hot dry weather: yellow pear tomatoes and the dreaded stickweed.

Each morning, I'm cutting down the stickweed that has invaded the berry and asparagus beds. I'm hoping that by not allowing it to go to seed, I'll get it under control. But the tough, firmly planted roots tell me otherwise. I may need to establish new beds elsewhere.

We're making hay this week. I'll rake later this morning and hopefully we'll make square bales.

Winemaking continues. I've now got five carboys bubbling along in the basement. All the white peaches are processed and the yellow tomatoes are next.

I peeled and sliced some of the apples I picked yesterday morning. We had "fried apples" for dinner, which were delicious.

This year's giant magnus opus hornet nest is on the end of the greenhouse. Luckily, I noticed it just before leaning the ladder on it to pick apples. Tragedy averted.

The chickens are getting all the peels and pulp plus some damaged chard and the Cherokee Purple tomatoes which are bug infested. We're still picking enough undamaged tomatoes to have nice sandwiches and salads -- storing up the Vitamin C for the coming winter.

Summer Winding Down

There was a good sized flock of canary finches at the top of the hill today. I was very happy to see them in larger numbers than in year's past.

The Jimson weed is blooming and wild turkeys have been strolling through the fields for about two weeks.

Today it was just around seventy degrees all day long, so very pleasant to sit outside in between winemaking sessions.

Purple and Gold

My kitchen is full of Concord grapes and small yellow pear tomatoes. I'm making wine. The carboy of peach wine is chugging along. Today, I started the grape wine, while some apple is fermenting nicely. I fully intend to try making yellow tomato wine, so cut up about a gallon to freeze while I finish the grape.

You can probably imagine how good the kitchen smells.

The Cherokee Purple tomatoes I grew from seed and put in the garden in June are now ripening. They are intensely purple-red and meaty inside. 'Tasty, too.

The grapes were a gift from friends. They are so ripe that I can't let them sit in the cooler too long or they'll go moldy. I hope to finish processing them tomorrow. We took over a peach pound cake as a thank you gift and sat and talked for a while after picking.

Rain has come and greened up the fields and lawns. It looks like we'll get another cutting of hay, thank goodness.

The big barn is getting all dug out and cleaned. Tomorrow promises rain and much cooler temperatures. At last.

Long Dry Spell

I hate to seem obsessed with the hot, dry weather -- but I am! It creates a tension just below the surface of my consciousness that is irritating. During the few one-time only rains that we've had these past two months I could feel that tension melt away. But as the dry days build and build, I feel the tension building as well.

In other parts of the country and the world, people are suffering from too much rain.

Ah, well, perhaps Mother Nature is displeased with some of the folly of mankind messing with oil in oceans or genetic engineering...

We picked the peach trees to thwart the crows, the groundhog, and the deer, all of which were snacking on the fruit and the leaves. I guess it's hard to find a square meal in the dry fields.

My kitchen looks like a scene from The Attack of the Killer Peaches. I've made peach jam, peach chutney, and fresh peach poundcakes. I think I should make some more small cakes and freeze them for winter. Something tells me that peach wine will substitute for the blackberry wine which will not materialize this year. Apples are next. It's a good thing I held off planting tomatoes. They are just starting to ripen. There are lots of heritage yellow pear which might even make some good, interesting wine.

The workers are almost finished extending the rooflines of our big barn. It will be great to have shelter from RAIN (when it finally comes) and snow where I park my UTV. There is nice shade for the cows when they are in that pasture and a place to put large round bales for them without worrying about it getting WET.

So, I better get down there and do the chores before the heat kicks in. The guy on the radio seems to be taking delight in forecasting temperatures "near 100 degrees" for today.