Sugar Creek Farm

We had a few visitors yesterday afternoon. Three bald eagles were hanging out in a tree in our front yard. I couldn’t get very close before they flew away.

In this picture there is an adult eagle in the upper left – you can see that his head is white – and a younger eagle just below center.

Bald eagles develop their white head and neck feathers upon sexual maturity at around 4 to 5 years old. There was one adult with a bald head, and 2 younger eagles that were still all brown.

In this picture the second young eagle is coming in for a landing in the upper right.

They were so beautiful, and also a little ominous as they circled our farm a few times before heading up the creek to the next farm. Hopefully all of our chickens are still here. I think I’ll do a chicken head-count when they come in to roost tonight.

In the last picture I got all three – the adult to the left, one young one to the right sitting sideways, and the other young one bottom left of center.

I’m going to look under that tree today when I walk out to get the mail – maybe they left us a feather.

There is an art gallery in our county – a rare thing in rural northern Iowa. Unionhurst Gallery is located in the tiny town of Toeterville, population 298, and features exclusively the work of Atlanta Constance Sampson . If you go in there you’ll probably meet one of Atlanta’s nieces or nephews. The gallery is a work of love for her extended family. Her story is so inspiring, and I think it’s her story that makes her art so moving to me. She dedicated her life to art, relentlessly. She couldn’t not do it. Many people would have given up long before she did but she kept on and finally got her one-woman show at the age of 96.

There are days when I wonder if the Powers That Be are trying to tell me to give up my dream of building a profitable, sustainable farm-based business. Mostly it’s days when things die. One of our piglets is very sick right now, probably with a freak case of tetanus. Tetanus is supposed to be a freak thing anyway, but this is our second case of it. We had a calf die from it 3 years ago. I sometimes think this farm is cursed and half-expected to dig up an Indian burial site when we put the new basement under the house.

But I feel such passion for it I just can’t give it up. Looking back at the journals I’ve kept, you’d see that 10 years ago I knew I wanted to be an entrepreneur. I just didn’t know what kind. For years I toyed with various business ideas but never came up with anything that really got me fired up. Until one day at a cattle auction in a sale barn the lightbulb lit up and I knew I wanted to farm in some way, shape or form. Guess it’s in my blood. My mom’s parents farmed. My dad farms. I wanted to marry a farmer when I grew up. (I’d forgotten it until that moment.) It’s my brother’s passion, too, we’re just taking different paths towards it. I want to see him succeed as badly as I want myself to succeed. I inundate him with articles on sustainable and organic agriculture. In my mind a three or four hundred acre diversified organic farm is the best chance at making your sole living from the farm, which is his goal. So I email him articles on successful Iowa organic farmers. He rolls his eyes at me. It’s just because I love ya, bro.

I am happiest when I am growing food or tending to animals. I just wish I’d realized that 10 or 15 years ago. I am so saddened by the disappearance of small family farms. It seems impossible to make a living and support a family with one anymore. But hope lies in small, sustainable farms and in making connections with food eaters (which is all of us, right?). Knowledge is power, as they say. When people learn more about the food they eat, with what methods it was raised or grown, and how those methods affect the nutritional value of their food and the consequent effects on their own health…then people will start buying the good food. They will support small family farms. More of their food dollars will stay in their own communities, strengthening their local economies. They will be “voting” with those dollars – voting against large agribusiness and for the small family farm.

Matt and I were talking about how people want cheap food and are unwilling to pay more for organic food. I’ll admit, ourselves included. We’re very budget-concious and I just couldn’t see doubling our grocery bill, even though I believe in the superiority of organic food. But we don’t think twice about paying whatever it costs to make us well again when we’re sick. Why aren’t we willing to pay more for food that may help us stay well in the first place? So I’m easing into organics. I now buy organic milk and butter. Of course with the farm the meats and vegetables we raise and eat are almost organic. They’re not quite because we have to buy the corn we feed the animals, and the corn we buy isn’t organic. If we had the land to raise our own corn we’d be organic. But at least our meat’s not laced with subtherapeutic antibiotics and artifical growth hormones. Our vegetables are not sprayed with chemical pesticides and fed synthetic fertilizers. And even though we’re all fighting colds at the moment, overall we’ve had a very healthy winter.

