tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71403812024-03-13T22:11:42.832-04:00Welcome to Painted Hand FarmPainted Hand Farm is a 20 acre Civil War era farm located in Cumberland county, Pennsylvania. We raise meat goats, veal calves, turkeys and organic vegetables using humane and sustainable agricultural practices.Sandra Kay Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02818864134465526818noreply@blogger.comBlogger248125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140381.post-72879072846007394612014-02-27T14:05:00.002-05:002014-02-27T14:09:48.585-05:00Don't Burn Down Your Barn<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JujyCvo_a5E/Uw-Ha_ACRRI/AAAAAAAAERM/HIWqTfwV2Dc/s1600/IMG_7365.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JujyCvo_a5E/Uw-Ha_ACRRI/AAAAAAAAERM/HIWqTfwV2Dc/s1600/IMG_7365.jpg" height="200" width="149" /></a>As the temperatures plunge into single digits and the winds whip the chill down below zero, many farmers are fretting as their pregnant ewes, does and sows begin dropping their young. Heat lamps and 250 watt bulbs are flying off the shelves at the local farm supply and hardware stores in an effort to ensure that when the squirming wet bundles enter this world they don't leave it shortly thereafter as four-legged ice cubes.<br />
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Thanks to the era of blogs, Facebook, Instagram, Twitter and Flickr, I'm seeing lots of postings of newborn lambs, kids and piglets being born in the midst of yet another polar vortex. In many of the photos, I'm also seeing something that causes me to cringe: an uncaged heat lamp in a barn, especially old barns--a recipe for disaster, a ticking time bomb, every farmer's worst nightmare...a barn fire.<br />
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With a timber-frame American Chestnut barn circa 1865, I fretted about this very issue when I first began raising goats that kidded during late winter. Although farm babies are mighty hardy, triplets born to a first-time mother in sub-freezing weather often need that extra boost of heat to survive. I mitigated their use with a smoke alarm and a baby monitor know full well that if, indeed, the baby monitor relayed the alarm of the smoke detector, even by the time I got on a pair of boots and coveralls and got to the barn with an extinguisher in hand I had little chance of controlling a fire in a wooden barn filled with straw and hay.<br />
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How many fellow farmers over the years had I consoled? How many times had I helped move charred timbers, watched as blackened and bloated beloved stock were scooped from the rubble with a loader? <br />
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But it doesn't have to be this way......<br />
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<a href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/41Z1n7xgWJL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/41Z1n7xgWJL.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a>If you've got twenty bucks and an hour, you can easily build a heat barrel. These handy and practical pieces of equipment will not only keep your young livestock warm in winter weather, they will ensure your barn won't burn down from a heat lamp that has fallen into bedding and because they use less than half the energy of a traditional heat lamp bulb, <i>they will save you money</i>. <br />
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So, how do you build one?<br />
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<i><b>Materials & Tools</b></i><br />
1 55 gallon plastic barrel with and open end<br />
1 ceramic single bulb light fixture<br />
1 grounding three-prong electrical plug<br />
<a href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51WWmENE2NL._SL1500_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51WWmENE2NL._SL1500_.jpg" height="175" width="200" /></a>6-8 feet heavy-duty electrical cord<br />
1 electrical cord clamp <br />
1 metal bracket<br />
1 metal ring<br />
4 nuts, bolts and washers fit to the fixture and bracket<br />
1 100-watt incandescent light bulb<br />
drill<br />
jig saw/reciprocating saw<br />
screwdriver<br />
measuring tape<br />
<a href="http://images.lowes.com/product/converted/040893/040893017655lg.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://images.lowes.com/product/converted/040893/040893017655lg.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a>pliers/small socket <br />
Sharpie marker<br />
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Plastic barrels can often be picked up for next to nothing or free. Check Craig's List, local food manufacturers or recycling centers. The hardware can be picked up at any hardware store such as Home Depot or Lowe's and will cost less than $20. Although 100-watt incandescent bulbs are no longer manufactured, they are readily available both in stores and online.<br />
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<i><b>Building Your Barrel</b></i><br />
<a href="http://activerain.com/image_store/uploads/1/3/0/7/0/ar13385405407031.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://activerain.com/image_store/uploads/1/3/0/7/0/ar13385405407031.jpg" height="199" width="200" /></a>First, start by removing the top from the barrel. Many barrels come with the entire top able to be removed while others are sealed tight with only a pair of holes. If your barrel is sealed tight, using your saw, cut around the top of the barrel to leave it completely open. This will allow the barrel to rest directly on the bedding so it can simply be picked up and moved to a clean spot when the bedding becomes soiled and when you are finished with the barrel, it will not require the bedding to be cleaned out.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-f6hhzO9oApo/Uw-Ij_kPP3I/AAAAAAAAESc/urDLzP728g0/s1600/IMG_7381.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-f6hhzO9oApo/Uw-Ij_kPP3I/AAAAAAAAESc/urDLzP728g0/s1600/IMG_7381.jpg" height="200" width="149" /></a></div>
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yJkH3u-F8ko/Uw-H-OBnNKI/AAAAAAAAER8/vcz0H0tPsWE/s1600/IMG_7375.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yJkH3u-F8ko/Uw-H-OBnNKI/AAAAAAAAER8/vcz0H0tPsWE/s1600/IMG_7375.jpg" height="149" width="200" /></a>Next, install the light fixture to the barrel. Set the barrel open end down, drill a 1-inch hole in the center of the solid bottom (now the top) of the barrel. Either a spade bit or hole-cutter bit will do the job. I've used both. Thread the electrical cord through the hole and wire the light fixture to the cord. For electrical cord, I've used heavy-duty outdoor extension cords or similarly shielded cord that can be purchased by the foot. <i><b>Make sure the cable has three wires--a negative, a positive and a ground.</b></i> Pull the cord through the hole in the top of the barrel until the fixture is against the plastic. Using the drill and a drill bit that will go through the fixture's attachment holes, drill a pair of holes in the barrel through which you will attach the fixture to the barrel. After drilling the holes, place a bolt through each hole with a washer on the outside of the barrel and secure with the nut on the inside with either a set of small pliers or a small socket fitting the bolt. On the open end of the cord, thread the electrical cord clamp over the cord, clamp side up, and secure flush with the top of the bracket over the hole. This will secure the cord at the point of attachment and prevent wear. Finally, wire the three-pronged grounding plug to the open end of the cord. An easy cheat for this is to purchase a heavy-duty outdoor extension cord and cut off the female end to which you will wire the light fixture. <a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xiOr7P_aLis/Uw-H4hhe_aI/AAAAAAAAER0/Wv2hbdIPDEI/s1600/IMG_7374.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xiOr7P_aLis/Uw-H4hhe_aI/AAAAAAAAER0/Wv2hbdIPDEI/s1600/IMG_7374.jpg" height="200" width="149" /></a><br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0EQ2R6lr1kU/Uw-Hg65oVYI/AAAAAAAAERU/IIFSwq2Ggqo/s1600/IMG_7366.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PsWTFQAImNg/Uw-IMeEZdtI/AAAAAAAAESI/tE_gIZXHrMA/s1600/IMG_7376.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PsWTFQAImNg/Uw-IMeEZdtI/AAAAAAAAESI/tE_gIZXHrMA/s1600/IMG_7376.jpg" height="149" width="200" /></a>Third, you will need to install a bracket and ring. While many people often skip this step, chances are they come back and install it after finding their warming barrel tipped over and pulled from the socket rendering it useless. Keep in mind, these are farm animals we're dealing with and they will find every way possible to mess with your equipment. I use a simple four-hole strap that I bend over a piece of pipe for a space under which I attach a metal ring. Forget the baling twine. Forget the rope. We're talking livestock-tough. Trust me on this one. Again, using the drill, make two holes and attache the bracket and ring to the top of the barrel using the bolts, nuts and washers.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-H218OKML4nM/Uw-ILusCDVI/AAAAAAAAESE/IxDQqQTUDrM/s1600/IMG_7377.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-H218OKML4nM/Uw-ILusCDVI/AAAAAAAAESE/IxDQqQTUDrM/s1600/IMG_7377.jpg" height="200" width="149" /></a>The fourth and final step is cutting the hole for the kids. Over the years I've experimented with various sized holes and have found that a 9" x 7" opening works the best. Any bigger and you run the risk of the mommas getting more than just their heads through the barrel when looking for their young. I've had to cut a few of them out who have wiggled in past their shoulder becoming tight, but with this sized hole it accommodates the young while keeping the adults out. To cut the hole, measure and outline the hole using a Sharpie marker or some other type of permanent pen. Do not cut the bottom of the barrel. Keep a lip on the barrel for stability and to prevent sharp edges. Make a pilot hole using the drill and then with either a jig or reciprocating saw, cut around the outline to create a hole, rounding at the corners. <br />
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<i><b>Deploying Your Barrel</b></i><br />
I like to have my barrels set up and turned on prior to the kids arrival. This allow the expectant females to become accustomed to their presence and prevents you from causing a commotion in the maternity ward when the mommas need to be tending to their newborns. <a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0EQ2R6lr1kU/Uw-Hg65oVYI/AAAAAAAAERU/IIFSwq2Ggqo/s1600/IMG_7366.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0EQ2R6lr1kU/Uw-Hg65oVYI/AAAAAAAAERU/IIFSwq2Ggqo/s1600/IMG_7366.jpg" height="320" width="238" /></a><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c7M91nnzHj8/Uw-HZvmaZSI/AAAAAAAAERE/mFDQySbe6DQ/s1600/IMG_7363.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c7M91nnzHj8/Uw-HZvmaZSI/AAAAAAAAERE/mFDQySbe6DQ/s1600/IMG_7363.jpg" height="200" width="149" /></a>For goats and sheep, chaining the barrels to a fixed structure or large, well-secured bracket will work. If you are using the warming barrels for pigs, however, it is best to secure them behind a gate panel as well as a female sow is much stronger and will tear a barrel from the bracket.<br />
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Place the barrel, preferably in a corner, on a firm bed of straw. If you continue to add bedding around the barrel, be certain to keep it from building up in front of the opening.<br />
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Don't worry about introducing the newborns to the warming barrel as they will naturally find it on their own. If you have a chilled or weaker baby, you may want to place them inside at first, but keep an eye on them to ensue they are strong enough to come out to nurse.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9ddcQikgjfc/Uw-GHaRz1jI/AAAAAAAAEQ0/P5SHYYPmnPo/s1600/IMG_7373%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9ddcQikgjfc/Uw-GHaRz1jI/AAAAAAAAEQ0/P5SHYYPmnPo/s1600/IMG_7373%5B1%5D.jpg" height="149" width="200" /></a>Each barrel can accommodate up to six kids/lambs and 8-10 piglets. It is much easier to build and deploy multiple barrels than it is to find a suffocated baby from not having enough room.<br />
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You will notice that even if the barrels happened to be knocked over, at no time will the bulb come in contact with bedding setting up the opportunity for a heat lamp caused barn fire.<br />
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When warmer temperatures return or the kids have matured enough (I pull my barrels at 30 days), simply remove the barrels and store away until the next time you need them. <br />
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Sandra Kay Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02818864134465526818noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140381.post-3454317894755971072014-01-18T14:36:00.003-05:002014-01-18T17:04:02.530-05:00No Sausage Wagon For You!<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-42fiFemszLc/Utr2xv-c3fI/AAAAAAAAEIU/tOHklfwFO2s/s1600/IMG_7049%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>When one decides to farm for a living, they are faced with the numbers on spreadsheets of the amount of feed an animal consumes in a year. It's hard to ignore a non-producing yard ornament, especially when their annual consumption exceeds three figures.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ieLIUta2-VY/SeSroxA6poI/AAAAAAAAB0E/P_tZZzWFkqg/s1600/041209d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ieLIUta2-VY/SeSroxA6poI/AAAAAAAAB0E/P_tZZzWFkqg/s1600/041209d.jpg" height="238" width="320" /></a>Everyone here at Painted Hand Farm has a job, even the critters one may consider 'pets'. The Great Pyrenees are livestock guardian dogs keeping the stock safe from predators, the cats keep down the rodent population and the horse--well, let's just say she's a lot less expensive than a therapist.<br />
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When the last of my original herd of goats passed away, I swore that from here on out all the breeding stock, no matter how beloved, would be sent over the mountain on the sausage wagon when they no longer produced. Similarly, laying hens became stewing hens when the egg production slowed to where they were no longer earning their keep. <br />
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So after two years of failed artificial insemination attempts on Emma, the ex-4-H dairy show cow turned two-teated backyard milker, I told her I was giving her one last chance as I dropped her off at neighboring grass-based farm down the road for a conjugal visit with their Red Devon.<br />
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"If an Amish bull can't get her pregnant, nothing will," he said winking at me as the dark brown Jersey girl sauntered across the pasture in search of affection. She hung out for a month before coming home to gestate throughout the fall, over the winter and into the spring.<br />
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Her pendulous udder swelled to <b><i>huge </i></b>proportions so much it looked as if she was going to explode. This being her third calf, maybe cows just spread out more after a few babies as many of my girlfriends have complained similarly over the years.<br />
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<a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-g-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash3/t1/530385_10151017454640312_2143501556_n.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-g-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash3/t1/530385_10151017454640312_2143501556_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>Emma must have taken my sausage wagon threat seriously because she blessed me with a strapping set of twins who graciously filled my veal customers' bellies and put Emma's upkeep in the black once again. Not wanting to take her away from nursing her twins, I opted to not breed her back immediately as it would also make for a calf's arrival in winter and when the goats were also kidding. There's only so much space for maternity wards and there would certainly be no pasture at that time of year. <br />
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The twins were harvested in mid-November, but another pair of calves quickly took over on the teats as she continued to lactate as a mild winter extended the grazing season well into the new year. When the next two had reached their harvest weight and the spring thaw's muck drove me to the brink of madness, I happily loaded them on the sausage wagon along with does who had failed to reproduce and those who reproduced, but where bad mothers. Doing the numbers, Emma was well ahead on her numbers enough to take a year off.<br />
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I contemplated getting her another set of calves to nurse, but the demand on the open market was so high at that time, even the scrawny little buck-toothed Jersey calves were bringing outrageous prices at the local livestock auctions. It was a matter of economics, supply, demand, risk and business. I knew eventually the price would correct itself and the bull calves would once again become by-product, not worth the dairyman's time to transport them to the sale barns and the calls would come in for me to pick them up while still paying a fair, but predetermined price for the calf.<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EMiBP7g77-Q/UtrUWaHCpfI/AAAAAAAAEHk/IwLQhn63rhs/s1600/IMG_4408.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EMiBP7g77-Q/UtrUWaHCpfI/AAAAAAAAEHk/IwLQhn63rhs/s1600/IMG_4408.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a><br />
I don't know if it was just that she missed her calves or the onset of spring hormones, but I know that cow prowled the perimeter of the fence lines for a solid week almost non-stop bellowing as loudly as she could, much to the ire of my non-farming neighbors. She didn't care if it was one in the afternoon or one in the morning, her thunderous roaring reverberated through every surface it encountered, including my own bedroom windows.<br />
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During my morning chores I notices a foot-long string of mucus hanging from the agitated cow's vulva. She was, indeed, a victim of hormones and I knew how to get it to stop.<br />
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I dialed my neighbor, George, from whom I purchased my winter hay and who had a sweet little herd of beef cattle, including one big, black bull in his front pasture.<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-d_G4iOy2mq0/UtrTcgkPAYI/AAAAAAAAEG8/zQbc-S6RUYc/s1600/IMG_4308.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-d_G4iOy2mq0/UtrTcgkPAYI/AAAAAAAAEG8/zQbc-S6RUYc/s1600/IMG_4308.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a><br />
"George, this is Sandy. You still got that black bull?"<br />
