Fence Gate: A New Farm Scandal?

We’re in the heart of farmer’s market season and it’s been a lot of fun to interact with readers that look forward to these ramblings every other week. It’s always incredibly humbling to know that scratches that come out as random thoughts are entertaining and as many folks have heard - I never know what’s going to happen next out there on the farm. 

Recently, I was able to finish the pot belly pig run and what a joy that has been. The pigs now do their restroom business outside and I don’t have to put near as much work in to muck their pen. 

Getting that run completed though was quite an ordeal in itself. 

To start, I had around 9, 16 foot hog panels to deal with in creating a proper piggy paradise. These panels are relatively lightweight but definitely awkward to handle and have sharp edges where the wire has been welded. You’d think after almost 8 years of farming I would have learned my lesson to wear protective clothing but, no. I did wear gloves but when I was moving the panels, one slipped and put a nice little notch in my shin. Ignoring the ensuring trickle of red, I kept pressing on. I was farmer-tough and I could handle it. 

Yes, the fence panels could have been laid out straight without bending, but never being one to do something simple - I decided that I needed to create right angles for corners to save on the amount of panels I was using. 

A quick YouTube view and I was putting all of my weight onto a panel with a 4” x 4” square post at the point that needed bent. Well, that resulted in another nice scratch right above my knee. 

At this point I must have looked like something out of a Rambo movie with my hair completely mussed, blood running into my hiking sandals and a nice red scratch right above my knee. The panel did get bent however and I continued with the construction of the pen. 

It was a series of measure, sink t-post, pull panel to t-post, attach clips, and repeat. 

Three hours later I finished with a final panel and now had the daunting task of installing a 4 foot wire gate that had hardware that looked like something out of a medieval torture chamber. Should be no problem at all, I thought, as I quickly scanned YouTube again for instruction. The video was only three minutes long so I figured it would probably take me 10 and I could then retreat back inside to the air conditioning. 

I drilled a pilot hole into the fence post and inserted the hanging hardware. Then I started twisting it. I managed to get about 10 turns in before a loud squeaking sound started and the pot belly pigs started going berserk. What the heck - I thought. The video didn’t say anything about that and the bracket in the video twisted in really easily. 

I tried again and again the same sound. Not that it solved things but I thought - hey, I’ll call dear old Dad. He’ll have the answer. The first words out of his mouth when I explained my dilemma were “Did you use soap? If you didn’t use soap you’re going to have to untwist it and do it again.”

If I could have thrown a temper tantrum and gotten away with it, I probably would have at that point. I was tired, dirty, hot and frustrated. “Isn’t there another way?” I pleaded. Nope, that was going to be the only answer. 

I hung up the phone, grumbling, and tried to twist once more - full well knowing that the hardware was seized up and I was going to have to go back up to the house to get the bar of Dove soap, go back down to the barn, untwist the hardware from the post, soap it and try again. It felt like a scandal - why did twisting a piece of metal into a post of wood have to be so difficult?

Needless to say, I did just that and the hardware twisted in without much effort following. I didn’t, however, tell Dad he was right until the next day - I had to preserve some of my pride for a little while longer. I know that from a very young age he’s always told me to use soap for putting in screws, nails, etc. I should have known and I should have remembered. 

I guess I had to resign to that fact too. 

Until next time…

Farmer Goes to Iowa - Brings Back a Typewriter

It is a rare thing indeed to have any time away from the farm, let alone an overnight stay. Anything beyond that - well, that’s as rare as finding a free Taylor Swift ticket in your mailbox. 

However, funny things happen and recently I went spontaneous and set off on a road trip for a few days just to get away and renew myself. I sent a message to my best friend, Ellen, to say “hey, wanna go on a road trip? It’ll be inexpensive and not very far,” and I was thrilled when she responded - “sure!” 

There was just one problem. I didn’t have a clue where we were going to go that fit that description. My best friend lives in Northern Indiana so there are the usual spots such as Chicago or one of the beaches along the MIchigan state line, but we’d done those in years past and neither were inexpensive. 

