In the eye of the beholder...

This is a vegetable garden. A lovely, straight row, weedless garden.

It is the garden of someone with an obssessive compulsive personality who becomes very agitated if a plant strays out of place. Who shrieks if a weed actually arises from the pristine black soil. Someone who PLANTS CABBAGES IN A CHECKERBOARD PATTERN, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!!!! This is not a normal garden.

THIS is a really truly garden. The plants grow in happy abandon, shoulder to shoulder with wild compatriots (otherwise known as "weeds") in a universe of diverse personalities, helping each other along. Diversity is a Good Thing. Just ask Martha.
This is OUR garden. We don't get real excited about weeds. Or straight rows. Or checkerboards. Even the "Square Foot" demo bed is more like 16-18" squares - or rectangles - I think there's even a sort of triangle in there, with three bean plants.

HOWEVER. This garden produces. It is a happy place. The toads love it. The wrens and sparrows love it. The turkeys love it. Even when they aren't supposed to.

At the drop of a pair of kitchen shears, I can collect in a few short minutes all the ingredients for a stir fry, or veggie pilaf, or frittata.

It is a joy to wander through this garden, with surprises at every step. It's like an Easter Egg Hunt every time you do a walk-about. Just don't step on a toad. That is NOT a good thing.
This garden is a family garden. A place for kids, and toads, and turkeys, and...

...even this.

We have a non-discrimination policy in this garden.

EXCEPT for Squash beetles and Potato bugs. They are NOT welcome.

The turkeys make sure they realize that, too. We don't call them Einsteins just for fun, you know.

Living up to your name

The pig project is nearing the final phase. At 7 months old, these spritely (ahem...slightly overweight) porkers are a month overdue for realizing their purpose in life: to live up to their names.
Than has enjoyed raising these engaging animals. We have all succumbed to their porky grins, their "talking" in snorts, grunts and barks, their frolicking in the paddock with the goat kids,and most of all to their SNORING!
So say "So long," to Stew...

....Patty Pig,....

...and Frank. Frank? HEY, FRANK! He must be having a good dream, look at that smile...

Patty Pig: "Uh, guys? I think they're making plans for us. Traveling plans."

Stew: "If I don't look at them, they aren't there. They can't move me."

Frank: ....snore....snore....snore....

Stew: "But we're CUTE...I heard you say that. I heard you. How can you eat CUTE???"

Stew, Sausage Patty (AKA Patty Pig), and Frankfurter (AKA Frank) will be leaving the farm on Monday, August 3. Think kind thoughts of them. They go to fulfill their destiny. Minus Frank's tail, of course. It apparently had it's own destiny...

They WILL return. Only in much smaller packaging.

With new names: ham, bacon, chops, steaks, loin...

We love you, man.

P-Day

The three oldest punks camped overnight at the cabin. They have a special "boys only" clubhouse - the 5th wheel camper, which they have taken over and created a "rat's nest" in the sleeping area with about 20 sleeping bags. They just dive into the pile, wiggle around, and call it a bed! Then they spend the next four hours or so reading, into the wee hours. They consider this high adventure - no adults, no little brothers. Flashlights, a box of crackers, and a good book. We live a very simple life out here in the country...

Then they get up, ready to go right to work with whatever is on the list for the day...HA! A little worse for wear, they go home to the farm, do animal chores, then come back for breakfast, THEN work.

Breakfast is usually pancakes, or toast and eggs. This morning was a real treat - DRY CEREAL! Corn flakes with blueberries, bananas and goat milk. With a promise of turkey sandwiches and popsicles for lunch...


First task of the day: the peas were ready for the second picking. It goes fairly quickly with many hands picking.
Besides the green peas, there were sugarsnap peas, their last picking.

One of the trellised veggies in the Square Foot demo garden plot was some snowpeas - also needing picking. Our cooler-than-normal summer so far has been kind to the garden residents that prefer less than 75 degree growing conditions.

To make the next part as painless as possible, a movie was loaded into the VCR to watch while we shelled the peas. Then they were blanched, cooled in ice water, dried on a big thirsty towel....

and finally scooped into labeled freezer bags. With this picking, we now have 18 pints of peas in the freezer.

Having willing and fun helpers makes the harvesting part of the garden much easier - for all of us.

Sure beats the weeding part.

Windy

Being only about a mile off the lakeshore, we get a fairly constant breeze. Much appreciated during sultry summer days.
When a weather front comes through, the breeze kicks into high gear. A storm was on the way - see the windsocks indicating direction?

Better known as "horse tails" - or manes, as the case may be. Leo and Nebby keep us up to date on the wind strength.