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"Yes, why? Are you lonely?"<br />
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"I'm fine, but my milk cow could use a visit. Can I bring her over today?"<br />
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"Is that her that's been hollering?"<br />
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"Yep."<br />
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"Well, sounds like she's ready. Bring her on over."<br />
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Heading outside to hook up the stock trailer, I remembered that I had stowed all the old black irrigation hose and other assorted stuff that was slated to go to the bulky waste and recycling day at the landfill that weekend in the trailer. Not wanting to unload and then have to put it all back in, I opted for something a little more enjoyable--a walk.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gc0Dg_FWlc8/UtrV7jU-QBI/AAAAAAAAEH0/Xbnv3n3MI3A/s1600/IMG_4321.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gc0Dg_FWlc8/UtrV7jU-QBI/AAAAAAAAEH0/Xbnv3n3MI3A/s1600/IMG_4321.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a>Cows don't get any more tame than Emma. She's walked down the road just as casual as she had in the show ring many times over the years. In addition to being laid back, she also has quite a personality such as wearing a hat soaked in fly spray in the summer. Getting scratched under her neck is her favorite thing and she'll point her nose in the air with her floppy dewlap pressed into your hands just like a dog nudging your had with its nose demanding attention. One night after a summer thunderstorm that had blown down the temporary fence where I had her spot grazing, she came up and "knocked" on the front door to alert me she was loose. Nothing like opening your front door to a strange noise only to have a 900-pound animal greet you up close and personal.<br />
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George's farm was less than a quarter mile away and it was a gorgeous early spring day. <br />
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Since we were going to see the bull, I did her the favor of pulling out her nice leather show halter, the one with the flashy silver buckles and chin chain. No frayed nylon rope halter for you today, my dear.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ClUGFOH7M_I/UtrTkHXY7lI/AAAAAAAAEHM/bICA8-64Kw0/s1600/IMG_4310.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ClUGFOH7M_I/UtrTkHXY7lI/AAAAAAAAEHM/bICA8-64Kw0/s1600/IMG_4310.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a>The air was crisp and we headed down the hill drinking in the sunshine no differently than had I been taking a dog for a morning walk. As we neared the edge of George's property, I could see his herd in the front pasture all lift their heads practically in unison to see who this strange cow was coming up the road. As if on cue, they all began to run toward the fence line to get a better look.<br />
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"Hey there, it's me from across the street," she seemed to say, "I'm coming over for a visit," Emma seemed to say. <br />
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There was no out-of-control behavior as both my and George's cattle headed up toward the main gate. At first, we put her in the shed area and tried to coax the bull to go in with her, but his entourage insisted on following him everywhere. Instead, we turned her out with the entire herd in the corn field among the stubble.<br />
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For the next half hour, we just sort of stood there watching the herd sniff, snort, run and jump around not much differently than had someone just put on a James Brown record at a party and everyone began grooving to the music. No one was rough, but eventually they all tired and began milling about. As if a pair of lovers sneaking away from the crowd, Emma and the bull split off from the main herd, hustling through the gate and over to the privacy of the shed together. Shutting the door behind them, George said, "Now he can get 'er done. Let me give you a ride home."<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-081KlB7x1MU/UtrT9vin4-I/AAAAAAAAEHU/QD5KPIQ8C5E/s1600/IMG_4313.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-081KlB7x1MU/UtrT9vin4-I/AAAAAAAAEHU/QD5KPIQ8C5E/s1600/IMG_4313.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a>"No, I can walk," I countered, but remembered in this neighborhood it was considered bad manners to turn down a ride.<br />
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"Tell you what, how about delivering a round bale and letting me ride along on the tractor?"<br />
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"Well, sure. Let me get it loaded."<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XWoKffMYkf4/UtrUOiqHXeI/AAAAAAAAEHc/W3xjX5-xYWE/s1600/IMG_4316.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XWoKffMYkf4/UtrUOiqHXeI/AAAAAAAAEHc/W3xjX5-xYWE/s1600/IMG_4316.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a>For years, his lumbering four-wheel drive German tractor had chugged up the hill to my farm regularly during the winter delivering half-ton bales at least once a week. I climbed up on the side of the wheel well along with his little scruffy Toto-like dog that was always at his side. The cool air braced my face as I held fast on to my hat as we motored along. At that moment, my world couldn't have been any more perfect. <br />
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Later that afternoon, George called, "I think you're cow's bred."<br />
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Again I walked down the road and back the lane to his house where Emma stood quietly as I affixed the halter to her over those big fuzzy ears that were the color of dark chocolate on the outside and peanut butter on the inside.<br />
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In a reverse send-off as the morning's welcome, George's herd skirted the edge of the pasture walking us out to the edge of the property and offering a few lows, some barely perceptible to the human ear, but I could feel their vibration penetrate deep into my auditory cortex. It was a slower walk home, as she sashayed back to her own farm bow-legged and sloppy from her amorous afternoon with a real hunk of meat. <br />
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Back in her own paddock, I went about my afternoon feeding and chores with good intentions of flipping forward on the calendar to pencil in the prospective due date, but for some reason only got as far as writing "Emma visits the bull" on the block for that day.<br />
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As summer rolled around, there were occasional bouts of bellowing and walking the fence line--a sure sign of a cow in heat.<br />
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"Damn," I thought to myself questioning if I should just make an appointment and get the inevitable over with while market season was still strong and the demand for steaks and burgers was high.<br />
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Fall rolled around and I had still not followed through on my threat for the sausage wagon. Was I a bad farmer? Is this why the dairy farmers who sold her in the first place refuse to eat their own cows? I would have the vet check her after the holidays to verify she's not bred prior to doing the deed.<br />
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But I never got the opportunity....<br />
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In my mind as I have always bred for a spring calf, I still had time. Her saggy udder began filling in, but no where like it had with her previous lactation.<br />
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George had just brought up the first round bale of the season. I had been hoping to make it until the first of the year, but the first winter snow had just arrived and rather than make the animals dig through the blanket of white for their feed, I gave in and began feeding hay.<br />
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Mom and Dad had come early for breakfast and to drop off some fresh venison from Dad's deer for me and the bones for the Pyrenees. When it comes to letting nothing go to waste, I was well-taught. <br />
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Heading out to the barn, the cacophony of impatience was of no surprise as everyone lined up waiting to be fed...except for Emma. There she was in the farthest corner of the barnyard, her head hanging low. "It never fails," I thought to myself recalling all the animal issues that seemed to have always arisen with the arrival of the first snow. Figuring on getting everyone fed before investigating why my cow who is always first in line for food now had no interest, to the point she didn't even respond to being called.<br />
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The glare of the sun on snow was blinding as I headed over to the opposite side of the barnyard to feed the pigs. Emma had now moved from the corner to below the rise where the cluster of locust trees stood in the center of the large winter sacrifice paddock and she was inspecting something dark laying in the snow. No, wait...she was <i>licking it.</i> And that's when it hit me: Emma had calved. <br />
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"Shit! Shit! Shit!" I kept saying to myself as I began hustling and thinking to myself I wasn't prepared. Wait, yes I was. I'm always prepared. Anyone who has known me any length of time knows I'm always prepared for whatever life tosses my way unexpectedly.<br />
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Fresh straw for the stall--check.<br />
Clean, large water bucket for stall--check.<br />
E.coli vaccine--check.<br />
Calcium chloride gel--check.<br />
Getting mother and baby from the paddock to the stall, that was going to be a challenge.<br />
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<a href="https://pbs.twimg.com/media/BdjHU5UCIAA8qb7.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://pbs.twimg.com/media/BdjHU5UCIAA8qb7.jpg" width="320" /></a>Although calves are hardy critters at birth, landing in the snow had me worried. Still wet from birth, I attempted to pick up the little dark heifer and carry her back to the barn. I pride myself on being able to pick up an 80-pound sack of feed and carry it into the barn, why shouldn't this calf be any different, but it was. It was much heavier and wasn't budging. Should I just leave her lay and hope for the best? No, the wind was picking up and there was no wind block. Who could I call on a Wednesday morning the week before Christmas who was home or wouldn't be busy? And suddenly it hit me.Snow sled--check.<br />
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Rolling the calf on to the red plastic sled was easy, pulling it up the hill to the barn--not so easy as Emma nervously followed and I was afraid she was going to step on either the calf or me, but for a 900-pound animal, she's quite agile. She'd been through the routine with her previous calves, the first being born in a rain storm a week early despite the prepared maternity ward, the following ones in the well-bedded and dry stall. Entering the stall ahead of me and the calf, she stood at the rear once in as if to give us plenty of room as I maneuvered lifting the calf up the step into the stall, first the front half and then the back half.<br />
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Once nestled into a pillow of straw, the calf heaved a sigh of relief and napped while Emma continued to clean it's dark, thick fur with her raspy tongue. I named her Georgia.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-42fiFemszLc/Utr2xv-c3fI/AAAAAAAAEIU/tOHklfwFO2s/s1600/IMG_7049%5B1%5D.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-42fiFemszLc/Utr2xv-c3fI/AAAAAAAAEIU/tOHklfwFO2s/s1600/IMG_7049%5B1%5D.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a>If it is one thing I've learned over the years is that being born is an exhausting adventure for not just the mother, but the offspring. How many panicked farmers (and human mothers) have fretted when newborns fail to immediately latch on and begin nursing? My advice is to leave them alone and listen.<br />
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There is nothing more unique than the sounds a mother makes to her fresh calf or kid or lamb in the first few hours after giving birth. Again, it is that low-frequency communication you feel more than you hear. And when that baby finally does find it appetite, it will also discover its voice--another sound. The cries of a hungry newborn can not be mistaken and will alert one quickly to any lactation issues.<br />
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By nightfall, little Georgia was standing on her wobbly legs, dry and nosing all about Emma's perimeter in search of the teat as her dam nudged her in the general direction. Come morning, the fluffy calf had a tell-tale milk mustache she was successfully suckling.<br />
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I called George and told him that my Christmas present had been delivered a week early and the holiday was exactly one week away. Despite grand plans to go out into my pines, cut down a tree and decorate the house, instead, I spent most of the days that followed just being present in the barn, busying myself with chores that allowed me to watch and listen to yet another miracle of life that I am continually blessed with through farming. <br />
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<br />Sandra Kay Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02818864134465526818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140381.post-19131491990202025202013-10-23T16:35:00.002-04:002013-10-23T16:37:09.227-04:00Mortality in the Morning<b>PREDATOR: 1 LAYING HEN: 0</b><br />
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At market I get asked, "Are your chickens free-range?" at least once a week by an egg customer.<br />
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"Yes, sometimes a little too free-ranging," I respond.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rCTCpo5-SWg/UmgwizRu8BI/AAAAAAAAEBA/rmZBG-r1fMw/s1600/mortality1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rCTCpo5-SWg/UmgwizRu8BI/AAAAAAAAEBA/rmZBG-r1fMw/s320/mortality1.jpg" width="239" /></a>While I like to keep my poultry as contained as possible while still keeping them on pasture (<a href="http://www.premier1supplies.com/poultry/species.php?source=google&gclid=CIuF0IuzrboCFc-Y4AodaUQAQw" target="_blank">electric poultry netting</a>, large fenced paddocks, <a href="http://paintedhandfarm.blogspot.com/2013/08/learn-to-build-hoop-coop.html" target="_blank">Hoop Coops</a>), there's always an errant hen or two who absolutely insists on pushing their limits, much to my neighbors' dismay.<br />
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Unfortunately, as I walked out toward the pasture this morning I could see the 'feather bomb' before reaching the body. Something had taken out one of the little red hens during the night. <br />
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On my poultry advertising at farmers markets, I list "Predator Friendly" as one of my selling points. Occasionally, someone asks about it. It simply means that I do not make it a point of killing natural predators such as hawks, owls, raccoons, opossums, weasels, minks, skunks, etc., as many of my neighbors and fellow market vendors do. Despite being a federal offense to maim or kill a bird-of-prey, increasingly I've heard many of my fellow farmers brag about killing raptors who are biting into their bottom line as well as their birds.<br />
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If I look and listen long enough, I often realize that they create an imbalance on their farm which leads to excessive predation. For instance, free-feeding with large hoppers of food, while it may be a convenience--especially to those who have increased their flocks to several hundred birds--is also a huge draw for vermin such as mice and rats. Similarly, improperly storing feed will support a larger rodent population than normal.<br />
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When the rodent population explodes, that's tantamount to ringing the dinner bell for those higher up on the food chain. And that's where the problems begin.<br />
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If you were a predator, which would you rather eat---a rinky-dinky little mouse or a nice, big, fat, juicy hen? Forget those little nuggets, they're going to go after the bigger piece of protein, which I might add, are much easier to catch.<br />
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"I've shot six hawks this season and they're still harassing my birds," lamented a local grower whose flocks have increased in size along with the number of farmers markets he attends. So much for sustainability....<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-j-jlg9gVOZw/UmgwjXtoIxI/AAAAAAAAEBE/iTVBUJheFSQ/s1600/mortality2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-j-jlg9gVOZw/UmgwjXtoIxI/AAAAAAAAEBE/iTVBUJheFSQ/s320/mortality2.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
A few months ago I lost a laying hen inside the fence to a raccoon. How did I know it was a raccoon? Through one of the sites that help chicken enthusiasts <a href="http://www.avianaquamiser.com/posts/What_killed_my_chicken__63__/" target="_blank">figure out what's pilfering their poultry like this one. </a><br />
Instead of staying up half the night with a flashlight duct taped to the barrel of a shot gun, I simply put my Great Pyrenees in with the layers for a few days. The raccoon never returned. <br />
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But last night's victim still had her head intact with her guts ripped out instead meaning chances were it was either an opossum or a skunk. <br />
