Nonprofit Work is a Lot Like Farming - Who Knew?

In 2001 I was working for a non-profit agency as an administrative assistant. Not too stressful, predictable hours, the adoration of everyone in the office when I fixed the copier jam for the 20^th time that day, and able to spend a lot of my time putting together craft project like giveaways to recognize the volunteers that the development staff worked with. Pretty smooth gig.

Then, in 2008, I decided to upset everything and join the ranks of the development crew in this same nonprofit agency. Looking around every corner for the next funding opportunity, hearing the word “no” more times than I like to count, working obscene hours and driving for miles – it was a fun job but after so many “no’s” I started to despise what I was doing. A few more hops and skips with some other nonprofit agencies in the development field and I entered doing database work for yet another agency.

That lasted a whole three and a half years behind a desk. I missed being out in the community and doing “boots on the ground” work, but I didn’t want to hear the word “no” again. So, after an opportunity presented itself back in my hometown to work more closely with the clients being served – I said “yes”.

In between all of these job hopping opportunities, I started the farm and suddenly realized that the salary of a nonprofit employee doesn’t quite cover so many mouths to feed, keeping the lights on, paying the property taxes, fuel, and all of the other expenses that come with having that parcel of land in the country. Thus, Purple Shamrock Farm became a business and I started making I.P.A. Bites dog treats.

The I.P.A. Bites haven’t quite taken off as quickly as I would like, though folks who so wonderfully support me keeping saying that one day they will, but I laugh because now I hear the word “no” again just as before when I was trying to earn that almighty dollar to support the mission work of my employing agency.

Just as before though, I cannot let it get me down and I can’t let that one “no” stop me from wanting to move forward. In my previous work, Executive Directors would offer me a goal and then watch to see if I would make it or not. If I did, I was rewarded with praise and if not – offered the chance to try again and come up with an alternate plan to meet that goal. 

While I don’t have an Exec. Director to help lead me in my quest to make the farm a success, I do have my friends and family to urge me on and my own critical thinking to realize when I don’t meet the goals I have set. I still hear the word “no”, but now it’s a different mindset – one that I’m in control of and you can bet that I’m going to try my hardest to make it a success. The farm’s future depends on it.

The Biscuit Story - Or, How the Biscuits got their bite!

In the late summer of 2017, I was rejoicing that I had survived a full season on the farm. The heat had somewhat subsided and I was starting to settle into a groove. Having worked hard all season, caring for birds and attempting to grow a garden, I decided to join some friends and attend the annual fundraising concert put on by Our Hospice in Columbus, Indiana, during Labor Day weekend. My thoughts were to sit back in the picturesque landscape of Mill Race Park there in Columbus and perhaps enjoy a few adult beverages with no worries for a few hours. 

As my group arrived, we dug into our coolers and began to lazily sip beer beverages – waiting for the headliner band that night, Blue Öyster Cult to take the stage. Funny now to realize that the band’s name came from an anagram of “Cully Stout Beer” after reading that the origins of that name came from a 1960’s poem written by their manager, Sandy Pearlman. Little did I know in those brief moments how much my life would change.

Have you ever seen the movie “Back to the Future” where Marty McFly’s parents have to attend the “Fish Under the Sea Dance” to fall in love and thus produce Marty? Yeah, it was kind of like that only without the whole Biff thing. If I hadn’t been where I was at that specific time, I wouldn’t be telling the biscuit story.

I was settled quite comfortably in my lawn chair when a friend walked up and asked if I had met this guy who was going to be brewing beer in Seymour in just a few weeks. I said I’d love to meet him and then found out that he wanted to know if my chickens would want the spent grain for extra feed. Knowing that this would absolutely help my feed bill and also be a pretty cool thing to be a part of, I said yes and he and I started talking.

He, Ritch, told me that the pizza place in town, Brooklyn Pizza Company, was going to be opening Seymour Brewing Company in just a few weeks (after the red tape of the licensing passed through) and that he’d love to give me the spent grain to feed to the chickens so that he didn’t have to throw it away.

We chatted for a bit and I found that his wife was one of my very good friend’s kid’s pediatrician and also that we were in the same high school class in Seymour. After some additional pleasantries, we both headed back to our respective groups and I anxiously awaited the text from him that said that the grain was ready for pick-up.

Two weeks later, I got my first notification and arrived at the back of the restaurant/bar to find three 5 gallon buckets that had to have weighed 50/60lbs. each. Curious, I lifted the lid of one of the buckets and saw the grain. Cool! The smell that accompanied the grain wasn’t unpleasant as I’d heard others say it was – it was earthy and warm. I guess that was a good thing now that I think back- as my car started to carry a hint of the smell and started to stick to my clothing. Needless to say, that made me not so popular with the office that I was working in at the time. Haha.

