Harvestin' Blarney in Irish Grove

Some Truths About Farming

2011-11-10T11:01:00.000-06:00

Farm truth #1: There are tons of projects around the farm that need to be done in a farmer's spare time.

Take the barnyard, for example.

The lovely cows, during the lovely dog days of summer, love to wallow around in their own lovely muck in order to get out of the lovely heat and humidity.

The result is a not-so-lovely barnyard and a bunch of cows that can suffer from a not-so-lovely hoof condition called foot rot.

Farm truth #2: Farmers have no spare time to finish these projects.

That's right, I said it. Farmers have no spare time to do extra projects around the farm because they're too busy with:

1) their off-farm jobs
2) their kids
3) their civic duties, and
4) their daily farm work.

It's stressful, people.

And to prove it, just look at how stressed I am at my off-farm job!

Farm truth #3: No one cares to listen to you whine about not having any spare time to finish your farm projects.

No need to elaborate on this one.

Farm truth #4: If you whine loud enough, a few helpers may appear out of nowhere.

Yes.

Yes!

Double yes!!

Farm truth #4: There are many people who are happy to congratulate you when you finally get around to finishing those farm projects.

Farm truth #5: Kids love to write their name in fresh cement.

Farm truth #6: Farmers love getting a good project done.

The end.

Cutie Patooties

2011-05-14T07:13:00.000-05:00

Scott Russell Sanders

2011-04-27T07:36:00.001-05:00

"People who root themselves in places

are likelier to know and care for those places

than are people who root themselves in ideas.

When we cease to be migrants and become inhabitants,

we might begin to pay enough heed and respect to where we are.

By settling in, we have a chance of making a durable home for ourselves,

our fellow creatures,

and our descendants."

--Scott Russell Sanders

Boys 1, Girls 1

2011-04-10T18:14:00.000-05:00

Calf #2 was born this morning. It's a girl!!

She's been adorned with a very stylish #39 earring and officially welcomed to the clan.

Tally so far? Boys 1, Girls 1.

The Official Start of Spring

2011-04-08T13:09:00.001-05:00

Most people don't tend to think of spring as a date on a calendar. Sure, March 20th is the first official day of the season, but if it's a blustery, wintry March 20th does that really count? And if it doesn't, what does?

For example, I'm friends with many birdwatchers. I can't count how many times I've heard them talk about their fist robin or red-winged blackbird of the season, exclaiming "Spring is here!".

And what gardener doesn't joyously exclaim "Spring is here!" when they see the first daffodil, with its bright yellow petticoats, adorning the yard?

But on the farm? On the farm nothing quite says "Spring is here!" like the first calf of the season.

In Irish Grove, Spring officially started on April 8, 2011.

At 9:23 a.m. to be exact.

Litter-ally Disgusted

2011-03-18T16:09:00.002-05:00

We live a half mile from the corner.

Just a half mile. It's not far.

The kids and I decided to take a walk down the road to get a little exercise and enjoy the sunny afternoon.

We brought along a garbage bag to pick up some litter.

Can you believe we filled a 30-gallon black plastic garbage bag to the very, bursting top BEFORE we got halfway back?

People are pigs.

No, nevermind. I'd hate to insult pigs.

Some people are just nasty and disrespectful and lazy. GRRR.

Happy St. Patty's Day!

2011-03-17T08:34:00.000-05:00

Hey, it's St. Patty's Day! Luck o' the Irish to you!

I've gathered up a few Irish tidbits for your enjoyment. The website I took them from--Ireland Fun Facts--calls them facts. Not accusing anyone, of course, but the Irish have been known to embellish once in awhile, especially when telling a story. And I'm simply too lazy to verify. (Now there's the real truth of the matter!)

Truth or not, they're fun to read through...and fun is one thing all Irish men and women can agree on. Enjoy!

According to some historians, over 40% of all American presidents have had some Irish ancestry.

In olden days, a pig was often allowed to live in the house with the family on an Irish farm. He (or she) was commonly referred to as "the gentleman who pays the rent."

Saint Brendan is said to have discovered America 1,000 years before Columbus.

The longest place name in Ireland is Muckanaghederdauhaulia, in County Galway.

The original Guinness Brewery in Dublin has a 9,000 year lease on it's property, at a perpetual rate of 45 Irish pounds per year.

One traditional Irish cure for a hangover was to be buried up to the neck in moist river sand.

Historians believe St. Patrick’s real name was "Maewyn Succat.

The tune of the "Star Spangled Banner" was composed by the great blind harper Turlough O’Carolan, who died about 35 years before the American revolution.

Ireland is the world’s only country with a musical instrument for a national symbol: the harp.

An “An Fáinne” is a lapel pin, worn by some fluent Irish speakers to invite others to speak to them in the traditional language.

It’s not the custom in Ireland to wear green ties, hats or other green clothes on St. Patrick's Day. A sprig of shamrock in the coat lapel is the preferred display.

Now a few quotes from some famous Irishmen:

"The Irish do not want anyone to wish them well; they want everyone to wish their enemies ill."

- Harold Nicolson

"I had that stubborn streak, the Irish in me I guess."

- Gregory Peck

"Every action of our lives touches on some chord that will vibrate in eternity."

- Sean O'Casey

"Everywhere I go I'm asked if I think the university stifles writers. My opinion is that they don't stifle enough of them. There's many a best-seller that could have been prevented by a good teacher."

- Flannery O'Connor

"You know it's summer in Ireland when the rain gets warmer."

- Hal Roach

"Ireland, sir, for good or evil, is like no other place under heaven, and no man can touch its sod or breathe its air without becoming better or worse."

- George Bernard Shaw

And my personal favorite:

"This is one race of people for whom psychoanalysis is of no use whatsoever."

- Sigmund Freud (speaking about the Irish)

Finally, an Irish blessing or two...

Wishing you a rainbow

For sunlight after showers—

Miles and miles of Irish smiles

For golden happy hours—

Shamrocks at your doorway

For luck and laughter too,

And a host of friends that never ends

Each day your whole life through

Wherever you go and whatever you do, May the luck of the Irish be there with you.

Happy St. Patrick's Day! And Happy Birthday, Laura!

Five Years...

2011-03-11T14:49:00.000-06:00

...is a long time.

Miss ya, Dad.

Mystery in the Hen House

2011-03-09T08:12:00.001-06:00

Last night I walked out to the hen house aka milking barn (that sound you just heard is Grandpa turning in his grave, RIP) to collect the eggs. This is a nightly chore, very routine.

At the same time, I brought out the newly-cartoned-eggs from last night to put in the fridge for sale. I'm efficient like that.

Point is, I could see--even before I added the newest 2 dozen eggs to the fridge--that we had another 4 dozen there waiting for our customers. In other words, we had plenty of eggs in the fridge.

With my trusty egg basket in hand, I first closed the sliding barn door to keep out any and all chicken-eating-critters and then proceeded to the nests to collect the eggs. To where I found nothing.

NOTHING!

Not an empty shell or two, not a few eggs hidden under the bedding, not one single egg.

What the....???

We've had egg problems in the past and usually the culprit is her:

Or her:

Egg-eating chickens are extremely problematic because we're not able to hang in the barn all day keeping a watchful eye on the flock to see which one is the guilty party. It usually takes more than a week to find out which one is eating the eggs, severely cutting in to our egg supply, and it also usually doesn't end well for the poor hen.

*insert moment of silence here*

But usually an egg-eating-chicken will get full, she'll leave a few eggs behind, and the remaining eggs tell the story, as they're completely mucked up and covered in egg yolk/nest litter/stuck feathers.

Through the years, we've found a few other problematic animals in the hen house. These characters could very well develop taste for farm-fresh eggs, especially after a long, cold winter. And they can be problematic in more ways than one, as you'll quickly agree with me.

The culprits I'm talking about could be him:

Or her:

Other problematic animals exist as well, but are less-likely for obvious reasons.

I'm talking about her,

seeing as we don't have hyenas in Irish Grove.

Or him,

seeing as the time of year seems a bit wrong.

Which leads me to wonder if we might have a problem with another type of animal.

A two-legged.

Someone that looks suspiciously like her:

And yet I'm not convinced. If a two-legged were to steal eggs, wouldn't they just grab some out of the fridge? I can't imagine why they'd enter the barn to collect eggs when there were 4 dozen sitting in the fridge.

So we obviously have a problem. A head-scratcher. A real noggin-cracker. What we have here is a Mystery in the Hen House.

A View from Afar

2011-02-24T13:19:00.000-06:00

Please enjoy the view from Panama!

Madelina showing off a Christmas present:

Bebo, Yami, Chelo and Dilsa dancing the night away:

The twins, Ashley and Darinel, enjoy their first ever visit to a swimming pool:

Ana and I grinding corn for bollos, a traditional Panamanian dish:

Elsa, filling corn husks with the bollo masa:

A lovely tarantula:

The kids, alligator 'hunting':

The lovely Panama landscape:

The lovely Panama landscape, i.e. mud, all over my boy:

Fun at the beach:

Armando in his Panama digs:

Ana, enjoying a laugh with her Aunts:

Marcel, being a goofball as usual:

Our nephews, Chelito and Joseph:

Yami and I, mixing up the tamale masa:

The view, when we returned:

Sigh.

The Farmers Have Flown the Coop

2010-12-20T07:47:00.000-06:00

Being the Midwestern, rural, hospitable and generous people that we are, we're giving our family a long-lasting Christmas gift this year: the wonderful and most desirable opportunity to experience winter chores for 3 weeks!

And while they're here basking in the winter glory and having the time of their lives.....

we'll be in Panama, suffering with the heat and the humidity and the terrible, terrible company of friends and family.

We'll suffer through the tropical fruits....

the mountainous vistas....

the comfort of mom/grandma....

the pristine beaches....

the fun with cousins....

the jokes and hilarious stories told by brothers...

the reminders of why you fell in love with your husband...

and the comforts of home.

It may be a long ways from Irish Grove, but it's home all the same.

Yes, it'll be rough. But we'll make it through the next few weeks somehow. And so, since we won't be seeing you for awhile....we wish you all a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

See ya in 2011!

'Sibling' Rivalry

2010-12-07T14:51:00.001-06:00

Remember those days when you were little and your brother or sister got sick?

Maybe they had the stomach flu or a perhaps a fever? And everyone, including you, joined in the rally cry to take extra good care of them?

Grandma would bring over chicken noodle soup......

and mom would buy soda crackers and 7-Up, just for them.

"That's OK," you'd think. "I'm healthy enough to run around and play, eat a full supper, go to school...I don't need any pop or crackers."

"I'm a good sister, I won't be jealous. They're sick, after all."

But slowly you started to get tired of all the attention your sibling was getting.

Grandma came by a second time with jello.

Their friends were calling to see how they were.

And you had seen them playing a little bit....especially when Mom wasn't looking.

That was the moment you were able to justify the sheath of crackers that somehow ended up in your room.

And that glass of 7-Up you chugged down when no one was looking.

This?

This, my friends.....

is a lot like that.

Expectations

2010-11-21T15:14:00.001-06:00

At a meeting the other day, I was fortunate enough to be in the same room with a some wonderful organic farmers from the CRAFT network. Like most farmers, organic or not, they are hard workers, dedicated to wholesome food and healthy farms, and willing to take time out of their busy schedules to help others who share similar goals.

The topic of the meeting was Community Supported Agriculture (CSA)--What Works and What Doesn't. I really enjoyed listening in on the conversation and found it super interesting to hear about the struggles that these farmers have with customer retention, optimum box sizes, keeping the vegetables fresh, season-extension, etc. I kind of felt like the proverbial fly-on-the-wall. Except, of course, that instead of cleaning poop off my wings and leaving brown spots all over, I got to ask questions and make comments once in awhile. Fun!

Something from the conversation struck me, though, that has been on my mind ever since. A few farmers were very frustrated with a lack of participation at their on-farm events. These farmers want their farm to be the place where people go to find good food, make friends and restore community. Or maybe this is what they think their customers expect when they subscribe to their CSA?

Fostering community is all good and wonderful, of course, but it also seems like a lot of pressure. So not only do these vegetable farmers have to perform back-breaking labor, 10 hours a day, 6-8 months of the year for nominal pay, they now have to organize social events, provide a relatively clean space to socialize, remember everyone's name, and provide the entertainment, the education or both. I think I'd be in a coma before anyone even arrived.

To me, this doesn't sound like the community is supporting agriculture; it sounds like agriculture is supporting the community.

Which brings up the question: Is this what people want and/or expect from farmers? Because if so, then gosh I'm failing miserably. Our yearly farm tour is hard enough and all we have to do is show people the animals and pastures and be available to answer a few questions.

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On another somewhat related note, I've recently read a few thought-provoking articles--rants, really--on the state of the good-food movement. You can read them here and here. In the first one, the author is obviously a meat-farmer like me and lays out what really needs to be done to change agriculture for the better. And yet the article is a veritable smack-down of people who act all uppity because they've participated in upscale farm-to-table dinners, purchased a few pounds of grassfed beef, or bought organic veggies a few times at the local farmers market. Yikes and readers beware.

The second is written by a columnist for the New York Times and touches on whether our 'I-eat-local' snootiness is off-putting and hurts the very movement we've embraced.

If you have time, read the articles and let me know what you think. I can relate to their feeling of frustration with so called food-snobs, but I find it interesting how they seem to come to different conclusions. The first author seems to be saying "Do more!" The second, "Don't lecture me if I don't do more!"

And if you have a little more time, please tell me: What do you expect from your farmer?

An Open Letter to Detour Drivers

2010-09-29T09:03:00.001-05:00

Dear Road Construction Victims,

Welcome to my road! I hope you enjoy your new route to the outside world and that it be most temporary. I understand that detours have the ability to adversely affect your life in the form of longer commutes, lack of turn lanes, and low shoulders. Please allow me to give you a short orientation to my road, in the hopes of improving your experience.

1. My road is extremely picturesque, please enjoy the view.

2. On the West side, among others, you will see undulating fields, cattle dotting the hillsides, a few mules (look hard!), a barn with the flag painted on the side, and some quaint, broken down, rusty old farm equipment deposited oh-so-lovingly in someone's field.

3. To the East side, among others, you'll see a round barn, some chickens, a shelter-house, a horse farm or two, as well as the requisite undulating fields and cattle dotting the hillsides.

4. If you happen to have car trouble, don't panic. A friendly farmer will be along shortly to help you.

5. Please don't flip that same farmer off as you pass him/her at 80 mph tomorrow morning when you're late for work.

6. You are lucky to be driving through the rolling hill country of Illinois. A few 20 miles south of here, it's flat for as far as the eyes can see.

7. On that note, I'll make the respectful request that you don't pass me on the uphill when I'm on the way to move cows, driving the farm ATV.

8. Yes, it's legal to drive farm-related ATV's on the road.

9. No, it's not fun to off-road it when you're loaded down with fence posts, electric wire, and a 50-lb. bag of salt/mineral blend.

10. This area of the country is called the Heartland, not the Wasteland. The bread basket of the world, not the waste basket of the world. Get my drift?

11. Ahhh, it's harvest time. What a wonderful time of year. You have the unique opportunity to observe, up-close and personal, how our nation's crops are harvested. Take advantage of it!

12. You also have the unique opportunity to be squashed into an accordion by a random bale-mover crossing the road if you decide you can text and drive on our quiet route.

13. WARNING: There are farm implements, attachments, and trailers sticking out, parked along, and blocking the road entirely at any and all random times and locations throughout harvest season.

14. Rural people are friendly. We're also isolated. I know you had a bad day at work, but put it behind you and wave at us, for Pete's sake.

15. Oh, this one is important! Rural people in cars wave by raising their pointer finger off the steering wheel.

16. Yes, we're raising a finger at you.

17. No, not that one.

18. I know you're frustrated that you can't get to work on the main thoroughfare and I'm so sorry for your inconvenience.

19. Our stop signs are not optional.

20. We love to have people stop by and visit our farm animals.

21. Not all farmers feel the same way. Ask first.

22. Which reminds me: the fences are electrified, the horses and goats can bite, yes, that's a bull in the pasture, you might get some chicken and/or cow poop on the bottom of your shoes, and we have rusty nails galore. Keep your wits about you and don't sue me if you or your kids do something foolish.

23. We try our best to keep the chickens out of the road, we really do. They have wings. Enough said.

24. Please don't go bowling for chickens.

25. The speed limit is 55. Not 65, not 75, and certainly not 85. Please SLOW DOWN.

26. If a farmer is pulling a wagon loaded with grain, s/he absolutely can't pull off to the side to let you pass.

27. We also really don't enjoy holding up that long line of cars behind us.

28. Unless you're one of those who flipped us off while passing us at 80 mph. Then we do.

29. Farmers love to flag down other farmers, idle in our pick up trucks in the middle of the road, ideally at a corner or on a blind hill, block traffic, and chat about the corn yields over coffee in styrofoam cups.

30. You should try it sometime.

31. Finally, farmers know that manure stinks.

32. If you don't slow down, a random farmer might just lay a strip of that stinky manure down the center of the road.

Well! I'm so glad I've had this opportunity to show off my Midwestern hospitable nature. Once again, enjoy the drive and rural scenery. Soon enough you'll be back to your regular route and our quaint little farm road will be but a distant memory. Until then, be well and have a wonderful day!

Most sincerely yours,
The Farmer

Product Endorsement

2010-09-13T08:46:00.000-05:00

I hate to make sweeping generalizations here, but farmers don't traditionally have a lot of money. We're what you call asset-rich, cash-poor--all of our money is tied up in land, equipment and livestock and pretty much the only way to access that money is to sell the farm. You can get the money but then you're out of a home and job. (Please remind me once again why I signed up for this?) Of course I use the word 'we' here in the most general sense. Marcel and I are even better off: asset-poor, cash-poor. Please dial back your envy.

Anyways, the point of this post is thriftiness. Thrift-i-ness. Farmers have to be thrifty because we don't have alot of cash on hand. I know most of you are used to the common definition of the word thrifty--showing thrift; economical or frugal, but did you know that thrifty also means thriving or prospering?

That makes sense, doesn't it? If you're thrifty you'll become thrifty and probably stay thrifty, unless of course you start being unthrifty.

Wait, what?

In the spirit of thriftiness, I'd like to now endorse a product that has enhanced my life dramatically in the past few months. It is Pampered Chef's Quick-Stir Pitcher.

I purchased this pitcher from my lovely cousin who used to be a Pampered Chef saleswoman. I unwittingly attended someone's Pampered Chef party, enjoyed the company, admired the hostess' ability to unabashedly sell her wares to friends and family, and then promptly gagged on the free veggie pizza slices as I saw how much everything costs. High quality? Check. High class? Check. High falutin' tootin'? Check. Affordable for poor ole little ole thrifty me? Nope.

So I did what I always do at these types of events, I frantically flipped pages and searched through the catalog until I found something that met my criteria: 1) useful, 2) not a million dollars. I found it in the Quick-Stir.

To be honest, the Quick-Stir Pitcher pushed my sensibilities a bit. I mean, how hard is it to stir up a chunk of frozen cran-lemon-raspberry-tea with my trusty wooden spoon? Not very! And yet, the next affordable, halfway useful item was the cheese knife, for which a butter knife had always done the trick. The Quick-Stir won out, if only for the fun name. Quick-Stir, Quick-Stir. I could say that all day.

I used it. I did. It came in handy a few times here and there, even though it wasn't as pretty as my cobalt-blue pitcher I had bought in college. (I have no idea why a college student need a cobalt blue pitcher, but I've been glad many times over for that unthrifty purchase.)

Fast forward approximately 9 years and 3 months, give or take a few years, and the darn Quick-Stir is my best friend. Best friend, I tell ya! Ever since Honeysuckle, our bottle calf, was born we've had to make up first 4, then 6, and now sometimes 7 or 8 bottles of dry milk replacer per day. I'd start out by adding the dry powder to the bottle itself, slopping it on the sides of the bottle and the porch floor, all the while making a sticky, fly-attracting mess. Then I'd add the warm water and shake, shake, shake, shake, shake. Shake until my back hurt, shake until my brain hurt, shake until I could shake no more. The milk would mix, but inevitably there'd be big chucks of powder floating around in it, stopping up the nipples and frustrating the calf.

And then I remembered the Quick-Stir. I got it out, added the milk powder and warm water, and plunged. Plunged, plunged, plunged, plunged plunged. No mess on the bottles, no mess on the floor, and I'm pretty good at plunging now, just in case the toilet ever gets plugged or some sort of nonsense. I plunged that nifty little plunger up and down until the liquid was a perfectly smooth milky mixture. Remove plunger, pour it into the bottles, and Viola! Breakfast is served.