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When it comes to predator prevention on the farm, nothing beats a Livestock Guardian Dog. Mine are worth their weight in gold several times over and they're <i>big</i> dogs. But there are other ways to deter predators such as roosters and adequate shelter. One poultry farmer I know swears by his <a href="http://niteguard.com/" target="_blank">Nite Guard</a>, a blinking red light and others opt for folk remedies such as dog hair, human hair and even human urine.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_eHMyCOks_A/UmgwkMbXNHI/AAAAAAAAEBM/lelgji_zw5E/s1600/mortality3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_eHMyCOks_A/UmgwkMbXNHI/AAAAAAAAEBM/lelgji_zw5E/s320/mortality3.jpg" width="320" /></a>But in reality, sometimes Mother Nature wins against Domestication and in this case there's only one thing left to do--salvage what's left either as compost or in the case of the errant laying hen who fell victim to a marauder last night, a treat for the pigs. <i>Nothing</i> ever goes to waste. By the way, the entire carcass was completely gone--feathers, feet & all--in less than five minutes. Pigs are the <i>ultimate</i> in body disposal. Kind of makes you wonder why Tony Soprano and his gang always hung out in the sausage shop.....Sandra Kay Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02818864134465526818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140381.post-62503052601979230282013-09-05T15:14:00.002-04:002013-09-07T17:05:36.137-04:0012th Annual Goat Roast<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7C1uLuvlCs8/Uic9vAqgcSI/AAAAAAAAD7g/g2r_URDI28w/s1600/IMG_6047.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7C1uLuvlCs8/Uic9vAqgcSI/AAAAAAAAD7g/g2r_URDI28w/s320/IMG_6047.jpg" width="320" /></a> </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-79aaGPweYiw/Uic9Gco1QaI/AAAAAAAAD6o/LoCXMwU23xM/s1600/IMG_6040.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-79aaGPweYiw/Uic9Gco1QaI/AAAAAAAAD6o/LoCXMwU23xM/s200/IMG_6040.jpg" width="200" /></a>It's hard to believe that it's been twelve years since the first Goat Roast was held here at the farm. I think about two dozen brave souls turned out to try goat meat. I also remember having <i>lots</i> of leftovers which led to the addition of smoking a turkey or two as the tradition repeated itself each Labor Day. Over the years, I've also served roasted pig, sausages and yes, yak burgers from that nasty Tibetan Yak of which I had great dreams of milking that went up in the flames that cooked those tasty burgers. And throughout the years, Mother Nature has blessed us with mostly good weather whether it be holding off to pour until after the ice cream has been served or cooling off the stifling heat with a brief passing shower, as was the case this year. But whatever the circumstances, there two things that have remained constant--great food and wonderful friends. </div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8t3Eu2vysqo/UijEVQbwbVI/AAAAAAAAD9Y/ZBs91tG-CA8/s1600/IMG_5999.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8t3Eu2vysqo/UijEVQbwbVI/AAAAAAAAD9Y/ZBs91tG-CA8/s200/IMG_5999.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jRtTyu9S0_4/UijEfic4uTI/AAAAAAAAD9s/fL5V45rtEog/s1600/IMG_6001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jRtTyu9S0_4/UijEfic4uTI/AAAAAAAAD9s/fL5V45rtEog/s200/IMG_6001.jpg" width="149" /></a>The first goat roasted here was the first born male of the farm, offspring of <a href="http://pasture2plate.blogspot.com/2011/04/goodbye-my-beloved-friend.html" target="_blank">my beloved Peaches</a>. Throughout the years, some of the goats have been 4-H projects from friends' children as well as ones from the farm. Often I had them processed at a local butcher shop or by friends, but this year marked the first year that I was fortunate to partake in the entire process of feeding my family and friends from conception to serving platter--100% of the process, including the slaughtering, burning off the hair, putting on the spit and roasting. <a href="http://www.harborfreight.com/propane-torch-91033.html" target="_blank">flame-thrower!</a> </div>
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Taking the life of an animal is a most serious business and I considered it an honor to be doing so in order to share with loved ones. For anyone unfamiliar with the process of leaving the skin on a goat prior to roasting, it is the traditional way goat is served in many subsistence cultures. Skin equals calories therefore it is not wasted. In order to roast with the skin on, first the hair must be either burned or scalded off the hide. I choose to burn as that is how I've been taught by my African friends and I enjoy using a <br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zTTe2KPpyek/Uic5vZWRsLI/AAAAAAAAD2o/Ajp7qVwd8Pw/s1600/IMG_6007.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zTTe2KPpyek/Uic5vZWRsLI/AAAAAAAAD2o/Ajp7qVwd8Pw/s200/IMG_6007.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UGsRPXiFz1E/Uic5uL6-N2I/AAAAAAAAD2g/aBdzw1-5WnY/s1600/IMG_6006.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UGsRPXiFz1E/Uic5uL6-N2I/AAAAAAAAD2g/aBdzw1-5WnY/s200/IMG_6006.jpg" width="200" /></a>Thanks to the skin being left on, stuffing the belly with aromatic fruits, vegetables, herbs and spices is much easier. This year I used ripe figs, peaches, nectarines, limes, jalapeno peppers, basil and thyme with a white truffle balsamic glaze. In roasting a goat, there are two things I cannot do without--<a href="http://kanesbbq.com/" target="_blank">a Kane BBQ with Kane Klamps</a> and turkey lacing pins. The <a href="http://kanesbbq.com/products/accessories.html" target="_blank">Kane Klamps</a> are these lovely little gadgets that keep the carcass secure on the spit so it doesn't slip while roasting. And if you are going to stuff the belly (this includes for lamb and pigs, too), I recommend using those simple metal pins you get for lacing up a turkey. Place them across the slit and then lace like a football--none of that awkward sewing with a wire. Plus, when the time comes to open the belly, you simply just pull the pins! </div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RZaSX_iwuoo/Uic6SMoRPNI/AAAAAAAAD3Q/lAIjZCsYx6w/s1600/IMG_6013.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RZaSX_iwuoo/Uic6SMoRPNI/AAAAAAAAD3Q/lAIjZCsYx6w/s320/IMG_6013.jpg" width="239" /></a>In roasting whole animals, this is another trick I learned as the years have rolled by. Secure the animal to the spit before lighting it. For years I braved the heat trying to set the bar in the pin and motor while the coals were roaring. This royally sucks. Instead I now secure the goat on the spit and then remember that flame-thrower? It's awesome for lighting either the charcoal or wood, whichever you decide to use. I don't even take the charcoal out of the bags. It's that easy...honest! Heck, I don't even take off the feet and head anymore either. One of the goat roast guests is from Nigeria and that is his treat to take home from which he makes the most delicious traditional African Pepper Soup.<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hso5UaKxxMo/Uic7kl-r99I/AAAAAAAAD4w/ZgSK9feC-mw/s1600/IMG_6025.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hso5UaKxxMo/Uic7kl-r99I/AAAAAAAAD4w/ZgSK9feC-mw/s320/IMG_6025.jpg" width="320" /></a> </div>
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As I strive to practice what I preach, several years ago I gave up buying sodas and commercial drinks, especially those with high fructose corn syrup and artificial sweeteners. At first I wondered what the reaction of my guests would be and it turned out to be quite positive. Instead of a cooler full of cans & bottles, I now get out jugs & pitchers and enjoy setting out an assortment of fresh water, lemonade, iced tea and everyone's favorite, homemade Sangria!</div>
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And then there are those who arrive at the Goat Roast in style!</div>
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It's a time for the neighbors to visit. </div>
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It's a time for family and friends to spend together.</div>
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And of course, doggies are always welcome. This year's doggy treats were fresh chicken heads!</div>
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Wait! That's not a dog...it's a Goon with a Goat!</div>
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The buffet line is open and everyone has begun to fill their plates with food brought by others and that roasted here. A big thank you goes out to those who helped carve the meat off the bones, including one reformed vegetarian!<br />
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Plenty of new faces this year.</div>
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And lots of familiar ones who have come out year after year. </div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b34blftHYsg/UijEVRryf3I/AAAAAAAAD9U/21IIQLN9MWc/s1600/IMG_5998.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b34blftHYsg/UijEVRryf3I/AAAAAAAAD9U/21IIQLN9MWc/s200/IMG_5998.jpg" width="149" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kSL-w-OZpS4/UijEWP9zTjI/AAAAAAAAD9k/WSL6s-ri1W0/s1600/IMG_5987.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kSL-w-OZpS4/UijEWP9zTjI/AAAAAAAAD9k/WSL6s-ri1W0/s200/IMG_5987.jpg" width="200" /></a>Believe it or not, this year's home made ice cream started with a dozen fatty stewing hens harvested for their golden
globs of fat perfect for making schmaltz and matzo ball soup as the
Jewish New Year began the day after Labor Day this year. Several of my
customers at market had asked about them and so I planned to have them
available as requested. As the processor began dispatching and cleaning
the hens, out came the immature eggs from within, all sizes from ready
to be laid to just beginning to grow. Did I want to keep them? Oh,
absolutely! And I knew just where they were to be used...making an
insanely rich custard that would then be churned into ice cream at the
12 Annual Painted Hand Farm Labor Day Goat Roast and Picnic--only the
very best for my guests!And as it turned out, this was by far the BEST
fresh peach ice cream I ever made. <br />
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I can't think of a more perfect way to bring such a lovely day with family and friends to a close. Thank you all for sharing in the bounty of this farm and the Good Earth with me. <br />
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Sandra Kay Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02818864134465526818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140381.post-25278984059450438482013-08-22T12:41:00.002-04:002013-08-22T13:03:04.118-04:00Learn To Build A Hoop Coop<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Saturday, September 14, 2013 </span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Hoop Coop Workshop at Painted Hand Farm</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000;"><a href="http://www.paintedhandfarm.com/HoopCoopWorkshop.html" target="_blank"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Sign Up HERE </span></b></a></span></div>
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This is never a pretty sight to wake up and find in the morning. Yes, that's what a 4 AM raccoon raid on a hen house looks like. I heard it happen, that's how I know when it occurred. All hell broke loose in the barn yard--hens squawking, roosters raising the alarm, guineas screeching, calves bawling, goats screaming and the dog barking, but not before the culprit drug off the body where the head was consumed and all of the organs were removed via the hole in where the neck used to be....a most gruesome way to go.<br />
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And it's not just wild animals that can wreak havoc on poultry. Just a few days ago a fellow farmer bemoaned the loss of close to a hundred chicks and turkey poults to a domestic cat which brought back memories of my beloved merciless mouser, Megs, as she was somehow able to reach through the poultry wire and take out a dozen poults before I could fortify the brooder.<br />
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And let's not forget those pesky predators of the skies---hawks. Here at Painted Hand Farm I've chosen to employ roosters and Livestock Guardian Dogs as well as the Hoop Coop. <i><b></b></i><br />
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<i><b>So just what is a Hoop Coop? </b></i><br />
It is a versatile portable structure constructed of inexpensive materials that are easily purchased from your local hardware and farm supply stores including wire feedlot panels, 2"x4"s, chicken wire/hardware cloth/welded wire, rope, hose, tarp, hinges and hasp along with screws, fencing staples and wire. Depending on the materials chosen, the cost ranges from $100-200 in materials and takes a day to construct. <a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fiI7nDuWK_8/UhY5aIUZn2I/AAAAAAAADyA/vAnUyWvWkt8/s1600/CIMG0066.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fiI7nDuWK_8/UhY5aIUZn2I/AAAAAAAADyA/vAnUyWvWkt8/s200/CIMG0066.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
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<i><b>What all can a Hoop Coop house?</b></i><br />
<span class="textstyle3">Over the last twelve years, my Hoop
Coop has been used for:</span><br />
<ul>
<li><span class="textstyle3">
Broilers</span></li>
<li><span class="textstyle3">
Layers </span><i><b></b></i></li>
<li><span class="textstyle3">
Turkeys</span></li>
<li><span class="textstyle3">
Guineas</span></li>
<li><span class="textstyle3">
Pigs</span></li>
<li><span class="textstyle3">
Rabbits</span></li>
<li><span class="textstyle3">
Goats</span></li>
<li><span class="textstyle3">
Lambs</span></li>
<li><span class="textstyle3">
Calves</span></li>
<li><span class="textstyle3">
Puppies</span></li>
<li><span class="textstyle3">
Greenhouse</span></li>
<li><span class="textstyle3">
Even children!</span></li>
</ul>
<i><b><span class="textstyle3"> The cost: $100, includes:</span></b></i><br />
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<ul>
<li><span class="textstyle3">A full day of hands-on Hoop
Coop building from start to finish.</span><i><b></b></i></li>
<li><span class="textstyle3">
A full set of plans and directions for
building a Hoop Coop, including a
materials checklist, optional modification
suggestions and references for additional
information about pastured poultry.</span></li>
<li><span class="textstyle3">
Lunch</span></li>
<li><span class="textstyle3">
Hands on experience with pastured
poultry. We will be putting broilers out on
pasture with the completed project. </span></li>
</ul>
<span class="textstyle3"> <i><b>Consider this.....</b></i></span><br />
<ul>
<li><span class="textstyle3">Losing a single laying hen means the loss of 15 dozen eggs a year. Given that free-range eggs at farmers markets average $4 a dozen, that's $60 <i>per hen</i>.</span></li>
<li><span class="textstyle3">The average cost of raising a broiler to five pounds using organic feed is $6. Add on the cost of the bird and your time....how many birds can you afford to lose? </span></li>
<li><span class="textstyle3">Heritage turkey poults cost $7-12 <i>each</i>. Do you really want your pet cat eating your Thanksgiving dinner?</span></li>
<li><span class="textstyle3">Commercially available pastured-poultry coops that are not as versatile as a Hoop Coop cost significantly more (FarmTek ClearSpan $439, Walmart PlumStruck $499, Amazon Green Coops $844) </span></li>
</ul>
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uRhkPe3sfqA/UhY5kmcFsoI/AAAAAAAADyU/xov2Q6MgByY/s1600/IMG_5103.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uRhkPe3sfqA/UhY5kmcFsoI/AAAAAAAADyU/xov2Q6MgByY/s200/IMG_5103.jpg" width="149" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m1jbcHvkF9A/UhY5gm6AMGI/AAAAAAAADyM/Ws2_BTKY2Bs/s1600/pigs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m1jbcHvkF9A/UhY5gm6AMGI/AAAAAAAADyM/Ws2_BTKY2Bs/s200/pigs.jpg" width="200" /></a><span class="textstyle3"><i><b>Additional benefits to building a Hoop Coop</b></i></span><br />
<ul>
<li><span class="textstyle3"><i><b><span class="textstyle3"> </span></b><span class="textstyle3"></span></i><span class="textstyle3">
Durable--I've been using the same Hoop Coop for 12 years with minimal maintenance</span></span></li>
<li><span class="textstyle3"><span class="textstyle3">Storm-proof--won't blow over even in the fiercest of storms. </span></span></li>
<li><span class="textstyle3"><span class="textstyle3">
Easy to move--no wheels or dolly needed </span></span></li>
<li><span class="textstyle3"><span class="textstyle3">
Can stand inside--makes for catching occupants easier</span></span></li>
<li><span class="textstyle3"><span class="textstyle3"> Works as a great quarantine pen that
can be moved to an uncontaminated
area and quickly sanitized. </span></span></li>
</ul>
<span class="textstyle3"><span class="textstyle3"></span></span>Whether you are interested in raising food for yourself or for markets and CSA, by building your own Hoop Coop you are certain to increase your harvest by protecting your investment.<br />
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<i><b>"I believe that true sustainability comes from the ability to build portable </b></i><i><b>equipment that will serve the farmer in raising a variety of products as opposed to specialized and costly infrastructure." ~Sandra Kay Miller</b></i><br />
<i><b></b></i><br />
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<i><b><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kErFOmR2tfk/UhY7K3E6SvI/AAAAAAAADzQ/j9gtsdGzNEQ/s1600/IMG_5179.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><i><b></b></i></a><i><b><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kErFOmR2tfk/UhY7K3E6SvI/AAAAAAAADzQ/j9gtsdGzNEQ/s1600/IMG_5179.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kErFOmR2tfk/UhY7K3E6SvI/AAAAAAAADzQ/j9gtsdGzNEQ/s400/IMG_5179.jpg" width="400" /></a></b></i> </b></i></div>
Sandra Kay Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02818864134465526818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140381.post-78373406936720914632013-07-19T06:00:00.000-04:002013-07-19T10:09:19.057-04:00Hot Chicks Are Not Cool<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P1CHC8PDEpg/UegUSELU6jI/AAAAAAAADuQ/Dyi-5WV8yb8/s1600/hotchicks3.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P1CHC8PDEpg/UegUSELU6jI/AAAAAAAADuQ/Dyi-5WV8yb8/s320/hotchicks3.JPG" width="320" /></a>It wasn't even ten in the morning and already the hens had gathered in the dirt patch under the shade of the locust trees where I had sprayed down the ground in which they liked to dust themselves knowing full well that on what was predicted to be one of the hottest days of the year they would congregate there in an effort to keep cool. Instead of leisurely pecking and scratching from their morning feeding, the little biddies quickly gobbled up their grains and headed off to find some relief. With their wings held away from their bodies as if in mid-flight suspended animation, they scratched off the dry layer of dirt until finding the cooler, damp earth over which they hovered while furiously panting, their beaks open and their tiny pointed tongues bobbing back in forth in unison with each breath. </div>
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tURNY8WqSww/UegWTYAfD8I/AAAAAAAADug/1ohn2HM7_Mc/s1600/hotchicks4.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tURNY8WqSww/UegWTYAfD8I/AAAAAAAADug/1ohn2HM7_Mc/s200/hotchicks4.JPG" width="200" /></a>I knew the impending markets of the coming weekend would bring disappointment to my many egg customers as they would find out that the availability of their weekly staple would be greatly reduced. Those hens had little interest in laying eggs inside a coop in this oppressive heat. Those who chose to exercise their cloacae, instead sought out the comfort of an impromptu nest hidden in the grass making egg-gathering more of an egg hunt. <br />