I started searching sites for road trip ideas either near her home or mine and kept hitting roadblocks - either there weren’t rooms available, the cost was way above the budget or the drive was too far. 

Finally, in desperation I typed in “road trip ideas near Chicago that are inexpensive.” 

Iowa came up in the search.  

Iowa? I thought. You’ve got to be kidding me. There’s nothing but corn there! Why would I want to go somewhere that was away from the farm that was nothing but land with farms? 

After a Google search I found the German village known as the Amana Colonies, the John Deere Headquarters, the Iowa 80 World’s Largest Truckstop, a winery, a few breweries, a Czech Village and a huge farmer’s market and indoor city market all within driving reach from the hotel I had found. I had discovered Iowa was more than corn. 

I messaged Ellen and excitedly told her where we were going. No surprise, her response was “okaaaay???”

She and I set off on a Thursday morning and I was quick to realize the first 24 hours away from the farm can be a little rocky with the schedule changing so drastically. Suddenly I didn’t need to be up at 5am to feed and get things taken care of and the evening was relaxing without having to collect eggs, lock up animals and other chores. 

I also rediscovered my love of looking at old things and she and I found ourselves in an antique shop in Amana, Iowa, one afternoon. I was having great delight in reminiscing about the items on display when suddenly I noticed something that any writer would pause at. 

A vintage Underwood Universal typewriter. 

My best friend reminded me that I didn’t need it- it was more costly than the usual souvenir t-shirt or other such item but for some reason I felt drawn to the heavy hunk of steel. 

I gently pressed the keys- It moved wonderfully. The price was reasonable too. 

“Come on,” Ellen urged. I walked away reluctantly, thinking of the things I could write on such a piece of art. 

I didn’t get far though - before Ellen could stop me I had turned back and approached the typewriter again. Would I find another like it at the price this one was?  How amazing would it be to have a souvenir like this? What a great story this would make for the future! 

Without another moment’s hesitation, I gently closed the lid on the typewriter, latched it and carried it like the most prized possession I had ever had to the cashier. 

As the woman filled the sales slip, she shared that the typewriter had belonged to her husband’s mother who had owned it during WW II and had written many letters on it to those overseas. It added to its charm.

I haven’t found the perfect spot for it just yet, but it serves as a reminder every time I look at it or use it. Just like the slower pace of typing with a manual typewriter, sometimes you have to just be spontaneous and slow down. I know that farm work since I’ve returned seems less taxing. Perhaps I’ll write a novel someday on another break using that Underwood typewriter. In the meantime, I’m just going to work on restoring the machine and getting some new typewriter ribbons. 

Until next time…

Camp for Chickens? Not As You Would Think

Summer camp brings back memories of horseback riding, swimming every day, daily crafts, and campfire songs. Summer camp was, for me as a child, a chance to “live in the country". Perhaps that’s why I’ve embraced the farm life so readily and so quickly.

Among the poultry folk, some of us have a bit of a warped sense of humor when needing to send our meat seeds to the processor to be turned into something very tasty. It sounds a little nicer to say that we are taking them to “freezer camp” as opposed to the alternative.

In this era of so many cancellations and postponements, the meat chickens’ trip to “freezer camp” at J & M Poultry in Cambridge City, Indiana, was not postponed. I’m sure many of you remember eight short weeks ago that I mentioned that I had purchased some cornish cross chicks to raise for meat. 

I had already scheduled the appointment with the processor days in advance of even receiving these chicks and was so blessed to know that this date would still hold firm in spite of the multiple backups several other meat processing places are experiencing.

I also had bugged a fellow farm almost to ad nauseam with my questions on “what do I do when I get there, how much time does it take, how big of a cooler do I need to bring,” you name it, I asked it. Had it not been for the advice of fellow column contributors, Liz and Nate Brownlee of Nightfall Farm, I don't know that I would have entered this adventure with such confidence and excitement. 