$16.50. That's it. That's the cost of my nifty, thrifty Pampered Chef Quick-Stir Pitcher, the one that makes my porch cleaner, Honeysuckle's milk smoother, and my life easier. I gotta say, the next time you have a bottle calf on your hands, you just gotta get yourself one of these! Maybe I'll pitch (ha ha, sorry) a new name to the company while I'm thinking of it--The Pampered Farmer has a ring to it, don't you think?

Thriftily yours,

Farmer Jackie

Where's the Beef?

2010-09-03T14:44:00.003-05:00

It feels like fall today, which means it's the season for pot roast, chili, beef stew and round steak over buttered noodles. Yum. Or perhaps a few grassfed rib eyes or hamburger patties are just what you need for your upcoming tailgate parties. Either way, now's the time to place your order for Irish Grove Farms' delicious 100% grass-finished beef.

Our cattle are rotated through organically-managed pastures and have free-choice access to an organic salt, mineral and kelp supplement. They are fed absolutely no grain, hormones or antibiotics.

You can order by the whole ($2.75/lb hanging weight), the half ($3.00/lb. hanging weight), the quarter ($3.25/lb hanging weight), or a 25 lb. beef variety box for $150, which contains steaks, roasts, round steaks, hamburger patties, ground beef, etc.

Email Jackie at comepifa@aol.com to place your order. Or call (815) 742-6781.

Egg Recall

2010-09-02T09:07:00.000-05:00

If you live in a bubble, you may be unaware that there was a recall of a half billion eggs recently due to salmonella contamination. If you're not in that bubble, you may wish you were--especially if you're one of the 1,400+ people sickened by the salmonella in your breakfast burrito or western skillet.

As a small farmer and small-time egg producer, I've gotten lots of attention from the egg scandal. I've had friends post comments on Facebook telling others to buy safe eggs from Irish Grove Farms. I've had comments on this blog asking how I ensure our eggs are free from contamination. And just yesterday I was contacted by our local Channel 13 News team, wanting to come out to the farm and interview me about my supposed increase in customers since the recall. (I was at work, so unable to do the interview. Whew!)

Have I had an increase in customers after the recall? I honestly don't know. But the reason I don't know is because I had so many customers before the recall, an empty fridge and disappointed customers is nothing new around here.

The reason my eggs are in high demand, however, is not because they're salmonella-free (even though they are). It's because they're so dang delicious.

A recent news release from Reuters about the FDA inspection at the two contaminated farms stated that, "During inspections conducted on August 19-26, officials found rodent holes and leaking manure at several locations run by Hillandale Farms of Iowa, and non-chicken feathers and live mice and flies at houses owned by Wright County Egg, according to reports posted on the FDA website."

As a consumer, this sounds gross. I get it: rodents and birds are dirty and carry disease, as do flies. But as a farmer it sounds normal. Can you please take me to a farm that doesn't have troubles with mice? Or flies? Or barn swallows and bats finding a way in?

Another article made it sound worse, though. At WebMD, it says, "FDA investigators found:

* Huge manure pits open to outside animals.
* Evidence that rodents, wild birds, and other animals could enter the henhouses via missing siding and gaps in doors and walls.
* Actual sightings of rodents, birds, and bird nests inside the facilities.
* So many live flies that they were crushed underfoot on walkways. Maggots "too numerous to count" were seen in at least one manure pit.
* Farm workers went from henhouse to henhouse without cleaning their tools or changing their shoes or clothing -- which can spread germs between houses.
* Uncaged birds tracked manure from the pits to the laying houses.

Some of the egg-producing hens were caged above manure pits four to eight feet deep. The weight of these vast manure pits had burst open outside doors."

OK. So some flies and mice are bad. But manure pits bursting open doors and live flies crunching underfoot is ghastly. *Shudder*

The part that has been overlooked, though , is that the egg-wash water was contaminated with salmonella. According to the Reuters article, "DA officials also said inspectors found salmonella in a water sample collected from a Hillandale Farms plant. The sample came from spent egg-wash water, or water used to wash the exterior of eggs traveling down conveyor belts to the packing facility, said Jeff Farrar, FDA's associate commissioner for food protection. DeYoung (a spokeswoman from Hillandale--Jackie's note) said eggs at Hillandale are also rinsed with water containing chlorine as an additional step to kill bacteria."

This is where the public doesn't understand what's going on. You may think that a final chlorine wash will kill the bacteria on the shell and all is well. Except for one major, glaring problem: Egg shells are porous! They have little tiny microscopic holes throughout the entire shell!

If egg shells were air-tight, how could a baby chick could breathe during development? The tiny holes in shells allow air to enter the shell, and if air can get in, so can egg-wash water. Egg-wash water contaminated with salmonella, in this case.

This is something all egg producers know. And it is why small flock owners like myself that sell "Nest Run Eggs"--meaning they aren't processed (washed, graded, candled) for commercial sale--don't wash the eggs! The eggs are wiped clean, perhaps, with a damp cloth, any nest bedding materials is flicked off, and the eggs get put in the carton as is. (If I collect a 'poopy egg', as I so technically call them, I throw it away if it's really bad, or I eat if myself if it's passable, washing it directly before use.)

When a hen lays an egg, it's wet. The wet layer on the surface of the shell is a protective coating made of protein (called a cuticle) that keeps bacteria from entering the shell. When you wash an egg this coating is lost and bacteria can pass freely into the egg. Washing eggs for a store or for market, which I can do as a licensed Egg Broker, is tricky. You must use the hottest water possible, to make the insides of the egg expand and effectively push back on the water trying to enter. If you use cool water, the opposite will happen and the egg will absorb the dirty water.

So don't be fooled when a company says they can use dirty wash-water because they give the egg a final chlorine rinse. It's not the shell you should worry about in this instance, it's the egg inside--swimming around with salmonella-wash-water. Mm, mm, good.

So what can we do? Well, we can follow the American Egg Board's recommendations: Cook eggs until the whites and yolks are firm, meaning no more eggs-over-easy or sunny-side-up, no more soft-boiled eggs, no more raw eggs in smoothies....and goodbye eggnog and custards.

And/or you can buy Nest Run Eggs from local producers with healthy birds and wash the eggs directly before use.

And/or you can buy eggs from trusted, preferably small producers that wash their eggs following safety procedures and cleanliness standards.

If you decide to buy eggs from Irish Grove Farms, though, and please do....the problem you encounter may lie more in a lack of eggs than in the quality. Consider yourself fore-warned.

Tag on the Farm

2010-08-27T08:05:00.000-05:00

I've always loved playing tag. It gives you a reason to sprint, which is an exhilarating feeling. I mean, how many opportunities do you really get to just full-on run as fast as you can?

Except this game of tag is a little different. This time, we're tagging calves. As in ear-tags. And these calves can not only run super fast, but they can jump, bellow, kick, flip-flop, wiggle, scream, pant, and foam at the mouth like nobody's business. Which in and of itself isn't so bad until you add in an angry, over-protective mother who weights 1200 pounds who also knows how to sprint.

We try to tag the calves when they're little. 5 hours old? Perfect. 2 days old? Not bad. 3 weeks old, like last night's bullcalf? Not a great idea. At 3 weeks, these suckers are big, strong, fast and super stubborn. They also can make a noise like you've never heard before.

Last night presented the perfect opportunity, though, as the mother had walked down to the pasture and left her calf resting peacefully in the barnyard. Ha! The fools! We shut the gate to keep the calf in and the mother out, and the fun started.

Marcel was on lasso, I was armed with the ear tagger. The calf was running wild around the barnyard, but made the mistake of heading into the barn. Ah-ha, gotcha! Marcel caught him around the neck and the fun began. This bullcalf was strong, and started whipping Marcel around the entire barnyard. Marcel was hanging on, trying to get ahold of him to trip him up, but there were hooves flying every which way--and let me tell you, these little calves kick HARD. Finally the calf jumped close to the round bale cage. Marcel took advantage and pushed his body against the cage, wedging him in. I ran up and tagged him as quick as possible: #39. The little bugger.

In the meantime, the kids had entered the barnyard to see if they could help. They could not. But they left the gate open and Honeysuckle escaped into the yard. First off, she was scared to death from all the bellowing and bawling coming from her buddy. And second, she'd never been anywhere outside of the barnyard before, so was immediately disoriented.

Rodeo #2 formed, trying to catch Honeysuckle and get her back in. I yelled at Ana to grab a bottle, the one comfort she knows, while Marcel and Rob were trying to keep her out of the road. We live on a blind hill, the calf was about 6 feet from the road, and we could hear a car speeding in our direction. (A good reason to SLOW DOWN on rural roads, people!) Honey kept running erratically towards the road, then back again. Luckily she froze when the car got close--it was a full-sized van.

How traumatic would that have been? Shudder.

Marcel finally lassoed her, so was able to keep her from the road, and by then I had the bottle in hand and led her back to the barnyard. Whew! What an evening!

One more to go, though. We had to drive down to the pasture to find this one--a heifer calf, about 10 days old. She's still pretty sleepy, though, so tagging her wasn't the issue. Keeping the mother away was. After Marcel lassoed her around the neck, we slowly chased the mother and babe around until they were close to the fence. I drove the PUG inbetween the mom and babe, at which point Marcel grabbed her and tried to tag her.

Only problem? The tag didn't clasp correctly. So now he's trying to get it to clamp down and secure itself while the mother is chasing him around the PUG. I'm warding her off with a stick, but don't want to use it forcefully unless she's really going to attack him because we rely on trust to move these cows from paddock to paddock. Thankfully she's calm enough to not attack, and only wants to know that her babe is OK. Job done, Marcel tired, excitement had.

We really need a sophisticated corral for these jobs. Any anonymous donors out there?

Anyone? Yoohoo! Hello!? Tap-tap-tap. Anyone?

Damn.

Hot Mamas

2010-08-13T09:53:00.001-05:00

We are in the middle of a typical August heat-wave. You know the kind. The kind that turns the winter-haters into winter-aficionados. The kind that creates a perpetual background humming noise, which is the din of a gazillion air-conditioners straining to keep things cool. The kind that gives you that lovely summer glow, a.k.a. sweat-shine. The kind that has you sleeping in your skivies because it's so bleepin' hot in here!

I'm weathering the heat just fine. You see, I've got that typical Irish Catholic point of view that a little suffering is good for the soul. Marcel's holding his own--his Panamanian alter-ego might tell you to suck it up, because this ain't nothing compared to back home in Panama. The real Marcel, of course, would never say that. And the kids are a little more lethargic than usual, but surprisingly uncomplaining. (We don't have air-conditioning. Air-conditioning is for wimps.)

But the cows? The cows aren't happy. And who, really, would blame them? They're stuck in the middle of a field with lots of good food and fresh water, but also lots of flies and the blazing sun beating down on them all day.

They've responded to the heat with a little revolt. Perhaps you would call it a small protest. It's just a small one, but it's there all the same. They've started purposely tipping over the moveable water tank. That's right, they tip it over and slosh around in the ensuing mud like a bunch of pigs. Pigs, I tell you! Since when did a cow aspire to pig-like status?

It's actually quite a problem, though. Because while the huge wave and ensuing splash of cool water and mucking up of my lovely pasture assuredly feels great at the moment, about 15 minutes later they get a little thirsty. Sure, there's a trickle of water continuously flowing out, putting a lovely strain on the water pump, have you. But when you've got 40+ hot and thirsty cows, a trickle ain't gonna cut it.

No lecturing by me is gonna make them any happier, nor will it stop the water-tippin'. So, I'm wondering if this isn't just a bad idea. You know, keeping them on our grazing plan, out in the sun in this terribly-hot weather.

The strict (successful) graziers might say something like, "grazing-cattle must be tough and able to withstand the extremes. You gotta push them to the limit and select for hardiness. How are you going to know which cows are suited to grazing if you provide them with pillows and soft blankets at the first weather-test?"

The traditional cattlemen, the grain feeders, might say something like, "This proves that rotational grazing doesn't work, that it's bad for the cows, and that the confinement and/or grain-based feeding system is ubiquitous because it's the only one that works."

(True graziers and grain-feeders might say this, or they might not. They are a varied lot.)

The mother in me would bring them in to the tree-lined pasture for a few days, to give them a little relief from the hot sun. Which means they would really just stand in the round barn all day, pee and poop constantly until the barn floor is covered in a green soupy mess perfect for breeding more flies, skin infections, and diarrhea in the calves.

The farmer in me, though, is inclined to leave them in the pasture and just check on the water more often. Why? Not because I'm a big meanie, although you can accuse me of it if you'd like. But because for one, I don't want skin infections, flies and diarrhea. And two, if we brought the cows in for every weather-event, be it large storms, heavy rainfall, extreme heat, stiff winds, extreme cold, etc....they'd never be in the pasture!

I'm open to suggestions, though. Let's hear what ya got.

Honeysuckle

2010-08-03T07:46:00.001-05:00

A few photos to interrupt the silence....

Cow/Calf Update

2010-07-18T14:24:00.000-05:00

Our downed mother cow is still down. It has now been 2 weeks and we've lost hope that she'll get up. It's heart-wrenching to see her. She's getting sores on her legs, and her front legs have lost their muscle tone as well.

We've gotten her up using the hip lifters a few times, to no avail. When we lower her to the point where she has to support her own weight, the legs just melt underneath her. They are useless.

The sad truth is we are going to have to put her down. It is a painful decision to make, but we don't want her to suffer any longer. We've kept her as comfortable as possible, with a shade tent over her, fresh grass and water every 2 hours (many thanks to Mom and Gordy for taking over this job for the past week), fly spray to keep the darn things off of her, and some green apples for treats. But she is fading and it is obvious she is giving up hope as well--her ears are drooping and she's no longer making an effort to stand. We are going to have to help her along in her journey so she doesn't suffer any longer.

Honeysuckle, her calf, has given us a few scares as well. For the first week, she would hardly wake up to eat. When we'd call her, her eyes would open and she'd start to lick her lips but she wouldn't raise up her head. It's quite alarming when you grab her by the ears, lift her head up, and then let go only to have her head flop backwards in an awkward position. There were many times where we had to check her breathing to make sure she was still alive. When she'd finally wake, she would eat only a little bit before lying down again.

The past two days, however, have been a different story. All of a sudden she's perked up. Marcel gave her a strong dose of vitamins in the form of a paste and I read online that perhaps I was making her milk too strong. I've diluted her milk-replacer a bit and she's chugging down 2 bottles, twice a day and still asking for more. What a relief!

She really is adorable. Madelina and Armando have taken it upon themselves to be her playmates--riding their bikes around in the barnyard with her, jumping around and teaching her how to kick up her heals. It's pretty hilarious. And she is now my personal alarm clock, mooing loudly at the gate first thing in the morning, awaiting her breakfast. She gets going at around 5:30 a.m., not caring that I don't like to get up that early. Marcel just laughs and says, "Your newest daughter is calling you."

I'd rather he said, "Don't worry, sweetie. I'll feed her."

Oh well. She's doing well and is the one positive outcome from this situation, so I'm not going to complain. OK, so maybe I'll complain a little.

I wish I had happier news to share with you about the mother. If there's one lesson that farmers learn early and often: there isn't always a happy ending.

Mama Cow.....

2010-07-09T08:02:00.000-05:00

...has another calf?

A quick recap of yesterday's fiasco:

Marcel checked on the Mama.

I went to move the cows to a fresh paddock.

Marcel started whistling, yelling, waving.

I knew something was wrong.

Mama cow had a hoof coming out her rear.

Yes, I said a hoof.

The hoof was upside-down.

Marcel inserted his arm.

Yes, arm.

He couldn't find the other foot.

I inserted my arm.

I couldn't find the other foot.

I called the vet.

"The mother cow is having another calf."

"There is only one hoof presenting and it's breech."

"We can't find the other foot."

Vet said, "I'll find it."

Mother cow is lying head outstretched.

Mother cow is moaning.

Mother cow is breathing abnormally.

Vet arrives, gloves up, inserts arm.

Says, "This is going to be a disaster."

Vet pushes calf back in.

Vet works for about 10 minutes finding other hoof.

Vet pulls other hoof out.

He hooks it to the calf-puller: a pulley system used for emergencies.

I drive the tractor close to mama cow.

Marcel hooks pulley to tractor and starts cranking.

Marcel pulls dead calf out.

It was a girl.

Mama cow looks relieved.

Mama cow sits upright again.

Mama cow is all swollen on the inside.

I run home and get the antibiotics in my fridge.

Yes, there is a place for antibiotics and livestock.

This is it.

Marcel gave her 2 large injections, 50 ml total.

Mama cow drinks water and eats a little hay.

I'm stuck with the nagging thought that we failed this mama and the poor dead heifer calf. Did we think she could have twins in there? Actually, yes we did. Did we check for a twin after the first heifer was born. Actually, yes we did. But we only stuck our arm in up to the forearm. We should've stuck our arm in up to our shoulder.

The vet said the calf died about 5 minutes after the first one was born. We have learned a very costly lesson. Again.

This morning the mother cow is sitting upright again.

She is trying to stand.

She is one tough mama.

This afternoon we're going to try the hip lifter.

Basically it's a big clamp.

That you hook to her hip bones.

And lift her with the tractor.

To see if she can put weight on her back legs.

When Physiological Becomes Psychological

2010-07-08T08:00:00.000-05:00

The mother cow's physiological problem has played nicely into my own personal psychological problem. Namely, my fear of having to pull a calf on my own.

So when the mama cow went into labor yesterday, and little hooves were sticking out her rear by 1:00 pm, and the vet told me she wouldn't be able to birth lying down without assistance, and she was literally butted up to the barnyard fence with no way to move her and no room for the calf to come out.....the reality of the situation washed over me and put me into a minor tizzy. It was just me, standing there in the barnyard, swearing a little, realizing I was gonna have to do this by myself, alone. Well, my kids were there of course, you know, but I was basically alone. It was all me.

(This picture was taken after the fact, but shows just how close the mama cow was to the fence.)

What'd I do? I called Marcel and told him he needed to come home from work NOW. Having some backup on the way relieved a bit of my anxiety (i.e., psychological problem). Then I got to work. I hooked the chains around the babe's legs and stretched open the vagina to see the calf's nose. Her tongue was hanging out and her nostrils were not moving--I needed to get the baby out right away.

Since I couldn't get behind the cow, I had to pull on the chains from the other side of the fence. I pulled, the mama pushed, and we got the calf's head out! The calf shook her head a little, she was alive, but now came the tricky part. How do we get her all the way out when there is no room for her? I was worried the mother would break her back when she moved.

So I called in reinforcements. No, not Farmer Scott. Not the vet. Not Marcel--he hadn't gotten there yet. I called my girls.

"Ana! Madelina! You've gotta help me, NOW!" I had them take over my position with the chains on the other side of the fence as I stretched open the mama cow's vagina. The girls pulled as hard as possible, saying things like, "EW! The chains are all goopy," and "This is really HARD," while I stretched the mother open, pulled on the calf's slippery shoulders, and rearranged the calf so she wouldn't get squished. The cow started to accept the help, gave a few good pushes, and the whole calf slipped out.

Thanks to the help of my girls, we got that calf safely out of her mother. 5 minutes later, Marcel arrived. Just in time to help us celebrate our small victory and get to work caring for the mother and babe.

The mother cow can't nurse the calf lying down, so the little heifer has become a bottle calf and has moved up to a stall in our barn. The mother is still down, but she's doing OK. She is eating and drinking water and hasn't given up yet, so we aren't giving up on her either. We fashioned a sort-of tent over her, using a large tarp and some round bale cages pushed up on their sides, to shade her from the hot sun. We're hoping that with the calf born, the pressure on her nerves will be relieved and she'll get up within a few days.

That's our hope: a double happy ending and the end of the mother cow's 'physiological problem'.

Here are some pictures, taken by my sister and Ana, after the calf was born. Enjoy.

Water for the thirsty, tired mama.

Ana, attending the mother.

Madelina and Marcel, rubbing the calf to stimulate blood flow.

More massaging.

Isn't she darling? We're calling her Honey. Honeysuckle.

Ana, trying to feed Honeysuckle the colostrum replacement.

Making some shade for the mother.

The ending to my psychological problem? A successful calf-pull and darling little heifer named Honeysuckle.