<br />
Later in the afternoon as I made my rounds ensuring everyone had access to plenty of shade and fresh water, a panicked call came in from a fellow farmer fairly new to raising fowl not far from Painted Hand Farm.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Tg5gD80NnO0/UegURsQwyOI/AAAAAAAADuI/cKGaowBPee8/s1600/hotchicks2.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Tg5gD80NnO0/UegURsQwyOI/AAAAAAAADuI/cKGaowBPee8/s320/hotchicks2.jpg" width="302" /></a>"Are your broilers dying in this heat?" they asked, adding "Mine are falling over dead left and right. I've lost half of my birds since yesterday and each time I go out more are dead."<br />
<br />
I could hear the disappoint and frustration in their voice not only for the suffering of their stock, but at the financial loss that was rapidly increasing with the death of each bird. It had been a while since visiting their farm and with everyone watered, shaded and at a stand-still here, I decided to take a drive over to see what was going on. This also gave me a luxurious respite from the triple digit heat as I blasted the air conditioning in my car.<br />
<br />
Arriving, I found my farming friend walking in from the field with a bucket full of dead chickens.<br />
<br />
"Help," they squeaked out as the tears spilled out from under the rims of their sunglasses.<br />
<br />
Heading back out to the field, it took me about ten seconds to see what was wrong.<br />
<br />
"Do you have a down jacket?" I asked.<br />
<br />
"Yes, why?" they replied cautiously wondering where my odd question was leading. Maybe it was the irritation in my voice. <br />
<br />
"Good. I want you to go put it on, make yourself a big mug of hot tea, come back out here and sit in that chicken tractor for the rest of the day." I know it was a mean thing to say, but sometimes I just wonder where people's common sense is when weather becomes extreme.<br />
<br />
"Are you saying I'm roasting my chickens?"<br />
<br />
"Indeed."<br />
<br />
Despite the investment into building Polyface-style chicken tractors, my friend had used black metal roofing. The moveable coops were smack dab in the middle of a lush pasture being beaten into solar submission. Furthermore, the waters where the galvanized steel variety and were in also in direct contact with the bright sun glaring down on them heating the water to the point the chickens refused to drink it.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.crozetgazette.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/05/polyface-broiler-cage.gif" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://www.crozetgazette.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/05/polyface-broiler-cage.gif" width="320" /></a>At the edge of the pasture, a couple hundred feet away stood a big ol' shady oak tree and some shrubs.<br />
<br />
Time for a Hail Mary.<br />
<br />
"We need to get the birds cooler water and into the shade." Reaching for the dolly that assisted in the moving of the pens, my friend began to grumble about the distance and lack of good pasture under the trees, but I had other plans as I removed one of the waterers and headed for the hydrant to refill it with fresh water. Then much to their horror, I lifted the tractor just enough that the birds could escape and began walking toward the trees carrying the waterer with the birds in toe <a href="http://youtu.be/pcqJpY9x3Vc" target="_blank">as if I were the Pied Piper of Poultry</a>, the remaining birds battling furiously for the cool water.<br />
<br />
"What are you doing?" they shrieked "You're letting all my birds loose."<br />
<br />
"Think of this as a hurricane, a forest fire, a tornado--these birds aren't stupid. They'll go where it's safe and when it cools off later today, just take a bucket of feed out and sprinkle it under the tractor. They'll go right back in," I assured. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XTH-JcUwqkc/UegUQuYImmI/AAAAAAAADuA/UXNsuCE_w3o/s1600/hotchicks1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XTH-JcUwqkc/UegUQuYImmI/AAAAAAAADuA/UXNsuCE_w3o/s200/hotchicks1.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
"But what about predators?"<br />
<br />
"Listen, do you want to go eat a nice, hot pizza today? Heck, even I don't cook in this kind of heat! Hunting exerts energy. Do you sweat when you run? There's no way anyone wearing a fur coat is going to be out hunting in this heat, let alone eating. THINK!"<br />
<br />
With my point taken, I didn't stick around long as I didn't want to give my vehicle a chance to fall the same fate at the chicken tractors and I wanted to get back to my generous neighbors' lovely swimming pool they graciously allow me to use despite the fact the water had hit 92 degrees yesterday and felt more like a bathtub, it still brought sweet relief from the stifling heat. <br />
<br />
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While we can be Certified Organic, Certified Naturally Grown and Certified Human, at the same time we can also be Certified Stupid for not using common sense when it comes to raising livestock, especially in extreme temperatures. And it's not just heat....I'm thinking about every time I see a grass-fed beef producers setting out a fresh round bale in the middle of a field on a particularly frigid day when the wind chills hover in the single digits. Those animals have to expend more energy to stay warm while eating out in the driving winds (losing weight) than they would had they just been allowed to continued to stay bedded down.<br />
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So next time you encounter extreme weather conditions, put yourself in your livestock's environment and THINK!Sandra Kay Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02818864134465526818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140381.post-26368419422221705302013-06-06T16:57:00.001-04:002013-06-06T18:29:36.008-04:00A Hole I Didn't Want To Dig<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>"We aren't house-proud. If we were, we wouldn't abide the scratches on the door frame, the holes in the screen, the darkened shine of worn spots on the chair. We would wince at the mottled carpet and fret at the hair clinging to our clothes. </i><br />
<i>We don't. If anything, we lovers of dogs are a tolerant lot, finding greater value in the unabashed affection of our friends than in immaculate sofas. Shoes can be replaced, but heroic retrievers are timeless. </i><br />
<i>Without dogs, our houses are cold receptacles for things. Dogs make a fire warmer with their curled presence. They wake us, greet us, protect us and ultimately carve a place int our hearts and our history. On reflections, our lives are often referenced in parts defined by the all-too-short lives of our dogs." </i><br />
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~<a href="http://www.orvis.com/intro.aspx?subject=2072" target="_blank">Paul Fersen</a></div>
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The page out of the Orvis catalog with this passage is well-worn as I have held on to it for years. Many of you who have read those words in cards and letters from me know the occasion for sharing. Sadly, today I pulled the glossy page from my box of treasures and read it to myself before laying down the words in this blog post. </div>
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Why is filling in the hole always much harder than digging it? </div>
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Unfortunately, I must report that this week I've lost one of the truly great companions I've had the pleasure of working with here at Painted Hand Farm for the last ten years--my livestock guardian dog, El Jefe. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>In his element in all his glory.</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
While he was, indeed, <i>The Boss,</i> known as "Heff" for short, folks often wondered if it wasn't short for "Hefner" as he swaggered her way throughout the fields, ruling the pastures and lounging as if he didn't have a care in the world.<br />
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An AKC registered Great Pyrenees, Jefe sired four litters of pups, many of which I continue to follow throughout the course of their lives through modern technologies and social networking.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>El Jefe and Dora along with some of their brood. </i></td></tr>
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He was coming up on ten years old this year and I had been watching for signs of him slowing down, but he just went on like he always did--running the fence line, hopping up on the shelters in one swift jump--he made it all look so effortless despite his advancing age.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lby-4TB4o_Y/UbDZrM4WcNI/AAAAAAAADo8/inTWhwtdjjU/s1600/jefeontop.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lby-4TB4o_Y/UbDZrM4WcNI/AAAAAAAADo8/inTWhwtdjjU/s200/jefeontop.jpg" width="141" /></a> <a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uY-tEkI7zUs/UbDacCCd5OI/AAAAAAAADpM/cazFPyTv3So/s1600/jeferunning.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uY-tEkI7zUs/UbDacCCd5OI/AAAAAAAADpM/cazFPyTv3So/s200/jeferunning.JPG" width="135" /></a></div>
"What do you feed this guy?" the vet asked the last time he'd checked out the dogs on a farm visit.<br />
"Lots of bones and raw food," I responded recalling the horror of several visitors as they watched while he'd drag around a steer's rotting head for several days working on it to extract every morsel of meat before gnawing away until there was little more than a round nub of unidentifiable bone. He preferred his hoof chews still attached to the foot and leg. He'd hog the whey and buttermilk I'd set out during my dairying days, fending off anyone who dared venture near until he'd had his fill. But his all-time favorite treats were the 'fishicles'--frozen whole fish I'd squirrel away in the deep freeze for those dog days of summer when I wondered how on earth he survived under all that fur. He would toss them in the air, then rub his big slobbery jowls all over the icy treat before savoring it by nibbling away with his front teeth on the frozen flesh. <br />
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Despite his massive size, well over six feet on his hind legs and weighing in once at 185 pounds, he was the gentlest of giants caring for kids and kittens alike. Once when a couple of drunk local teens hopped the fence in an effort to swipe a baby goat in the middle of the night, I found Jefe sitting on top of one who failed to navigate his way back over the fence; no biting, just shear intimidation and weight. <br />
<br />
It was his size that always gave me pause as to how I would handle him as an elderly dog, however, he remained active and agile up until the end when a stroke took him down swiftly.<br />
<br />
"Canine strokes are different that human strokes," the vet said, trying to assuage my panic, "Keep him quiet for a few days and monitor his eating and drinking. If he doesn't improve, call me."<br />
<br />
Over the next twenty four hours it became apparent he was getting worse, the paralysis preventing him from eating and drinking as food and water fell from his mouth with each attempt. He struggled to crawl out of his excrement and when our eyes met, he spoke to me--"Don't let me live like this."<br />
<br />
As someone who makes a living from raising animals, I can honestly tell you that when it's time, animals will tell you in no uncertain terms. However, it is our humanity, our anthropomorphism and our selfish fear of loss that pushes us to cling to their life no matter the cost or consequences. <br />
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As much as I would have enjoyed having him as an all-around farm dog and companion, El Jefe was true to his ancestry of independent working dogs who preferred living with the livestock. Snow, rain, sleet, heat, hurricanes...none of it bothered him as long as his charges were safe, including me. He's one of the reasons I've never had many qualms about living here alone as I knew if I ever raised an alarm, he'd go over any fence or gate to protect me as I had watched him do for so many years when something--gun shots, fireworks or thunder & lightening--stressed his herd. </div>
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Oh, how I am going to miss my big bundle of furry dog hugs. He now rests in peace in the garden along with the rest of my beloved four-legged companions who have also crossed over the Rainbow Bridge. He will be dearly missed. </div>
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Sandra Kay Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02818864134465526818noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140381.post-53921967945739875272013-05-08T11:34:00.003-04:002013-05-23T15:53:43.833-04:00One Mo' Time!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i><b>The Fish Box. </b></i>Made of heavy-duty food grade plastic, these <a href="http://www.sheelyassoc.com/products/xytec/magnum.htm" target="_blank">fixed-wall Magnum pallet containers</a> have lived many, many lives over the years. This one in particular began its life as a tote for the transportation of commercial sea urchin harvests from the dock to the processor sometime back in the 1980's. It has also functioned as:<br />
<ul>
<li>Kid's swimming pool</li>
<li>Adult's hot tub (notice the plumbing fixtures)</li>
<li>Water tank for gardens & livestock</li>
<li>Moving container (how I got all my fragile items from CA to PA without breaking)</li>
<li>Grain bin</li>
<li>Layer box (big failure as I used the black one and it got too hot)</li>
<li>Weight lifting supports </li>
<li>Table (especially at the annual Goat Roasts)</li>
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And so I introduce to you today yet another lifetime for this handy item---<b>a chick brooder!</b></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6WJyoIu78mA/UYpBDURnLwI/AAAAAAAADlQ/g7oJBrsuPRE/s1600/peepsinbox.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6WJyoIu78mA/UYpBDURnLwI/AAAAAAAADlQ/g7oJBrsuPRE/s320/peepsinbox.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
It's been a really cool spring and if it's one thing that will stunt or kill peeps quicker than anything else (except cats & rats), it's the cold & damp. Over the years, I've brooded chicks in commercial brooder boxes, brooder hoods, custom-built portable pens (through which Megs the Merciless could still catch and chew off the heads of several turkey poults before I caught her and reconfigured the whole contraption), plastic totes, water tanks and even cardboard boxes and I've got to say this is about my favorite idea so far. The lid has a hole through which I ran the cord and hanger for the heat lamp. The waterer fits well, it's critter-proof and there's plenty of room for a batch of 50 chicks. When I'm done brooding this batch, I'll simply dump the litter, hose it out and reload it with a new set of peeps.<br />
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Sadly, neither tote is water-tight anymore so I won't feel bad modifying this one with a few ventilation holes.<br />
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And for all you Star Trek Next Generation fans, you may recall that
these things were a standard set item for all the cargo bay scenes. <br />
<br />
As a proponent of sustainability, I try to get multiple uses out of a single item--multi-species portable shelters made from recycled shipping crates, futon frames turned hay racks, a drag made from a pallet & chain link for breaking up manure patties and covering seeds, water tanks, feeders and kid warmers made from plastic barrels are just a few goodies. I'm also a big fan of the many uses and configurations of portable panels and gates that can easily be turned into a multitude of functional farm items.<br />
<br />
Just last week I was able to easily, and more importantly, safely load a beef on to my stock trailer by myself with the use of two <a href="http://www.tractorsupply.com/en/store/panel-corral-10-ft-red-pin" target="_blank">10' corral panels</a>. Each panel retails for about $140. With a few sets of short chains and snap shackles, those same two panels have also been used for a swing/squeeze chute with which to safely work cattle. Remember my nasty yak? That's how I handled her without incident. <br />
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My 'game' in farming has been to see how much value I can pull from a single item and the fish box ranks right up at the top of my list. So next time you're embarking on a project, look around and get creative. That's what makes life interesting and fun!<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-D_0oyZbSzQ8/UZ5zlc3dDzI/AAAAAAAADnY/aJ8U0S75mgA/s1600/glowingpeepbox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="297" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-D_0oyZbSzQ8/UZ5zlc3dDzI/AAAAAAAADnY/aJ8U0S75mgA/s400/glowingpeepbox.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Sandra Kay Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02818864134465526818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140381.post-15111600223160965482013-02-25T14:22:00.001-05:002013-02-26T09:58:09.218-05:00Time to Grow!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b><span style="color: black; font-size: x-large;"> Painted Hand Farm </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: black; font-size: x-large;">Liver Bits </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: black; font-size: x-large;">All-Natural Pet Treats </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: black; font-size: x-large;">wants to grow! </span></b></div>
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<span style="color: black;"> </span><img border="0" height="238" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AQiB7cSk-ao/USZzU6lp_II/AAAAAAAADdY/rhs7pDaJlWc/s320/dogtreats.jpg" width="320" /></div>
For four years Painted Hand Farm has been making all-natural pet treats out of liver from their harvested livestock as well as from other local family farms and selling Liver Bits throughout the mid-Atlantic regional farmers markets. These tasty tidbits made from 100% liver are <b>GUARANTEED NOT TO BE FROM CHINA. </b><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fp5fU5Fap_A/USugMmOkLSI/AAAAAAAADeU/mxpkbXNpmKw/s1600/Allie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fp5fU5Fap_A/USugMmOkLSI/AAAAAAAADeU/mxpkbXNpmKw/s320/Allie.jpg" width="320" /></a><b> </b></span></div>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">What's the big worry about<span style="font-size: large;"> imported <span style="font-size: large;">pet treats?</span> </span></span></span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="textstyle6">On December 10, 2012, the Food & Drug Administration issued yet another warning against a major brand of pet treats, this time tainted with Salmonella.
