'Tis the Season

It's been almost one full year since we donned our greasy, beat-up cowhide gloves, grabbed the chainsaw, and cleared the land.  Oh, how I've missed pulling spiny, adult cedar trees out from under tangles of devil's vine, stinging nettles, and poison ivy - the way miscellanious thorns scrape gently across my skin, the wasps that come flying out of nests disturbed, the fire ants that crawl down into the boots.  12 long months have passed since I last pulled a cedar needle from out of the corner of my eye or inhaled so many wood chips I choked.  Finally!  Finally.  We clear again!  And, as luck would have it, we're doing it again in near 100* temperatures in the midst of soupy, 90% humidity. 

Our penchant for manual labor during the hottest months of the year probably has more to do with incredibly poor planning than anything else.  Since the beginning, this place has been a work in progress.  Few weekends passed without felling trees here and there, pulling mesquite into piles, watching snakes slide out from their hiding spots.  Those were weekends we stylishly coined as "casual clearing" - no real urgency but it needed to be done eventually.  If this sounds like an entertaining way to pass the time, aim for late fall/early winter.  Bring beer.

The type of clearing we've begun now falls into an entirely different category.  This sort is done in earnest, in any weather, regardless of the health hazards it may pose.  Regardless of whether the clearers really want to do it.  Right now we have a small group of growing animals in need of their own pasture.  I'm suddenly keenly aware of all the folks back in March who said, "You're getting goats now?  Are you ready for them?"  Luckily, they have plenty of space in their pen to live comfortably at night or during times when I'm not home.  While I'm here, the goats roam freely in the woods with the puppies, or they lounge on the porch and nibble on hay, or they run in circles around the house screaming wildly for food, or they follow me to the garden and back walking in between my legs, stepping on my shoes, and tripping me.  It's very charming, truly.  But it's time they had a pasture of their very own.  This weekend we started the process of clearing a fence line to cordon off the 5 wooded acres just behind our house.  The perimeter is already fence and, aside from some patch jobs, should do fine for them during the day with the pyrenees guardian dogs in with them to roam and bark at suspicious invaders.  At night, they will be penned into a much smaller area close to the barn.  And that is the plan. 

As I pulled on my gloves and the leather boots I haven't worn since digging water lines last summer, memories of past clearing adventures came flooding back in nauseating waves.  In fact, I despise dragging trees so much that I had to walk out onto the septic field which was, at one time, part of the dense woods, and remember that there is actually a light at the end of every tunnel.  This too shall pass - the field serving as proof that clearing eventually serves a purpose.  Then I walked back into the path Jeremy had cleared, sighed deeply, and grabbed a cedar tree, dragging it back towards a waiting pile.  This movement immediately freed another limb that popped straight into my thigh, drawing blood.  At just that moment, Jolene walked up to me and stuck one skinny leg out, delicately resting her hoof on my knee.  Looked up at me and cocked her head, letting out a soft, "baaaaahhh."  A necessary reminder that they are, in fact, worth all the trouble.  Although I suddenly, and desperately, miss tiling. 

Farm Puppy Loves Barn. And Me.

Charming Betty

Barn Raising (Dragging?)

Tuesday I headed west into the old cowboy and Indian country past Ink's Lake, where the pink granite boulders shoot up 10 feet from the ground.  It's the kind of wild country that hasn't changed much since before this place was Texas.  The highway stretches for miles with nothing more in sight than cedar, live oak, cactus and deer.  I stopped in to a little Czech bakery on the side of the road for kolaches and a sandwich.  The entire diner was empty save for an old couple.  Both wore cowboy hats, chewed slowly and stared dead-straight at me without apology.  It's clear I wasn't local. I've only been out this way a few times.  Once for a pretty spectacular work retreat where we bunked in old log cabins along Lake Buchanan and then ate at Cooper's famous BBQ joint in Llano.  The more recent trip was to pick up Chula and Boo.  They lived on a ranch somewhere in the desolate hills.  Today I was here because, once again, I'd found something amazing on Craigslist and decided the two hour trip was worth the investment.  