Something Physiological

2010-07-06T14:03:00.001-05:00

We are caring for an injured mama cow. We're not sure what happened, but she started limping about two weeks ago, taking care to not put any weight on her back left leg. We called the vet, thinking she had foot rot--a fungus that can cause painful sores on the hoof, but after giving her a thorough hoof cleaning, clipping and check-up he found nothing. "I'm worried it could be something physiological," he had said.

"Something physiological" sounds awfully vague and pretty scary to a beginning farmer like myself. So we locked her in the barnyard with some fresh hay and water which was effectively like sending her to bed for a little R & R.

Fast forward a few days and the poor thing can't get up anymore. She's lying upright and rocks back and forth as if she wants to stand, but then settles back down again, obviously frustrated with her inability to move. We called the vet out again to see if he could better diagnose the problem.

This time he said she must have a pinched nerve in the hip that is making her back leg useless. It could be that the almost full-term calf inside her could be pressing against a nerve. Or, it might be a "physiological injury" for which there may be no cure. He gave her a shot to get her labor started, with the hopes that we can assist her in giving birth, save the calf and hopefully relieve the pressure on her nerve.

Or, we might save the calf and have to put her down.

Or, we might lose them both.

In the meantime, I am visiting her every 1.5 hours, taking fresh cool water to her to drink, bathing her with a little water to cool her down (she's lying in the open sun), and bringing her hay to eat. It's the least we can do to keep her comfortable until her labor begins. Please wish us luck.

Left Behind

2010-06-30T19:54:00.001-05:00

People have left many things behind when they come to buy eggs. They've left egg cartons and money in the envelope, of course, but also sippy cups, shopping receipts, toys, etc.

Today someone left behind their child.

P.S. We were home, child was playing with the chickens, all was well.

P.S.S. Can it get any crazier than that?

P.S.S.S. Don't answer that please. I don't wanna know.

Grassfed Beef for Sale

2010-06-27T08:31:00.000-05:00

Currently Available: Grass-fed, grass-finished beef.

The meat will be available on or around July 14th and processing will be done at Eickman’s Processing in Seward, IL. (All wholes, halves and quarters will be picked up at Eickman’s.) Please place your order as soon as possible, keeping in mind that orders will be filled on a first come first served basis.

___Whole beef, $3.00/lb. hanging weight* (approx. 320-400 lbs. beef)
___½ beef, $3.25/lb. hanging weight* (approx. 160-200 lbs. beef)
___¼ beef, $3.50/lb. hanging weight* (approx. 80-100 lbs. beef)

*Processing fee not included. Processing usually runs about $0.55/lb. depending on how you specify your order. You will need to contact Eickman’s to specify which cuts you prefer.

___Variety Beef Box, $135

Includes approx. 25 pounds of varied cuts: steaks, roasts, round steaks and/or cube steaks, ground beef, etc. Processing fee is included in this price. You will pick up box at the farm.

Our cattle are rotated through organically-managed pastures and have free-choice access to an organic salt, mineral and kelp supplement. They are fed absolutely no grain, hormones or antibiotics.

Send your name, contact information and order to Jackie at comepifa@aol.com. Thank you!

Local orders only. We do not ship or deliver at this time.

Farm Events Galore

2010-06-24T07:55:00.000-05:00

We've been busy this spring. Busy with farm work, yes. But also busy with events. Farm events.

The renewed interest in local food has meant that there are a lot of people suddenly interested in and wanting to visit farms. So far this spring we've been the destination for a local elementary school field trip, we participated in our second annual Openfields Farm Tour, and we hosted a Pasture Walk. All of these events are a lot of fun (and a lot of work).

The first event, the fieldtrip, brought 20 1st-graders and their parents out to see the chickens. Each classroom at their school focused on a different farm animal, organized a field trip around that animal, and then reported what they learned back to the others. They all visited a large farm and a small farm in the same day to see the differences in production styles, which I thought was a brilliant idea.

The kids that came here had first visited Phil's Fresh Eggs in Forreston. There they got to see a video about egg production, they got to see the egg washing machines, the egg sorters, the egg packing machines, etc. Everything is very mechanized--it has to be when you're packing 150,000 dozen eggs a day (!)--and must be pretty cool to watch, especially for a 1st grader! But they didn't get to go in a see the chickens (disease control) and they didn't get to touch an egg (not quite sure why--couldn't they spare a couple?).

When they got here, I let them visit the chickens, taught them about the different breeds and showed them the food that we used. We showed them the baby chicks and explained the difference between those used for meat production and those kept for eggs. They got to hold the chicks and gather some eggs. Every single one of them got to candle their own egg, grade it and put it in the appropriate-sized egg carton. They then took home a few dozen eggs (the teachers insisted on paying for them) so they could each take an egg home with them. I joked that I took no responsibility for school-bus-induced scrambled eggs in their backpacks.

The kids had fun, and so did I, but the best thing that came of that fieldtrip was the packet of thank you letters and hand-drawn pictures I got back from the kids about 2 weeks later. They were absolutely hilarious.

Next, we participated in the Openfields Farm Tour for the second year in a row. I seriously considered not doing it this year because the tour comes at the busiest time of year for us. But it's an Extension event, and I work for Extension, and my boss and co-worker basically told me I had no choice but to sign up for the tour, the big bullies.

That's OK, it turned out to be a lovely day, Laura and Rob and family came over to help, and we had about 90 people come by the farm. Wow!

Look at that farm crew! (Madelina was such a good tour guide she was given a few tips and I even had a lady threaten to steal her away. We definitely have her slated for the marketing and advertising department.)

Here are some happy visitors taking home a dozen eggs. (This lady is running for the county board! She likes farms, so she just might get my vote.)

Rob is taking some visitors out to see the baby calves, which reminds me I need to post some pictures of them soon.

And Ana is taking advantage of the fact that we finally have enough people around to make a good go at a lemonade stand. Marketing and development for her, too.

All in all the day was a success.

Our final farm event was a Pasture Walk. A pasture walk is an informal event for people interested in grazing. It was hosted by the U of I Extension and the Northwest Illinois Grazing Network. Extension did a good job of advertising for the event so we had between 20 and 25 people come, which I think was a really great turnout.

I explained our operation, Jim Morrison from Extension provided some technical information about finishing animals on grass, forage values, grazing techniques, etc., and Ed Johnston from NRCS gave the crowd some information about the EQIP program, which we used to cost-share for our fences and waterlines. There was a nice article in the Freeport Journal Standard about it, so I'll let you read it.

That's right, I'm getting tired of typing. Follow this link:

Pasture Walk

Flynn Family Reunion

2010-06-18T13:36:00.000-05:00

Every summer we have a Flynn picnic at a local Forest Preserve shelterhouse. Everyone in the family is invited, but usually just those of us that still live in the area show up, eat some good food, play a few games and catch up with each others' lives. Every three years, however, is the BIG Flynn reunion. The one where everyone makes a little extra effort to come, even those that live across country.

This year was one of those years. The year for the geographically-extended family to come back to their roots and hang out near Irish Grove for awhile. The Flynn's have been in America for 6 generations and counting. So there's lots of us by now. Here's a small sampling of the crowd. Can you still see a family resemblance?

Lots of cousins.

Lots of Flynn's.

Lots of love.

Change--For Better and For Worse

2010-06-17T08:40:00.002-05:00

I tend to ignore the conventional side of the farm. On this blog, that is. Truth is, I never wanted to be a conventional farmer. Row crops--corn and soybeans--with their genetic potential and maturity dates, their herbicides and pesticides, their crop insurance and FSA payments, their demand for large and expensive equipment, their moisture levels and storage charges--they're not what's got me whistling while I work on the farm, if you know what I mean.

But I want to be very honest with you all about my relationship with conventional row crops, so that you can be honest with yourselves about yours: the row crops on this farm have been financially propping up the organic acres for 4 long years now and they should receive the credit they deserve. And I think I'm safe in assuming that row crops have probably been financially propping up your ability to buy organic and local as well. In other words, we all need to be better about leaving the judgment behind while we strive to do better.

We made some changes this year regarding our row crops. Changes for better and for worse. You see, last year was one of those years that just about breaks a farm. I have already whined and complained enough about the quadruple whammy of last year's high input costs + lower crop revenue + wet harvest weather + a gazillion dollars worth of drying charges, but the result isn't pretty. The result is a farm walking a fine line between financial solvency and financial ruin. I think the most shocking part of the whole situation is that it only took one year to get to this point! One year! (Ok, so the quadruple whammy also coincided with some needed equipment purchases and the removal of one field from the sugar daddy row crops to that cute new hussy on the block named Organic Transition.)

Anyways, since I've run the farm I had refused to plant GMO anything. Straight conventional all the way, baby. I was filled with self-righteousness and an unending optimism that only new farmers have: if it worked before it'll work again.

Except it didn't work. The weeds on our farm are typical of the weeds on most farms that have been conventionally managed for over 50 years--resistant to many conventional herbicides. Yes, we sprayed. And yes, the weeds thumbed their noses at us and laughed all the way to maturity. (Remember those posts that have Marcel and I wielding machetes and felling giant ragweed?) After 3 years of ineffective herbicide applications, low yields and falling farm revenue, I had to be honest with myself that my system wasn't working.

So we changed our rotation to favor corn in order to level out the farm revenue we could expect year after year. We have 3 fields in row crops, which had meant if this year 2 of them would be planted to corn and 1 to soybeans, the following year 2 of them would be soybeans and 1 corn. Corn makes more money than soybeans--depending on the year it can be substantially more. So the way it was, we would have a decent farm income one year and a bad one the next. On and on and on.

We switched our rotation so that every year we'd have 2 fields in corn, meaning field #1 in 1st year corn (corn after soybeans), field #2 in 2nd year corn (corn after corn), and field #3 in soybeans (soybeans after corn). Revenue should level out so that we know, more or less, how much money is coming in. Better income control means better planning means more stability. Stability means less stress and less risk of financial ruin. Whew.

The bad news: corn on corn requires more nitrogen. (We used the same amount of anhydrous ammonia as last year, but also put on a pelletized, slow release product that will give the corn an extra boost as it grows.)

The good news: I planted non-GMO corn again, because the herbicides you can use on straight conventional corn are still effective and because we feed corn to our chickens and grain-fed beef. Our beef, egg and chicken customers don't want GMO feed, so no GMO corn.

Soybeans are another story. Our soybean fields have been a horrible mess and our yields have been falling. There are fewer conventional herbicides that can be used on soybeans and our weeds are resistant to them. It has gotten to a point where they control large percentages of the field, crowding out the crops and competing for nutrients.

The bad news: we switched back to GMO soybeans. Round-up Ready, to be exact.

The good news: our weeds will be better controlled, our yields should increase substantially, and we'll make a little more money off of the field. (More money = more money for that hussy O.T.)

On the fertilizing front, we made a definite change for the positive. A company based in Wisconsin, Midwestern Bio-Ag, sells fertilizers, soil amendments and forage seeds and work with both conventional and organic farmers. They promote balanced, mineralized soils for improved crops. Blah blah blah, you can read more about them on their website.

We have purchased our organic fertilizers and soil amendments from them for the past few years and have had wonderful results, but had stuck with the local Coop for the conventional land. This year I decided that I needed to move forward, even as I moved backward; I needed to give our conventional land some TLC. I gave it a good, healthy dose of readily-available calcium (calcium increase a plants ability to absorb nutrients) and high quality fertilizers with micronutrients and will continue to do so until we get the soil balanced.

What I must do:

1) Get the weeds under control.
2) Balance the soil.
3) Force the hussy O.T. to support herself.
4) Give some loving to the conventional land.
5) Transition the land to organic as soon as financially able.
6) Keep the Repo man far, far away from the farm.

What you should do:

1) Support organics.
2) Support farmers in transition to organic.
3) Support medium-sized family farms, conventional or organic. (These are the ones suffering the most, and the truth of the matter is that conventional farms are better for the environment than housing subdivisions.)
4) Stuff the judgment to the very back of your junk drawer.

Change. It can be good or bad. For better or for worse. But it is what's called for in these tough times.

"The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results". -Albert Einstein

Foresight

2010-04-25T08:32:00.001-05:00

You've seen this picture before. On the left is my Grandpa Lowell, on the right is his brother, my Great-Uncle Donald. They were the second generation of Flynn's to live on and work this farm. They were partners, as you can see noted on the side of the truck, but eventually, as their families grew, they decided to divide the farm between them. Our road runs right down the middle of the original farm, conveniently splitting it in two, so Donald took the west side and Grandpa took the east.

This morning I'm wondering if these men ever imagined that 65+ years and 3 generations later their grandkids and great-grandkids would even still live in the area? More to the point, would they have guessed that their great-grandsons would become great buddies?

Could they have foreseen that these two boys would run free around the exact same farm where they grew up, and that they, too, will share wonderful memories of working and playing with their cousins on this lovely family land?

Maybe they did. Maybe they somehow knew that, even in a vastly different time, the bonds between our family and our land were strong enough to keep us close to home. Or that they were strong enough, at least, to bring us back when we had decided to take on the outside world for awhile.

I bet if they had thought about it they would have seen the possibility. At least they would have felt the hope that it could happen that way. I know that I'm guilty of thinking that way once in awhile. Thinking about whether this farm will stay in this family past my generation. Will my kids, or Laura's kids, or Matt's future kids come back to Irish Grove after they've tried on the outside world for awhile? What about the Donald Flynn side and their kids? Will they? It's anybodies best guess, really; everyone must make their own way this world. But I think I'm safe to say that Grandpa Lowell and Uncle Donald would be pretty pleased to see these kids, these boys, in this day and age, tearing around their barnyard. I know it pleases me.

One question remains, however, and it's something that haunts me from time to time. Do you think Grandpa Lowell and Uncle Donald could have imagined this?

Blog Catchup #2: Going Retail

2010-04-24T08:14:00.000-05:00

Yes, you read that right. Irish Grove has gone retail.

Anyone who knows me personally knows that I don't move too quickly. I decide to do something and then I have to think about it for awhile. Some people may call that procrastination. But for me, it's my own way of time-testing my ideas to make sure my decisions are sound. My nature is to be impulsive and I've found out the hard way that impulsiveness is a terrible trait to have, usually by making a bloody fool of myself.

So, yes, I finally applied for my egg broker's license after deciding to do so about a year and a half ago. Which means this decision must be really sound. And I'm taking about 15 to 20 dozen eggs per week in to Choices Natural Market, where they are being sold next to some "Big Organic" eggs. Time will tell how they fare, but for now it's pretty exciting to see our products in a store.

If you're in Rockford and want to see for yourself, look for our label:

Try a dozen and let me know what you think. I'm pretty sure you won't be disappointed!

Catch-Up #1: Manure Spreading

2010-04-20T16:23:00.000-05:00

I realize that winter and snow are very 'yesterday', but I'm playing blog catch-up. It has been such a crazy winter that I've left you out of the loop on farm happenings. In fact, I've even left you out of the poop loop.

That's right. We had a lovely, odoriferous time not so long ago, on a nice, wintry day in March.

The picture above was my view from the driver's seat of our JD 4020 tractor. I realize that JD 4020 means nothing to most of you, I just added that to prove how farmer-ish I really am.

Marcel was working the blue tractor, loading up the spreader with manure. (That's a NH TL90A, in case you thought I didn't know.)

It takes a little more finesse to work the loader bucket. I can do it, but Marcel can do it better. See? I'm farmer-enough to even admit that someone's better than me.

Oh wait, farmer's never admit shit like that. Strike it from the record.

Once the spreader is loaded up, off I go. Driving a 4020 with a loaded manure spreader takes finesse, too. Finesse and lots of skill. Ahem.

Anyways, I make my way through the stone-quarry pasture, out onto the road and up to the field south of our house. The field will be put into corn this year, so any extra nitrogen is always helpful.

Here's the view as I spread the goods onto the field:

You use a hydraulic control to lift the back gate and then start the PTO, which spins some forks at the end of the spreader. The PTO also moves some fins on the floor of the spreader which slowly push the manure from front to back until it's all out and on the ground. Pretty nifty.

And smelly. "Smells like money", as the farmers like to say. (God, I'm impressing even myself today.)

In the meantime, the cows are totally put out and complaining, and a few are acting all uppity. I overheard one say, "Humans! Look at 'em. They can't get enough of our poop. They're squirreling it away as fast as humanly possible, as if it's something other than yesterday's hay bale. God they're gross."

Hm. I guess I failed to impress after all.

A New Addition

2010-03-29T09:20:00.003-05:00

It wasn't like we didn't have anything else to do Saturday. I had 3 coats of primer to apply to my new (!) kitchen walls (a project which of course necessitated two trips to the hardware store for forgotten supplies), the electrician was out to look at some old wires we had unearthed in the process, Marcel and Rob were finishing up a job we had started two weeks ago--cleaning out the barns and spreading manure, my oldest had plans with a friend at 3 PM, and we were keeping my nephew for the night, whom was supposed to arrive at anytime. I had no food and my house was a disaster, but I was going to get to that, too, eventually.

So when Marcel called to say that the young heifer #19 was in labor and not progressing, I had no choice. Everything else had to be put on hold; we switched gears and jumped into 'birth-assistance' mode. #19 had never given birth before and is quite small, so we knew she might have problems. Marcel was already up there cleaning up the manure pile, so he kept an eye on her as I quickly excused myself from the electrician's conversation about his beagle puppy, grabbed the kids and gathered the birthing-assistance tools: 3 straw bales for clean bedding, rubber gloves for Marcel and I, and the birthing chains.

When I arrived, the chute we use to confine the mother had been pushed out of position during the manure operation, so we had to get the tractor and move that first. At this time the mother was prostrate on the ground, pushing with little progress. Her eyes were strained and her neck outstretched--we needed to help her, fast.

Next we had to separate #19 from the rest of the herd. This is the worst part--how horrible to have to chase a laboring mother around the barnyard, knowing what she is going through and worried about the life of her calf. We separated a group of 5 from the rest and corralled them into the barn. Once in, it was pretty simple to get the others out (they know something's up and want out of there!) while keeping her in. The nice thing about a round barn is that the cows follow the contour of the walls and don't get hung up in corners where they might decide to turn around and go the other way. So #19 kept walking until she reached our 'capture area'. We have a gate secured in place that runs from exterior wall to interior wall, blocking her progress, at which point we swing a hinged gate around from behind and capture her in a small triangle-shaped pen.

At the wide side of the pen is a door to the exterior with a cattle chute on the outside. The chute is the only way out of the enclosure, so the cows try to walk through it to the outside. As they progress through the chute, we close the headgate around their neck, shut the reargate and voila--we've got 'em! Now we can vaccinate them, castrate calves, pregnancy check, you name it. Here is a picture from last year, showing how it normally goes:

In this case, however, we didn't catch the mother in the headgate--we shut it before she gets that far so that she has some free movement within the chute. And instead of shutting the reargate, we put a large 2X4 board through the back of the chute about thigh-high, preventing her from backing up but giving us access to her nether-regions.

We immediately gloved up and got to work. Marcel inserted his hand into her vagina to find the calf's hoove. I passed him the chains and he hooked one end around each foot, just above the second joint so as not to break the calf's ankle as we pulled. This is harder than it sounds, and took him a good 10 minutes. Once the chains were in position, we hooked handles onto the chain, waited for the mother to push and then pulled with all our might. Literally. It is really hard to pull a calf and it takes awhile to get that babe out of there. We noticed the calf's tongue hanging out of its mouth--not a good sign. So I told Marcel to keep pulling as I tore away the placenta from the calf's nose. The nostrils were moving! The calf was trying to breathe, so it was still alive!

If we could just get that head out. I pushed up on the cow's labia to help widen the pathway as Marcel pulled. All of a sudden the mother gave a good push and the head slipped out. Now we had to quickly change tactics: if the mother sat down onto the 2X4 board, she would kill the calf. We had to let the calf hang there through a contraction to help squeeze the liquid out of its lungs, and then get it down quickly and gently. Here is a photo from last year showing Farmer Scott pulling one of our calves. He is a dairy farmer from down the road and taught us how to assist difficult births.

Isn't that amazing? He did this by himself with some assistance from my brother-in-law (my sister was taking photos). That's what I call experience.

Anyways, I stood underneath the calf and wrapped my arms around it (they are super slippery!) as Marcel pulled. The mother pushed, Marcel pulled, and I caught the calf. Well, I helped break its fall to the ground at least. Did I mention how slippery they are? We removed the board and pushed the mother back into the pen where she went to work licking it, cleaning it, and mooing gently at it.