Who needs a weather channel? On the farm, we don't have time to watch it, anyway.

They're not just ANY chickens...

Collin's Cluckers are an elite bunch of birds. Oh, excuse me. Flock. Bunches are grapes... Their names say it all. "Harry Truman". "Jack" (Zack's son, with Uncle Jake's coloring...that was easy). "Sly" (does he have squinty eyes??) "Scaper Brown". Or black, or white - depends on who ducked under the fence. "Missy" (short for "Narcissa" - makes you wonder...)

Max has his own naming system for pets. His cat is "Bearhunter". Because, according to Max, he is going to go bear hunting in the woods. This was when he was still a kitten. Now he is HUGE. Hasn't nailed a bear yet, but I do believe he could.

One of the most recent names in Max's lexicon: "Spotted Neck". A black chicken with spots on the neck. Makes perfect sense.

I don't know if this one has a name, but Max is obviously working on rapport.
That's an important first step in the naming process. Well, when was the last time YOU named a chicken? I bet you had a perfectly logical reason for "Clucky"...

Did we miss spring??

Jolene's pear tree looked like a good place to park the picnic table for a harvesting project. The punks were pulling wild chamomile (the "dog fennel" variety) from the horse pasture, bringing it in by the wheelbarrow load. Sitting down to cut the flower heads off was a luxury, after all the bending and snipping and pulling I've been doing this month.

But what was that persistant sound? It finally got through my chamomile concentration to register, "That sounds like baby birds..." And close by, too. A quick scan determined there must be a nest in the pear tree, and the babies were probably robins because there were two very unhappy robin parents scolding from the fence.

Robins are experts at hiding nests right in plain sight...

and even when you finally spot the nest, you have to do some maneuvering to see through the leaves...

to catch a glimpse of the nestlings. Yes, you have been discovered. Don't panic, I'm just taking a picture.

But what is going on with your nestmate? Looks like he's...he's ....

leaking some STUFFING??? My goodness. I did not realize, that baby robins were stuffed with kapok...

This guy is in danger of exploding...I have visions of a huge dandelion-like fluff floating about with a baby robin attatched to the bottom.

Oh my. There's another one.

Watch out for giant babyrobin puff-balls floating by...

Bombs away.

Sweet!

If we didn't grow anything else on the farm but strawberries, it would be worth the mortgage.

The first ripe berry of the season is guarded and monitered - and savored as a king's treasure. As the punks hover, that berry is carefully divided so that everyone gets a small sweet drop of promises to come. It's our reward for patience.

The main crop is usually tucked away in the freezer as jam or whole berries, to bring us summer memories as the snow flies.

But it's the last berries of the season that can touch your soul with their incredible flavor and sweetness. They have soaked up warmer sun than the first berries, they have had longer to convert the sugars to ambrosia, and they package it in glowing ruby morsals often no bigger than your little fingernail.

And we pick every one of those tiny jewels.

In fact, that's what the variety is called, that Carrie is picking: Jewel.

Well named.

Service with a smile

Maybe it was because they are Boy Scouts. Maybe it was because their mom and dad do things for other folks all the time. Maybe it was because they didn't want to clean the chicken pen.

Maybe it was because they are just good guys.

When a friend needed to have her dog let out for a potty break when she unexpectedly had to be gone most of the day, the punks saddled up and rode to the rescue.

Ten miles. One way. Up hills and down. Then back again. They got as far as Gramma's, about a mile from home, and stopped for a rest break. I caught these photos of them on the last few minutes of their ride home.


The last half mile of Saxonburg from Gramma's is all downhill, then...

around the corner...

and they are on the home stretch. That big 'ol white house never looked so good.

They clocked 21 miles, round trip.

These guys think getting up at 5:30 a.m. to ride their bikes 14 miles is the way to start their day. Before breakfast.

So don't feel too sorry for them.

It's a REAL farm now...

Long ago, there was a large dairy farm at 3327 County B. Then the farm was split up and sold off. The cows were gone. The big old barn stood lonely and empty, deprived of it's true station in life. It was a sad thing to behold.

Years passed. A new family came to the farm. There were children. And it was good. Then came chickens and rabbits. And it was good. Then came horses. And it was good. Then came goats. That was...kinda good. Then came pigs. That was good. A farm must have all these things. But still...there was something missing.


And then it happened. At long last. The neighbor farm, having many dairy cows, had many calves. And one day the man from the neighbor farm came over and said, "I have twin bull calves. Are you ready for them?"

And being true farmers at heart, the family said, "YES! We need calves!"