I took the buckets home and carried them to the chicken coop. Knowing that three buckets would be WAY too much grain for the 5 birds that I had, I gave one bucket to the birds who eagerly started gobbling it up and took the other two buckets to the garden to start composting into the ground for next year’s yield.

A few days later, Ritch contacted me again with another three buckets available. I was now faced with the dilemma on figuring out what I was going to do with this grain as the chickens hadn’t eaten but a portion of what I had dumped in days earlier.

I couldn't stop accepting the grain because I didn’t want to lose that relationship with being a part of something that was going to be huge in my tiny small town. With this determination I took those three buckets and put them on the garden plot.

My garden is quite large so it definitely can handle the leavings of a small brewing operation, but I wanted something more for the grain.

One morning, as I was getting ready for work the idea hit me. Hey, can’t spent brewing grains be used for doggy treats? I grabbed my phone as I was brushing my teeth and went to Google to search.

Sure enough, there were recipes available that worked the pungent grains into treats that dogs loved and that were good for them. I decided on a peanut butter recipe and that night went to work creating the first batch of spent brewing grain dog treats.

My dogs went crazy for them that first night so I took treats to work the next day and had those coworkers try them on their pooches. The reports came back that the pups loved them. Thus, I.P.A. Bites were born.

After a few more trials and a lot of errors and the challenge of coming up with a name that was catchy and tied back to its roots of beer (the term "pupper" was one of my favorites), the I.P.A. Bites are now in local stores, had their first showing in Indianapolis this past summer and were sold at the Indiana State Fair and, most exciting, were recently recognized by a well known public state figure. That's right, the Governor of Indiana's dog, Henry Holcomb, has enjoyed these treats. It's honestly one of my favorite pics. that I've received.

I've since increased the flock to allow me to feed all three buckets of spent brewing grain to the birds at one time, several times a week - but I still hold back a small bit to make the well liked treats. It's good for the environment and helps pay those farm bills that regular work just can't do.

I.P.A. Bites - Incredible. Pupper. Appetizers. - your dog's own Happy Hour! 

A Mother Clucker Has to Do What a Mother Clucker Has to Do

There aren’t any human children at the farm. A lot of you parents out there probably think – well heck, you don’t have a clue what it’s like to stay up late at night worrying about a sick child, cleaning up unending messes, never having enough time to get everything done that you’d like to while stepping around the little inhabitants of the house/farm, or not being able to take a much needed vacation for time away. While I recognize that attitude that some may have, I have to respectfully disagree that I haven’t felt a lot of the same emotions or had the same frustrations that these parents have.

I’ve stayed up late at night worried about my big dog, Ozzie, as he ate something that caused him to become so lethargic that I thought he may pass away through the night. I’ve nursed some chickens back to health from a respiratory issue, removed infections from their feet and then had to gently ease some out of this life into the next. There really isn’t a veterinarian around these parts that would doctor a chicken and really, why would they?

I’ve been able to take one overnight vacation (for 2 nights) in the last year and as the farm grows – that one luxury may be fading too. Anyone know of a good farm watcher?

It’s not that I’m bitter about it, I’m truly not, but there are multiple sacrifices that have to happen on a day to day basis with growing, running and maintaining a farm by oneself. My friends try to be understanding when I bow out of a much needed evening out at 8PM, my need to run home and feed everyone, collect eggs, and lock everyone up for the night so they don’t end up on the coyote/raccoon menu, taking precedence over partying. There’s nothing quite like knowing that the things that you are raising are constantly under threat from being eaten. Imagine that with human children for a moment.  

The mess they leave behind

There are still 19 chicks in my basement at the time of this writing and I can only imagine what the parent of a human teenager feels like as I raise these little ones. They eat voraciously, are incredibly noisy and are absolutely making a complete mess of their inside brooder. It will take days if not weeks to eradicate the dust and the tiny first feathers that they shed to make way for their adult plumage. My “free chicks” that I received from a friend for raising said friend’s birds as well, have totaled well over $50 so far in feed and growing. 

That being said, when these birds “leave the nest” as teenager birds and go to the large coop – I will worry for the first few days that they’re eating enough, that they’re staying warm enough, and that they’re not being picked on too much by the larger adult birds.

No, they are not human children but I think that parents of human children would worry about their teenagers in much the same way. Granted, these human children don’t typically need to worry about getting “eaten” by a hawk or other ground predator – but there are other dangers out there that a teenager has to watch out for.