It's a girl! And she is a strong, spunky little calf. We stood around and watched her try to stand up, which was the entertainment of the day for my kids. They laughed and laughed as she stumbled and toppled over, head over feet, more than a few times. But she did it. Within 2 hours she was walking, nursing, and checking out her new home. Pretty amazing, isn't it?

Here they are, mother and daughter, immediately after she was born. Welcome to Irish Grove, little lady.

31 Thoughts

2010-02-11T07:35:00.001-06:00

Two nights ago, I received a startling phone call at 12:54 a.m., from my dear husband, who had gotten stuck in the middle of a snow drift, about a mile away from home, after working a 12 hour shift, fixing snow plows that keep the roads passable, during a snowstorm that dumped 8 inches on us, with 30 to 40 mph winds.

He said, "Get dressed, don't wake the kids, grab the tractor, don't worry about the loader bucket, it has the blade on the back, and come plow me out."

Here is my progression of thoughts, upon receiving this phone call:

1. I'm warm and sleepy.
2. It's cold and snowy and windy out there.
3. I don't want to go.
4. Marcel needs help.
5. He's stuck in a snow drift.
6. It's just around the corner on Trask Bridge.
7. It's really not that far.
8. Maybe he could walk home.
9. We could get the car out in the morning.
10. Anyways, why didn't he take Brick School Road?
11. Everyone knows you should take Brick School when it's cold and snowy and windy.
12. Armando was sick yesterday.
13. What if he needs me?
14. I shouldn't leave him.
15. What kind of mother leaves her sick kid alone at night?
16. What if the girls wake up and don't find me here?
17. Marcel called and he needs help.
18. I don't feel so good.
19. Maybe I've caught the flu from Armando.
20. It'd be hard to clean up vomit from the cab of the tractor.
21. And then we'd be stuck driving a tractor that smells like puke for the rest of the year.
22. I think I've forgotten how to drive the tractor.
23. Anyways, it's cold and snowy and windy out there.
24. And if the situation was reversed, Marcel would not want to get out of bed and plow me out.
25. But he would.
26. And he'd come as quick as possible.
27. And he wouldn't make me feel bad about waking him up on a cold and snowy and windy night.
28. Aw, crap.
29. I'm going out into this cold and snowy and windy night.
30. To rescue my husband from a snow drift.
31. I'm a good wife.

Someone Likes Me

2010-01-27T13:31:00.000-06:00

Someone named Tim likes this blog. Well, shucks! Thanks, Tim.

He put me in a list of good farm blogs to read. A top 30 list, even. Harvestin' Blarney made the top 30! Eat that, pop rock stars.

Of course it's his own personal opinion. It's not like anyone voted or anything. But hey, I'll take it. As we say around these parts, "Beggars can't be choosers." (Please don't ask me what that means. It's just what we say, got it?)

There's no tellin' what fame and stardom are gonna do to a smalltown farmer like me. I hope the animals are prepared for the paparazzi. Which reminds me: I'd better go get the cockleburs out of the horses' manes. And I'd better stop saying cockleburs--someone might get the wrong idea.

Anyways, Paul's list of most sensational, inspirational, celebrational, muppetational--oops, I got myself confused with the Muppet Show for a second there--farm blogs can be found here:

http://www.bestcollegesonline.net/blog/2010/30-old-macdonald-had-a-farm-blogs/

Over and out, peeps. And I don't mean the chickens for once.

Morning Admissions

2010-01-22T12:24:00.001-06:00

Today's the day. The day I come clean.

You see, I've been hiding something from you. Something that I've been too ashamed to admit.

It's not that I've meant to decieve you in any way, it's just.....well, it's just that sometimes it's easier to say nothing than to come clean about things like this.

And anyways, it's not like any of you have asked. But still. You read this blog to learn about farmlife, to see how things are really done, to get a taste of rural life. You've helped me get through the many trials I face here on the farm, the difficult decisions and the many mistakes. But most importantly, you've helped me celebrate those rare triumphs, those few things that I've done and done well.

So I owe you. I owe you the truth.

OK. Here it is. Here goes nothing. Here's the deep, dark, shameful secret I've been hiding all this time:

I do morning chores in my PJ's.

I don't take the time to get dressed before doing chores. I just throw on my coat and boots and go tend the animals. I have been known, even, to duck into barns or the garage if someone is driving by so they don't see me in my blue-striped pajama pants or my grey sweats that are too short. I know! The shame of it has been killing me.

Think what you must, but that's the bare truth of it. That's how things get done here on my farm. Weird but true.

Get Comfortable....

2009-12-26T13:32:00.000-06:00

because this Christmas letter is long. (Why aren't you surprised at that?)

So go grab yourself a cup of tea, sit back and enjoy...and have a happy New Year!!

As I sit down to write this, there’s a sign for our egg customers on the barn door that reads, “Skunk Attack! Eggs are in the House.”

A week ago, I tried to unhook the snow blade from the back of the tractor but had the support stand in the wrong place. The blade fell forward, got stuck on the tractor hitch and Mark Highland had to rescue me.

A few months ago, our grain-fed steers got loose and wandered over to a farm about a mile away. We’d never met these people before, but proceeded to spend 4 long days there trying to get the cows out of their soybean and corn fields.

Farming is an excellent lesson in humility!

We’ve made progress, that’s for sure, but our successes have occurred only after many spectacular failures, embarrassments or desperate pleas for help. If it weren’t for my inborn Irish stubbornness and my superbly capable husband, I would have thrown in the towel long ago. We have learned a lot in the past few years, though, and we’ve come a long way since that fateful spring when we found ourselves with a farm to run and no idea how to run it.

For instance, we have a solid base of egg customers and a long list of people waiting to buy our grass-fed beef. Selling directly to consumers keeps us from feeling too isolated out here in the sticks, gives us better price control for our products, and can also be pretty hilarious. Recently a woman called to say she was coming for 3 dozen eggs the next day. When I told her I didn’t have any saved and that the hens are only laying a dozen and a half per day, she replied, “Well, I’d like 3 dozen. I’ll be there in the morning.” I wondered if she thought I had a hotline to the barn, “Ladies, ramp it up in there. We’ve got a big order to fill!”

People’s desire to be more closely connected to their food source is real, though. We try to honor that desire by answering questions, welcoming people to the farm, and doing our best to ensure a high quality product. There is no doubt that we’ve benefited immensely from the renewed interest in local foods and we feel very fortunate that these people have decided to support us.
2009 was a good grazing year. The cattle herd was finally big enough to utilize our pasture and moving temporary fences every few days presented a good occasion to walk amongst the cows, check on pasture conditions, and test the strength of the electric charge (ouch!). Calving was challenging, to say the least. Of 17 pregnant cows, we had 10 first-time mothers, 4 of whom ended up needing birthing assistance. Scott Swanson was gracious enough to be “on call” for us, and Laura and Rob even got the opportunity to pull one (with Scott’s help) while we were in Eagle River for our annual Peace Corps reunion. By the 4th calf, though, Marcel and I felt confident enough to try it on our own. We were thrilled when we successfully pulled the calf and he survived.

Like most farms, we had a tough year for crops. High input costs, a cool, wet summer, and a very wet fall made for the perfect storm: lower yields, lower test weights, high moisture counts and a difficult harvest. I think the wet harvest hit the guys the hardest, though--Marcel, Rob and Matt were all disappointed that they didn’t get to load the grain bin this year. The harvest wasn’t the same without the hustle and bustle of moving wagons.

Finally, 2009 brought one more addition to the farm--Mom’s new husband Gordy. We understand why Gordy fell in love with Mom (she is wonderful after all), but we do wonder if he had his head on straight when he agreed to move out to the farm. In the past year he has been roped into more cattle round-ups, fence moves, childcare ventures and boring farm discussions than he probably ever thought possible. And being the Flynn’s that we are, we aren’t prone to pass up the opportunity to put an able-bodied individual to work! So we welcome him to the fold and apologize in advance.

We know there will be more farm adventures in the New Year, surely more mistakes and hopefully more successes as well. We thank you for your love, support, and especially if you’re a local farmer, patience over the past year.

All of us at Irish Grove Farms wish you and yours a very Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Jackie & Marcel, Laura & Rob, Matt, Marcia & Gordy,
the kids, dogs, cats, horses, goats, chickens, and cows. (Phew!)

Moving

2009-11-21T16:24:00.000-06:00

We decided we couldn't take it anymore.

The hassles.....

the trials, the tribulations of maintaining two homes.

I was tired of cleaning two places,

Marcel was tired of supporting both households......

it was just too much.

So we did it.

We moved.

We actually moved.

The chickens.

Tremors

2009-11-18T07:49:00.001-06:00

We are all colored by our personal experiences. So when your house starts to tremor, what immediately comes to mind?

If you're a Californian, you may think: earthquake!!

If you live near a highway, you may think: semi-truck!!

If you're from an oil-rich nation, you may think: gas explosion!!

If you're from New York, you may think: another terrorist attack!! (God forbid.)

If you live next to a gravel pit, you may think: ho hum.

But if you live on a farm, you think: animal escape!!

'Cause we didn't miss a beat last night, at 9:30 PM, as we were watching a heart-wrenching story on Frontline (PBS) about the Iranian elections, when our house started to shake and tremble.

Instead of grabbing the kids and getting into the doorway, or running to the basement, or grabbing the gas masks, or saying "ho hum", we ran to our windows to witness:

Two horses and two goats running circles around the house, kicking up their heels and having a fine old time.

Once in awhile, I'd just like a dull moment. Is that so wrong?

A Teacher For Once

2009-10-31T11:24:00.001-05:00

It's not often that I get to write a post about teaching a farmer skill to someone else. Most of the time I'm learning. And screwing up. And learning from my screw-ups.

But looky here. I'm teaching my friend Andy how to kill, pluck (or skin, as in this photo--she wanted to keep the feathers) and gut a chicken.

Processing chickens is a skill that is being lost as we slowly lose our grandparents. It's also a skill that in suprising-high demand. Who knew?

I like passing on a bit of knowledge once in awhile. It makes me feel like a real farmer for once.

Finally! A Small Farm Advantage

2009-10-27T08:44:00.001-05:00

"Rain, rain go away. Come again another day."

It's been THE rainiest growing season I can ever recall. A wet spring made it difficult to plant the crops. A wet summer meant it was difficult to make hay. And a wet fall has the harvest at a complete standstill.

If you recall, I was a fall-weather-whiner last year as well, with rain delaying harvest, corn moisture levels extremely high, etc. etc. I should have saved my breath, because last year was a walk in the park compared to this year. With the weather forecasted to continue in this wet and cold pattern, I don't foresee getting the corn out of the field until December. Which means we might be fighting snowy field conditions.

I have to admit that being a farmer has made me a little cranky. (My family may argue I've always been cranky--don't listen to them.) But my crankiness really comes out when in company with a person that starts to wax rhapsodic about "farmers (said with a negative tone) who are making money! hand over fist! as they farm fencerow to fencerow! with no consideration of the environment! in pursuit of the almighty dollar!" People eat this line up, man. They are all over it. If you want your own popularity to soar sky-high, try that line out. I guarantee you'll have people murmuring in agreement, possibly a small applause, and definitely an increase in groupies. (Hey, everyone needs a few groupies.)

What these people don't realize is that our livelihoods are mostly out of our control. Grain prices soared last year to record levels. So did trucking fees, basis levels (what elevators charge for handling our grain), fertilizer and input costs, diesel prices, drying charges, etc. Don't blame a farmer for trying to squeeze a few hundred extra bushels out of his or her land, is what I'm trying to say here. The survival of their farm depends upon it.

This year is even tougher. Grain prices have come down a bit, but we were forced to pay for much of the aforementioned input fees during last year's highs. Add to that our wet year, and we're talking near disaster.

Wet grain means thousands, yes thousands, of dollars in drying charges. Wet grain also means that even if you're able to harvest your crops, the grain elevators won't take them because the moisture counts are too high. What does one do with thousands of bushels of grain and nowhere to go? Wet fields increase the likelihood of soil compaction at harvest, which causes a myriad of problems in future years. And wet weather means low quality hay and fewer cuttings (read lost income).

While we're on the subject of hay, I have to point out one distinct advantage Irish Grove has over other farms: we have livestock. Most people, including us, have given up on their 4th cutting of hay. The alfalfa and grass hay fields sit there, unharvested, taunting us with the lost opportunity and lost income. Except, wait! We have cows. And hay fields with fences.

Cattle prices are too low to make sense for most smaller farms, so cows are usually relegated to large feedlots that can take advantage of bulk pricing discounts, etc. etc. Ignoring the drawbacks that come with large feedlots, the results are that farm fences have been torn down. I don't blame anyone for this: fencing is extremely expensive to maintain, not to mention a royal pain in the arse--they easily become overgrown with weeds and brush. (Anyways, one may be able to fit a few more corn rows where that fence used to sit. Don't hate.)

But we graze our cows and fences have gone back up. So while we may not be able to take that 4th cutting of hay, we can run the cattle through the field and they will eat it green instead! After some heavy frosts, the plants don't have the same nutrient availability as they did during the summer months, but it's nutritionally equivalent to dry hay.

So, the cows harvest the hay on their own and save us time and money spent on harvesting a hay crop. They keep greenhouse gases out of the atmosphere (no tractor driving), fertilize the land by pooping and peeing, which in turns keeps greenhouse gases out of the atmosphere (no need to mine for and truck fertilizer in). Oh, and we won't have to feed them as much dry hay this winter, leaving more to sell to our neighbors. Brilliant!

Small farms like ours have few advantages over large farms, so it's nice to finally find one. Maybe it'll help a bit with my crankiness! If so, my family will be thanking the cows on a daily basis.

Found and Lost

2009-10-02T22:23:00.001-05:00

We found the cows: four white Charolais steers bedded down in a waterway in the middle of a farmer's beanfield.

The same four white steers that farmer Tom's fieldhand has seen while mowing a waterway. The ones he had called Tom about, the ones Tom had called Stewart about, the ones that Stewart had called Mr. Palmer about, and yes, the ones that had caused the hired hand to be the butt of some good-natured jokes. Those cows.

Turns out the family at that pretty Campbell Road farmstead we had visited 5 hours earlier had known that there were white cattle sightings on their land, but had forgotten about it when they determined Tom's hired hand was a dope.

A lesson for us all: hired hands aren't dopes.

Well, news of finding the lost cattle traveled quickly and by this time we had a small posse of locals rounded up to help us....maybe 10 people or so. We decided to move the cattle back up that long farm lane and divert them into a 5 acre pasture. From there we could get them into a corral, load them up into our trailer, and have them outta there.

The first part of the plan went rather smoothly. It took only 45 minutes or so to get the cattle moving up the lane and into the pasture. Marcel quickly went home to get our trailer, which he backed into position at the end of their corral. We shifted our positions around and had a nice three-point-corral system laid out. Marcel and the other guys would herd the cattle into the corral and Laura would shut the first gate behind them. Then Mary (a neighbor) would push them into a second area of the corral and shut another gate. Monica (Stewart's wife) and I would keep them moving straight up and into the trailer, finishing the show of pure herding talent with a slam of the trailer door.

What a plan! We were so confident of success, even, that we ordered a few pizza's.

The cows, however, had a different plan. They weren't returning to the captive life without a fight and wouldn't go into the corral. After a long and painful hour, we had another stroke of bad luck. One steer broke away from the group and leapt right up and over the pasture fence as if he were an albino deer. *ahem* He ran back down that long lane and returned to the beautiful beanfield with the stream and cottonwood tree. NOoooo!!!

Well, we chased him for a bit but decided to call it a night. We collapsed upon Stewart and Monica's chairs, ate some pizza, drank some beer, and made friends with our neighbors on Campbell Road.

To be continued........

And I promise the next time will be the last. This suffering must end soon.

Lost and Found

2009-09-20T16:03:00.003-05:00

We were at the intersection of Campbell and Pecatonica roads, in the corner of our neighbors' beanfield, and had lost the trail. The cattle had run into the road, that much we knew, but to where?

We drove down Campbell Road to a beautiful farmstead where some cattle of ours had "visited" before, in the late 1980's. (I remember helping my Dad round them up and watching him mutter and curse under his breath. I also remember that while he seemed mad, he also seemed like he was thoroughly enjoying himself.) We pulled in and asked an older gentleman and what looked to be his daughter if they'd seen 4 white steers come by. The daughter told us that no, they hadn't seen anything but that they'd keep their eyes out for them. We drove away disappointed and returned to our neighbor's beanfield. Again.

At this point, Marcel was very diligently trying to find more cow tracks (oh, how I wish I were talking about ice-cream) while I was quickly losing patience with the slow pace of the cattle-sleuthing. You see, I can sometimes be an impatient person. I can also sometimes downplay my personality faults. But honestly, while Marcel was going all Sherlock Holmes on me, I was in the pick-up truck worrying about cow-car accidents while trying to keep the 3 kids from strangling each other in the back seat.

We decided to split up. That way he could continue dusting for hoof-prints and rubbing his chin thoughtfully, and I could drive around like a madwoman in the pickup truck and trespass on other people's farms. All in all, another win-win situation.

It was at this point that I called my sister Laura. She's always first on my list of who to call when there's trouble on the farm. Ahem.

Could she be oh-so-helpful and get Madelina to her birthday party? 'Cause we're, like, a little busy trying to find our cows that escaped. Laura was the first of many to exclaim "The whole herd?", referring to our herd of 42 grassfed cattle of varying ages, sizes and maturity levels. Thankfully, no. They were still happy as clams (what does that mean?) in their pasture.

As usual, Laura came through for me. Not only did she get Madelina to her party so I only had 2 kids wrestling in the backseat, but she joined the search party afterwards. Marcel was CSI-ing it in the beans, I was trespassing on area farms, and Laura was driving her van around the local roads, stopping in and asking anyone who was outside if they'd seen some cows. We had all inadvertently fallen back on our personal strengths: Marcel was being diligent; I was multi-tasking behind the wheel; Laura was talking.

And the talking saved the day. Saved the day, I tell you. Laura stopped in at a Buffalo farm (yes, you read that right) and the owners told her that no, they hadn't seen the cows, but their neighbors down the road had! Laura called me just as I had pulled into my driveway in defeat. She told me she had a lead: there had been a sighting and I should meet her at such and such farm on Campbell Road. According to the buffalo farmers, these people had seen the cows.

Wait a minute! That is the same farm where I had stopped 4 hours ago and they said they hadn't seen them. What is going on? I drove over anyways, met Laura there, and once again the nice lady told us they hadn't seen anything. At which point our hearts sank. We had been so hopeful, so excited to at least have a small lead. But then, this time, the nice lady said, "Feel free to drive down the lane and check around if you'd like."

By this time Marcel had arrived (cow-sighting-news travels fast), everyone hopped into the pick-up and off we drove down the nice lady's farm lane. The lane was long, and it divided a large pasture with trees and some dairy cattle on the left from a very large cornfield on the right. AS we drove on, we got to the bottom of a long hill and into the middle of another soybean field where the lane basically joined up with a long waterway running through the middle. There was a pretty cottonwood tree in the waterway and a gentle creek flowing through.

One forgets how pretty it is here in Irish Grove until you drive down a lane into the center of a farm. You're away from the road and houses and there's a quiet peacefulness that fills your soul. The gentle rolling hills, the contrast between soybeans, corn and pasture, a small herd of cattle dotting the landscape: the pastoral beauty leaves you absolutely speechless.

Laura and I were admiring how pretty it was back there while Marcel jumped out and started poking around. Soon he found an area of long grass that had been flattened by something. And wait, a cow pie! Hail Holy Mary, he found a cow pie! Poop had never been so well received as in that moment.

By this time, we had all jumped out and were poking around. "Yep, looks like they've been here awhile. They bedded down here, and there's a trail leading this way...and over there. And look, there it goes that way..." And then, all of a sudden, there they were. It was 5:00 PM and we had been searching for 8 hours. But we found them: four stupid white Charolais steers bedded down in a waterway in the middle of a farmer's beanfield.

To be continued.....

Rewind

2009-09-18T17:55:00.002-05:00

It was Thurday, and Farmer Stewart received a phone call from Farmer Tom. Tom told Stewart that his hired hand was doing some mowing on the Palmer farm--a dairy farm that butts up to the back of Stewart's land--when he saw four white cows bedded down in Stewart's waterway.

This didn't seem too hard to believe, especially since Stewart rented one of his own pastures to Mr. Palmer for some dry Holstein cows and a bull. But Stewart was busy tending to his other farm in another town, and so was unable to run down and see for himself. Instead he called Mr. Palmer up, told him his cattle had gotten out, and to go gather 'em up again.

