The first crop of the garden for us is always a bed of mixed greens and lettuces. I love it with only a simple oil & vinegar dressing. My mom said it also made a good wilted lettuce salad.
Even this small bed was more than we could eat and give away this year. A few days after cutting a section, you could hardly tell where it had been cut. It’s been a good spring for lettuce.
I had to share this picture of Ava showing remarkable restraint for a 3-month-old puppy, watching as 3 orphaned kittens have their lunch. Though she is licking her lips.
Cats definitely add an interesting dimension to the farm. When we got cattle, we also got rats. When you’d open the door to the cattle shed a wave of rat bodies would scatter into the darker corners. So then came 4 cats, courtesy of the vet clinic where my brother works. It wasn’t long until we hardly saw a rat anymore.
Farm cat populations are an ever-changing demographic. Some get run over, some are re-homed when they eat a family of Silkie chickens, some are given away to cat-deficient neighbors, some simply disappear. Last year we had 3 generations – 2 of the original four, 3 of their children, and 9 of their grandchildren. This year all that’s left are 3 of the grandchildren, and now these orphans.
Little Girl, the matriarch, is not the world’s best mother. Last year she had 2 litters and all of them died. No Mother of the Year awards for her. This spring she had a litter of four. About a week after they opened their eyes, she ditched them.
So we’ve been attempting to foster these teeny tiny little things. We were keeping them in Matt’s garage but they would come running out when they heard a person or even a car. One got run over 🙁 So we brought them in the house.
Yesterday “Orange Kitty” died. She never got the hang of eating on her own. We tried “bottle feeding” her from a syringe but she just couldn’t catch on.
The remaining two – “Black Kitty” and “Fatty McKittykins” – are doing well and I’m working on a transition strategy for getting them back out of the house. As much as I love cats, I don’t love cat litter boxes.
I think if pinned down I’d say that strawberries are my favorite fruit. Apples would come in second but the sweet juicy strawberry would win. I love them over vanilla ice cream. Or cake – angel food, pound, or short.
This is the first time in 9 years that we’ve had our own strawberry patch to pick from and I’m loving it. We’ve frozen half a dozen bags of whole berries, made 9 pints of freezer jam, and eaten a whole lot besides. I’ve also had eggs to use up so I’ve been freezing angel food cakes alongside them and plan to freeze some poundcake this week, too.
If you don’t have a patch of your own, check out the Pick Your Own directory. Around here the place to go is Furleigh Farms near Clear Lake (2 miles east of I-35 on Hwy 122/old Hwy 18).
Freezer jam is the simplest thing to make. Save up the small-sized margarine containers to freeze it in. This is the recipe I use:
4 cups berries, caps removed
4 cups sugar
1 foil pouch liquid fruit pectin
2 T lemon juice
Crush berries. Combine berries and sugar. Let stand 10 minutes. Combine pectin and lemon juice. Add to berry mixture; stir for 3 minutes. Ladle at once into jars or freezer containers, leaving a 1/2-inch headspace. Seal and label. Let stand at room temperature about 2 hours or till jam is set. Store up to 3 weeks in the refrigerator or 1 year in the freezer. Makes 4 half-pints.
Today Ava turns 3 months old! Madeline is training her in German. So far she (sometimes) knows “sitz” (sit) and “plotz” (down). She also loves to “bring” (fetch) a tennis ball. She’s a real sweetheart, very much a people dog. Her favorite spot is parked on the front porch. The only thing driving me up the wall is the lack of progress in the housetraining department. So please leave any ideas for me about that in the comments!
Gotta love those GSD ears!
My network adapter quit working after a 2-second power outage last week, thus the silence on this blog. I just can’t seem to get motivated to post without pictures, and the pictures live on the computer that is now without internet accessibility. That, and I’ve been busy with gardening, kids on summer break, freezing strawberries and spinach, etc.
So…as soon as I get the adapter fixed or get a new adapter, I’ll be back!
~ Broiler chickens will be ready for sale this weekend! Email me if you’d like any reserved and to arrange a pickup time. We butchered 92 out of 102, so not the best or the worst death loss ever. But they averaged 5.75 pounds dressed out, at 8 weeks. Very happy with that! I think I have 34 left to sell out of that 92. They can go fast, when one person takes 5 or 10. Now they’re in the freezer and should be frozen and ready to go by the weekend.
~ Pork won’t be ready until the first part of September, but already half of it is pre-sold. So don’t wait to pre-order if you’re wanting some. I hate to disappoint! And I think we have about 1/3 of the beef pre-sold already.
~ According to Revealing the Secrets of an All-Iowa Meal, 90% of Iowa land is in agricultural use, but 90% of the food consumed in Iowa is grown elsewhere. That statistic just boggled my mind this morning.
~ Gracious Acres’ blog has a new home after being hijacked recently.
~ I’ve updated my links list to the left. Check out some of the good reading there.