I had to transport the birds the 1½ hours at 5:30am one day this past week to get to the processor by 7:30am. We arrived without much ado and I said a quiet good-bye and thank you to the birds as I drove away. I wouldn't say I really felt sadness, but felt more gratitude that I had been given the opportunity for this experience and that these birds would continue to be beneficial in their next purpose. 

The birds must have had a great time at "freezer camp" this year because they came back all dressed and sealed in their own little plastic sleeping bags. They were processed at 8 weeks of age and I don't know that I will ever wait that long again to send them off on their trip. Two birds of the 20 that I had processed weighed in well over 8 pounds and the rest were right in the 6 to 6 ½ pound range. That's great if you're feeding a small army, but not so great for feeding a couple of people. 

I didn't hear any singing from my little camper cluckers when I got them back, but I'm pretty sure that the people, who've been able to purchase my first harvest, will be belting out a happy tune when they make amazing dishes with them. I just hope that maybe some will invite me over for dinner. 

Predators Around Every Corner for Fowl and Farmer

As a full fledged farmer, I tend to fall into the same state of mind that the birds I raise do. Both birds and I can easily fall prey to predators, though in a different way. 

Birds are, by nature, prey animals. Every where you turn, everyone and everything is looking for a free chicken dinner. Predators such as fox, coyote, possum, raccoon, skunk, mink, hawk, bobcat, the stray dog, you name it - everything is out to chase those little feathered creatures until they stumble and become lunch or wait until the birds roost for the night and the sneaky possum, mink, raccoon or skunk enters the coop and either takes a whole bird or mortally wounds the bird beyond survival. 

Chickens don't move very quickly for these predators. The average chicken runs about 10 miles an hour whereas the average fox clocks in around 30 miles an hour. One can see how very quickly a romp in an open field can turn deadly for a unsuspecting chicken.  

Should a chicken be ill or otherwise weakened, that particular fowl will not let on at all that it is weak until it absolutely cannot continue. Predators are stronger, faster, and more cunning than the birds but if a hungry coyote can pick off an easy meal - the canine will go for it. Because of this reason, it's not usually known that a bird is sick until it's almost near death. Showing weakness means that particular creature is not long for the world. 

I've discovered this with the human side of farming as well. As farmers, we are often faced with surmountable obstacles; weather, finances, livestock issues, laws and regulations and even pressure from fellow farms and farmers to be the best at what we've chosen to produce. 

When it comes time to selling product, we have to be sure that ours is the shiniest, the best quality, the biggest, the most delicious, etc. Combine this pressure with the long hours it takes to care for animals and it is easy to see why farming is known as a very high stress profession. Additionally farmers also have some of the highest depression/suicide rates as well.

All this said though, farmers act like the chickens - rarely will you see a farmer admit that they're struggling emotionally or financially on the farm. To do so would show weakness in a competitive business where you know that the farm next door will certainly take over where your farm has fallen short. It's not due to viciousness, it's due to survival. 

This is why it is so important to support your local farms. Give those farmers that boost of hope that they need to carry through the next struggle they face. If you have a moment, stop and ask how the farm is going and truly listen to what they're saying. Oftentimes we don't need a solution - we just need to tell someone about the roof that's leaking, or the aggressive rooster that chases us when we go to collect eggs.  

Sometimes, you won't get anything out of a farmer how things are going and that's okay too. You've just stopped to allow us to bring you into our wonderful world of ups and downs, successes and failures. It just lets us know that you care.

Until next time...

Clever Birds Create Egg Hunt from Time to Time

All of the rain recently has made mowing the grass an almost twice a week chore. Mowing grass out at the farm isn't just a 15 minute job either - running the mower at high gear and not stopping at all, it still takes about three hours to get all of the weeds knocked down. 

When I first moved to the country, folks would tease me and say that I need to "get some goats" to handle mowing the grass. 