I don’t know if our little Sugar Creek Farm business is the destination on my journey into agriculture. I have a feeling it’s only a stop along the way.

I struggle sometimes with what “tone” to take on this blog. It started out as a way to capture our journey in trying to build a successful, sustainable little farm. But it’s such a great way to capture everyday moments that I find myself wanting to write a lot of non-farm stuff, too. Should I take a humorous, or informative, or philosophical tone? There are blogs I just love that seem to stick to a format or a theme. Like Happy and Blue 2 that tells an hysterically funny story and ends with an interesting question. Or Rurality that is filled with wonderful nature photos and interesting facts about the subjects of those photos.

I guess the conclusion I’ve come to is to stop struggling with it and just write.

Back to yesterday’s post for just a minute. My mom wrote me a nice email saying she liked the story but did not actually remember that happening. (And in keeping with our theme of neurosis she wondered if some things she does remember actually happened or if maybe she has early onset Alzheimers.) But it is amazing the things you do and don’t remember, and what will trigger memories you had forgotten.

Case in point – Madeline has a retainer and included in her retainer kit was a little bottle of Scope. She pulled that out this morning and all of a sudden I was standing in my grandparents’ bathroom. I was in elementary school and they were still on their farm. It was a long, narrow little bathroom that had been carved from one side of the dining room when they got indoor plumbing in the fifties. They always used Scope, and I remember it was such a treat to me to get to use it because it wasn’t something my parents used at home. I knew I wasn’t supposed to swallow any, but I usually did swallow just a little bit because I thought it tasted so good . Such an insignificant little thing to remember, but it brings back those feelings of happy times spent at their house.

Still haven’t started any seed. Monday night one of my best friends called so I spent a good hour just catching up with her. She lives in NYC now and it had been about a month since we’d talked. It was worth procrastinating on seed starting just to talk with her – made me so happy. Tuesday nights are the girls’ dance night, so nothing else happens on Tuesday nights except grocery shopping/putting away for the week. I think at this point I’m just going to wait until the weekend. We have a little problem with the seed starting rack and fitting it down the basement stairs anyway. But Matt is off work Friday so hopefully he’ll take care of that!

From my office window right now I can see Olivia sledding. On the one hand, I’m a pretty laid-back mom. On the other hand I’m a neurotic worrier who always imagines the worst. If I have the slightest ache or pain, I immediately assume I have a tumor.

So I’m watching Olivia sled towards the creek, thinking “I hope she doesn’t sled right into the creek” but not really feeling alarmed. There’s not much danger of it happening. It’s only a slight downward grade, and the bank is lined with trees and brush that would surely stop her before she plummeted into the icy cold waters of Sugar Creek. Then my neurosis kicks in…but if she worked up enough velocity and maneuvered the sled just so she might be able to do it. But the laid-back mom prevents neurotic mom from racing out there in my stocking feet, pulling her back to the house, and forcing her to do something safe like a puzzle. (I guess at 7 1/2 she’s old enough not to swallow any pieces.) Now she’s just lying on her back in the snow contemplating the sky. I remember days like that.

I also remember sledding down a tree-studded ravine. My brother and the neighbor girl were in a plastic toboggan and I was holding onto their sled from behind, lying on my stomach in my sled. The front sled went around a tree, I went headfirst into the tree and knocked myself right out. I came to, and my brother and I walked the half-mile home. My mom put me on the couch and told me not to fall asleep in case I had a concussion. So maybe that’s where I get my laid-back/neurotic mother duality. On the one hand she let us go sledding a half-mile away where she couldn’t even see us. That was pretty laid-back of her. On the other hand the whole don’t fall asleep thing had me terrified to sleep for several days. I kept waking up in the night with a start wondering if I was dead or alive.

Didn’t get any seed started yesterday like I planned. Matt and I stayed out too late on Saturday night playing 500. I’ve fallen out of stay-out-all-night condition since I left the band . Instead I took the girls shopping after church Sunday, then came home and made a big Sunday dinner…bbq pork ribs, roasted asparagus, and homemade oven fries. And then I pretty much crashed. Going to try and do some seed starting tonight.

Mother Nature most definitely did not cooperate. In fact she pretty much thumbed her nose at me. I did not make it to class.

Matt and Rafe ready to go out and move some snow.
Rafe is wearing his super Spiderman glasses.