Pet owners as well as their animals can be made ill from Salmonella
bacterial infections. <br />
<br />
According to a February 13, 2013 Wall Street Journal article, "Since 2007,
the FDA has received 2,674 reports of dog illnesses, including 501 deaths,
in cases where a dog was believed to have eaten jerky treats made in
China."<br />
<br />
Consumers have become so concerned with the safety of their pet products,
they have even started their own social media campaigns on Facebook to
document pet illnesses and deaths as well as alert consumers to pet product
recalls. </span></span></span></span></span><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></span></span></b><br />
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<span class="textstyle8"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Why grow? </b></span></span></div>
<span class="textstyle8"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">There are several reasons for setting new goals <span style="font-size: small;">to grow<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>the Liver Bits </span></span></span></span>portion of our business here at Painted Hand Farm.<br />
<ol>
<li><i><b>We're gradually moving beyond a local customer base</b></i> as customers move out of the area, but still want their Liver Bits. We take great pride in creating quality products. That goes for pet treats as well as people food. Given the increasing reports of poisonous imported and inferior pet treats, there has been a greater demand for our Liver Bits at all our farmers markets. We now offer the ability to order online and ship anywhere in the US. </li>
<li><i><b>We're helping fellow local livestock producers.</b></i> Farmers continue to approach us about supplying our need for quality liver. Much of our inputs are from your favorite beef, lamb, goat and pork producers at local farmers markets throughout the mid-Atlantic region. When you purchase Painted Hand Farm Liver Bits you are not just supporting a single farm, but many farms. </li>
<li><i><b>We want to create jobs.</b></i> We're a small business with part-time labor. We do not use "free labor" from volunteers or interns and would like to provide more hours and an honest wage to the people who help produce our products. </li>
<li><i><b>We want to make a significant donation</b></i> in support of the National Disaster Search Dog Foundation's National Training Center fund. This not-for-profit organization founded in 1996 is the only one in the nation dedicated to training FEMA-Certified Search Teams for global deployment when disaster strikes.</li>
</ol>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TQzz0ObUTvk/USugP-BOTTI/AAAAAAAADek/VgkXiCi1hFI/s1600/chloe.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v4kblAfjERo/USugOgaMa7I/AAAAAAAADec/LvmZKveKHl4/s1600/briard.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v4kblAfjERo/USugOgaMa7I/AAAAAAAADec/LvmZKveKHl4/s200/briard.JPG" width="149" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LSBggW8wa0k/USugSVFf80I/AAAAAAAADes/bVk8jSE3TX4/s1600/smiling+poodle.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LSBggW8wa0k/USugSVFf80I/AAAAAAAADes/bVk8jSE3TX4/s200/smiling+poodle.JPG" width="149" /></a></div>
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<i> <b> Just a few happy fans who will gladly sit for a sample of Painted Hand Farm's </b></i></div>
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<i><b>Liver Bits All-Natural Pet Treats</b></i></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TQzz0ObUTvk/USugP-BOTTI/AAAAAAAADek/VgkXiCi1hFI/s1600/chloe.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TQzz0ObUTvk/USugP-BOTTI/AAAAAAAADek/VgkXiCi1hFI/s200/chloe.JPG" width="149" /></a></div>
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<span class="textstyle8"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>How you <span style="font-size: large;">can help. </span></b></span></span><br />
<ul>
<li><span class="textstyle8"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.paintedhandfarm.com/DogTreats.html" target="_blank">ORDE</a><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.paintedhandfarm.com/DogTreats.html" target="_blank">R ONLINE</a> <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Transactions are <span style="font-size: small;">made through PayPal, but you do not need a <span style="font-size: small;">PayPal account. You can use <span style="font-size: small;">any credit card. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></li>
<li><span class="textstyle8"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Visit us at any of the farmers markets we attend regionally throughout the year. </span></span></span></li>
<li><span class="textstyle8"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Recommend us to all your doggy<span style="font-size: small;">-loving pals by <span style="font-size: small;">forwarding <span style="font-size: small;">this blog post, <span style="font-size: small;">through social media such as Fac<span style="font-size: small;">eboo<span style="font-size: small;">k, Twitter, etc. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></li>
<li><span class="textstyle8"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Ask for our Liver Bits to be carried by your local independent pet supply stores. We offer wholesale to qualified retail outlets<span style="font-size: small;">. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></li>
</ul>
<span class="textstyle8"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span class="textstyle8"></span><b> </b><br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_85ALB7e3No/USZ-nn_jwnI/AAAAAAAADd0/gKCMLKrEuN0/s1600/talisker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_85ALB7e3No/USZ-nn_jwnI/AAAAAAAADd0/gKCMLKrEuN0/s320/talisker.jpg" width="268" /></a></div>
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<i>Sandra Kay Miller, owner of Painted Hand Farm is an ardent dog-lover and former board member of the National Disaster Search Dog Foundation, the Pennsylvania Association for Sustainable Agriculture and Farmers on the Square. Her books, </i><b>How To Kiss A Chicken On The Lips</b> and <b>Selling At Farmers Market: A How-To Guide For Getting Started</b> will be published in April 2013 and she is currently working on her next two books, <b>Firearms For Farmers</b> and <b>Feeding Your Inner Caveman: A Guide To Roasting Whole Animals.</b></div>
Sandra Kay Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02818864134465526818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140381.post-71944195104444119972013-01-31T15:58:00.000-05:002013-02-12T12:57:13.064-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://1.gvt0.com/vi/_gF7ykczMAE/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/_gF7ykczMAE&fs=1&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/_gF7ykczMAE&fs=1&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">This video was done by the</span></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Pennsylvania Forage/Grazing Lands Conservation Coalition. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">It really sums up what I do and why I do it. </span></span></span><br />
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Sandra Kay Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02818864134465526818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140381.post-31227212959770123482013-01-15T13:41:00.000-05:002013-01-15T18:45:24.378-05:00Winter Farm Goodness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JdrgZ0BRH_A/UPWinfsKpvI/AAAAAAAADXA/rdR7kQhdT3c/s1600/winter+wall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JdrgZ0BRH_A/UPWinfsKpvI/AAAAAAAADXA/rdR7kQhdT3c/s320/winter+wall.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Just because there's snow on the ground doesn't mean all-stop at Painted Hand Farm. Raising livestock is a year-round commitment. I've managed to have most of the babies born in the off-season from farmers markets and rent out the breeding goats during the summer months giving calves access to the pastures. It's a delicate balance when you're only working with 20 acres, but all in all, it's a good cycle of life. </span></span></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qv7hkUR7Tv0/UPWinhcsYEI/AAAAAAAADXE/Boh2mehlzj0/s1600/wintergarden2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qv7hkUR7Tv0/UPWinhcsYEI/AAAAAAAADXE/Boh2mehlzj0/s320/wintergarden2.jpg" width="239" /></a></span></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Speaking of life...just look at that row of collards in the harshest spot on the farm. They've been snowed on, frozen with temperatures into the 20's and beaten down by a hurricane. Right beside them are a few rows of red beets poking up from all the leaves that have blow across the street from my neighbors'. Free mulch!</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UtKba-qqvTs/UPWioJAH4PI/AAAAAAAADXQ/1K3VwGc0Y-Q/s1600/wintergarden1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UtKba-qqvTs/UPWioJAH4PI/AAAAAAAADXQ/1K3VwGc0Y-Q/s320/wintergarden1.jpg" width="320" /> </a></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">For the more tender greens, I like to add a floating row cover. It also helps keep the roosters, Houdini hens and Guinea fowl from picking through the garden. There's also a few rows of parsnips that will be awesome in the early spring. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xsqizlZHBeE/UPWmsmZ8NiI/AAAAAAAADXg/mlBD48aQVHs/s1600/collards&eggs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xsqizlZHBeE/UPWmsmZ8NiI/AAAAAAAADXg/mlBD48aQVHs/s320/collards&eggs.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Remember those collards? How awesome is it to walk out to the garden, snip a few greens, walk over to the hen house, snag a few fresh eggs and then make breakfast? Life is Good...indeed. </span></span></span>Sandra Kay Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02818864134465526818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140381.post-45227261932339962642012-10-13T16:42:00.002-04:002012-10-13T16:43:44.880-04:00Mother Nature's Harvest Schedule<i><b>Helianthas tuberosis</b></i>, aka sun choke, Jerusalem artichoke or fartichoke. In fact, it is not really a member of the artichoke (thistle) family or from Israel, but a tuber native to North America--<i>a truly local food</i>.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GtwffGr__vE/UHnKrK5TwSI/AAAAAAAADUk/Hp5n1tRxwIc/s1600/sunchokedaylight.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-86iIdIO43Pg/UHnKt-K29rI/AAAAAAAADUs/dpkDaPWwLpE/s1600/sunchokes.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-86iIdIO43Pg/UHnKt-K29rI/AAAAAAAADUs/dpkDaPWwLpE/s400/sunchokes.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Just-dug deliciousness!</b></i></td></tr>
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There are lots of suggestions as to why it is referred to as a 'choke', but my guess would be is because it literally chokes out all competing plants around it as is so prolifically spreads without replanting. In some areas of the United States, it is listed as an aggressive invasive.<br />
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This unusual seasonal tuber is actually a perennial member of the sunflower genus which has towering stalks that grow as high as ten feet tall with a cluster of daisy-like brilliant yellow flowers at the apex of each stalk. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GtwffGr__vE/UHnKrK5TwSI/AAAAAAAADUk/Hp5n1tRxwIc/s320/sunchokedaylight.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>The patch towering over the trellis and outhouse. </i></b></td></tr>
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While some producers choose to harvest as soon as the flowers begin dying back, I have always waited for Mother Nature to choose my harvest date--after the first killing frost of the season. That frost was yesterday meaning that this afternoon I was out digging in the dirt so I'd have fresh chokes for farmers markets tomorrow. </div>
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As always, everyone asks, "How do you use them?" "What do they taste like?"</div>
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You can:</div>
<ul>
<li>Eat them raw</li>
<li>Boil & mash them with a little butter </li>
<li>Saute them</li>
<li>Bake/roast them</li>
<li>Steam them</li>
<li>Deep fry them (and absolute delight as we found out at <a href="http://www.cafebruges.com/" target="_blank">Cafe Bruges</a> a few years ago after having unsold product when I stopped in for a post-market libation.)</li>
</ul>
As for taste, they've been described as a cross between a rutabaga and a parsnip, but being a type of sunflower, I've always thought the taste like that a of a giant sunflower seed.<br />
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Often mistaken for ginger root, the knobby tubers are a good source of carbohydrates. The sun choke stores inulin instead of insulin as its starch for extra energy during winter months. This can be useful, especially for people who limit glucose in their diets, because the inulin breaks down into fructose
rather than glucose during digestion. This unique quality can make the
tuber a good substitute for other starchy foods like potatoes,
particularly for diabetics and Paleo eaters.<br />
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An unpleasant side effect for some people, the "fartichokes" tend to cause intestinal gas due to the fructose. <br />
These vitamin-rich roots are high in thiamin,
niacin, and iron. They also contain relatively large amounts of
potassium and Vitamin C, while being low in calories. The tubers contain
no fat or cholesterol, and only small amounts of sodium.