That seemed like a great idea except two things; 1. I didn't have fence and thus could not safely house goats, and 2. goats (apparently) aren't big grass eaters. So much for furry mowing machines. 

Since the day that I purchased my first chickens, I've discovered how quickly chickens can decimate an area of green grass if not giving enough room to roam. That first winter with the birds, at my former house in Columbus, I remember looking out back at my little 40' x 60' plot of grass and staring with both sadness and surprise that four little chickens had picked the ground clean of almost all of the grass - effectively turning what originally was a backyard oasis into barren ground filled with lots of mud. 

I've determined over the years that chickens seem very similar to hogs in that they love stomping around in mud and really don't care if they get it on their feathers - always looking for that next scrap of food. They seem to delight in getting white, fluffy feathers caked with dirt and muck and then, because they're just that crazy, they step into their nesting boxes, lay an egg and thus cause more work for me, the farmer, to have to do more cleaning on the eggs than is usually necessary. Is it so much to ask for them to wipe their feet, uh, claws, before stepping into the box?

The obvious solution to this predicament is to have fresh pasture for them to roam in and browse and, after some true trial and error, I believe that I finally found the proper ratio of chicken to grass to allow the fowl to browse through the field; looking for bugs and snipping little green tidbits off the tops of the blades of grass. Smacking their beaks with obvious enjoyment. 

It makes egg collecting so much more pleasant too - clean feathers and thus, clean nesting boxes. There is just one catch to allowing birds access to a large field. When it comes time to collecting eggs, not all eggs make it to the nesting box. 

A hen lays an egg when the urge happens and she doesn't always make it back to the nesting box in time if she's out in the field grazing for juicy insects. 

What happens then? She finds a secret spot in the field and lays her egg right there. That means that egg collecting sometimes turns into a real life Easter egg hunt. 

Time reasons during the week don't allow me to search every day for these wayward eggs, but at least twice a week I'll walk the pasture - checking the bigger tufts of grass to see if these hold a secret stash of eggs, the hen deciding to keep them from my collecting hands. 

I believe the largest clutch of eggs I ever found on one of my hunting escapades was 24. How the hen managed to hide these eggs from me for so long was a mystery but when I found the eggs I couldn't use them, not knowing how old they were, so the creatures of the field got a great snack that night of fresh eggs. 

I still marvel at the cleverness of these birds - learning so much more about them than just a tasty meal and thinking from time to time how these fowl are related to the tyrannosaurus rex dinosaur. Welcome to Jurassic Farm. 

Until next time...

A Little Chicken Talk for the Week

This week, I allowed one of the original flock hens, Gertrude, to speak from her perspective in this article on seeing me around more often and the constant quest of the chickens' search for food.  

BA-GAWK! We've noticed that the lady that gives us food has been coming down to our barn more often and NOT bringing treats every time. She's concerned herself with cleaning our living quarters (why she doesn't like the "art" that we've worked so hard to create on the perches is beyond us) and we've noticed that our food container is almost always filled to the brim these days. We've also noticed that we don't see her carrying the big water container up the hill anymore. That being said, she still manages to fill it and very quickly now - something about water being hooked up now in the barn. 

That must be a good thing because she's not as grouchy when carrying the container back into our living quarters. 

We can't help ourselves and gather around her while she's trying to work, oftentimes being nudged out of the way by her big black boots. The other day one of us got in the way and she stepped on the toes of one of my fellow coop mates. There was a lot of squawking that occurred and I noticed that the lady almost fell trying to maneuver herself out of the way. She thinks that our little cluckings and coos mean that we love her, but really they mean that we're looking for some kind of magical treats to fall from her pockets. After all, she's always carrying big bags of food into the barn so there must be some kind of secret stash on the other side of the coop door. 

When she's collecting eggs each day, occasionally she'll leave the coop door open that leads into the rest of the barn. A couple of times a few of us have tried to step into the big room to see what's there, but we're quickly shooed back into our coop. Something about making a mess and not being protected. What's a gal to do when you want to see what's happening on the other side? 