I don’t know why, but chickens in snow fascinate me. Maybe because it just doesn’t seem natural. Or because the contrast brings out their colors.

Silver-laced Wyandotte Hen

Gold Star Hen

The chickens were so happy with the treats I brought them today – spaghetti, brown rice, wilted lettuce, and a soft tomato. Notice the cats hanging out in the chicken coop.

There will be no longing gazes at my garden today because I can’t see it for the snow. But tomorrow I’m going to start some seeds in the basement, yay! Happy Saturday, everyone!

No post yesterday, I spent the evening plugging away at the next section of our business plan that is due tomorrow.

I also played around with an idea for a new farm logo. Our old logo just had a cow on it and I wanted to include our expansion into pork and poultry. What do you think?

Edited: I had to make an adjustment to the logo because my husband and his coworkers have vulgar little minds.

I’ve also been tossing around website address ideas. I want something easy to remember and to spell. Some of these I think are too long, maybe three words is the limit. What do you think?

www.oursugarcreekfarm.com
www.thefarmonsugarcreek.com
www.sugarcreekpastures.com
www.sugarcreekhomestead.com
www.sugarcreekhome.com
www.sugarcreekfarmhome.com

We got hit with a nasty storm last night so the kids get a snow day today. Hopefully the weather cooperates so I can make it to class tomorrow

If you were a fly in the barnyard this is a sight you’d see more and more often in the next month or two – me gazing longingly at my garden. There is just something so satisfying about digging in the dirt, helping things grow, and eating the fruits (and vegetables) of your labor.

Now show me a houseplant and I’ll show you a dead-plant-to-be. When it comes to houseplants my thumbs are black. Matt got me a beautiful ivy for Valentines Day. Gee, thanks, another plant to kill. “I thought since we’ll finally have a real front porch again this summer, you could hang this out there.” He’s so optimistic. I gently forewarned him that it would probably be dead long before we get the porch put on. But, for the moment, it’s alive and well and only missing perhaps a third of the leaves it came with.

But for whatever reason vegetables are an entirely ‘nuther matter. I love to grow vegetables. Last year was the first year we’d had a garden in 6 years (long story, involving rats). I got a little crazy and started 300 tomato plants in our basement. I guess I just got a little over-excited by the Seed Savers catalog, with the sheer number of wonderful sounding tomatoes and their equally wonderful descriptions. Soldacki, Amish Paste, Black from Tula, Aunt Ruby’s German Green, Cherokee Purple, Druzba. I don’t even like to eat fresh tomatoes, unless it’s on a sandwich or in a salad. But all of these interesting sounding tomatoes intrigued me.

We had a very wet spring last year and everything was late going into the garden. I was (and still am) working full-time at my day job, and by August the garden was literally a jungle with weeds reaching over my head. Regardless, we got quite the harvest .

Ah, but the tomatoes. I managed to get a few canned and then Matt and I had a trip to San Diego at the end of September. It’s a trip I’ve made a couple of times to the beautiful Hotel del Coronado as part of my day job. But driving home from the Minneapolis airport when we returned I started noticing frost on parked cars we passed. Frost! All of those tomatoes getting frostbite. I almost cried the whole way home.

But don’t you just love the internet? With a quick google I found out that while you can’t can frostbitten tomatoes, you can freeze them. So we ended up with a freezer full of tomatoes in baggies instead of shelves full of tomatoes in jars. I even made freezer salsa.

So a garden is another thing I would still have, if I ever have to sell the farm and move to town. Ideally I’d like to start saving my own seeds, make this a “closed system” where most inputs come right from our own farm. That means manure composting is another thing on my To Learn list.

One of my best friends, who also grew up on a farm, has lived in big cities ever since high school. When she comes home to visit she says one thing she misses most is the feeling of having your feet directly touching the earth without a concrete barrier. It quite literally and figuratively makes her feel more grounded. I’d never even thought of it until she made that remark. Now I think of her when I’m out in my garden, I’m more aware of my blessings, and I am thankful.

Karen over at Rurality has me so looking forward to getting new chicks. Click here and here to see pictures of her cute, fuzzy little babies.

There’s nothing like picking up that box full of soft peeps, all cheeping away merrily and looking like yellow cotton balls that hop. Everything is nice and warm in the brooder and I could just sit for hours watching them and listening to their constant cheep cheep .