I may not be a human mother, but being the Mother Clucker that I am – I’m going to raise these little ones and the other animals to the best of my ability and hope that they grow up well and are nice to one another. I'll take their sass and clean up mess after mess just because I love them. When things get too rough and I need a tiny amount of time away, that, dear friends, is why I have a great relationship with the brewery in town. Just know that I'll have to be home by 8:00PM. J

Chickens can be Really Bad Mother Cluckers

As I’m sure most already know, chickens are the closest living relative to the Tyrannosaurus Rex. Apparently some research team stuck a long tail on a chicken sometime back and watched the way the bird moved to have an idea of how big, bad, T-Rex would have moved. Welcome to Jurassic Park?

No surprise then, that the chicken is basically a reptile – the scales replaced by feathers and possessing the mentality of a cold blooded killer/hunter, all wrapped up in a fluffy, seemingly docile package of feathers and crazy movements. Who could guess that these creatures would think nothing of ripping a mouse to shreds, or, in some cases, picking on one another to the death? 

When I’m down in their coop I’ll hear their noises that resemble growls, chirps, and downright noises that sound like they’ve come from the very depths of hades. I’ll watch as a group of hens pick quietly at scattered cracked corn one moment and then the next, look at their flock mate and peck at their eye. Growling as they do it. Chickens are just sometimes downright mean.

I’ve watched ruthless chasing from the current flock as the new birds are introduced and watched with horror as the newcomers huddle in a corner, terrified to make a move as their older counterparts size them up, hissing and threatening to take them down in a flash of beak.  It’s a game of roulette every time I have to introduce birds to the big flock and not something that I look forward to doing. It’s stressful for the birds, it’s stressful for me, but it’s a necessary part of flock keeping and one task that must be taken with a very watchful eye to ensure that the new birds make it to adulthood.

Surely you’ve heard the term “pecking order” and it is chickens that this phrase came from. There is an absolute hierarchy established amongst the flock and each bird knows its place in the group. The lead hen (or rooster), gets first dibs on good food, the best perching spots and the first access to the best dust bath sites. The others fall into their respective places and when a new bird or birds are introduced to the flock – it upsets that balance for a time. No one wants to be put on the low pole and so any new birds that are brought in are usually picked on sometimes to the point of their death. It’s barbaric, but that’s the chicken way. They are bad muther cluckers sometimes.

Unfortunately, recently, a friend who is new to chicken keeping found that out with a bird that was introduced to a flock of hens. All seemed well at first, but as the evening wore on – the established birds had enough of this intruder and brought him down. Sadly, he was found the next morning – having been sent off to the big nest in the sky.

I think of all of these things as I watch my birds peacefully peck around grass and grain on a warm afternoon. They seem so docile, so friendly, so scared, but pushed to the test and when it is broken down – they are really a force to be reckoned with. After all, isn’t it the T-Rex who ends up surviving in the movies? J

The Struggles You Don't Always See

I am asked frequently by folks who follow my antics both on the farm and off, “how do you do it all?” To be truthfully honest, I really don’t know. There are absolutely days where I question my own sanity as I’m rushing home from my 40+ hour/week day job to feed 35+ chickens, 3 dogs, 4 cats, fix my own dinner, package biscuits if that’s needed, collect eggs, pick up around the house, keep up on bills, it’s a lot.
I appreciate, so much, those who say "you're doing an amazing job". I don't hear that from my critters- they're more concerned with what's in my hands and whether or not I'm going to try to capture them. It's an absolutely thankless job and I wouldn't consider to keep doing it if I didn't love it so much.
I do get nonverbal "thanks" every now and again when the barn cat rubs her head against my hand as I'm filling her bowls or a sideways look from one of the hens that just says "hey, I know you're here and I'm okay with that". A sigh from my big dog, Ozzie, and him laying his head on my lap is another moment of gratitude that I treasure. 
On my own Facebook page and the farm's Facebook page, I post things that I think are funny, uplifting, inspiring to others. I rarely, if ever, post those days when I'm down on myself because a chicken died, the dogs made a mess in the house, the cats laid on the piano and put huge tufts of hair on the top of it, I didn't get things cleaned or I just decided to sit on the sofa and watch a TV show instead of doing any number of things that need to be done around the house and the farm. On those days, I'm incredibly hard on myself and get frustrated, feeling that I've fallen short. The only words of encouragement on those days are the ones that I muster to bring from myself and sometimes that's difficult.
I've kept a journal since the first day that I moved to the farm and on those days when it feels like there's a giant gray cloud hovering over my head, I oftentimes refer back through the pages from days/months ago and read what had been happening then and what is happening now. More often than not, after reading those pages I realize that I've always managed to get through those tough times and carry on.
Faith plays a big part in managing the farm as well - I've said to people so many times that there is NO possible way you can have a farm without Faith. I don't attend a church building as often as I should, but each time I walk down to the barn and notice the land around me, a gorgeous sunrise or beautiful sunset, hear the chickens going about their daily lives or hearing any number of birds flying about or critters milling about the pond behind my property, I realize that all of this is a gift from God. I am constantly in awe of all that has been provided to me. 