Now being a farmer--a mighty poor farmer as is now painfully obvious--I know that these calls are the ones you dread the most. "Ah, sh*t!" is usually my own personal response, but I'm sure Mr. Palmer (whom I don't know) is much more civilized than I; he probably just shook his head a little.

I'm also pretty sure it didn't take Mr. Palmer long to get down to the pasture to check out the situation--a cattle escape is something you attend to NOW. But funny thing is, Mr. Palmer's cattle were lazing around nice and happy under a few trees in a pasture corner. He counted them: one, two.......yep, they're all here. And then, get this! Then, as the responsible, non-sucky farmer that he is, he also walked the perimeter of the pasture and checked his fence.

He checked his fence? My, what a novel idea!

And by golly, his fence was fine! Sure it was a little bogged down by weeds in a few places, but that trusty electric fenceline he had put around the inside was working like a charm. Mr. Palmer cows won't be trampling another farmer's crops anytime soon.

So then something happened that was bound to happen. You see, there's this well-kept secret that only those of us foolish enough to call ourselves farmers know about. It's the bread and butter of a farmer's day to day existence. It's better than coming home to a home-cooked meal, better than growing a record-setting corn crop, yes, even better than toodling around in your brand new souped-up gazillion-horsepower tractor.

Farmers just absolutely love to humiliate other farmers when they make a mistake.
And seeing four white "ghost cattle" in a waterway is one of those mistakes that no one makes.

And so the jokes began. Farmer Tom's poor hired hand was teased to no end about seeing "ghost cattle", about not knowing the difference between a deer and a cow, about how there might be one albino deer in the area, but four?? Etc. Etc. Etc.

Yes, I'm sure that poor hired hand was the laughingstalk of the coffeeshop. And I'm also sure he'll quite possibly never report a rogue cow ever, ever again.

The Escape

2009-09-18T07:26:00.003-05:00

It was Saturday, and we had plans. Over scrambled eggs, the girls and I had decided I would take Ana (and Armando) shopping that afternoon after dropping Madelina off at a birthday party. It was a good plan, a win-win: I had the whole morning to get some jobs done around the farm, Madelina could hang with her buddies, and Ana could "you know, like maybe go shop around Kohl's or JCPenney's; you know, do girl stuff." (Insert lots of hair fluffing and hand waving, Lord help me.)

Ana was so excited about our plan that she ran upstairs to put on mascara. I don't let her wear makeup on a regular basis but try not to make a big deal of it when she does; my theory is the more we freak out about stuff, the more the kids want to do it. Wrong or right, it's my theory. And anyways, have you ever seen pictures of me in high school? Holy cake-face.

I digress.

It was beautiful outside, so I decided to sweep the sidewalks and garage. Marcel had already finished probably 15 major projects by now--he's a total overachiever like that--and was impressed by my surprising show of Saturday morning ambition. We were chatting as I swept, and he mentioned that the cattle hadn't eaten the grain he had given them the night before. Had I seen them yesterday morning when I fed them?

**Insert note here: We are feeding grain to 4 Charolais steers that are not a part of our grassfed beef herd.**

"Well, no, actually. They weren't in the barnyard when I fed them. You don't think they could've gotten out do you?"

Marcel replied calmly, "Nah. I'll go check on them down in the pasture."

It is at this point that I'd like you to understand how the pasture that connects to our barnyard is at the end of a very long lane. It isn't uncommon for us to go a day or two without seeing the cattle. What is strange, however, is that they hadn't eaten their feed. Ground corn and oats is to a cow what a Snicker bar is to a teenager, if you know what I mean. It might give them pimples or a muffin top, but they're not gonna pass it up.

It took all of 25 seconds for Marcel to see that they were gone and had pushed through the fence down by the sweet corn: the electric fence had obviously not been working. A situation like this makes a farmer like me go "Doh" and slap my forehead. If you have livestock you absolutely must have a working electric fence. You see, cows are an awful lot like rich people's kids. Sure they have their every need and want fulfilled by their over-indulgent parents, but that only fuels their desire to break free from their suffocating life of priveledge to experience freedom, danger, a walk on the wild side, man.

I'd better stop with the lame metaphors before I cause y'all some stomach illness.

We grabbed the kids and set off on a long day of looking for the cows. We started the search by walking our cornfield, stop #1 on the cow's Freedom Tour. We found their trail and our hearts sank when the trail crossed a section of downed fencing into the neighbor's soybean field. Cursing ensued.

We drove over to the farmer's house and asked them if they'd seen 4 white cows. "Nope, but feel free to walk the farm," which we proceeded to do, to no avail. We did find the cow tracks around the whole perimeter, though....the cows had made a complete circle around the field. What the...???? Maybe they had returned to our cornfield??

They hadn't, but we did. We even saddled up a horse to help us cover ground as we, once again, searched for cows in our 60 acre cornfield. We saw no new signs of them, however, so we went back to the neighbor's field and re-followed the tracks. Sure enough, we found a spot where it looks like they ran out into the road. A very busy road. Oh Lord help us, someone could've been killed had they driven into a cow.

Unfortunately this is where the trail went dead. There was no cow poop, no tracks, no nothing to be found in any direction. It was noon, we had been searching for 3 hours, and we had lost the trail.

To be continued.......

Break Out

2009-09-13T07:47:00.002-05:00

We're starting day two, yes DAY TWO, of a first class, bona fide Irish-Grove cattle round up.

No, this is not the open rangelands of the West. But our 4 Charolais cattle think it is. They've found themselves a nice new home in the midst of a neighbor's bean field. Did I mention the bean field is a mile away and across a very busy road? Or the fact that we didn't know these people before yesterday? Yes, it's a tricky situation. One that has been much alleviated by the complete graciousness of the farm owners. I'll fill you in on the whole sordid story once we get these buggers caught.

We're off. Wish us luck......

Dudes

2009-08-03T16:02:00.001-05:00

Irish Grove dudes.

Don't mess with 'em.

Letter to the Editor

2009-07-09T15:28:00.000-05:00

A local foods advocate published an article in the local Rockford Register Star about the health and environmental benefits of pastured meats. Sure enough, a rebuttal of sorts was written as a letter to the editor. Here's what it said:

The article about pasture-fed meat (“Pasture-fed meat packed with benefits,” Go, June 17, 2009) contained several misconceptions.

Livestock raised on pastures is not less stressed or healthier. According to researchers in Canada, Australia and Germany, the opposite is true.

Livestock raised in pastures — also called “free-ranged” — is more prone to diseases and parasites and is exposed to weather extremes, including cold, rain and wind. Such animals are also more vulnerable to wild predators, such as coyotes, and must constantly forage for food and places to rest. As a result, mortality rates are higher.

Feedlots and other confinement systems enable producers to closely monitor the health of animals under their care.

As to the statement that meat from pasture-fed livestock contains higher levels of omega-3 fats: Omega-3 fat is found in soybeans and fish meal — feed ingredients not available to pasture-fed animals but commonly fed to animals raised in feedlots.

Pasture-feeding is not more environment-friendly. Animals on range often foul streams and waterways. On the other hand, feedlot cattle recycle food that consumers do not want to eat.

Ever wonder what happens to all that stale bread at the grocery store? It is fed to animals in feedlots.

As you can see, the guy's logic is a little screwy. Anyways, the local foods advocate asked me to write a rebuttal to his rebuttal, as I am a pasture-based farmer. Here's my letter (hoping the paper doesn't let this go on and on):

As manager of a grass-finished beef operation, I find Mr. ___________'s rebuttal to your article on pasture-fed meats interesting. He is correct that feedlots recycle many unwanted food items. Stale bread may not alarm anyone, but The Wall Street Journal reported that feedlot cattle also recycle “cookies, licorice, cheese curls, frosted wheat cereal, Tater Tots, Kit Kat bars, uncooked French fries, pretzels and chocolate bars.”

Feedlot operators monitor the health of their herd by assuming they are all sick. After reading that feed list, I don’t blame them. As a result, all feedlot cattle receive daily doses of antibiotics to “preserve health”. In contrast, pastured animals are naturally healthy and receive daily doses of sunshine, fresh grass, and the freedom to move about. Antibiotics are rarely needed for a pastured animal (and never used on organic cattle).

Cows shouldn’t eat fish and can produce Omega 3’s on their own by eating grass. Cow waste should drop onto a grassy field where it fertilizes the soil. And yes, cows can die--either of natural causes or unnatural living conditions. I invite the public to visit both a feedlot and a pasture-based farm. Inform yourself and support whichever farm-model you find acceptable.

I know I left a lot out, but had to keep it to 200 words. Anyways, I tend to be a bit long-winded. We've got to think of the poor newspaper-reading public, you know.

Farm Logo

2009-07-08T10:13:00.003-05:00

Here's our new farm logo. What do you think?

2009-06-30T09:36:00.003-05:00

Last night as we checked on the cows, number 11 couldn't resist the urge to check out Marcel. This is the story as it unfolded:

But wouldn't the story be funnier if it were shared in reverse?

Sorry, honey. I couldn't resist.

Whippersnappers

2009-06-29T07:27:00.007-05:00

Rountine chores on a livestock farm can be a pain in the you-know-where because of the numerous small obstacles you must pass through in order to get to the work at hand. Whether we must check on the animals, move fences or cut hay, we have to pass through a handful of those necessary but pesky fieldgates.

Now opening and closing fieldgates is easy. Easy as spreadin' butter on a hot summer day. But each gate requires us to stop vehicle, exit vehicle, open gate, re-enter vehicle, drive through gate, stop vehicle, exit vehicle, close gate, re-enter vehicle and be on our merry way. Usually we're on that merry way for about 2 minutes at which point we come upon another fieldgate through which we must pass.

This is where the little whippersnappers have started to come in real handy. Now all I do is drive up to the gate, sit back, relax, and let the kids earn their keep.

Please observe the beauty of our new fieldgate routine:

Armando finds it easier to undo the chain from the other side of the gate. Hey, I don't care. I'm kickin' back in the truck, jammin' to some tunes and checkin' for nose hairs in the rearview mirror.

Look at the little whippersnapper, all hard at work. Sometimes the chain gets hooked up on the barbed wire and stops him up a bit, but the little bugger is determined, man. Ain't no barbed wire gonna get in his way.

At this point I've moved on from nose hairs to my eyelashes....didn't they used to grow thicker than this?

Oh, well look at that. He's gotten it! Time to snap out of my rear-view-mirror beauty session and get to work.

Armando not only opens the gate, he opens it with style. Lookin' good, bozo-brain!

And there it is. The signature thumbs-up. Gate's open and I can drive on through. Easy as slicin' chocolate pie on a hot summer day. I tell ya, kids really come in handy on a farm.

Next time I'm bringing along a nail file. Farms can be hell on the hands.

Of Life and Death

2009-06-13T13:39:00.005-05:00

The last time I wrote about learning opportunities I was scoffing at a silly mistake I made that could have broken a part on our tractor. In all honesty I was making a joke to deflect my embarrassment at being a dope. A dope that forgot to unplug the tractor before she drove it.

What I've come to realize, however, is that being a dope and breaking a tractor part or two is the least of my worries when it comes to the farm. The farm is about more than that. It's about more than a simple tractor part, and it's definitely about more than my silly vanity and pride.

The farm is about life and death. Life and death. It's as simple and basic as that.

The lessons I need to learn and the opportunities that have arisen to provide me with those very lessons have been numerous and varied this spring, as are the emotions that come with the living and dying on this farm. These circumstances have come at a time when I have been feeling impatient with the farm's progress, with the organic conversion, and with the cows who hadn't calved and who also hadn't been very cooperative in my new grazing systems. "I've been at this three years," I kept muttering. "It shouldn't still be this difficult."

Yet three years didn't prepare me for this:

This is our bull and a pregnant cow lying dead in our pasture. They were struck by lightning during a thunderstorm.

Two good cows gone. All of a sudden my grazing difficulties don't seem all that important. Instead, my impatience was transformed into dismay and concern. Our bull was so gentle and easy-going. How could we replace him? And this mother cow was one of our lead cows, not to mention that she was due to calve any day now. Death on the farm. It happens, but who expects to find this scene after a routine thunderstorm?

The cows were extremely distressed, so we moved them to another pasture so we could remove the carcasses. In fact, I think it was stress that put one heifer into labor. Our very first calf of the season was born that night. Ironically, the bull's first offspring was born the day he died:

We named her Storm. And she is a beautiful, spunky little Murray Grey.

Life and death at the hands of a lightning bolt.

The shock wore off after a few days as I busied myself with smaller farmer duties--you know, the ones I like to do because I can manage them. The ones that rookies can't screw up. (And if we do, we can write funny little stories about them.)

But then my favorite heifer was in labor, number 11, and she was in trouble. She had progressed to the point where the calf's hooves were coming out and then stalled. We let her work for 2 hours wondering if we should pull the calf or let her alone. A cow will suspend her labor if stressed, so if you bother her too soon you'll cause problems. And yet if you let her go too long, both she and her calf could die.

As a rookie, I have no experience in making these calls. And the literature says you just have to have a "feel" for it. Great. That's helpful.

Finally we decided to pull it. We corralled her into the chute and called Farmer Scott from down the road. He's a dairy farmer and is absolutely not a rookie. He showed us how to hook the chains around the calf's second foot joint and then how to pull it down and away from her backbone. He and Marcel strained, and I mean strained, for about 10 minutes. They got the calf out and he lived, but barely. And number 11 was OK. Ahhh, life. Sweet, sweet life.

Disaster was averted and a lesson was learned.

Or so I thought. Because today we lost one. A nice large heifer calf died because we didn't pull her soon enough. We acted quicker than last time, but the placental bag hadn't broken. Farmer Scott came to help once more and told us that if the bag isn't broken in time, the mother can't get enough traction to push the calf out and the calf suffocates.

I had seen the intact bag and thought it had meant there was time. Precious time, ticking away for that poor little heifer calf. "It's hard to say," said Farmer Scott. "Sometimes an intact bag means you should leave the mother alone a little longer. You just have to get a feel for it."

There it is again. That "feel" thing. The way I see it, the "feel for it" is a farmer's way of saying you need to be experienced enough to know. And as easy as it may be to learn to drive a tractor or make good hay, this calving thing is throwing me for a loop. A very precarious loop. After two difficult births, it's hard to say if I'm really getting a "feel" for calving or not. The first time we waited longer and had a live calf. The second time we acted and it wasn't soon enough.

I am, however, getting a "feel" for the ups and downs of farming. The joys and sorrows. The celebrations, the frustrations...the life and death of it. I'm just not sure I have enough experience to know how to deal with it.

My Bad Week Continues

2009-05-21T12:06:00.004-05:00

I went out this morning for my regular chore routine, which involves:

Feeding grain to the Charolais calves

Letting the chickens out to pasture

Checking the horse/goat water tank and filling if necessary (it was)

Walking around and acting important

This amounts to a whole 10 minutes worth of "work", so you can see I've got it pretty tough.

But then I checked the egg refrigerator and noticed that the eggs weren't collected last night. That happens a lot when I work my two evenings at Atwood. It's no big deal--really--it just means that I have to stick my arm under hens that are laying today's eggs in order to collect yesterday's eggs. Understandably, this doesn't make the hens too happy. They squawk at me, fluff their feathers up all big and poofy, and once in awhile a real grumpy one will peck at my hand. Hen pecks don't feel too good, so I've learned to hold their heads in one hand while fetching eggs with the other.

Well, as I walked with my egg basket into the dark corner of the barn where the nests are, I noticed a hen cowering on the floor. Her head was all bloody and she was looking pretty beat up. Oh no. She was injured badly enough that I knew it wasn't just a pecking order injury--she had been attacked by something. And when something gets into our barn it's usually one of three animals: a raccoon, an opossum, or a skunk.

Raccoons kill lots of chickens in one night. We've had raccoon attacks that wiped out 20 birds in one fell swoop. The most frustrating part is that they eat only the chicken's brains and neck. They like the blood, not the meat, and so waste the rest of the carcass.

Opossums will kill only one or two chickens at a time because they will tend to sit and eat the meat. They are also a lot dumber, and don't leave the barn once daytime rolls around. Instead they find a dark corner to hang in, where inevitably they meet their demise at the hands of a few unnamed farmers. Ahem.

Skunks usually go for the eggs first, although they'll take a chicken if it's conveniently in the way. I can usually tell if one's around before I walk into the barn because of their signature perfume, but I have had 2 really close calls with skunks in my barn. I consider myself very lucky, because a skunk can accurately hit a target up to 12' away. Yikes.

Obviously we don't want any predation on our hens, but we'd prefer an opossum or even a skunk over a raccoon anyday. When I found that bloodied hen, however, my heart sank. Her head was bloodied, her body perfectly fine. It must have been a raccoon. Which means there will be other casualties.

I walked slowly around the barn and found 4 more hen carcasses. Four large, healthy, young hens...lost. And another dying.

That's the type of week I've been having. A long, crappy, frustratingly bad week. What next?

Frustration

2009-05-19T12:14:00.003-05:00

You know those lovely cows I've been so enamored with? And how I think rotational grazing is the most awesome kick-butt farming system out there?

Well today I can't stand either one. And the only butt that's getting a kicking is mine.

I'm frustrated. F-R-U-S-T-R-A-T-E-D.

You see, we've been working hard to set up our leader/follower grazing system. What is a leader/follower grazing system, you ask? A leader/follower system is where we take a section of our pasture and divide it into small paddocks. The yearling calves that are fattening for market are let into that fresh paddock first. They eat as much yummy goodness as they can until they get moved to a nice fresh paddock the following afternoon. They are the leaders.

The followers are the pregnant mothers and the bull. Once we move the leaders into their new paddock, these ladies (and one guy) get put into the paddock just vacated by the leaders. They clean up what the leaders left behind, which includes some yummy goodness, but also the less yummy stuff like weeds, alfalfa stalks that have been stripped of their delicious leaves, etc.

This systems allows all of the cattle to fulfill their nutritional needs, but the leaders get first choice at the sweetest, highest energy plants in the paddock, which translates into nice meaty grassfed steers by the end of the summer.

Sounds great, right? Harrumph.

First off, it took us two days and many trips to Farm and Fleet to get the system set up. We had the water tank, but the float didn't fit it. We got the float to finally work, and then the connection was leaky. We got a new connection but then needed longer hoses. Hoses in place, we found we needed another polytape reel for the extra paddock divisions. Trying not to lose my patience, I bought or found what was needed and moved forward. You see, Marcel isn't so sure about this grazing stuff, and I didn't want to show any weakness in the system.

Which in hindsight makes me laugh. Or cry.

Here we are, getting the water tank in place. Ah, the confidence I was projecting. I look pretty convincing, don't I?

Next we sorted the calves at our place, loading the grassfed steers into the trailer and leaving behind the four Charolais calves that we're going to grain feed. We haven't been too enamored of these Charolais so far, and Sunday was no different. They are so skittish it makes the whole group nervous. Because of them, the separating took a lot longer than planned.

But we got it done, and hauled the Murray Greys over to Mom's pasture. We let the steers into their 'leader' paddock, where they got to rub noses with their mama's across the electric fenceline.

And all was well. For one day, at least.

'Cause on the very second day of grazing, my lovely children were having so much fun running through the tall, lush pasture grasses.......

that they spooked the leader calves right through the electrified backline that separated them from the mama cows.

Oh the joy!, the ecstasy!, the sheer delight that overcame these calves as they were reunited with their mothers once again. It almost brought a tear to my eye.

Almost, but not quite, as this wonderful, joyful reunion undid two solid days of work on the farm. It undid the previous day's work, plus the long day's work of separating the calves from their mamas that happened a few months ago. On a not-so-nice day, if you recall.

By this time I'm feeling discouraged. How are we supposed to re-separate the calves from the mothers in the middle of the pasture? How are we supposed to keep the bull away from those two young, impressionable heifers that he now has access to?

Most importantly, how do we restart our leader/follower system without discouraging Marcel? I need him to buy in to this system because...well, frankly because he's the backbone of this farm. Without his enthusiasm and belief in this system it'll be an uphill battle for yours truly. One that I will likely lose.

Ok. So we need to re-separate the calves, but at least for now they're happily grazing in a nice, fresh paddock, right? Wrong.

When I went to check on the cattle this morning I found two very stubborn, curseword-inducing calves outside of the temporary electric fencelines. They had somehow escaped the paddock.