I grew up on a farm but we never had chickens. Matt and I got our first batch last spring. I don’t know why, but I was a little freaked out by them at first. One of the first things you do when you bring them home is take them out of the box one at a time and dip each one’s beak in the water. Matt did all 120 chicks because I just wasn’t ready to touch them yet. It didn’t take long to get over that, though. I never imagined how entertaining chickens would be.

Karen’s so right on about how chickens can’t stand to be left out of something important. The hens will be out in the yard, scratching about for goodies. When one finds a particularly wonderful prize, like a worm or a piece of bread, she’ll attempt to run off and keep the wonderful thing for herself. But the others usually catch sight and a chase ensues. They’ll chase the lucky hen around until she either drops her prize or they manage to pull it from her beak. Then the chase begins anew after the new prizeholder. Last year I saw a hen running about with a mouse in her beak. Don’t know if she caught it or if it was gifted to her by one of the cats, but you would have thought it was gold the way those hens fought over it.

People who have chickens will tell you they’re addicting. I have to agree. If I ever have to sell the farm and move to town I will be taking chickens with me. I believe in most places you can have a couple and call them pets.

Chicken catalogs are even more fun than vegetable catalogs. Go to Murray McMurray Hatchery and get their free catalog. The pictures are heavenly.

I’ve introduced the girls to this chicken addiction, and they’re each getting their own chicks this spring. Madeline will take hers as a 4-H project. She’s getting Partridge Cochins and Golden Polish . Olivia is getting Columbian Wyandottes and Lakenvelders . Both girls are getting Araucanas , which lay “Easter eggs”. All of these chicks will be pullets (females).

I wasn’t going to get any chicks myself. I already have 27 hens and as it is the pigs end up with a lot of eggs we don’t get rid of. But the minimum order is 25 so I decided to add a few roosters to the flock, just because they’re so pretty and I’d like to hear that cock-a-doodle-doo around here. So I’m getting a Rose Combed Brown Leghorn , a Buff Laced Polish , and a Salmon Faverolle .

These 25 chicks will arrive in the mail April 4, and then I’m picking up 100 broiler chicks from Hoovers Hatchery on April 7. Chicks have become one of my favorite rites of spring!

The good news is that nothing else died here this weekend. I’m not sure why we’re having such bad luck with the cattle this year. Last year we got 8 healthy calves out of 7 cows with no problems whatsoever. I guess we just got some lemons when we bought this set of 4 heifers last fall. Our 4 older cows have yet to calve, hopefully things will go more smoothly with them.

I’m getting a bit paranoid, though. Sunday before church I saw Winston sleeping next to the cows’ bale feeder. When I got home 3 hours later he was in the same spot. So I had to walk out and get him up to be sure he was all right.

Poor Winston is a little homeless at the moment. He had to be separated from Sarah once she farrowed, but the ground is too frozen to build him his own pen. So at first he was bunking with the stocker calves. But he liked to have a little too much fun with them, constantly chasing them around and bothering them. When it got to the point where they couldn’t eat in peace Matt moved him in with the older cows and bull.

When Winston started trying to push them around the bull pushed back. I got a little concerned for his safety at one point so Matt relented and let him back in with the stockers.

That didn’t last long, though, so back with the cows and bull he went. But they seem to have come to a bit of a truce, and the bull and Winston actually look to be playing together. Today when I looked out Winston was using the bull as a scratching post, rubbing his shoulder up and down against the bull’s front leg. The bull tolerated this for a bit and then swung his head around, telling Winston to move on.

Then I got this shot of them going head-to-head, each looking like he thinks he’s one bad barnyard animal. Obviously that bull could have Winston for lunch if he wanted. But they just kind of push each other back and forth and then step off. Right now I can see them from my office window, both napping a short distance from each other.

Peace in the kingdom, for the moment.

Called home on my way back from class. Bad news. The last of the heifers had her calf last night. Dead. Things like this just bum me out.

Remember Hee Haw ?

If it weren’t for bad luck I’d have no luck at all
Gloooom, despaaaaiiir, and agony on me.

Okay, better throw something positive in here, too. The pig castrating went well and they are all doing great. And Matt is out right now picking up my new seed starting rack. That means I get to play with dirt next weekend!