As mentioned earlier, we've gone back and forth (and repeat) about a barn situation for some time now.  We also lack a garage or workshop out here; a space Jeremy has really been missing (and me too, since tools are scattered around the porches).  My vision for a barn always included a people space in the middle for tack, medicines, and feed and then animal shelters built out off either side of the center space.  Ideally, the entire building would be scratch built onsite using our own cedar and miscellaneous scrap metal.  The reality is that we don't have that kind of time, considering the growing goats and the potential addition of a dairy cow (not to mention the new pasture that needs to be built, house to be finished, driveway to complete - want me to continue?).  In fact, two weeks ago, we almost placed an order for a brand new, modular structure that neither of us were excited about.  It was more than we wanted to spend and not exactly what we envisioned.  And it was new.  I'm not a fan of "new" when so much great material already exists.  I also like the idea of objects and spaces with previous lives - just another trademark Jenna quirk.

Last Friday, I found a structure on Craigslist - an old Morgan portable building.  Barn red with white trim and huge double front doors.  Wood framed and metal sided.  It was old and creaky and came with a rusty weather vane perched on top.  And it was huge.  With this option we could actually have a nice mix of what we originally wanted: something not new, a big center area/people space, and scratch built animal shelters if we built lean-to's off the sides of the building with cedar and metal.  Lean-to building isn't something to sniff at, and will take time, but nothing close to the amount of time it would take to erect an entire building from scratch.  Sold!

The biggest problem would be locating a barn mover who could pull the structure out of its precarious spot between fences and other buildings.  The distance of the thing also wasn't insignificant.  I spent most of Monday working with the owner and speaking with several movers.  When it looked like we'd found a solution, I made the trip to Llano Tuesday to see the structure, hand over the cash, and crossed my fingers it would arrive intact.  Surprisingly, the entire move went smoothly.  I sat on the porch and watched as the mover hauled the 12x40 structure up the driveway and slowly moved it into place, at the edge of the forest near the house.  When he left, I stepped into the space that had just been emptied the night before.  The barn came off a ranch just purchased by a young couple.  It was the previous ranch owner's workshop and walking through the thing, it's obvious how much time he spent filling this place with shelving, work tables, and tool holders.  The entire building contains strategically placed lights, a fan, electrical outlets.  It served its purpose for over 20 years out in the dusty hills of Llano and now it will have a completely different life as a barn at the edge of the trees.  Today we cleaned her up, and Jer ran an extension cord out to check the lights.  They work.  He's already started moving his tools onto the shelves and into drawers.  He's been grinning a little silly since she arrived.  (Me too).

Heavy

20 minutes ago we loaded Seamus and Matilda into separate trailers.  Matilda has gone to a 36 acre ranch in the hill country.  Her new owner is a livestock vet with two young sons who have already come over to feed and pet her.  She's going to have a good life.

Seamus was loaded into Dwayne's borrowed trailer.  Right now he is on his way to Smithville where he will be processed.  The emotions behind this decision are, obviously, complicated and raw.  I wrote at length about my initial decision to process one of our steers here and little of what was said then has changed for me now.

But today was much, much harder for me than butchering Rooney last year.  I've been sleepless for a week and wrestled with the knowledge that just as easily as I decided we would do this, I could decide not to.  That sort of power is frightening.  Although I was positive I wouldn't be able to help load him, I managed to calmly participate in what ended up being a very smooth loading from round pen to trailer.  While holding a bucket of feed over the fence to lure him forward, my upper arm snagged on the barbed wire.  There's a deep, open hole there that will probably scar.  It seems appropriate.

I came back inside and poured a tall glass of iced tea, sat down at the computer and wrote a note to my sister - if we all had to do this each time we wanted a hamburger, our diets would be dramatically different.  BBQ ribs would be more of a luxury and a blessing.  There's nothing sterile or simple about consuming meat.  Most of us interact with the food chain at the very end, after all the dirty work has been done and without much consideration for everything that went into its beginning, its middle - and its end. Although I felt burdened this week with my own personal dilemmas about ending a life, it thrust me right into the middle of the food chain, in a way.  It makes me absolutely conscious about how much of that precious beef I will consume, and how I will prepare it.  It makes me think twice every time I'm eating out and see meat on the menu.  How was that animal treated?  What did it eat?  Do I want to support that?

Some people in my life were horrified I decided to process Seamus.  I kept much more distance from Rooney who wasn't such a nice animal to begin with; a fact that somehow made his death more palatable for others wrestling with the notion of "eating a pet."  I was horrified, too, when we first discussed the fact that Matilda needed a new home, the reality of hay prices, the fact that this animal was always intended for slaughter.  I broke down twice.  I cried when he was driven away, then I came inside and washed my gouged arm and silently thanked whatever forces came together to allow us this piece of dirt and these animals.