And the farm rejoiced. The big old barn was no longer sad and empty. It was brimming with farm animals, once again.

And they all lived happily ever after.

(Now if you've ever been on a farm, you know that last statement leaves a lot of room for interpretation...)

Garden Report: the Stir-fry bed

While some beds were created specifically for demonstration purposes, they have proven to be fun, educational, and handy to harvest as a group. The Stir-fry bed is a perfect example.


The Sugar-snap peas are producing faster than I can pick them, so it's time for some to go into the freezer. Leaves from the bok choi have been picked over and over, and even when the plants bolted to yellow flowers, if I just keep them snipped off the lower leaves keep coming on, smaller but tender tasty. The beets, not a traditional stir-fry item, provide leaves and stems that lend a rosy hue to the saute'.

The baby beets are steamed and tossed in at the last moment, or used as a garnish. Onions and carrots are a given for stir-fry, at least in my kitchen. The peppers aren't on yet, but if they can out-grow the marigolds and Thai basil they are rubbing shoulders with, they should have some goodies to toss into the mix in another month.


Chef J checks out the pea progress, and pronounces them prime eating!


A quick picking provides all I need for a nice stir-fry, all within a few steps.
The carrot-looking items in the center are actually day-lily buds. Not from the stir-fry bed, but growing nearby on the way to the garden. There's a little bundle of Lamb's quarters and dandelion leaves on the right of the bowl. These "weeds" are allowed to grow along the edges of the bed and path, kept in check with regular harvesting. They provide a good dash of vitamins and minerals. I like to splash some Bragg's Liquid Aminos (like soy sauce, with an attitude) on the finished stir-fry, for that final bit of flavor and nutrition.


The Stir-fry bed will definately be in the garden plan next year.

The Bee Keeper

A sunny afternoon, the bees are out working the fields for their nectar treasure. Carrie dons her dad's beesuit, and goes for a visit. She points out some needed repairs to Brent, who is our Mr. Fix-it. There's always something needed at the farm or cabin, keeping his shop in the barn humming with projects.

One hive is going strong, with brood and honey in the frames. Carrie is thrilled to spot the queen in this thriving hive. The second hive appears to have lost the queen - a thorough search of every frame is futile. There are few bees, flying in and out.

It may be too late in the season to recover this hive. Brood frames could be moved from the strong hive, but a queen is needed. Sharing brood could possibly weaken the strong hive. So a conference call is scheduled with the Bee Lady. Monica is a good mentor, she'll give Carrie good advice.

Continuing our family tradition of beekeeping, has long been one of Carrie's goals. The bees and honey will be a blessing to the farm production. Carrie's good homemade wheat bread always has a dollop of honey to feed the yeast. Honeybutter spread on toasted homemade bread

is a sweet reward for tending the hives.

Dad and Grandpa would be proud.

Cuddles

Notice that Briston's head is resting on the beam. Yep. He's big.

"All the more to love, turkey."

Jayden loves to cuddle with him, he's warm and furry. Carrie loves to play with his ears. Briston just eats it up.

"Hey. I got ears, too. Just because I'm not the cuddly type, doesn't mean I don't want my ears scratched, ya know."

"I COULD be cuddly. If you really want me to..."

Eventide

I milk every evening at 7:00 p.m. Jolene is finishing up feeding the horses and the flock of Border Leicesters. We strain the milk, and walk out to my car. Detour over to the gate into the south pasture. It's now about 8 o'clock, the sun is well down, the light is golden. Leaning on the fence, it's a time of quiet conversation, enjoying a like spirit and the calm at the end of a day of work. We talk about our gardens, the sheep, the contentment of living on a farm, close to the land.


The sheep are content. They've had a good day.
We know each lamb, and contemplate their personalities, compare notes on their health and growth.

Being lambs, they get in a few last spurts of play.

A last snack before bedtime...

They begin to settle for the night. There is something so serene about sheep - maybe it's that concept of "counting sheep" to put yourself to sleep. Or maybe it's the perception of softness in their fluffy rounded forms.

Jolene spends a few moments talking things over with Cuddles. She is the oldest ewe, their first lamb 14 years ago. Cuddles has had her last lamb, an adorable and lovely little girl-sheep. Jolene knows Cuddles, who is in failing health, won't be with the flock after this summer.
That's the way of living with livestock and pets. On a farm, you know these things are the pattern of life, you accept them as they are meant to be. There is an assurance in that "circle of life", just as in the cycle of the field crops each year.

The hay bales in the field are part of that cycle. It's comforting to walk out in the evening, listening to the robins singing their evening song, catch the last light on the fluffy clouds.

Kinda remind me of sheep..