A 1 cup serving of sun chokes contains approximately 110
calories, 3 grams of protein, and 2.4 grams of dietary fiber.<br />
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Ready to give them a try? Here are some serving suggestions and recipes.<br />
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<b>Roasted Sun Chokes and other fall vegetables</b><br />
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6 cups assorted fall root vegetables (winter squash, parsnips, turnips, beets, carrots, sun chokes, brussel sprouts, cauliflower, etc.)<br />
1 large onion<br />
1 bulb garlic<br />
1/4 cup olive oil or nut oil<br />
Sea salt & freshly ground black pepper<br />
<br />
Clean and chop all vegetables into 1-2" pieces. Peel garlic cloves. Place all vegetables into an airtight container, add oil and thoroughly coat. Spread on baking sheet and season with salt & pepper. Roast in oven pre-heated to 400 degrees until cooked through and caramelized (20 - 30 minutes). Enjoy!<br />
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<![endif]--><span lang="en-US" style="font-size: 28.0pt; font-weight: bold; language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US;">Sandra’s Sun Choke Gratin</span><span lang="en-US" style="language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US;"></span><br />
<span lang="en-US" style="language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US;"></span><span lang="en-US" style="language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US;">
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<span lang="en-US" style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: bold; language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US;">Ingredients: </span></div>
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<span lang="en-US" style="font-size: 11.0pt; language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US;">1 quart box of Painted Hand Farm Sun Chokes</span></div>
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<span lang="en-US" style="font-size: 11.0pt; language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US;">4 tablespoons butter</span></div>
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<span lang="en-US" style="font-size: 11.0pt; language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US;">1/2 cup freshly grated artisan cheese (I’m preferential to a drier sheep cheese, but any great local cheese will do. Support farmstead creameries!)</span></div>
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<span lang="en-US" style="font-size: 11.0pt; language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US;">1/4 cup cream</span></div>
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<span lang="en-US" style="font-size: 11.0pt; language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US;">Salt & Pepper</span></div>
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<span lang="en-US" style="font-size: 11.0pt; font-weight: bold; language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US;">Instructions:</span><span lang="en-US" style="font-size: 11.0pt; language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US;"></span></div>
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<span lang="en-US" style="font-size: 11.0pt; language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US;">Preheat oven to 400 degrees F.</span></div>
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<span lang="en-US" style="font-size: 11.0pt; language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US;">Using one tablespoon of butter, smear oven-proof dish. </span></div>
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<span lang="en-US" style="font-size: 11.0pt; language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US;">Scrub and slice sun chokes. Arrange in a single layer in dish, sprinkle with cheese, add another single layer, sprinkle with cheese and continue until dish is full or chokes are gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Season top layer, drizzle with cream, dot with remaining butter and sprinkle with cheese. Bake until soft, golden and bubbly. Let rest ten minutes before serving. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Sun Chokes at sunset</b></td></tr>
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Sandra Kay Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02818864134465526818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140381.post-15014694801409793982012-05-18T12:14:00.001-04:002012-06-05T21:53:02.316-04:00A Double Blessing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"If an Amish bull can't get her bred, then nothing will," my neighbor
quipped as I dropped off my Jersey cow at his farm to be serviced by his
purebred Red Devon bull. She had been open for two years now as I chose
not to breed the year after my knee injury and adjusting to running the
farm on my own. But the second year I failed to catch her in 'standing
heat' in time to call the AI (artificial insemination) guy to get her
bred. Two tries, no calf...I seriously considered turning her into
burgers & sausages. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
But it was the night of the winter solstice and
lunar eclipse when I torched off a massive brush pile as the
temperatures dipped into the teens that I decided not to load her on to the trailer for a visit to Mr. Horst. Despite the roaring fire in front of
me, the chill of the bitter cold night licked at my back until Emma
wandered down into the pasture to investigate the flames. There she
stood wrapping her massive dark fuzzy body around me in as best of a
bovine hug she could muster. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
"I'll give you another year," I promised her. And how she came through! <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-a5ucdL7ZpgY/T86xzcy-WxI/AAAAAAAADKM/Fi0RoZtslx0/s1600/photo7.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-a5ucdL7ZpgY/T86xzcy-WxI/AAAAAAAADKM/Fi0RoZtslx0/s320/photo7.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
When I went out around six in the afternoon to do chores, gather eggs and check on everyone, it was evident from the large sac protruding from Emma's hind end that calving was imminent. I called the girls next door who had been diligently waiting and hoping that they would get to see the baby being born. They were about to get their wish. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
A big red bull calf hit the ground about ten minutes after their arrival. Excited, they watched as Emma licked the newborn dry. But there had been a minor issue with them running out of the house just prior to dinner and not really asking their parents if they could come over to watch. This led to their father showing up to collect them, but it wasn't long before he, too, was caught up in the excitement when we all realized that a second baby was on the way. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fUXfAxTZFkA/T86xt1P2keI/AAAAAAAADJk/MSpI_4bIW-M/s1600/photo2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fUXfAxTZFkA/T86xt1P2keI/AAAAAAAADJk/MSpI_4bIW-M/s320/photo2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
Twins! I knew the old gal was as big as a house, but I didn't expect a whopping set of calves. As someone who routinely purchases newborn calves from neighboring dairies, I see quite a few sets of twins and this pair were definitely a strapping pair, each weighing at least sixty to seventy pounds each, if not more. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-32Rlc_Q9RjQ/T86xu-JK96I/AAAAAAAADJs/cKZ3sX910u0/s1600/photo3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-32Rlc_Q9RjQ/T86xu-JK96I/AAAAAAAADJs/cKZ3sX910u0/s320/photo3.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
"Those certainly aren't puny cross-eyed, buck-toothed Jersey calves," commented one of my workers who had spent time working for a Jersey cow dairy. Indeed, he was correct. From day one, it was evident that the sire ruled the genetics of these two. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gGNHCUsiuJk/T86xwD_xNcI/AAAAAAAADJ0/P-bHQVCrC_M/s1600/photo4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gGNHCUsiuJk/T86xwD_xNcI/AAAAAAAADJ0/P-bHQVCrC_M/s320/photo4.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
Although I've been looking forward to the rich Jersey cream for making my raw milk cultured butter, I'm more than happy to give it all to these two in order to give them a good start in life so they can grow up to be some of the most awesome steaks and burgers ever to come from Painted Hand Farm. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-i58im4j-Ze4/T86xxHFKvEI/AAAAAAAADJ8/GTADrkfjAGE/s1600/photo5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-i58im4j-Ze4/T86xxHFKvEI/AAAAAAAADJ8/GTADrkfjAGE/s320/photo5.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Darn cute, aren't they!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WW5EycqC--c/T86xyQ5MzsI/AAAAAAAADKE/zoeOUTt0f4E/s1600/photo6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WW5EycqC--c/T86xyQ5MzsI/AAAAAAAADKE/zoeOUTt0f4E/s320/photo6.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I think I'll send her back for a visit to that bull come July again. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RbwUTdT93xY/T86xsz3ecxI/AAAAAAAADJc/SETYSB1m2N0/s1600/photo.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RbwUTdT93xY/T86xsz3ecxI/AAAAAAAADJc/SETYSB1m2N0/s320/photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Sandra Kay Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02818864134465526818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140381.post-76154478033973182312012-03-03T17:27:00.000-05:002012-03-04T11:53:07.495-05:00Are your chickens free range?<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-raN2rDN70hg/T1JumrUHehI/AAAAAAAADAw/0kqpb5sxZQM/s1600/IMG_2158.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-raN2rDN70hg/T1JumrUHehI/AAAAAAAADAw/0kqpb5sxZQM/s320/IMG_2158.bmp" width="320" /></a>Yes, much to my residential neighbors' dismay. They would prefer it if the birds were sentenced to Alcatraz or the stew pot. <br />
<br />
I answer this question at least once a day, if not more, when I go to farmers markets. The next step is to educate the customer as to the differences between "free-range", "cage-free" and "pastured" as well as "natural" versus "Certified Organic". <br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Rr01FLbeFlE/T1JvqBgxX1I/AAAAAAAADBQ/3A_0Z0Kx1hs/s1600/IMG_2165.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Rr01FLbeFlE/T1JvqBgxX1I/AAAAAAAADBQ/3A_0Z0Kx1hs/s320/IMG_2165.jpg" width="239" /></a>My birds are pastured and natural. That means they live outside, not fed commercial feed (I mix my own) or antibiotics and have not had their beaks trimmed. Yet there are people who prefer to pick up a dozen of <a href="http://www.egglandsbest.com/egglands-eggs/faq/hen-treatment.aspx" target="_blank">Eggland's Best Certified Organic Cage-Free eggs</a> for $0.22 less than mine from the local international conglomerate-owned grocery store because they feel they are getting a better deal since I'm not organic with a big O and a piece of paper. My hens also get to live when they molt instead of being ground up for fertilizer. <br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>"Do you have a rooster with your laying hens?"</b></span></i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BMk7u9QaR6A/T1JvVRA4JgI/AAAAAAAADBI/8LigTbS0SQY/s1600/IMG_2163.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
When an customer asks this question, I'm 99% certain that if I tell them "no", they will exhale in a great sigh of relief and happily purchase a dozen eggs that have no potential to become embryos thanks to the instinct of a broody hen. {<i>FYI--the roosters were only added again late last summer</i>}<br />
<br />
"I just don't want to be responsible for ending a life," they sometimes blurt out in an attempt to explain their ovo-vegetarian belief system. The truth is even when an egg is fertilized, if it is not incubated (by machine) or brooded (by hen), an embryo will not develop. Although I'm sure there are some politicians out there right now who would beg to differ....<br />
<br />
But roosters exist for a reason, again, much to my neighbors' chagrin. Granted, it is a rather rude
awakening for city folk turned country folk to realize that my big black and white cocks don't only
crow at dawn, but in the middle of the afternoon and at night,
particularly during a bright moon. Think of them more as watchdogs as
it is their job to guard their ladies. Anyone keeping a flock of hens with a rooster will see soon enough that when the big boy makes a particular chirp, the ladies all scatter for cover. Look up and a hawk will be hovering. Or there's always the "come and get it" squawk when he discovers a mother lode of tasty treats. And of course, there's always the "hop on and wiggle" cackle. Where else do peeps come from? {<i>and don't even say Tractor Supply!</i>} <br />
<br />
Welcome to the complete disconnect between the realities of raising food and eating food based upon misplaced ethical logistics or slick marketing. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2MFfDvOGu7c/T1Jw3Vp2Q1I/AAAAAAAADB4/5XriouDnE34/s1600/IMG_2171.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2MFfDvOGu7c/T1Jw3Vp2Q1I/AAAAAAAADB4/5XriouDnE34/s320/IMG_2171.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
As much as we'd like to press our ethnocentric ideals of feminism into the barnyard, the plain and simple truth is that males serve much more than a reproductive service in the animal kingdom. While there are squabbles and occasional sparring between the ladies {<i>can you say 'pecking order'?</i>}, those bad boys of the barnyard are equipped with thick leg spurs and an equally sharp attitude for a reason. <br />
<br />
Here at the farm, I have two roosters--a purebred Barred Rock named <i>Schtupp</i> and <i>Lucky,</i> a Barred Rock/Auracanna cross with brilliant emerald iridescent feathers mixed in with his black and white plumage. He's aptly named because after buying several roosters from my organic feed guy for their colorful capes and saddles, an evening of skinning and cleaning left me tired, cold and hungry with one rooster left to go. I stuffed him in a cardboard box instead of a vacuum-sealed bag and took him home alive. There's plenty of hens to go around.....<br />
And go around they do!<br />
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The one BIG disadvantage of free-ranging poultry that forage for bugs and such in the pastures is they also tend to lay there eggs in a variety of places so every day here at the farm is a Treasure Hunt despite having nesting boxes in the portable pen where there food is offered. Most of the spots are obvious, like inside the barn, under the gate between two stalls. That spot is good for about six to ten eggs a day. Sometimes if they can't get inside the barn, they'll lay then next to the ramp up to the center stall where the baby buck goats first go until they are big enough to handle a larger group. Under the canoe and in paddock #1's shelter are good for up to a dozen eggs each. The basement casement window well gets checked daily, too.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KCGAcS84CXQ/T1JxFcpcTUI/AAAAAAAADCA/nFXiLYLZA1Q/s1600/IMG_2173.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KCGAcS84CXQ/T1JxFcpcTUI/AAAAAAAADCA/nFXiLYLZA1Q/s320/IMG_2173.jpg" width="239" /></a>But sometimes those biddies are outright stupid and will drop an egg any old place, including in the middle of a mud puddle. For the most part, though, they choose dark, enclosed spaces where there is some sort of nesting material--either straw, hay or leaves. <a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BMk7u9QaR6A/T1JvVRA4JgI/AAAAAAAADBI/8LigTbS0SQY/s1600/IMG_2163.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BMk7u9QaR6A/T1JvVRA4JgI/AAAAAAAADBI/8LigTbS0SQY/s320/IMG_2163.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Ultimately, they all end up in the same place---in the egg basket and on the plate.<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>"Where do your chickens live in the winter?"</b></span></i><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HlFdzu0uuZ0/T1K-u4RhzLI/AAAAAAAADCw/F_kHhRxd1Yc/s1600/IMG_1776%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1H_kx_5O0eo/T1K_fmIq84I/AAAAAAAADC4/3Fy1BNJ6YF8/s1600/IMG_1773%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1nnbATu-yN0/T1K7hu-y3NI/AAAAAAAADCo/mfkDXszP_c8/s1600/IMG_1743%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1nnbATu-yN0/T1K7hu-y3NI/AAAAAAAADCo/mfkDXszP_c8/s320/IMG_1743%5B1%5D.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: small;">Anyone concerned with poultry welfare and the quality of their eggs should be asking their farmer this question. During a visit to another farm that also sells "pastured eggs" at year-round markets, I was shocked to find all their laying hens stuffed into a room in their barn. No pasture, no dirt---just concrete, straw, crap and overcrowding. This way the light could be controlled and the hens would continue to lay. What most people don't understand about "natural" eggs, is that it is <i>not natural</i> for chickens to lay eggs year-round. Some, especially hybrids or very young layers will lay eggs over the winter months, for the most part, egg production is dictated by the amount of daylight. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Consider the cost of those eggs when you realize the hens need to be fed even when they are not laying due to a lack of daylight or they are molting. That's why commercial layer operations have completely enclosed buildings so they can regulate the light tricking hens into believing a day is only eighteen hours long instead of twenty-four so they lay more or that they get rid of hens as soon as they molt for the first time--16-18 months. That's the life of a bird that lays eggs which sell for $1.29 a dozen. </span> But look for those cheap egg prices to disappear as the cost of energy continues to rise; those industrial complexes are hydrocarbon-intensive operations, meaning they suck a lot of juice--electricity, natural gas and petroleum products and anyone who has filled any tanks lately wince at the growing costs. <br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1H_kx_5O0eo/T1K_fmIq84I/AAAAAAAADC4/3Fy1BNJ6YF8/s1600/IMG_1773%5B1%5D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1H_kx_5O0eo/T1K_fmIq84I/AAAAAAAADC4/3Fy1BNJ6YF8/s640/IMG_1773%5B1%5D.jpg" width="640" /></a> If you look closely at this image, you will see this flock of hens is on an area that will be planted this spring with vegetables. No petroleum-based fertilizers needed. No electricity or propane required to light the hen house. Similarly, Mother Nature designed those chickens with feathers. How many out there love your down/feather comforters, coats and sleeping bags...raise your hands. Nice and toasty, aren't they? The scratching isn't going to replace the rototiller, but the pigs' rooting will. It all works quite well together...it really does.Sandra Kay Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02818864134465526818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140381.post-71011762405107705422012-01-19T21:45:00.000-05:002012-01-19T21:45:13.370-05:00I know exactly what my crap is worth<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">A dollar!</span></b></td></tr>
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Despite the frigid temperatures today with light winds driving the wind chill factor into the teens, the brilliant sunshine and blue skies beckoned me from office work. Plus, I knew that the frozen ground in the marshland would afford me access to places I had not gone this year without wearing hip waders. A much needed property check was in order.</div>
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One thing I have intentionally done with the farm is leave a wide path the entire way around the perimeter of the fenceline--my private bridle path for me and the little red mare (who turns 27 on Monday). </div>
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So imagine my surprise when walking down at the far end of the property outside of the perimeter fence on the bridle path I came across a money on the ground. Not just any buck, but one stuck tight in a turd. </div>
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I'm a lucky gal to end up with a Quarter Horse who can squeeze a dollar out of crap.</div>