The lady carries a thing called a cell phone with her when she's in our coop and she's always taking pictures of us with it. Sometimes she does what we've learned is called a Facebook Live and she tracks us with the phone as we move about our home. I'd like to say that we're famous, but we don't see any of the royalties from such fame. How about some extra mealworms? Is that too much to ask?

Apparently all of this extra attention is due to something called a pandemic and it's why the lady is around more often. I don't know what a pandemic is, but if it's not something I or the others can eat we're really not interested. 

Somehow I think if we try to trip her up again the next time she's filling our feeder or our water container, the treats that I know she's hiding will fall from her pockets by the mounds. I just have to plot how to do that and one thing us chickens definitely have is time. Just wait until the next time she comes to fill our feeders. BA-GAWK! 

Mother's Day is the Time to Plant - Right?

Allow me to switch gears just a bit this week from talking about chickens (though my "meat seeds" are enjoying their time outside). On the farm, I not only raise chickens but also attempt to grow some sort of edible produce each year. The garden is set in an open field that, just a few years back, was a corn/soybean field.
That being said, I have tried each year to enrich the soil to make it a more hospitable place for vegetable plants. The extra spent brewer's grain that doesn't go into the dog treats or to the chickens, vegetable peelings, and the ever prevalent offerings of the chickens are put onto the soil each fall and are then worked into the ground in the spring to make the soil as rich as possible.
The first year that I moved to the farm I tried desperately to grow every type of vegetable I could lay my hands on.
Of course, this was absolutely a disaster because the ground had recently been a field of soybeans and, no surprise that first season, volunteer soybeans continued to pop up between the tomatoes, peppers, melons, corn and broccoli.
Not deterred, I planted a smaller amount of vegetables the next summer and saw fewer soybean plants. However, the ground decided to rebel and the weeds took over - choking out the tomatoes, peppers and covering the watermelons and pumpkins.
So much for opening a small roadside stand to sell official Jackson County melons. If my memory serves me I at least had a tiny harvest that season; 4 pumpkins and 2 watermelons.
YouTube has a host of videos from other people that are trying their hand at the "homesteading" thing and I began to glean every bit of information from these videos on how to prevent weeds. What I discovered was a plastic woven cloth that is fastened to the ground with landscaping staples or sandbags and blocks the ground from sunlight, effectively preventing any undesirable plants from growing. Genius!
I purchased the woven cloth last spring and put it on the ground. All I had to do was burn small holes to put the plants that I wanted into the ground. Enter the propane torch which I failed at - how was I to know that the flame was so sensitive to the ever present wind that blows on the hill?
Frustrated about the inability to even burn a small hole, the chickens took over my focus and there was not a garden last year at all.
The only way to "win" at this farming thing is to make sure that there are multiple sources of income coming in and, after attending a small farms conference this February, I decided to try again. This time, I didn't burn holes in the plastic but cut them. The ground below the plastic is wonderfully weed-free and the earthworms love the protection and warmth that it gives. I planted 6 tomato plants and a variety of radishes, lettuces and rainbow carrots. I've already gotten a small harvest of radishes. So far, I'm winning.
There's an old saying that if you plant after Mother's Day any threat of frost should be past, but this year is a little bizarre in so many ways. It appears that any of us who decided to put plants into the ground a bit before this date will need to tuck in the sensitive plants from threat of frost this weekend.
It is Indiana after all and I wouldn't be surprised if we don't get small flurries on top of everything else.
My moniker on the street is Mutha Clucker amongst friends and this weekend gives me a moment to realize how much mothers near and far give to make sure that things grow and flourish. It doesn't matter whether you're a mother to adorable little humans, fur/finned/feathered babies, or plants. Anything that grows, grows because someone cared. A large wish of thanks to all of the mothers out there this weekend and stay warm!