You've got to be kidding me!

It's not like they were going anywhere, as the perimeter fence would keep them in the field, but the water was in the paddock. And on a sunny, windy day like today, they'd soon be thirsty.

I called Marcel and grumbled in his ear for awhile. He suggested that I take down the whole system, let all of the cows back into the barnyard, and we'd start all over later tonight. "OK. You're right. That's fine. I'll take it all down."

NOT.

I hung up, grabbed the pick-up truck, picked up Armando from preschool, and proceeded to torture him (and those two darn calves) for over an hour. I even broke the first rule of cattle rusting--never herd cattle alone--but I'd be d*mned if I was gonna take all that work down and accept defeat.

I moved the mothers, calves and bull into a fresh paddock full of yummy goodness so they wouldn't pay mind to the fact that I was lowering the electric fence on one side. I pinned the fence down for a 20-foot opening, and then chased those two stubborn calves around the open field until they finally (finally!) saw the opening and crossed over.

I swear they stopped in front of the opening at least 6 times before they decided to cross into the paddock. And speaking of swearing, I think I gave my 4 year old an education, if you know what I mean.

So there you have it. My frustration runneth over, my rotational grazing system runneth amuk, and my yearling heifers runneth with the bull. And I'd better stop saying runneth, or I'll be talking with a lisp for the re-thst of the day. Laugh.

At least I'd be amused. That's a lot better than frustrated.

Visit Irish Grove Farms!

2009-05-14T07:46:00.004-05:00

Irish Grove Farms is participating in the Openfields farm tour on May 24th!

Take advantage of this great opportunity to come and see just exactly what it is we're doing with this lovely farm of ours. We'll tour the pastures and visit the grassfed beef cattle. We may even get a peek at some young calves. You could collect an egg or two, climb up a hay shaft to the second floor of a milking barn, or find out exactly what a round barn looks like on the inside. Kids can feed carrots to the horses and goats; families can bring lawnchairs and a picnic and enjoy our hidden pasture for a bit. Better yet, you could just hang for awhile with the wackiest rookie farmers in the area.

Hope to see you!

For more information and a map of all participating farms, visit the University of Illinois Extension--Winnebago County website:

www.extension.uiuc.edu/winnebago

Calving Season

2009-05-02T08:30:00.003-05:00

Calving season is upon us.

May is the month our calves are scheduled to be born, if the bull did his job right, that is. And how hard is it? All he's gotta do is be a typical bull and work the crowd, so to speak. He doesn't even have to compete for the ladies. He is their only option.

I do believe he did a regular fine job, though, because I saw him all frisky and sly, all coy and cudly; I saw him whispering sweet nothings in the cows' ears and.......umm......maybe I'll just leave it at that. A bull deserves some privacy, doesn't he?

In defense of my creepiness, when the future of your farm depends upon one bull doing his thing correctly....well, I'm trying to say that my spying from the edge of the field had nothing to do with any socio-psychological problems of my own. Really.

Lord help me. This farm stuff can be embarrassing.

Anyways, i.e., how can I get myself out of this awkward situation, what I'm trying to say is that I'm really looking forward to seeing this:

and this:

I love how they play follow the leader like that.

I also love how they strike a pose and act all tough like this guy:

And then, of course, there's this sweet scene:

Oh, dear. Maybe a call to my therapist isn't such a bad idea.

A-Rollin' and A-Crimpin'

2009-04-17T15:27:00.005-05:00

We got it!! We got it!! We got the grant!!

Back in November, my friend (and partner in crime) Andrea and I applied for a North Central Region SARE Farmer Rancher Grant. SARE stands for Sustainable Agriculture Research and Education and is an organization that supports and promotes sustainable farming and ranching. According to their website, they offer competitive grants and educational opportunities for producers, scientists, educators, institutions, organizations and others exploring sustainable agriculture. The title of our grant application was Roller-crimper Construction and No-till Organic Weed Control Trials.

You see, weed control is an organic farmers #1 problem. Organic farmers can't spray their crops with herbicides, and so have to rely upon heavy tillage for weed control, which can lead to soil erosion and a continued dependence on fossil fuels. Conventional farmers have their no-till, where they don't till the soil at all and just drill next season's crop into the left-over stubble from the previous season. This technique does a great job of controlling soil erosion, but unfortunately depends upon heavy herbicide applications to kill the weeds.

Andrea, however, read one day about a roller-crimper being used for organic no-till agriculture at The Rodale Institute in Pennsylvania. She told me about it and we ooh-ed and aah-ed over it for days. I may have even drooled a little. You see, I haven't been able to convert to organics as fast as I'd like because we don't have much farm equipment. It costs lots of money (literally hundreds of thousands of dollars) to buy the various plows, cultivators, and planters needed for an organic crop farm. If we could do no-till organic, then we'd only need to buy a roller-crimper and a planter. But the question remains, how well does it work? I mean, sure, it works on Rodale's farm because they've been organic for over 25 years. But would it work in the Midwest, in our climate, on our tired, overworked soils?

Quickly thereafter, we received an email from our friend Margie at Extension about an opportunity to apply for a Farmer Rancher grant through SARE. In typical Andrea and Jackie fashion, we thought about it for maybe 2 minutes and said, "Let's go for it!" Did I mention we had 10 days until the grant application deadline? We put our heads together and worked like mad women literally all day, every day, for every one of those 10 days--writing, editing, budgeting, editing, finding collaborators, editing, etc. etc.--until we finished. The grant was due at 4 PM Nebraska time and I pushed the 'send' button at 2 PM.

The remarkable thing is that neither of us are experienced grant writers. But our enthusiasm built steadily throughout the 10 day process and we knew that when we had sent that application we had done a pretty darn good job.

Even so, I didn't really think we'd get the grant. (I have this thing about second-guessing myself.) So you can imagine my surprise when we arrived from Panama to a message on my answering machine from Margie, "Congratulations. You got the grant!"

To which I eloquently exclaimed, "Holy Sh*t! We got the grant!"

Anyways, here's a picture of a roller-crimper in action:

To utilize a roller crimper, you plant a fall-seeded cover crop on your land. By the time you're ready to plant your field to a cash crop the following spring, be it corn, vegetables or what have you, the cover crop is mature. You mount the roller-crimper onto the front of your tractor which will, as the name suggests, roll and crimp the cover crop, killing it and creating a weed-suppressing mat. At the same time, you pull a weighted planter behind the tractor that will cut a path in the thick mat and plant your seeds. Only one pass through your field to roll, crimp and plant, which saves time and diesel fuel. Brilliant!

We proposed three demonstration plots at three separate farms. At Irish Grove Farms, I will compare weed pressure in my no-till organic corn plot (using the crimper and cover crops) to the weed pressure in my non-GMO no-till conventional corn fields that will get sprayed with an herbicide for weed control. Andrea, at Hazard Free Farms, will compare weed pressure between her no-till organic melons and her organic melons that rely on heavy tillage/hand weeding. Another farmer, Kathryn, will compare her organic no-till sunflower field with a field where she interseeds a companion crop into her sunflowers for weed control. All 3 of us will also do cost comparisons, keep weather journals, the whole 9 yards. We will also hold field days where people can come out to see what we're doing.

Three different farms. Three different crops. All using the roller crimper. Pretty exciting.

Our hope is that the roller crimper will be an effective weed suppression tool for organic fields. But we realize that our one-year trials will face some major obstacles (weeds). Especially since our land has only been recently taken out of chemical-intensive agriculture. It takes years to rebuild the soil. As Midwestern Bio-Ag's founder Gary Zimmer says, "You've gotta earn the right." Meaning you have to do the long, hard work of rebuilding the soil before you can expect great yield results from organic no-till.

Honestly, we haven't earned the right to expect great yields from our organic no-till plots. But we know for a fact that we can still learn a great deal about weed control in organic agriculture. We want to test how well the roller crimper works, and how much time it will buy us in weed control. Even if the cover crop mat is effective through June, that is long enough to reduce herbicide use by 50% in conventional fields. Which to me is huge.

Anyways, I'm super excited and a lot nervous about this opportunity. I'll be sure to keep you posted as we get started.

Why So Expensive?

2009-04-13T13:10:00.002-05:00

Many people have asked me why grass-finished beef is so expensive. They don't understand how a cow, eating grass, could be more expensive than one that eats grains. I mean, it's just grass, right? Everyone can grow (and does grow) grass, so therefore grass-finished beef should be cheaper.

Me being me, I do a rather bad job of explaining the costs involved in raising grass-fed beef, mostly because it's pretty darn difficult to recite a cost-benefit analysis in anything less than a 10-minute, one-sided and extremely boring "talk-at-you-not-with-you" conversation. Snore.

It is at this point that my friend and marketing consultant, Angela, would wag her finger at me and tell me to not focus on production costs because people buy with their emotions, not their knowledge.

Well, I see her point. But it also makes me seem a little shifty and a lot shiesty when I answer the "I don't understand why it's so expensive" question with an "Ours cows are happy. Our land is happy. The environment is happy. We farmers are happy. That 12 oz. steak will cost you $25, thank you."

For the record, Angela did not advise me to say that. I came up with that hair-brained answer on my own.

But in all seriousness, I believe that people who truly want to know the "why" should get an honest answer, so I'm gonna try and list some of the costs involved in raising grass-finished beef. This list is surely not complete and only corresponds to the costs incurred in Irish Grove. Costs will be different for different farms.

SPACE
Grass-fed beef cannot be confined to a small barnyard. They need pasture, and lots of it. The general rule of thumb is 1 acre of pasture per cow-calf pair (mama and babe) per year. Got 40 cows with calves? You'll need 40 acres of pasture, which means 40 acres of land that won't be planted to a cash crop.

INFRASTRUCTURE
Animals require two things that cash crops don't: fences and water. The investment we've made, so far, in fencing and water systems has cost us about $15,000. And that's after receiving an EQIP grant from the government. The beef cattle have to pay for this. And it shows up in your meat costs.

PASTURE QUALITY
Quality beef requires high-quality pasture. Which means expensive seeds and fertilizer, specialized farm equipment, and lots of skill to properly manage the land. We also buy more-expensive organic seeds and organic-approved fertilizers to improve the health of our land. Imagine a good $10,000 to get a 40-acre field started. Then add $2000/year for fertilizers and reseed costs, if necessary. (Winter happens.)

CATTLE
You can't use just any old cow in a grass-fed beef operation. The cows must be medium-framed and finish well on grass, meaning they'll reach market weight by 20-22 months and marble well . This limits our sources of eligible calves, which makes it more practical to raise our own. Unfortunately, raising our own is more expensive because we not only have to feed the calf, but we have to maintain the mother and a bull as well.

WINTER
Winter is the most expensive time of year to have cattle. We must have plenty of high-quality hay on hand during the winter because we can't supplement our cows' diets with grain. This means more land in hayground or it means we purchase hay from a local grower at market prices plus transport costs.

I'm sure there are a myriad of other things I've forgotten here, and by this time tomorrow I'll be kicking myself about another inefficient conversation, but you get the point. Grassfed beef is expensive to raise.

So why do it?

HAPPY COWS
Cows raised on pasture are healthier, requiring less medication and veterinary calls. Cows are ruminants and are designed to eat grass only. Feeding cows grain is like feeding your children a diet of fruit snacks and Snicker bars. Sure, they'll grow and they'll certainly fatten up. But is it good for them?

HAPPY LAND
We live in the Prairie State. Our natural landscape is prairie, otherwise known as grasslands. Grasslands are the natural habitat for large ruminants. Grass-fed beef is farming that mimicks nature--it improves and restores the land to its natural state, which in turn restores habitat for many threatened prairie animal and bird species.

HAPPY ENVIRONMENT
While grassfed beef operations seem quite inefficient at first glance, in fact our land is sequestering carbon (grasses sequester more carbon dioxide than trees) and saving gallons and gallons of fossil fuels. Our cows harvest their own food, for goodness sakes, which translates to fewer tractors planting, spraying, harvesting, hauling and grinding feed. The cows even spread their own manure!

HAPPY FARMERS
While our happiness may seem like our own responsibility, I would argue that it behooves all of us to have happy farmers who make a healthy living off of their farms as our neighbors. Happy farmers are more likely to preserve green space, care for their land and welcome you onto their farm in the spirit of transparency and community. They will show you what they produce, how they produce it, and then you can decide for yourself if that's a product you would buy. Try visiting a CAFO and see what reaction you'll get. (One that likely results in an escort service, if you know what I mean.) Most importantly in this day and age of sprawl, loss of open space, and a degradation of our rural culture and farming knowledge base, happy farmers are more likely to live on, work on and pass their farm on and into the hands of the next generation, not into the hands of that developer.

Hmmn. It looks like my happy cow sentence might not be that ridiculous afterall. I'll have to ask Angela what she thinks about it. In the meantime, do the costs of grass-fed beef still seem ridiculous? Hope not, 'cause I didn't even touch on the health benefits for eating grassfed meats.

Thankfully, some else has done that homework. For information regarding the health benefits of eating grass-fed versus grain-fed, check out Jo Robinson's website: www.eatwild.com

And if that's not enough for you, well then I give up already.

Vacation

2009-04-10T08:13:00.002-05:00

Your seriously inexperienced, underpaid and over-appreciated rookie Irish Grove farmers have returned from their much needed vacation. Not to say that we don't love it here in Irish Grove, we do. But the last 3 years have been exasperatingly full of non-stop change. Change of the life-altering type.

Dad died. Marcel and I had a momentary brain fart and took over the farm. I developed stress-related Rosacea. (So in addition to grief and stress I got to look like a frickin' bumpy red tomato face.) Grandma Ruthie died. We bought out Aunt Nancy and Uncle Jim's share of the farm for a pretty penny. I use the word 'we' here in a most general fashion, if you know what I mean. Marcel and I bought the house and 5 acres from the newly established Irish Grove Acres, LLC (namely, Mom, Laura Matt and I). We also established the farm's business entity, called Irish Grove Farms, Inc. We paid our attorney and accountant some serious cash. And then we decided to go organic, much to the chagrin of our most beloved local farmers.

Now I've got a question. Don't they say that ignorance is bliss?

'Cause somehow in my case, ignorance has been a stressful, Rosacea-inducin', sleep-preventin', head-scratchin', mind-boglin', marriage-testin', steep uphill-battle.

Of course I should add that I decided to go back to work part-time just 3 months after Dad passed, my kids have stubbornly refused to stop growing up and involving themselves in normal kid stuff, and Mom decided to go and get married, of all things. That's right, she's planning on merging a whole new family into this craziness!

To the Dirkson family, I have only one thing to say. "Run For The Hills While You Still Can!" There. Don't say we didn't warn you.

So when you heard the "Calgone Take Me Away" screams echoing through the neighborhood, I really meant it. And luckily someone did take me away. (Although it wasn't Calgone....Marcel wouldn't have approved.)

Someone named Marcel took me away to Panama for a whole 2.3 weeks. And it was lovely. Divine. Peaceful and serene.

We spent 2 weeks surrounded by Panamanian family and friends whom we love and who love us right back. 2 weeks of 90 degree sunshine bliss. 2 weeks of not knowing anything about world economics, Korean test missiles, or mass shootings. 2 weeks of Spanish speaking. 2 weeks of playtime heaven for the kids, who literally ran wild with their cousins from sun-up to sun-down. 2 weeks of home-picked oranges, grapefruits, coconuts, and other local fruits found on their farm.

2 weeks away from the stresses of Irish Grove. Just what the doctor ordered.

"Irish Grove, I love ya. But sometimes too much togetherness can lead to problems. Hope you don't take it personally."

Happy to be back and at it once more. Your favorite rookie farmer,
Jackie

Country Girl Goes to the City

2009-03-19T18:26:00.007-05:00

We leave for Panama tomorrow morning.

And it was exactly one week ago today that I had a rare moment of clarity. An awful, stressful, panic-inducing moment of clarity.

It was about 10:30 PM and I had gone to bed. I was lying there thinking about everything I needed to do to prepare for our trip. And, coincidentally, feeling rather self-congratulatory at how organized I (thought I) was.

As I was falling asleep, however, a disturbing thought crossed my mind. A horrible, dread-inducing, heart-sinking-ly terrible thought: Passports.

I knew, knew in that very instant, that Madelina's passport was expired. I jumped out of bed, to check, and sure enough, I was right.

I have been suffering mild anxiety attacks ever since.

I can't breathe. Can't. Breathe.

What to do? Well, thank heavens Chicago has a passport office. (The next closest is located in Washington D.C. Or Houston, TX. Or Denver, CO.) And we found a telephone number to call to make an appointment for passport emergencies. Luckily we could get in right away, so we dropped all other plans and headed to the Windy City the next day.

Madelina was happy, because she got to skip school and make a trip with her parents to the Big City. And the Big City to a country bumpkin like Madelina is pretty darn exciting. She was all "Wow, look at that!" "Whoa, mama, look at that!"

So I gave her my camera and let her take pictures of whatever she wanted.

Here's Country Bumpkin in her natural habitat, after climbing down the rope from the hay loft:

Here's Country Bumpkin on her way to the Big City:

Here's what she found exciting about the Big City.

A pretty church.

Airplanes flying over the highway. This was a BIG highlight.

The El train.

And graffiti.

But then.

Then!

Then she saw something wondrous.

Something incredible.

Something unimaginable.

She saw the Oscar Mayer Wiener-mobile.

With an Irish theme, no less.

And then, well, then this Irish Grove Country Bumpkin felt right at home.

And I dare ask, who doesn't wish they were an Oscar Mayer Wiener?

Boots

2009-03-12T08:07:00.002-05:00

Galoshes?

Or shit-kickers?

You decide.

Sorting Cattle

2009-03-10T20:16:00.002-05:00

In Irish Grove, the time has come to separate our young Murray Grey calves from their mommas.

Unfortunately for the calves, this is pretty darn awful. They've got a good life...I mean, who doesn't like a little milk with their hay? Add in a mother's watchful eye, some playful nudges here and there.....well, there's no better feeling in the world than Mom.

But the mother cows are pregnant, you see. And if you've ever been pregnant and nursing a babe at the same time, you'll know that it isn't much fun. And then you've got a certain bull with a certain, um....drive to, um......well, you know....checking out those poor little heifers, all innocent and cute and much too young to be initiated into such wordly matters.

Yes, it was time to move the babes onto the next phase of life.

Of course, we picked the most lovely of all late winter/early spring days. It was so lovely, in fact, that more than a few Irish Grove farmhands tried to get out of the job.

But being the whip-crackin', ass-whoopin' farmer that I am, I was having none of it. I mean what kind of farmer reschedules a work day because of a little rain?

Marcel and I are all geared up and ready to get working

and yet Marcel's still stalling on account of the rain, the wimp.

When you separate the cattle herd, all of a sudden space becomes an issue. All the animals need access to a water tank and shelter. We've got two barns and two groups of cattle. No problem, right?

Wrong.

'Cause we need shelter and water for the horses and goats, as well. And if you've read this blog for awhile, you'll know that Lucero and cows don't mix.

So we spent a few hours moving the horses and goats to the chicken pasture. First we had to get the animals to move, and then we had to move the gear. Or bale cages, to be more specific.

You see, horse bale-cages and cow bale-cages are different.

The tractor has ahold of a horse hay-ring. You can see that the sides are open at the top. In the background is a hay-ring for the cows (on its side). There's a top bar on that one with diagonal supports. The cows have to stick their heads through the holes to eat while the horses get to raise their heads high and chomp in fashion.

Life is stacked against the cows at most every turn like that.

Anyways, Marcel brought one cow cage down from Mom's place for the calves, changed the horse cage over into the chicken pasture, and then filled them both with hay. In the meantime, I was very handily opening and shutting the gates for him. Yeah, it's a no-brainer, but also an immense help and time-saver for the tractor driver.

After everything was in place, I walked the lane down the hill and back up to Mom's, opening all the gates through which we'd soon be running the calves. Did I mention it was raining?

It's pretty much not a good thing when your pasture has been converted into a mini river.

Anyways, to make an already long story a little bit shorter, we got the calves shut in the round barn and sorted out rather nicely. I gave my mom the camera to take some action shots, but then we had to ask her to hide around the corner because her presence in the doorway was keeping the calves from wanting to run out. Sorry Mom.

So unfortunately I have no pictures of me manning the exit gate, swinging it open to let a calf out when it came round the bend and quickly shut again to keep the momma's in. This was pretty hard, seeing as both my boots and the gate were sticking, in that suction-type way, in the ankle-deep "mud".