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Enjoy the pictures from the rest of my walk. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">The transition between marshland and stream bed. Last year I planted a bushel of wild leeks from West Virginia on the little island. Let's hope they get established and bountiful. </span></i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Going along on the walk today, the goats enjoy the tender shoots of wetlands grasses that sprouted last week in the balmy 60-degree weather. </span></i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_G_oxGE3KXQ/Txi8ep4bx5I/AAAAAAAAC9Q/O6RLJcoMMRI/s1600/IMG_1722.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_G_oxGE3KXQ/Txi8ep4bx5I/AAAAAAAAC9Q/O6RLJcoMMRI/s320/IMG_1722.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></i></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">This locust tree than blew over in the marsh a few years ago was covered in oyster mushrooms this year from all the wet weather. </span></i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>The hillside of hardwoods, home to all sorts of wonderful fungi, flora and fauna.</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>The peaceful little stream that quietly babbling in the afternoon sun.</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Mother Nature & Father Time take a toll on all living things.</span></i></td></tr>
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<br />Sandra Kay Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02818864134465526818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140381.post-27538308032571864632011-11-01T14:57:00.002-04:002011-11-01T14:57:23.999-04:00Fall one day, winter the next.....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Everyone was enjoying the casual slide into fall weather as the leaves began to gradually change. Green grass still abundant. <br />
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Megs on the look-out for any unwelcome rodents in the barnyard. </div>
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Looking down the E/W alleyway, fall colors abound creekside.</div>
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A gold & ruby browse paddock. </div>
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Snow clouds on the horizon. </div>
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October 29th and the snow storm is just beginning. </div>
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Going out Britton Road on a quick trip to town before the brunt of the storm hits. </div>
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The trees on Jumper Road bowing under the weight of a heavy, wet snow. Glad to have all-wheel-drive.</div>
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Six inches and still coming down....</div>
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Nine inches and still snowing....</div>
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Enjoying the lovely aubergine iris bloom I cut before the snow arrived. </div>Sandra Kay Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02818864134465526818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140381.post-33476062709750892862011-10-03T17:53:00.001-04:002011-10-03T17:55:20.368-04:00A Fall Day Walk About Painted Hand Farm<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It was time to open the gates to the wild browsing areas down by the apple tree and along the creek today. I want to take advantage of the last flush of woodsy brush before winter arrives, although, judging from today's temperatures in the 40's & 50's, it feel as if it will be here sooner than expected. <br />
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The goats continue to clear the hillside for the proposed cabin site. </div>
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Bango contemplated walking out into the marshland for the lush grass but turned back when she began to sink in the thick mud. </div>
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Being lighter in weight than the horse, the goats easily moved out into the riparian area for tender grasses and shrubs. </div>
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I took the opportunity to take a walk in the parts of the farm not regularly visited. </div>
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This is the area where I planted a bushel of wild ramps last spring in hopes of establishing my own patch of the tasty treat, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Allium_tricoccum"><i>Allium tricoccum.</i></a></div>
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I was saddened to see this old snag break. It's where the Bald Eagles hung out during their visit.</div>
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Oyster mushroom soggy from the rain. Hoping for another flush. </div>
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Decided to take a walk along the creek's path to see what wonders of fall have begun to appear.</div>
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The creek is actually the hard stop for this particular browsing area. </div>
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Crossing the creek, I headed up into the hardwoods on the hillside. </div>
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LOTS of interesting fungi. If anyone can identify any, please comment. <br />
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Unfortunately, my conventional farming neighbors don't mind dumping their plastic mulch & used irrigation garbage on my property. Guess I'll have to pay them a visit. </div>
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Wonder who lives in this big burrow?</div>
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This is at the top of one of the waterways, not on my property. Every time I see it, I wonder if anyone was driving when it went into the ditch. </div>
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The headway of the marsh on the farm. </div>
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Buttercup browsing in the barnyard paddock. Pax heads over to investigate. Her only reaction to the dog was to fluff up her tail. </div>
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Sandra Kay Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02818864134465526818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140381.post-55974898944837208172011-09-20T21:00:00.000-04:002011-09-20T21:04:10.799-04:00Digging deeper into this old house<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-style: italic;">Archaeological Adventure at Painted Hand Farm: Part Two</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; font-weight: bold;">HORESEHAIR PLASTER CEILING REMOVAL</span></div>
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Well, the rest of the ceiling in the living room finally came down. It turned out to be a HUGE job--much, much bigger than I had ever imagined. </div>
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I was extremely fortunate (and very grateful) to have some help from a demolition-loving friend. Similarly, he, too, did not realize what an intense project he signed on for and I applaud him for not walking out after the first day. But then again, the tearing down was fun....it was the cleaning up (especially the broken water pipe) that really sucked. </div>
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There was a minor mishap that resulted in a break where copper met galvanized piping under the bathroom sink. Fortunately, there was a huge plastic tarp covering the floor <i>and</i> the water cut down on the dust.</div>
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Yes, that's the entire living room ceiling on the floor. </div>
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I remember my mom talking about how she felt when she saw the gaping hole in her living room when the old picture was torn out and before the bow window was installed. I think this is how she must have felt. Or worse yet, people who have experienced disasters. To think I brought this all on myself. </div>
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But as I looked up and saw the lovely beams, my dread passed. </div>
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Steve tearing out the last little bit of plaster of the project. </div>
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Instead of carrying all the debris out the front door, it was much
easier to heft it out the window directly into the bucket of the
tractor. </div>
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Dust masks, shop vac, brooms and plastic sheeting were our friends. As the cleaning continued, the room began to once again come alive.</div>
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Having every piece of furniture out of the room for the first time since moving to the farm in 2000, I was tempted to do a full hardwood floor restoration, complete with drum sander and multiple coats of a finish, but the scope of the original project of tearing down the ceiling had worn me down and I just wanted to get my furniture back into the room and be done with it. </div>
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So I gave the floors a thorough cleaning and applied a few coats of commercial polyurethane finish. The floor was gorgeous! </div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>There was, however, one thing I could not bring myself to return to my beautiful living room--the old feather ticking pull-out sleeper sofa I'd had since 1990. It had served it purpose well over the years, but had been shredded and stained by too many animals and it was time to let it go. So it was only fitting that it grace the top of the ceiling's funeral pyre. What a bonfire! </div>
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<br />Sandra Kay Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02818864134465526818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140381.post-53114496847151657462011-09-08T11:09:00.001-04:002011-09-08T11:09:32.945-04:0010th Annual Goat Roast<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Wow, has it really been ten years since I sacrificed the first born male goat here at the farm? How time does fly! Ok, so I like to joke about animal sacrifice, but as I continue on this path of raising livestock, I am becoming more aware of just how much reverence comes with consequences of my passion, my calling. We, as a people, have lost sight of what it means to consume meat. People fail to consider that a life form had to give up its existence when they roll through the local fast food drive through and only spend a pittance on some anonymous extruded matter that no long resembles the source from where it came. </div>
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And so every year on Labor Day, I continue to pick out some of the
choicest animals with which to share with family and friends. There is
something primal, soulful, about cooking entire animals for a gathering
and I dearly look forward to this day each year. </div>
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As usual, Labor Day started out with picking up the goat from the local butcher's walk-in just after my first cup of coffee. Again, I chose to leave on the skin, burning and scraping the hair off the hide. Additionally, this year I left on the head and feet, too. They roasted up nicely and were sent home with my Nigerian friend, Joseph, who I'm most certain will whip up a batch of Pepper Soup. </div>
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Next on my to-do list was smoking the two turkeys with apple wood that had been soaking in a brine of Louisiana Hot Sauce. </div>
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Once the birds were inhaling and the rotisserie was heating up, it was time to turn my attention back to the goat. This year's plan was to stuff the goat with fresh peaches, nectarines, cilantro, ginger and then drizzle with honey. </div>
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I've seen a lot of people sew up a belly with a large needle and either thin wire or string. I like to lace mine like a football using turkey trussing pins. </div>
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The night before it had poured. The Weather Underground said that over seven inches of rain was on the way. People were calling, texting and posting wanting to know if the picnic was still on. Of course it was. After all, it's not like it's a hurricane like last week. BUT just to be on the safe side, I set up the scaffolding the previous owner of the farm had left behind. It's been sitting in The Ruins (that awful pit behind the house) for eleven years, it's about time I put it to good use. </div>
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My friend, Nick came over to help me get the goat on the spit. The goat roast tradition started after I borrowed his family's roaster for a goat after they had their annual family reunion lamb roast that takes place on Saturday prior to Labor Day.</div>
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This year I also decided to 'practice what I preach' against high fructose corn syrup and bottled water. Instead, I only served homemade lemonade, ice tea and sangria sweetened with either honey or raw sugar. For water, I set out a big pottery jug filled with ice & fresh well water.</div>
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Lots of family, friends, neighbors and fellow farmers. A special thanks to all my friends from DC who made the trek out into the wilds of Pennsylvania. </div>
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I don't think a year has gone by where guests bring along friends and I get to meet more wonderful people with whom to share the bounty of the farm. </div>
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I think the ultimate compliment is when other farmers join me here to celebrate the foods we pour our hearts& souls into producing. </div>
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This year I tried out a new configuration thanks to the overcast skies and impending rain. </div>
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The Fish Boxes serve yet another purpose in their lifetime of service. So far they've held commercially harvested seafood, been used as a kid's swimming pool, a hot tub, an irrigation tank, a packing box, feed storage, barbell rack and now tables for drinks & desserts! </div>
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Rocky & Amer carving the turkeys. Rain mitigation included setting up the smoker and carving tables inside my horse's stall. </div>
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Alex on tortilla duty using the fantastic grill Jonas welded up for me last year. I put the rotisserie right in front of the barn not just for easy access but for all who drove by to see. </div>
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The Potter family carves up the goat in addition to bringing along some killer barbecue sauce.</div>
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It wouldn't be a picnic without my neighbors sharing in the feast. After all, they've got to put up with the antics of the farm out their front doors everyday. </div>
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There's always plenty of interesting and delicious foods shared, especially dessert!</div>
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A couple of friends from the city whom I keep well-fed. </div>
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Delicious carnage that the pigs polished off after I picked over it. </div>
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These three were most interested in when the homemade peach-nectarine ice cream was going to be served so I recruited them to help. They loaded the bucket with ice, salt & water and kept watch over the churning until it slowed down and started gooshing out under the lid. However, they were most agitated when I told them we had to let it rest and set up before serving. They survived and got over it when they were first in line for a bowl. </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">The critters seem to understand the concept of the picnic and hang out by the barn to visit and get plenty of attention. </span></div>
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<br />Sandra Kay Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02818864134465526818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140381.post-44149747933960092582011-06-13T20:03:00.009-04:002011-06-13T20:44:21.912-04:00Archaeology at the Farm<div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);">Hate is a strong word, but I have<span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"> HATED</span> the industrial, pressed cardboard ceiling in my living room since the day I moved into my farmhouse. I won't go into the semantics of <span style="font-style: italic;">why</span> it wasn't ripped out before now. Several years ago when it started to sag, I requested its removal. But like everything else at the time, instead of being fixed properly, it was propped up (improperly) with some old iron support stars and glued back (unsuccessfully) into place.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);">But lately, it's been sagging more & more. "Should I fix it?" I questioned myself. But the answer was obvious. No, I would deal with it when the first tile fell. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OTJkrpuVFRI/TfaokVr84RI/AAAAAAAACm4/TD6ruJw4JYY/s1600/IMG_3786.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OTJkrpuVFRI/TfaokVr84RI/AAAAAAAACm4/TD6ruJw4JYY/s400/IMG_3786.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617862927441518866" border="0" /></a>Not only did the first tile fall, it brought down eight others with it. It was time.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-f5nfCEvXVqc/TfaolUhdp3I/AAAAAAAACnA/3A2sddRBUxY/s1600/IMG_3785.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-f5nfCEvXVqc/TfaolUhdp3I/AAAAAAAACnA/3A2sddRBUxY/s400/IMG_3785.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617862944308963186" border="0" /></a>While the ultimate goal is to expose the beams, I was not prepared to deal with tearing out a horsehair plaster ceiling, nor did I want to. That task is delegated to my demo-loving buddy from the city who is more than happy to wreak havoc in exchange for some awesome food. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3-7kVN3sW20/Tfaoj2VkJ-I/AAAAAAAACmw/unjwYVfdxQ8/s1600/IMG_3787.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3-7kVN3sW20/Tfaoj2VkJ-I/AAAAAAAACmw/unjwYVfdxQ8/s400/IMG_3787.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617862919026124770" border="0" /></a>This hole was by far the ugliest blemish on the entire project thus far. Taking out the tiles was fairly easy, quick and painless. It took about an hour with the help of my young neighbor gal who graciously hoofed out the panels by the tote load to a wheelbarrow for transport to the burn pile. (Ladies, can you say another 'farm gals gone wild' bonfire?)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4yGB5EqDo8Y/TfaojITzTfI/AAAAAAAACmo/wygBZrP7vqs/s1600/IMG_3788.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4yGB5EqDo8Y/TfaojITzTfI/AAAAAAAACmo/wygBZrP7vqs/s400/IMG_3788.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617862906670697970" border="0" /></a>My ceilings have always seemed strangely low and now I understand why. Just removing the cardboard tiles has put another four inches of vertical living space in that room. It's awesome and I can't wait to expose more.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o2KbG80yHgU/Tfaoi8-RClI/AAAAAAAACmg/1kKm_UzYDKc/s1600/IMG_3789.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o2KbG80yHgU/Tfaoi8-RClI/AAAAAAAACmg/1kKm_UzYDKc/s400/IMG_3789.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617862903627582034" border="0" /></a>Sure, the runners for the suspended tiles are ugly and so it the vintage silver wall paper, but what's another month or two of this crap?<br /></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vKhCRl7xFJE/TfanYS4Pf5I/AAAAAAAACmY/Js8gZimq4so/s1600/IMG_3791.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vKhCRl7xFJE/TfanYS4Pf5I/AAAAAAAACmY/Js8gZimq4so/s400/IMG_3791.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617861621017706386" border="0" /></a>Ah, the 'treasures'! There's a big hickory tree a few hundred feet away from the house, yet I found oodles of empty hickory nuts stashed on top of the suspended tiles, along with <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">LOTS</span> of mouse crap and even a dead mouse skeleton.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1N6WHZ4pPkY/Tfas3WrAJFI/AAAAAAAACnI/YR_UYMk-jMI/s1600/IMG_3790.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1N6WHZ4pPkY/Tfas3WrAJFI/AAAAAAAACnI/YR_UYMk-jMI/s400/IMG_3790.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617867652169999442" border="0" /></a>With enough space to get my hand into the void, I was able to shoot a few pictures of what will be exposed when the project is completed. Those are 8' beams which means I will gain a full vertical foot in the living room. Awesome!<br /></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k81gw3v6mXo/TfanXhG-nZI/AAAAAAAACmI/Z41flLFJmgM/s1600/IMG_3792.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k81gw3v6mXo/TfanXhG-nZI/AAAAAAAACmI/Z41flLFJmgM/s400/IMG_3792.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617861607657741714" border="0" /></a>The big stink about tearing out the ceiling was always 'you'll expose the wires'. Well, here's the wire. BFD.