Clucker Clocks - Times Changing

We had the time change two weekends ago and although I don’t want to get into the debate on how awful it is, how beneficial, etc., I just have to say that it takes me a few weeks to get back on track. I have a constant feeling of running behind, not having enough time to get everything accomplished and grumbling about the fact that when I go to the barn to do my morning check and let the birds out – it’s pitch black again.

The animals don’t seem to mind the time change from the fact that it means that they get fed a full hour earlier. Anytime any change involves getting food earlier, they’re more than willing to accommodate it.

It is more difficult for me with the chickens and the time change because it means that daily eggs are not laid until later, the birds don’t want to go into the coop until it’s dark or, if I want to put them up before heading to evening events, having to have a chicken round up and coerce them into the coop, protesting and squawking like children being told that they have to go to bed while it’s still light outside.
All that being said, I do like when the weather turns warmer and I can stay outside until later with sunlight. There’s something to be said about doing farm chores in either the dark or with light – especially when collecting eggs from the dark nesting boxes. I can’t count the number of times I’ve reached into a box in the dark and ended up with a hand in chicken poo instead of the warm/cool hardness of a freshly laid egg. 

I tend to work more on farm projects when the time springs forward and find myself out way beyond when I usually retire for the night – thinking I can fit “one more thing” in. As of late, however, it’s been too cold to want to stay outside for very long at all. I get frustrated with myself that I grumble so much at this time of year. While the animals don’t seem to mind the time change – this mama does. Honestly, it’s not even the “springing forward” time change either, it happens when “falling back” too. I like to think that I’m a person who rolls with anything, but I guess I’m a creature of habit and just like things to stay as usual as possible. 

A True Mama C!

We’ve got chicks everywhere! 6 week olds in the larger brooder, one week olds in the smaller brooder, a baby chick (or possibly two) about ready to hatch in the small coop outside with the silkie/cochins and in one more week or so – more day-old chicks arriving from the hatchery! I’ve gotten quite used to the peeping noises and trills that newborn chicks make and can tell pretty quickly when everyone is happy and well taken care of.

The other evening, however, I came home from work to feed all the dogs and cats in the house and then went down to the big coop to check water and food and collect eggs. Once those tasks were finished, I proceeded back to the house to go down to the basement to check on the two brooder boxes. The month old chicks were chirping loudly; protesting that their waterer was completely empty and they had managed to sling most, if not all, of their chick feed crumbles about the floor of the brooder. The other brooder box, made from a Sterilite large plastic container with the top cut out, was silent and DARK! Oh my gosh! Dark!

Fearing the absolute worse, I walked over to the dark brooder and timidly listened for some sort of sound before I turned on the overhead light, looked inside, and witnessed what I was afraid would be deceased birds. Thankfully, the little ones had followed instinct and huddled closely together to keep warm while the “outage” was happening.

The culprit of the darkness was nothing more than a burned out heat light bulb and thankfully I had spares (a result of an impulse purchase last year). Once the light was restored, the chicks huddled beneath the red glow for a few minutes and then began to wander about their brooder again – kicking bedding up, scratching at feed and doing what happy little chicks do.

I then took care of my “teenager” chicks (the one month olds) and peace was restored amongst the flock again.

It's been an interesting year so far with this year’s additions. First there was bad luck in not having any chicks develop in eggs in the incubator after trying with 3 separate clutches. Then, there was the good luck in getting 6 additional chicks from the box farm store (something I swore I would never do, but had a weak moment this year) and then finding out that my silkie/cochins were being broody for a developing egg (or two). Then, back to bad luck in having a chick that I purchased from the 4H sale die and then back to good luck that the remaining birds are alive, well, and thriving. 

If there is one lesson that I have learned with farming it is that there is always balance in everything and that if you don’t have a steady sense of patience – you’ll never make it. I had allowed myself to fall into a “get it done and get it done now” and that just doesn’t fly on the farm. I’m grateful for that – it’s more of who I am. I'm a happy Mama Clucker when my birds are well cared for and I do allow myself some pride in knowing that they are doing well because I have put the effort in to make sure that they are well fed, cared for and peaceful.