No photos of Gordy, our most recent Irish Grove addition (and Mom's new beau), as he dodged the bull and bravely shoo-ed the calves through the barn

No photos of Marcel, cattle-handler extraordinaire, as he weaved in and out through the mass of cows, calves and bull--31 of them to be exact, skillfully separating the mothers from the babes and telling me when to open the gate, and when to quickly shut it.

Just this photo of us in ankle-deep in "mud" after we had the calves first separated,

and this one, after we had successfully driven them through the pasture, up the lane and into the barnyard at our house:

A job well done.

Haunted Barn?

2009-03-09T19:53:00.002-05:00

A little earlier I snuck out to check on the calves.

We separated them from their mommas yesterday so they're not too happy. In fact, we couldn't sleep last night from all the bawling and bellowing. Poor babes.

But when I got to the barn, I saw something that made me rethink my assumptions. Maybe the calves were bellowing and bawling for another reason.

A super scary reason. 'Cause this is what I saw in the bullshed tonight:

Ahhhh!! What is it? A ghost? A monster?

An evil spirit come to whisk me away?

Umm.....It's a spirit, all right.

A spirited 4-year old that's come to finish me off.

This face gets me every time.

Processing

2009-02-27T18:33:00.005-06:00

We're hearing a distinct clamor in Irish Grove these days.

What began as a few appeals, inquiries, and an occasional nudge, perhaps, has steadily grown to what I might deem a racket, a ruckus, a downright cacophony.

Allright, so cacophony may be a slight exaggeration.

People want chickens. They want home-grown, cage-free, organically-fed, pastured chickens. And I can't say I blame them.

Most of you know how I feel about store-bought chickens. If not, go get enlightened here.

But raising a couple hundred chickens for these nice, chicken-loving souls who find themselves at the mercy of Tyson concentration camps....well this endeavor holds one very large, daunting, avoidance-inducing problem for your friendly Irish Grove farmers.

The problem is the processing. Butchering. Killing. There I said it. Yes, unfortunately we have to kill the birds to eat them. PETA followers be satisfied.

(An aside: Joe Salatin says PETA stands for People who Eat Tasty Animals. Which is funny for everyone except PETA members.)

(In full disclosure, I used to be a member of PETA.)

(And a vegetarian.)

The only USDA certified processing plant in Illinois is in Arthur, IL. Which is a 4.5 hour drive from here.

4.5 hour drive!!

This would be my day on processing day:

2:00 AM: Load chickens into crates.
3:00 AM: Leave for Arthur.
7:30 AM: Drop birds off for processing.
8:00 AM: Take truck to car wash for cleaning.
9:00 AM: Eat something.
10:00 AM: Try to nap.
2:00 PM: Pick up processed chickens, pack into coolers.
3:00 PM: Leave for home
7:30 PM: Arrive home.
8:00 PM: Move chickens to freezers.
9:00 PM: Shower!
10:00 PM: Collapse in bed.

How much fun is that!?!?!

Seriously, guys. When we talk about sustainable farming, we sometimes forget to take into account how sustainable the operation is for the farmer, as well as for the land and animals.

Can I do this once each summer? Sure, definitely. Would I do this more than once? Not so sure. Would it be worthwhile to invest time and money into the cages, coolers, moveable chicken pens, etc., for one trip to Arthur with 150 birds or so? Yeah, probably not.

And therein lies the problem. I want to raise chickens for ya. I really do. I know the demand is there. So I ask you:

Would you buy chickens that were processed on the farm?

Would you come on a pre-planned day, bring your own plastic bags, bag your own processed birds, and keep your committment to do so?

Most importantly, would you mind buying chickens that have been processed while on roller-skates.

I'm really asking the hard-hitting questions now, aren't I? But I ask for a reason:

We call this photo Roller Pluck.

Honestly, home processing is really the only way I can imagine raising chickens for ya. Let me know what you think.

Selling the Farm

2009-02-17T09:16:00.006-06:00

If there is one thing that repeatedly upsets me, it's seeing a 'For Sale' sign in the middle of a corn field.

'For Sale' due to foreclosure. 'For Sale' because of a job transfer. 'For Sale' because of a death in the family. 'For Sale' because the kids have all moved away and there is no one left to run the farm. 'For Sale' because I'm just plain tired of working all the time.

There are a million and one reasons to sell the farm. And I, someday, may claim one of them as reason to sell my share of this farm, God forbid.

I think, though, that the most common reason to sell the farm is this: Mom and Dad are retiring, and it's time for us kids to cash in on the American Dream.

Is there anything wrong with that? Honestly, it's everyone's right to claim their inheritance and to transform that land into whatever currency most fits their lifestyle. And a lot of times, selling the farm is the most practical, obvious solution to the 'problem' of inheriting a farm.

So why does it bother me so much?

On an intellectual level, if I could be so bold to claim that I even have an intellectual level, it makes sense. I get it. But on an emotional level (which I definitely have), it kills me.

Especially because reality dictates that whoever purchases the farm will likely be a developer waiting to turn that farm into houses. Or they will be an absent landowner, renting your land out to the lowest bidder who doesn't much care if they degrade the soil. Or, if your farm is most unfortunate, it may go to a businessman who also has a dream, a dream that looks a lot like an industrial 'park' or ethanol plant or landfill.

From my point of view, land is constant. It is sustenance. It connects us to our past. It shapes us into who we are.

The land educates and humbles. It defines and enables. It inspires.

Our farmland provides for us. It is space to move about, to use or preserve. It permits us to be. It is our culture, our heritage, our rural treasure.

Farmland to a Midwesterner is home.

So you see, when that 'For Sale' sign goes up, we trade in our past, our culture and our heritage for a swollen bank account. And while land's value lies in its preservation, money's value lies in it's use. Land is worth something only when it is cared for and loved. Money is only useful when it is spent. And while the land will always be there, the money doesn't offer any guarantees.

Land is the loving spouse. Money is the love affair.

So, children of farmers, I want to remind you that the American Dream wasn't always a large bank account*. It used to be a parcel of land to call our own. A place to be and become.

The American Dream was a farm. May it be that way once more.

*If farm ownership isn't practical for you, or if you really do need the money, please look into a Farmland Conservation Easement. What usually happens with an easement is that you sell or donate the development rights of your farm to an easement holding company. While lowering the cash value of your property, you do receive tax incentives and your land can only be sold as farmland for perpetuity. Please check out your options at American Farmland Trust. Locally, the Natural Land Institute can help you discover your options.

*A second local option would be to contact The Land Connection. They work with would-be-farmers to help them find and purchase available farmland.

Winter Reprieve

2009-02-08T17:18:00.005-06:00

February has given us a welcome winter reprieve. We realize that the warm weather isn't going to last long, so we made the most of it while we could.

This has gotta last us through April. Well, at least according to Punxsutawney Phil.

Thirsty Birdies

2009-01-18T08:00:00.000-06:00

I have a part-time job where I work at an environmental center. One of the classes we teach is called Outdoor Living Skills. We use something we call "the Rule of 3's" to teach kids how to prioritize their survival needs in an emergency. Everyone needs food, water, air and shelter in order to survive.

Let's put those in order of importance:

You can survive 3 minutes without air. (Better get out of the water!)

You can survive 3 hours without shelter. (Weather dependent)

You can survive 3 days without water.

You can survive 3 weeks without food.

So assuming your lost and also assuming you're not submerged in water, you'd better start looking for some shelter ASAP. Once you can protect yourself from the elements, then you worry about water.

Should you worry about food? Well, maybe. But most likely you'll be found long before you'd starve to death.

So what does this have to do with farming?

Well, when you're a livestock farmer, you've gotta be prepared. The animals depend on us to provide them with food, water and shelter. I don't know if the Rule of 3's is exactly the same for animals--the time ratios likely change. But it does help me prioritize what needs to be done first.

Shelter in the winter is of utmost importance. Animals have no electric blankets, no heated barns, no tea kettles on the burner. We must provide them with a place to hide from the wind and snow, and a nice straw bed in which they can hunker down and keep warm.

But water is a close second. The animals rely on their metabolism to keep themselves warm. They ramp it up in the cold weather, and it won't "fire up" without lots of fresh water.

So when I walked into the chicken barn the other day, I immediately knew something was wrong.

First off, the chickens ran towards me, not away. Hmmn. The chickens and I have a pretty cool relationship. They don't fear me, yet I'm not their favorite person either. When things are running smoothly, they could take me or leave me.

But not today. Today these birdies were all over me.

In fact, they were fighting over the snow on my boots.

Next I saw this:

That's the heat lamp that keeps their water thawed out in the winter. You see, we have automatic waterers for the chickens. And we worked very hard developing our system. (I use the term we very loosely here.)

We have a heat lamp on the spigot where the pipe comes up from the well. We tied insulation around the pipe to keep it nice and warm. We connected a garden hose to this pipe, around which we have wound electric tape, around which we have added another layer of foam insulation.

(You might do well to substitute he for we in that whole paragraph, if you know what I'm saying.)

The insulated hose runs through a window into the interior of the barn here.....

...and to a water trough equipped with a float:

It works pretty similar to your toilet. When the water levels drop, the float opens a valve to let more water in.

We farmers are an ingenious lot. Cough.

You did notice the cat in the picture, right?

In Irish Grove, we believe in inter-specie-al harmony.

Anyways, someone put a chink in our system by knocking the light bulb out of the lamp. And the float froze to the trough.

Our chickens were so thirsty, that one of them had stuck her head out a little hole in the barn door to eat snow.....and got stuck. I didn't get a picture of her because I was so distressed.

Her head and one wing were outside in the elements, and the rest of her body was inside, smushed under the barn door. Poor birdy. If I hadn't checked on the chickens that morning, she would've died for sure. I gently slid open the barn door, trying not to break her wing, and set her free. She was OK. Whew!

I knew the birds were thirsty because they all ran outside into the snow and started to eat it.

Chickens normally don't like snow.

Then I spent the next 3 hours running back and forth from the house to the barn. I was boiling water on the stove to pour into the water trough. I was trying to melt the ice-jammed float.

Finally the ice melted, the water started flowing, and the birds got a drink of fresh water.

Disaster averted. Barely.

When you're a livestock farmer, you can never relax. If you do, you threaten the very lives of your animals. That's why I developed the Farmer's Rule of 3's:

Check your animals, 3 times a day.

South Pole, Illinois

2009-01-16T11:39:00.003-06:00

The local newscaster informed us this morning that our -23 degrees outside was every bit as cold as the South Pole. The South Pole!! That's right. They woke up to -23 degrees, too.

Now that's cold.

We're warmer than the North Pole. Warmer! They woke up to a balmy -8 degrees.

P'shaw....that's nothin'.

This is what Lucero looked like this morning:

This is what Lucero's nose looked like this morning:

This is what Chip looked like this morning:

Look at his ears. He looks like a scooter.

I'm probably a bad farmer for thinking that's funny.

This is what one of our calves looked like this morning:

Smokin'.

This is what the farmer looked like this morning:

Yeah....not so smokin'.

Oh well. At least I didn't freeze.

What Happens When....

2009-01-16T07:39:00.005-06:00

What happens when.....

the cows are hungry,

and they're really giving you the business for not bringing them hay any sooner,

and these are frozen to the ground?

A farmer temper-tantrum, that's what.

When You Live in the Country

2009-01-13T07:33:00.002-06:00

When you live in the country, you can park your vehicle in the middle of the road.

You can leave the keys in the ignition in your vehicle in the middle of the road.

You can even leave the engine running with the keys in the ignition in your vehicle in the middle of the road.

And ain't nobody gonna come along and steal your vehicle.

I love living in the country.

An Op-Ed from Wendell Berry and Wes Jackson

2009-01-10T09:23:00.003-06:00

Seeing as I'm on a Wendell Berry kick, I figured I'd copy and paste this article here for your reading enjoyment. It is an Op-Ed piece written by Wendell Berry and Wes Jackson (founder of The Land Institute of Kansas). It was published in the New York Times on January 4, 2009.

A 50-Year Farm Bill

By WES JACKSON and WENDELL BERRY
Published: January 4, 2009

THE extraordinary rainstorms last June caused catastrophic soil erosion in the grain lands of Iowa, where there were gullies 200 feet wide. But even worse damage is done over the long term under normal rainfall — by the little rills and sheets of erosion on incompletely covered or denuded cropland, and by various degradations resulting from industrial procedures and technologies alien to both agriculture and nature.
Soil that is used and abused in this way is as nonrenewable as (and far more valuable than) oil. Unlike oil, it has no technological substitute — and no powerful friends in the halls of government.

Agriculture has too often involved an insupportable abuse and waste of soil, ever since the first farmers took away the soil-saving cover and roots of perennial plants. Civilizations have destroyed themselves by destroying their farmland. This irremediable loss, never enough noticed, has been made worse by the huge monocultures and continuous soil-exposure of the agriculture we now practice.

To the problem of soil loss, the industrialization of agriculture has added pollution by toxic chemicals, now universally present in our farmlands and streams. Some of this toxicity is associated with the widely acclaimed method of minimum tillage. We should not poison our soils to save them.

Industrial agricultural has made our food supply entirely dependent on fossil fuels and, by substituting technological “solutions” for human work and care, has virtually destroyed the cultures of husbandry (imperfect as they may have been) once indigenous to family farms and farming neighborhoods.

Clearly, our present ways of agriculture are not sustainable, and so our food supply is not sustainable. We must restore ecological health to our agricultural landscapes, as well as economic and cultural stability to our rural communities.

For 50 or 60 years, we have let ourselves believe that as long as we have money we will have food. That is a mistake. If we continue our offenses against the land and the labor by which we are fed, the food supply will decline, and we will have a problem far more complex than the failure of our paper economy. The government will bring forth no food by providing hundreds of billons of dollars to the agribusiness corporations.

Any restorations will require, above all else, a substantial increase in the acreages of perennial plants. The most immediately practicable way of doing this is to go back to crop rotations that include hay, pasture and grazing animals.

But a more radical response is necessary if we are to keep eating and preserve our land at the same time. In fact, research in Canada, Australia, China and the United States over the last 30 years suggests that perennialization of the major grain crops like wheat, rice, sorghum and sunflowers can be developed in the foreseeable future. By increasing the use of mixtures of grain-bearing perennials, we can better protect the soil and substantially reduce greenhouse gases, fossil-fuel use and toxic pollution.

Carbon sequestration would increase, and the husbandry of water and soil nutrients would become much more efficient. And with an increase in the use of perennial plants and grazing animals would come more employment opportunities in agriculture — provided, of course, that farmers would be paid justly for their work and their goods.

Thoughtful farmers and consumers everywhere are already making many necessary changes in the production and marketing of food. But we also need a national agricultural policy that is based upon ecological principles. We need a 50-year farm bill that addresses forthrightly the problems of soil loss and degradation, toxic pollution, fossil-fuel dependency and the destruction of rural communities.

This is a political issue, certainly, but it far transcends the farm politics we are used to. It is an issue as close to every one of us as our own stomachs.

Wes Jackson is a plant geneticist and president of The Land Institute in Salina, Kan. Wendell Berry is a farmer and writer in Port Royal, Ky.

The permalink to this article is:
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/01/05/opinion/05berry.html?partner=permalink&exprod=permalink

Wendell Berry and the Local Library

2009-01-08T07:42:00.006-06:00

Our local library is very quaint. It has a great children and youth section, and large, comfortable facilities. The librarians are nice and helpful, they have story hour for little ones, they host meetings and events for different local entities, and they work nicely with the local schools.

My only complaint lies with their adult reading selection. Or lack thereof. This could, admittedly, be due to the fact that I read almost strictly non-fiction. And, well, unless I want to read the next political manifesto (which I don't) or find the (newest) secret to financial success, I'm out of luck.

Our library has both a fiction and a non-fiction bookshelf near the front door where they display the newest selections. Seriously, out of maybe 40 non-fiction books, I'd say close to half are about losing weight or healthy cooking. Another large percentage has either a strong religious slant or the typical new-age "Love Thyself, Heal Thyself" theme.

And I can't decide whether those categories are complimentary or contradictory.

But what really has me confused is why our library, in a small, rural town--a town that is (or at least used to be) agriculturally-based, has so few books about farming or backyard gardening? Why no books like The Rural Rennaissance by John Ivanko and Lisa Kivirist, or something about revitalizing small-town America? Why can't I find a book like the Encyclopedia of Country Living by Carla Emery or anything about the local foods movement?

And why, why-oh-why did nothing (nothing!!) come up when I typed 'Wendell Berry' into the computerized card catalog? Wendell Berry, folks. Perhaps the most ardent advocate for family farms and small town America. A man who champions rural culture. A man who has painstakingly documented and vociferously protested the rise of industrial agriculture and the subsequent demise of the small family farm (and their local rural communities). A man whose books should be showcased in our small town library.

I have to admit it. I was a little incredulous that our library didn't have anything by Wendell Berry. Especially since Berry has written many charming novels about a fictional rural town in Kentucky that lovingly and realistically depict life in small town America, and our library loves fiction.

I thought to myself, "maybe I spelled his name wrong or did something wrong on the computer search page." So I asked the librarian to help me.

"Do you know if we have any books by Wendell Berry?" I asked nicely.

"Hmmn, Wendell Berry. I've never heard of him. Let's check," she replied sweetly.

To which my head is screaming, "NEVER HEARD OF HIM????"

"No, Jackie, I don't see anything. If you have a specific title in mind I could get it for you on the intra-library loan," she added.

Now this librarian is the nicest, sweetest lady ever. She is exactly the type of small-town person that Wendell Berry exemplifies in his books. The one who knows your name. The one who knows who your family is, where you live, and that your grandfather is sick. The one who marvels at how big your children are and who will thank you profusely for that 25 cent donation you put in the Friends of the Library jar.

Of course not everyone is going to know Wendell Berry.

But in a world that values speed and efficiency over mindfulness and quality.....

in a world that promotes upward mobility and independence over strong communities and neighborly responsibility......

in a world that teaches our own, small-town rural kids that in order to be successful they must abandon their birthplace, their family, their rural heritage and move to the city.....

isn't it a shame that we've never even heard of the one person who advocates for us, who values us, who champions us?

What more evidence do we need that we bought the party line? That we lost ourselves and our community somewhere inbetween financial success, upward mobility and individual achievement and recognition?

We drank the punch, people, and it's killing us.

Maybe if we stopped reading "Fat-Free Cooking Means a Fat-Free Me" books and instead read The Unsettling of America, Culture and Agriculture by Wendell Berry, we could do away with the "Love Thyself, Heal Thyself" books altogether.

*Disclaimer: All of the unattributed titles above were made up. But I wouldn't be surprised if these are real titles to real books. If so, my apologies (and a good finger-wagging) to the authors.

Random Thoughts for the New Year

2009-01-05T15:42:00.008-06:00

Marcel and I have joined the ranks of homeowners, but we are more adeptly described as loan-owers. We are buying the farmhouse, farm buildings and 5 acres from "the farm" (AKA mom).

I giggled as I watched our new horse Brittany slowly and painstakingly slip and slide her way across the icy barnyard. Then I felt like a bad farmer.

What does it mean when I call up each and every Irish Grove owner (AKA Mom, Matt, and Laura), ask them to come over on Sunday to help with the organic certification record keeping, and no one shows up?

Farmer Bill sold the last of his cattle herd. He is officially, completely, 100% retired. It's the end of an era for the Donald Flynn family. Which makes me sad. And worried about the future of their farm.

I wish one of the cousins would get the farming itch. (Hint, hint.)

We are getting nearly 4 dozen eggs a day. Holy Cannoli.

My grant-writing partner, Andrea, and I have written up evil plans to take over the agricultural world. Bwa-ha-ha. OK, not really. But we are pitching ourselves to the local U of I-Extension Director as the up-and-coming, most perfect alternative-agriculture-education-team she's ever laid her eyes on. Think she'll buy into our load of (composted) cow manure?

Correction: The all important Madam Secretary Laura did come to my Sunday meeting, and helped me get started on the all-encompassing, extremely frustrating job of organic certification record keeping. Kudos to you, Madam Secretary.

Can you believe that on the very eve of our new status as homeowners the furnace broke? We fixed it, to the tune of a few hundred bucks, only to have it break again 4 days later. Would this be karma, or a coincidence, or just plain bad luck?

Did you know that the cows and horses both grow a winter coat of fur to protect them from the cold? They're pretty charming this way, all woolly and fuzzy. Olivia the Border Collie also grew a second layer of fur. On top of a layer of fat, the lazy thing.