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rZ5nCrO6da8/TfanXVgbSmI/AAAAAAAACmA/DhF66K7yGns/s1600/IMG_3793.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rZ5nCrO6da8/TfanXVgbSmI/AAAAAAAACmA/DhF66K7yGns/s400/IMG_3793.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617861604543253090" border="0" /></a>Lovely American Chestnut beams.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hEh9q69_meg/TfamXbZAWdI/AAAAAAAAClo/g0uYxmD4L2k/s1600/IMG_3796.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hEh9q69_meg/TfamXbZAWdI/AAAAAAAAClo/g0uYxmD4L2k/s400/IMG_3796.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617860506611112402" border="0" /></a>Come on, is this really all that bad for a few weeks compared to the awesome beauty about to be exposed?<br /></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XZUOIBuJM2w/TfamWkkHyLI/AAAAAAAAClY/x_gGpyaJhoI/s1600/IMG_3798.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XZUOIBuJM2w/TfamWkkHyLI/AAAAAAAAClY/x_gGpyaJhoI/s400/IMG_3798.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617860491893786802" border="0" /></a>Look at all that space I was missing!<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OtVj_D9F-Io/TfamWPinAvI/AAAAAAAAClQ/-q1eZQI5s9M/s1600/IMG_3799.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OtVj_D9F-Io/TfamWPinAvI/AAAAAAAAClQ/-q1eZQI5s9M/s400/IMG_3799.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617860486250300146" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);">When I was tearing out the ceiling my helper astutely noticed, "You're having a </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);">really fun time</span> doing this." <span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);">Indeed, I was. </span><br /><br /><br /></div>Sandra Kay Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02818864134465526818noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140381.post-25796017655204013682010-09-08T08:23:00.000-04:002010-09-08T12:19:18.039-04:00Ninth Annual Labor Day Goat Roast<div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIdxmu8BpKI/AAAAAAAACWQ/jqWcposx9fI/s1600/CIMG1149.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIdxmu8BpKI/AAAAAAAACWQ/jqWcposx9fI/s400/CIMG1149.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514501178987226274" border="0" /></a>We did it again! No, that's not the goat we roasted. That's Peaches, one of the first goats here at the farm who started the tradition of the goat roast when we slaughtered the first born male to share with family and friends.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIdxmFEiteI/AAAAAAAACWI/F93KG5GJ-50/s1600/CIMG1112.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIdxmFEiteI/AAAAAAAACWI/F93KG5GJ-50/s400/CIMG1112.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514501167748658658" border="0" /></a>Each year I try to cook the goat in a different style--Mexican, Jamaican, Italian, Hawaiian.... This year I went African. On the advice of my African customers, I left on the skin, singed off the hair, scrubbed off the char and stuffed the belly with peppers, garlic and zatar (spice mix).<br /></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIdxlrmGvEI/AAAAAAAACWA/umwaycsuwB8/s1600/CIMG1113.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIdxlrmGvEI/AAAAAAAACWA/umwaycsuwB8/s400/CIMG1113.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514501160910109762" border="0" /></a>The results were phenomenal! No constant basting and the meat was extremely moist and tender.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIdxlNqXaoI/AAAAAAAACV4/LWhrxyBBkys/s1600/CIMG1114.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIdxlNqXaoI/AAAAAAAACV4/LWhrxyBBkys/s400/CIMG1114.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514501152874916482" border="0" /></a>In addition to the goat, there were two smoked turkeys, beef sausage patties and a ham.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIdv5LRg3WI/AAAAAAAACVw/AQadMVqCfUM/s1600/CIMG1116.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIdv5LRg3WI/AAAAAAAACVw/AQadMVqCfUM/s400/CIMG1116.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514499296807935330" border="0" /></a>The reason for the Labor Day tradition also came about because the previous Saturday, the Skarlatos family has their family reunion lamb roast and I used their rotisserie before buying my own. Nick & Pan sharing a beer and checking out the goat just after putting it to fire.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIdv4eObDaI/AAAAAAAACVo/SozBABHWc04/s1600/CIMG1120.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIdv4eObDaI/AAAAAAAACVo/SozBABHWc04/s400/CIMG1120.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514499284715376034" border="0" /></a>Three new guests at the goat roast.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIdv4H3akCI/AAAAAAAACVg/AQt4KyigBwI/s1600/CIMG1125.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIdv4H3akCI/AAAAAAAACVg/AQt4KyigBwI/s400/CIMG1125.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514499278713294882" border="0" /></a>Lots of family and many friends.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIalscGUalI/AAAAAAAACUg/b6_JGzw_9K0/s1600/CIMG1134.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIalscGUalI/AAAAAAAACUg/b6_JGzw_9K0/s400/CIMG1134.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514276976637274706" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIai798jbUI/AAAAAAAACT4/oIGnd9AZPAE/s1600/CIMG1145.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIai798jbUI/AAAAAAAACT4/oIGnd9AZPAE/s400/CIMG1145.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514273944886275394" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIdv3qA9k7I/AAAAAAAACVY/GQV16j7vhmA/s1600/CIMG1126.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIdv3qA9k7I/AAAAAAAACVY/GQV16j7vhmA/s400/CIMG1126.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514499270700274610" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIdv3JRYAMI/AAAAAAAACVQ/fsmvGsmpEU0/s1600/CIMG1127.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIdv3JRYAMI/AAAAAAAACVQ/fsmvGsmpEU0/s400/CIMG1127.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514499261910745282" border="0" /></a>New faces & familiar ones. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIalqdEhX8I/AAAAAAAACUA/Vj0aK1oQb8s/s1600/CIMG1143.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIalqdEhX8I/AAAAAAAACUA/Vj0aK1oQb8s/s400/CIMG1143.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514276942538432450" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIa0lTn9QpI/AAAAAAAACVI/KM1F1ctPj8E/s1600/CIMG1128.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIa0lTn9QpI/AAAAAAAACVI/KM1F1ctPj8E/s400/CIMG1128.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514293346777776786" border="0" /></a>The neighborhood crowd. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIa0j-6n9zI/AAAAAAAACU4/nEPrIy0H8wI/s1600/CIMG1131.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIa0j-6n9zI/AAAAAAAACU4/nEPrIy0H8wI/s400/CIMG1131.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514293324039059250" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIa0kU06c8I/AAAAAAAACVA/5755MW83sEQ/s1600/CIMG1130.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIa0kU06c8I/AAAAAAAACVA/5755MW83sEQ/s400/CIMG1130.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514293329920684994" border="0" /></a>Fellow farmers and market folks.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIa0jufiaPI/AAAAAAAACUw/CPR0yRWVA0A/s1600/CIMG1132.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIa0jufiaPI/AAAAAAAACUw/CPR0yRWVA0A/s400/CIMG1132.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514293319630481650" border="0" /></a>Friends from D.C. & Shippensburg.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIalscGUalI/AAAAAAAACUg/b6_JGzw_9K0/s1600/CIMG1134.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIa0iyhCjyI/AAAAAAAACUo/vsb00zGVRdg/s400/CIMG1133.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514293303530655522" border="0" /></a><span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIalsI5YQfI/AAAAAAAACUY/qZ2bxCGM9CQ/s1600/CIMG1139.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIalsI5YQfI/AAAAAAAACUY/qZ2bxCGM9CQ/s400/CIMG1139.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514276971482726898" border="0" /></a>The boys wrap up a long weekend of camping with the goat roast.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIalrI4xBxI/AAAAAAAACUQ/uX3DiOYFG30/s1600/CIMG1140.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIalrI4xBxI/AAAAAAAACUQ/uX3DiOYFG30/s400/CIMG1140.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514276954300286738" border="0" /></a>No one ever leaves hungry.<br /></div><a style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIalqvOfO7I/AAAAAAAACUI/rFVxyITUG6k/s1600/CIMG1141.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIalqvOfO7I/AAAAAAAACUI/rFVxyITUG6k/s400/CIMG1141.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514276947412073394" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIai7I3geoI/AAAAAAAACTo/i8-Pe7Bt-wo/s1600/CIMG1147.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIai7I3geoI/AAAAAAAACTo/i8-Pe7Bt-wo/s400/CIMG1147.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514273930638031490" border="0" /></a><br />Joseph explains to Steve just what is in the traditional Nigerian Pepper Soup he made with the head, feed & offal of the goat.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIai6ZjZ5zI/AAAAAAAACTY/GFBo7yBcl80/s1600/CIMG1148.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIai6ZjZ5zI/AAAAAAAACTY/GFBo7yBcl80/s400/CIMG1148.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514273917937248050" border="0" /></a>Steve finds a piece of trachea & esophagus.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIZK6phDGwI/AAAAAAAACTQ/tXa13lkUK-k/s1600/CIMG1152.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIZK6phDGwI/AAAAAAAACTQ/tXa13lkUK-k/s400/CIMG1152.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514177165199088386" border="0" /></a>One of the many barn kitties finds a new family. He'll be well loved & spoiled rotten.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIZK6duCFdI/AAAAAAAACTI/FqsEeuLtXOU/s1600/CIMG1153.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIZK6duCFdI/AAAAAAAACTI/FqsEeuLtXOU/s400/CIMG1153.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514177162032322002" border="0" /></a>Luke helps Kaj up the steps after they get their homemade peach ice cream.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIZK6NivXsI/AAAAAAAACTA/V3E-aTNHw88/s1600/CIMG1155.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIZK6NivXsI/AAAAAAAACTA/V3E-aTNHw88/s400/CIMG1155.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514177157689990850" border="0" /></a>Jonas saved the day when we had technical difficulties with the ice cream churn. Lesson learned.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIZK5EfCiBI/AAAAAAAACSw/zEvl73oasdw/s1600/CIMG1157.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TIZK5EfCiBI/AAAAAAAACSw/zEvl73oasdw/s400/CIMG1157.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514177138078681106" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);">Dessert! The best way to end a great picnic. </span><br /></div><br /><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="if(typeof(jsCall)=='function'){jsCall();}else{setTimeout('jsCall()',500);}" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="if(typeof(jsCall)=='function'){jsCall();}else{setTimeout('jsCall()',500);}" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="if(typeof(jsCall)=='function'){jsCall();}else{setTimeout('jsCall()',500);}" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Sandra Kay Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02818864134465526818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140381.post-60848373240139703472010-08-07T22:58:00.004-04:002010-08-07T23:03:35.361-04:00PART FOUR: The Soaking Garden<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);">It's not fancy, but it works. It's kind of like Legos for Adults. When I get it set up the way I want it, then I'll level it off and add some mortar. But for now, I'll continue to play with my blocks, soak in the water tank and shamelessly sun myself.</span><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TF4dzYWbtoI/AAAAAAAACSk/_xc17gW0A-8/s1600/CIMG0421.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TF4dzYWbtoI/AAAAAAAACSk/_xc17gW0A-8/s400/CIMG0421.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502868563240400514" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="if(typeof(jsCall)=='function'){jsCall();}else{setTimeout('jsCall()',500);}" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="if(typeof(jsCall)=='function'){jsCall();}else{setTimeout('jsCall()',500);}" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Sandra Kay Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02818864134465526818noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140381.post-73139975520485213002010-08-03T23:23:00.004-04:002010-08-03T23:34:40.456-04:00PART THREE: The Soaking Garden<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">A quick dry run to check out the view.</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TFjeDtRiZkI/AAAAAAAACSc/TdJlf2SrsuU/s1600/CIMG0396.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TFjeDtRiZkI/AAAAAAAACSc/TdJlf2SrsuU/s400/CIMG0396.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501391100107187778" border="0" /></a>In preparation for Farm Girls Gone Wild night, I spent another full day on the block pile. With more block than I know what to do with, I decided to extend the patio further and add a fire pit.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TFjeDFlZlAI/AAAAAAAACSU/rGGyltGFpPY/s1600/CIMG0388.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TFjeDFlZlAI/AAAAAAAACSU/rGGyltGFpPY/s400/CIMG0388.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501391089453077506" border="0" /></a>Now there's room for the table & chairs, the lounge chair and the ofuro. I have a hanging swing in the barn that could probably go under the trees, too. More block still over on the pile so I've started a smaller deck just below the fire pit. Still have the retaining wall to go, too.<br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TFjeCh3j_6I/AAAAAAAACSM/N0v-kkQlvHk/s1600/CIMG0387.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TFjeCh3j_6I/AAAAAAAACSM/N0v-kkQlvHk/s400/CIMG0387.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501391079865581474" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TFjeCUbXXUI/AAAAAAAACSE/b6jb_GdL1qY/s1600/CIMG0386.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TFjeCUbXXUI/AAAAAAAACSE/b6jb_GdL1qY/s400/CIMG0386.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501391076257652034" border="0" /></a>When all is done, I'm going to surround the area with day lilies and rudbeckia. Finally, a place to sit, read, relax and enjoy my farm.<br /><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="if(typeof(jsCall)=='function'){jsCall();}else{setTimeout('jsCall()',500);}" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"></div><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="if(typeof(jsCall)=='function'){jsCall();}else{setTimeout('jsCall()',500);}" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Sandra Kay Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02818864134465526818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140381.post-83558551155039882132010-07-31T12:08:00.004-04:002010-07-31T12:31:16.512-04:00PART TWO: The Soaking Garden<div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TFRLjcfiPwI/AAAAAAAACRU/woPlpzsGJ28/s1600/CIMG0364.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TFRLjcfiPwI/AAAAAAAACRU/woPlpzsGJ28/s400/CIMG0364.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500104117242183426" border="0" /></a>For years, I've hated all those blocks stacked around the garden. And then one day, someone said to me, "Mr. Gorbachev, tear down that wall!" and then proceeded to start tumbling the columns into the dirt. But what to do with all those blocks?<br /></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TFRLiyoru7I/AAAAAAAACRM/Nqe7r_X5TMg/s1600/CIMG0363.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TFRLiyoru7I/AAAAAAAACRM/Nqe7r_X5TMg/s400/CIMG0363.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500104106006264754" border="0" /></a>I really had no desire to haul them far from where they fell, so I decided just to level off an area and set them on a flat area to create a private patio area where I can put patio furniture and my farm-style <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Furo">ofuro</a>.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TFRLkHAX05I/AAAAAAAACRk/9-EaDX0bcOM/s1600/CIMG0368.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TFRLkHAX05I/AAAAAAAACRk/9-EaDX0bcOM/s400/CIMG0368.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500104128654201746" border="0" /></a>No concrete in case I ever want to move them. They don't even need to be perfectly even.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TFRMaW_n0tI/AAAAAAAACR0/96kuRTXzAAU/s1600/CIMG0375.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TFRMaW_n0tI/AAAAAAAACR0/96kuRTXzAAU/s400/CIMG0375.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500105060658959058" border="0" /></a>Sixty-four 32lb. cinder blocks--who needs a gym?<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TFRMa4A7qOI/AAAAAAAACR8/-s3pvjDB4Po/s1600/CIMG0378.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TFRMa4A7qOI/AAAAAAAACR8/-s3pvjDB4Po/s400/CIMG0378.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500105069522823394" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">One pile of block down and one to go. I wonder if I'll find any more 'artifacts'.</span><br /></div><br /><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="if(typeof(jsCall)=='function'){jsCall();}else{setTimeout('jsCall()',500);}" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Sandra Kay Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02818864134465526818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7140381.post-25108764844858927792010-07-05T20:49:00.003-04:002010-07-05T21:21:53.749-04:00PART ONE: The Soaking Garden<div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);">"This is the best view of your farm. Why do you use it as an overgrown storage area for crap you don't use?" And so began the work on what will ultimately become The Soaking Garden (aka: the nude sunbathing garden) since it will host a soaking tub and is cloaked in the privacy of pine trees.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TDKBUOpXPqI/AAAAAAAACQk/B78Rj5JMfBQ/s1600/soaking1.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TDKBUOpXPqI/AAAAAAAACQk/B78Rj5JMfBQ/s400/soaking1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490593080247008930" border="0" /></a>The panels from a fellow farming friend have been stacked there for nearly two years. At first, they were to be the walls for an equipment shed, but now they are slated to be the roofs of pasture shelters. I should be able to get four 8'x16' shelters out of them. Projects for another day.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TDKBUY4cNlI/AAAAAAAACQs/1SWpIUfHQyc/s1600/soaking2.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TDKBUY4cNlI/AAAAAAAACQs/1SWpIUfHQyc/s400/soaking2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490593082994603602" border="0" /></a>This will be the view once the compost pile is spread. Lots of unused cinder blocks and a lonely bunny cage. The blocks I can use. The bunny cage will have to find a new home.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TDKBU6gs9mI/AAAAAAAACQ0/iis1IjLOX3Q/s1600/soaking3.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TDKBU6gs9mI/AAAAAAAACQ0/iis1IjLOX3Q/s400/soaking3.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490593092021843554" border="0" /></a>The weed whacker made short order of all those tall weeds. Next step is to remove the top soil, lay down hardware clothe and set the block in a platform for the tub, lounger and privacy screens.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TDKBV0o0UsI/AAAAAAAACRE/Aawlq-X72Yo/s1600/soaking5.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TDKBV0o0UsI/AAAAAAAACRE/Aawlq-X72Yo/s400/soaking5.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490593107625136834" border="0" /></a>The opposite side of the trees looked a bit ratty so I trimmed off all the dead branches. Looking good!<br /></div><a style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TDKBVcvsCxI/AAAAAAAACQ8/igL7BJ_FLGs/s1600/soaking+4.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TDKBVcvsCxI/AAAAAAAACQ8/igL7BJ_FLGs/s400/soaking+4.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490593101211503378" border="0" /></a><a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_SlNh7EtodIc/TDKBUOpXPqI/AAAAAAAACQk/B78Rj5JMfBQ/s1600/soaking1.JPG"><br /></a>Sandra Kay Millerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02818864134465526818noreply@blogger.com0