~ An update on Olivia’s ear – she had an appointment in Iowa City last week. They said it’s looking good, just one area where it is still healing and there’s some “reactive tissue” in that area. But she was given the go-ahead to play sports again, so her only restriction is no getting her ears wet for a few more weeks. They did a hearing test that still showed slight to mild hearing loss in the upper and mid-ranges. They said the hearing loss she’s experiencing is conductive, meaning that sound is not being conducted effectively through her ear canal back to the eardrum and middle ear. This type of hearing loss should continue to improve as her ear heals, as opposed to hearing loss caused by damage to the nerves or inner ear which is permanent. So that is good news, though I don’t think they expect her to regain 100% hearing in the ear. But the hearing loss should only be slight. I can’t say enough good things about our experience with University of Iowa Hospitals. We could have gone to the Mayo Clinic, which is only an hour drive as opposed to 3 hours to Iowa City, but I think we made the right choice.
that there are two kinds of people: those who like to fish, and those who don’t. Furthermore it’s my opinion that people who like to fish are born, not made. This weekend Olivia discovered that she’s a born fisherman.
Sugar Creek is a small creek, only inches deep in some places, and home to only very small fish. Chubs and minnows, mostly. But it’s handy. Just walk down our front yard and you’re at the creek. Matt took the kids fishing down there Saturday and Sunday. They caught a couple of little chubs, and Olivia got the fever.
Today she had a friend over and they fished down there for an hour and a half. Olivia was in charge of baiting the hooks with worms, her friend Julia in charge of taking the fish off the hook.
I was working in the yard and heard that shrill scream that all you mothers of little girls know. What?! A hook in someone’s eye?! Someone fell in?! No – that was the sound of “we caught a fish!”
I heard the scream five times in all. Five chubs dropped into a bit of water in a five gallon pail. Five fish caught on a Tweety Bird fishing pole with a hook, a worm, and a red-and-white bobber. They fished until they were out of worms, and then let all the fish go again.
Yep, Olivia’s got fishing fever. On tomorrow’s To Do List is “buy more worms”.
Mister Duck
Some of you may remember the tailbone incident of last fall. I’m embarrassed to say, I have another chapter to add to my storybook of clutziness.
Monday, like all of the holiday weekend, was hot and humid. I’d taken up the broiler chickens’ feeders around 9:30 a.m. Around 3:00 in the afternoon storms started to roll in west of us, and ahead of them the air started to cool. The chickens started to come out from under the shade of their tarp, so it was decided they should be fed now before the storms hit. Notice I’m not blaming saying whose idea it was.
I hustled out to the pasture, filled feeders and waterers, checked for corpses of birds that had succumbed to the heat. (There weren’t any, hallelujah!) It started to thunder, and then to rain, and I was hurrying, and I was running and bounding and hurdling merrily over the tent stakes that hold the tarp down when BAM! I was skidding on my face through the grass.
As soon as I came to a stop I jumped up and OW! My arm. My right arm. Oh no, don’t be broken. Please don’t be broken. There’s nothing protruding, I don’t feel any sharp edges under the skin, it can’t be broken.
But the pain and swelling indicated otherwise. Reluctantly I made an appointment to have it looked at the next day. Our family doctor was on vacation so I saw one of the PA’s whom I also really like. When I told him how I received my injury he got a little excited.
PA: What kind of chickens are these?
ME: Broilers, meat birds.
PA: And they’re, like, free-range?
ME: Yes, we raise them on pasture.
PA: And you don’t feed them any yucky stuff?
ME: No antibiotics, no hormones.
PA: And do you sell them?
ME: Yes, also beef, pork and eggs.
PA: I need your address
So…once the farm business was out of the way, we got back to the elbow business. And I had x-rays. (Why not? I’m sure my deductible has already been met after two ultrasounds and a CT scan already this month.) And the x-rays were rather inconclusive. Maybe I fractured my elbow, maybe not. Either way, it just has to heal on its own. No cast, no sling.
I was actually quite excited to come home and tell Matt that we potentially got a new customer out of the incident. Hey, I took one for the farm!
Mr. Glass-Half-Empty pointed out, “The money you make on these birds probably won’t cover the cost of your x-rays.”
Fourteen years today. One college education, three homes, three kids, one rock band, three job changes, one renovation project from hell, and one farm later…we’re still here. And I suppose it’s only fair to note that most of those things were my doing, not his.
I read recently that after 14 years, the divorce rate drops to 2%. I hope this means we’re practically home free. I know we’ve both had thoughts that maybe we won’t make it. The fact that we’re both extremely stubborn may have lead to some of these moments, but it’s also what may have got us through them.
Other than being stubborn, we are really complete opposites. He is steady, patient, opinionated, knows exactly what he wants from life, sees most things in black and white. I am a roller coaster of emotions, very impatient, never quite sure where I stand in my opinions because I empathize with all sides, want everything from life, and see every shade of every color almost to the point of being blinded because it is just so overwhelming.
Sometimes these personalities compliment each other. Sometimes they simply drive the other one crazy.
I love that he loves me, still, despite nasty ugly fights in which nasty ugly things were said to each other. I love that he is a good father to our children. I love that he has never allowed himself to use his rather horrible upbringing as an excuse for anything. I love that he treats others with respect without regard to “status”. (Though a person has to learn not to confuse his –ahem– sometimes lack of tact with disrespect.) I love that he’s the hardest worker I know.
Things are just now starting to get a little easier. We’re just now coming up for air after the grueling years of early childrearing. (And I don’t even want to hear that it’s going to get grueling again once they’re teenagers, so keep it to yourself!) Madeline’s getting to babysitting age, allowing us to have dinner in town alone once in a while. For the first time in 6 years, we may actually play a round of golf together this summer. We’re starting to remember just why we fell in love with each other, getting back to being more than just co-parents.
Happy anniversary, babe. I can’t imagine being anywhere but here, with anyone but you.