Many of our choices around here regarding animals are heavy.  They should be.  This is not the last animal we will raise for food - for us, our families and our friends.  This isn't the last time I'll lean against the kitchen counter allowing myself two whole minutes of quiet tears.  Like last year, I'm full with gratitude for his time here on the farm and his contribution as food for this table and others.  

Future Telling

Out of morbid curiosity I peeked back at some one year old blog posts, not quite sure what I'd find, but certain it would bring back all kinds of disgusting memories of the loan-getting/builder-interviewing/life-upside-downing process.

I found some of that, to be sure.  But then I also found this - so absolutely prescient that I shivered.  Especially to realize that exactly one year later - to the day - we brought home another year's worth of hay.  I shook the feeling off fast and went out to pet my snoozing pyrenees and feed the baby goats who (like last year's post says) weren't even born at the time I wrote it.  I guess it wasn't future-telling so much as just making sure things actually happened.

Damn it feels good, either way.

Photojournalism

There's a lot to say and a lot to report.  Lucky for you, however, the intense heat and humidity have melted every remaining piece of my brain that controls writing function.  So there's little I can muster aside from a few key highlights and a lot of pictures.

Highlights:

• The Barn Saga which includes the following dilemmas - Do we build a barn? Buy a barn? Move a barn? Think of it this way: it's the type of overthinking that went into the house on a smaller, more compact, but no less frustrating scale. Yiipppeeee!!
• The Goat Pasture Saga which includes the following dilemmas - Do we toss them into the main pasture with the other livestock?  Do we toss them into the 5 acre woods just behind the house? Do we start building fences? (which results in the ancillary dilemma) Why in the world do we always build fences and install waterlines in 100 + degree weather?
• The Garden Abundance Saga - constant tomato roasting and cucumber pickling.  This is no dilemma. It just bears noting.  
• The Goat Milk Saga - constant peach ice cream and cheese-making (resulting in constant ice cream and cheese eating).  See previous comment.
• The Cow Selling Saga - Mixed feelings.  More on this later.

What's resulted is lots of photography of baby goats running on porches and living somewhat "freely" in the woods while I watch them through windows.  I've also documented the food making because who doesn't like to see a beautiful chevre curd form?! And now since it's 11am and already 102*, it's time to go soak my head in an ice bath and insert an iced tea IV. 

 

 

Goats, goats, more goats

For over a week now we've been letting the goats out for walks around the property.  At first I worried they would scatter in four directions, so overwhelmed by their freedom that they'd spring sideways (Fact: baby goats only run and jump sideways) right out of my life.  Since they've eaten the leaves off all the branches they can reach inside their pen, Jer suggested we let them out.  "Just - what - out?!" I said, absolutely shocked at his obvious attempts to dispose of the goats.  "So, then what, we cross our fingers and just hope they love us enough to stick around and find their way home?  Do you hate the goats?  WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU?!!!"  I shouted, to which Jer calmly explained, "Um.  They love you.  They throw their bodies against the fence when you walk near the pen.  They won't run away.  And, by the way, you are crazy."

Once that was settled, and I was suitably convinced the goats may actually not, in fact, spring sideways out of my life forever, I timidly opened their gate.  Held my breath.  Ready to snatch any potential escapee at a moments notice.  What actually happened was, of course, exactly as Jeremy predicted.  The goats did spring sideways, and twirled in the air, flipped in circles, and generally just browsed joyfully - so long as they could keep me in sight.  The moment they lost me, it became utter chaos.  There's a reasonable chance neighbors have reported us to the authorities for suspected animal abuse based solely on the high pitched wailing (screaming, actually) the goatlings emit as soon as I'm out of eye line.  The panic that ensues is pretty hilarious were it not for their genuine distress.  This means that each day I spend a minimum of one (ok maybe two, if we're being honest) hours walking around the property - down to the garden, through the woods, into the creek bed, up to the hen house - so that the goats can access a wider variety of browse, with me in constant sight.  Plus - I get to herd goats.  It's a win-win type of situation.  There are all kinds of poetic ways I might describe the experience of watching my goats in the woods, having them each take turns sitting in my lap until it's time to run off and eat cedar bark, but I'll leave that for a real author to describe (try Brad Kessler's Goat Song for a gorgeous account of goat herding).  For now, the pictures of goat joy and goat freedom, speak for themselves.