Marcel and I bought a new point and shoot digital camera. Which means I'll be able to take more (and better) photos of the goings-ons around here. Stay tuned.

I didn't get around to mailing Christmas cards this year. But everyone here at Irish Grove Farms, animals and all, wishes you all a wonderful 2009.

Eggs Galore...."Ooh, Aah"

2008-12-16T07:28:00.010-06:00

There are eggs galore here in Irish Grove.

"Ooh, aah."

With some forethought and a little luck o' the Irish, we timed our replacement pullets rather well this year. Since the hens take a much-needed break from egg laying in the late fall, we have a really tough time filling our regular egg orders. Let me tell ya, it can be mighty frustrating to have a barn full of chickens and find 2 or maybe 3 eggs in the nests each day.

And I always wonder if our egg customers believe me when I explain to them that the hens just aren't laying right now. Egg production is seasonal. The hens need lots of light stimulation on their pituitary gland in order to lay regularly. The short winter days just don't provide enough light to keep them going. We keep a light on in the barn to help counter that, but like everything else, artificial just can't compete with the natural.

Can I repeat that?

Artificial can't compete with natural.

Thanks.

Anyways, spring is the season for high egg production. Which is why we color eggs for Easter and not Thanksgiving.

We mucked through a month or so of little to no eggs as best we could, and I got to wondering if maybe the pullets (young hens) were gonna hold off until spring to start laying. But then, all of a sudden, we started finding little mini eggs here and there. Yeehaw, the pullets are laying!

Now, unless you've raised laying hens sometime in your life, you probably didn't realize that you can tell the age of the chicken by the size of their egg. Yeah, nature is all neat and tidy like that.

Sometimes.

Pullet eggs are tiny. So tiny, in fact, that when I found an aqua-blue pullet egg (from an americana hen that lays greenish blue eggs), Madelina argued with me that a Robin must have layed an egg in the chicken barn. I tried to explain to her that Robins don't lay eggs in the winter, and that most of them migrate South.

She wouldn't buy my explanation for one second. Stinker.

Pullet eggs will often have a little splash of blood on them as well. Mothers, I'm sure you will readily confirm that that first one is a tough one. (Sorry, guys.)

More seasoned hens lay nice large eggs. The size of egg you ideally buy from a local farmer, or at the store. These eggs are by far the most common egg we find in the nests. And it doesn't take long for a pullet to close the gap, size-wise, with her eggs. Maybe 2 weeks, tops.

But the old hens? The ones you should cull and sell as stew birds, but can't because you believe they've earned their retirement? The ones that are losing money beak over claw? Yeah, these old ladies lay an egg maybe once a week, if you're lucky. Even during egg season. But when they do lay an egg, they are huge, honker eggs. Huge-mongous eggs. The eggs that make it hard to close the carton eggs. Jumbo eggs.

And once in awhile......and I mean these ladies must be sitting on their eggs for a month or so.....they'll lay a super DUPER doozer of an egg--a double-yolker. And we call these eggs, courtesy of my Gramma Alice, "Ooh-Aah" eggs.

Why, you may ask? Please, you've just gotta ask me why, 'cause I can't wait to tell you.

Gramma Alica calls the double-yolked eggs "Ooh-Aah" eggs because when the hen is pushing the egg out she says, "OOOooooooooh", and when the egg is finally out she says, "AAAaaaaaaah".

Ha, ha ha ha, hoo hoo, ha!

I think that's pretty funny.

Here are some photos of eggs, progressing in size from pullet eggs to an "Ooh-Aah" egg. The photos don't do this subject justice, but I haven't added photos in awhile, so here they are:

The pullet egg:

The regular egg:

The "Ooh-Aah" egg:

As you can see, I am cooking platanos con huevos fritos for breakfast. In Panamanian that means fried plaintains with fried eggs. Yu-u-mmy!

My (delicious) breakfast is providing the perfect opportunity to prove to you skeptics out there (and don't think I don't know about you) that yes indeed, some eggs have two yolks.

Watch. And. Learn.

Here I go, cracking that "Ooh-Aah" egg you saw above:

There you have it, people. A double-yolked egg. An "Ooh-Aah" egg in the flesh, or pan, as it were. Ok, so I did break one yolk when I cracked the egg shell. But you can obviously see that the two yolks came from the same egg....just look at the egg white.

You better believe that with a breakfast like this one, I'll be muttering a few oohs and aahs myself.

Let's just hope there's no accompanying egg.

Mumble Grumble

2008-12-15T13:28:00.005-06:00

Blogging hasn't been high priority lately, obviously. But this fall has kicked my butt and I hate to write negative posts. I prefer my witty, delightful posts about how picture perfect everything is, or the ones about how I solved some huge problem by the sheer force of my intelligence and charm.

Wait...?? Who's blog is this?? Sorry....I confused myself with someone else.

Reality is I'm a farmer now, and I'll be damned if farmers don't bitch and moan every once in awhile. So here it goes...

This year's corn harvest dogged me for weeks. It went anything but smoothly, and I was grumpy through the whole dang process.

The weather didn't cooperate at all, raining every other day for basically a month or so. Now I know talking about the weather isn't that exciting for most people, but weather is to a farmer what a moody boss is to the low-level worker. You gotta follow their lead, but you never know what they're gonna throw at you, and most of the time you don't like it.

This harvest season, the weather tossed us a nice mix of rain, mist, cold, some more rain and mist, and suprisingly little wind. Which means we were harvesting wet corn off of wet ground on cold, dark, and yes, wet days.

So what's the problem?

Well, wet corn means that we have to pay exhorbitant charges at the local grain elevator to dry the corn down to 15% moisture. 15% moisture is the level at which corn can be shipped and/or stored without risk of sprouting or fermenting. (Although fermented corn doesn't sound so bad...ahem.)

Thanks to the wet fall, our corn didn't dry down in the field like it could have. We were harvesting our corn at about 23% moisture. Shall we do the math?

The elevator charges $0.07/bushel to dry corn one half of one percent. (Yes, you read that right.) So that means $0.07 to dry it to 22.5%, another $0.07 to dry it to 22%, etc. etc. When you add it all up, we paid $1.12/bushel to dry the corn down to 15%.

I understand that they have to recoup their energy costs, but to the tune of $1.12/bu? Youch. When you're making $4-5.00/bu on the corn, that's 25% of your profit right there. Today's corn prices are at $2.95 or so. Take a smooth buck off of that and we're talking a 35-40% loss.

Wet land means that the oh-so-heavy equipment like the combine, grain wagons, tractors and semi trucks are driving around our farmland and compacting the crap out of our soil. Soil compaction is horrible for the health of the crops, prohibiting the flow of nutrients and water and causing all sorts of terrible problems with run-off, weeds, etc. In a no-till system like ours, soil compaction is your number one enemy. We don't have the option to moldboard plow the land to break through the hardpan, as they call it.

We had a semi truck and a tractor get stuck in the mud. That's how bad it was. And there are huge ruts everywhere, which I can't look at without getting agitated.

Wet, unpredictable weather causes one more major problem....you never know when you're going to be able to harvest. For three weeks, I could go nowhere, do nothing, see no-one. I'd have my boss at Atwood take me off the schedule because I thought we'd be working. Then it'd rain. I'd put myself back on the schedule, and Mark would show up to work the combine for a few hours.

Sometimes I'd think, "The ground's way too wet to harvest today", so I'd go to my exercise class or run to the store. Upon return, I'd find that Mark had been working for over an hour, the wagons were all full, and I still had to connect the tractor to the auger, lift the top off the bin, etc. The constant set-up, catch up, take down, set-up again was exceedingly frustrating.

Needless to say, I was swearing like a sailor by the time we got it all finished. But finish we did. Thank God for that.

Yeah, farmers complain a lot. We do. But if your schedule and your success was dictated by and determined by something as unforgiving and unpredictable as the weather, you'd complain too.

We're a sorry lot, we farmers. You'll just have to forgive and excuse us when you can. And when you can't?

Deal with it.

Busy-ness

2008-11-25T11:21:00.004-06:00

Before I catch y'all up with what's happening around here....about stuff like the corn harvest, cattle wrestling, future plans, and just my regular ramblings about extremely interesting and pertinent farm stuff, I gotta finish working on this grant we're apply for. The deadline for applications is Monday, December 1 at 4:30 p.m.

Yeah, 4:30 is relevant. We need all the time we can get.

*huff and puff*

It's a SARE farmer/rancher grant. Two other local farmers and I are applying for money to conduct research trials using a cover crop and no-till techniques to control weeds in organic systems.

I'll fill you in on the details later, but you can check out SARE at: http://www.sare.org/

And you can read about what we want to do at: www.rodaleinstitute.org/no-till_revolution

But for now, I'm off and running.....

We're Famous!

2008-11-13T12:56:00.002-06:00

Ok, not famous. But we did make the local newspaper.

About 2 weeks ago, I received a call from a man with a heavy accent who stated that he worked for the Freeport Journal Standard and wanted to interview me about the farm. I asked him how he heard about us, and he responded that he had found our information on the new Local Foods Directory put out by the University of Illinois Extension Office of Stephenson County.

Score! My friend Margaret Larson, Extension's Director, worked hard to get the local foods directory printed in response to an increasing desire to support local producers. The directory hasn't been out much more than a month, and I was impressed by how quickly I had been contacted by someone who had found us through it.

But then I began to wonder how this reporter dude had chosen us over the many, many other interesting and varied farms listed in the directory. So I asked him. He said he was starting a new weekly column titled On The Farm, and I was the first person he contacted. He just picked us....no special reason, really.

Well, after chatting a little on the phone and again noting his thick accent, I asked him if he minded telling me where he was from. "Well, it's funny you ask," he replied. "I'm from Ireland."

A-ha!!

"Now I know why you picked us," I laughed. "It couldn't have something to do with the fact that our farm is named Irish Grove Farms, now could it?" He chuckled and admitted that yes, that might have had a little influence.

Just goes to show that we should never underestimate the importance of a name.

We had a nice 3 hour visit where we grilled him on every detail of his life. And then at the end, we let him ask us a few questions as well.

This is what came of it: Making the Move to Organic

Check it out and let me know what you think.

Monday Happened

2008-11-12T11:26:00.004-06:00

Phew. Thank goodness it's Wednesday. 'Cause a few days ago, we had a Monday. And boy, what a Monday it was.

It's corn harvesting time, and it's been a tough season. We had an incredibly cool and wet spring, followed by a wet summer, a month-long dry spell in August, and then a return to rain, rain, rain ever since. The corn harvest started over a week ago and should take us about 4 to 5 days to complete, yet we're barely half-way there, thanks to this wet weather that won't go away.

I knew Monday was going to be hectic. I had a full schedule that started at 5:30 a.m., which included getting the kids off to school, harvesting corn all day, and work at Atwood from 5 p.m. to 10 p.m. But Marcel had opened the lid on the bin for me, bless his heart, before he left for work and I was thinking I was sitting pretty.

It was cold, mind you. The temperature had dropped to the high 20's overnight, and that means the tractors must be plugged in to keep the diesel fuel warm. I was pretty confident farner Mark would start combining at about 9:30 or so, so I was planning on plugging the tractors in at 8:00, and even thought I could run to the store for some milk and bread before we got started. Just as I was brushing my teeth, at about 7:45 or so, I heard a knock at the door. Yep, it was farmer Mark, ready to get started.

"Well, yes, of course I'm ready to go," I lied, "I was just getting ready to go out and connect the tractor to the auger."

"Well, okay then, I'll get started." replied Mark. "I'll need a few more wagons out there in a minute or so."

Assuring him that yes, I'd get everything moving, I called my mom in a panic and told her I needed her to get Armando fast. Then I ran and plugged the tractors in. Maybe they'll heat up in the 10 minutes or so that it'll take me to run the wagons out to the field, I thought.

I thought wrong.

When I tried to start our John Deere, a huge, troubling puff of white smoke billowed out of the exhaust pipe as the motor slowly chugged, chugged, chugged....and nothing. Chug, chug again.....and nothing. Then I jumped over to farmer Bill's tractor that he had lent us. His tractor chugged a little more enthusiastically, but wouldn't start either.

The tractor motors wouldn't start, but unfortunately my motor was going strong, and the muttering and grumbling started tumbling out....

"I can't believe I didn't plug the @^*&#% tractors in earlier."
"I wish Mark would've called me and told me what time he was starting this morning."
"Where is my mom to get Armando?"

Well, Mom did show up pretty quickly and got Armando, and I quickly called Marcel to ask him what I could do to speed things up. At this point, farmer Mark had two of my four wagons filled and I was getting really behind.

Marcel told me to wait 10 more minutes and try again. So I did. But this time the starter motor was really sluggish, and I knew it was only a matter of time before I wore the battery out. I called Marcel back in 10 minutes, grumbled at him pretty good, and had him listen to the motor. "Yep, you're gonna have to charge the motor," he told me. Which incited some more whining, swearing, and general gnashing of teeth on my end. He walked me through the process, and after another 15 minutes and another full wagon of corn in the field, the tractor started.

Hallelujah, we're in business.

I quickly pulled the tractor out of the barn, got it in position to hook up the PTO to the auger, and quickly found out that the auger's arm that connects to the PTO was frozen. It should usually slide back and forth pretty easily to help you slip it over the PTO on the tractor, but this time wasn't moving an inch.

So now I'm really cussing like a farmer, folks. I call farmer Mark on the cell phone and, with much embarrassment, told him I couldn't get the auger hooked up. My thoughts at this point were going downhill fast, and consisted of some really mature things like, "I'm such a girl," and "God, I'm an embarrassment to myself and this whole family," and other nice things. Can you tell I was a little more than frustrated?

Mark came over, tugged and pulled, and finally pounded the ice out of the auger arm. We got the tractor hooked up, and I have to admit I was relieved to see him struggle with it and felt a little vindicated in my wimpiness. He went back out to combine some more, and I made an SOS call to farmer Bill....."if you're home, could you please come and help me for a little while?"

Just as I pulled up to the auger with my first load of corn, Bill showed up. Mark was pretty much waiting on me at this point, so Bill's help was going to be a godsend. I tugged and pulled and hung like a monkey from the wagon door that is soo hard to open, and finally started unloading the corn into the bin. And as the corn flowed out of the wagon, the relief flowed out of my body. Bill helped me get a handle on my Monday, and am I ever grateful.

I just hope we finish the corn harvest before another Monday comes around.

Oh, and Bill? Could you clear your calendar, just in case?

Yes We Can!!

2008-11-05T07:26:00.002-06:00

It is a new day. A new country. A new world.

Oreo is on top of the world.

We did it!! We did it together.

And the whole world celebrates.

Beginning right here in Irish Grove. Hooray for President Obama!!

Lining Up to Vote

2008-11-04T07:33:00.004-06:00

Well, Election Day has finally arrived! What a relief!!

No more campaigning, no more lies, no more sleeze and smear, no more pandering, and no more 'gotcha' journalism. ('Course, in my opinion, if you get 'got' by the journalists who are clearly playing the game you signed up for, then who's fault is it?)

Election day on the farm is like election day everywhere else. It starts out pretty normal, with a morning stretch, a little breakfast, and a few laps around the barnyard. But then the last minute preparation begins. Time to get in line, go to the polls, and cast our vote.

You may recall that here in Irish Grove we've got some pretty civic-minded animals. They were very active in the primaries. And even though some of their candidates didn't make it through that process, they've pretty much thrown their weight behind one side or the other.

Of course, Lucero was always a McCain supporter. As he makes his way to the polls, let's see what he has to say about this historic election.

"Well, as you know, I'm a (racetrack) veteran, and we veterans stick together. The hard work and sacrifice that comes with defending the (winner's) flag bonds us in ways unimaginable to you petty civilians. Like John McCain and I say, "Farm first." Plus, Obama wants to redistribute our wealth. Ain't no cow gonna eat my hay."

Chip and Oreo, on the other hoof, support Obama. And they are getting ready to vote as we speak. I wonder what their thoughts are this morning.

"Todaaay is a day for the history books, and we are so proud to be among millions of goats voting for O-baaa-ma today. We want to improve the pastures for all faa-arm animals, not just for ourselves. And once in awhile, you know, you just go-otta eat a few bitter burdock leaves or bite into that thorny raspberry cane. It's painful, but necessary. We must keep the graaass healthy for everyone. Short term saa-acrifices for long term gains."

The other animals are getting in line to vote as well. Although your guess is as good as mine as to who they'll support.

The chickens had supported Huckabee, but he went the way of the possum. Flat as a pancake in the middle of the election super-highway. Think they'll support the Republicans anyways?

Of course, the cows wanted Hillary to win. She was going to shatter the glass barnroof that has enslaved the female bovine world and reduced them to little more than calf-makers.

They're obviously still a little peeved that she isn't the Democratic nominee.

But will they switch parties? I mean, could they find something in common with Sarah Palin, who doesn't want their daughters to know the real reason the bull is being so nice to them? Then again, there is that glass barnroof thing. Hmmn.

Unfortunately, Irish Grove isn't immune to the election-stealing tactics so common these days.

I'm ashamed to say it, but I noticed some illegal voter registration a few months ago. The goats were hosting a get-out-the-vote rally, and they added every single farm animal to the registration rolls.

Including the chicks,

and the calves.

Um, I'm sorry, but don't those voters look a little young? Quick, someone call the media!

And then there was the familiar, yet despicable voter intimidation that rears its ugly head every 4 years. Seeing as the farm animals can't read, some of us took to a more time-honored, old-fashioned way:

"You're gonna vote McCain or I'll......"

Shudder. You don't want to know the rest of that sentence. Trust me.

Oh, and I forgot one thing. Don't forget the hispanic vote this year.

That's right. Our own wonderful farmer, Marcel, is off to vote this year for the first time ever!!

Woohoo!!

Yes, good and bad, Irish Grove is like a little cross-section of America. And off we go to the polls. With pride, dignity and hope. To vote in the new leadership of our great country. May God help us all.

Choose the Light

2008-10-16T08:01:00.007-05:00

I had a writing teacher once that said, "You can write for the dark or you can write for the light. Choose the light." She was referring to the dark side of her craft--writing--which would include things like tabloids, smut, etc. But I find her advice wise for any craft. Choose the light. Work for the good.

In farming, the "dark" represents choosing profit over environmental health. The "dark" represents the subsidies that make it all but impossible for a small farmer to compete against corporate agriculture. The "dark" represents choosing secrecy about our farming practices over providing consumers the information they need to choose whether they want to support our decisions and our farming practices by buying and eating what we produce. The "dark" is embodied by agribusiness, the FDA, and, at times, the USDA.

I am not anti-profit motive. I'm seriously not. I believe that farmers must make a profit, and a healthy one at that, in order to sustain their land and make good environmental investments and decisions. But you can't choose money above everything. We can't let money trump our responsibility to be good environmental stewards.

And in support of full disclosure, I also receive a subsidy check in the mail every October that is literally a lifesaver for our farm. (The subsidy I receive is peanuts compared to what the big players receive. Not even peanuts....perhaps just the peanut shells.) But I support eliminating subsidies to level the playing field. It might hurt us in the short run, but eventually we'd be able to compete without feeling the pressure to get big or get out.

What really gets me, though, is the FDA and big agriculture stance on labeling. Why, why, why are we so fearful of letting consumers know what's in their food, how it was produced, and where? If we farmers choose to be part of the light, to produce healthy food in healthy and humane ways, what do we have to fear?

In case you're unaware, dairy farmers who choose to not inject their cows with a genetically modified hormone--rBGH--are legally unable to label their milk rBGH-free. It is literally against the law to label their milk rBGH-free. Many, many consumers say they do not want to buy this milk and that they are willing to pay a premium for milk that is free of rBGH.

So what's the problem? There are a million-gazillion different types of everything at the grocery store from which to choose. I mean, who knew there could so many different ways to take corn syrup, add fake flavors and colors, and squish it into various shapes to make fruit snacks? There are literally 20 feet of shelf space dedicated to this crap! Could it be so difficult, then, to offer two types of milk in the dairy case? No one has gone freakin' crazy over the placement of a sugar cereal next to a sugar-free one, now have they?

Next we have genetically engineered animals. That's right. They have actually taken a goat and genetically engineered it to have spider genes so that their milk will produce silk fibers. It doesn't get much crazier than that. And I thought our goats could climb!! Holy crap, we need to build higher fences, Marcel!!

Personally, I can't wait to see the day when I find our goats swinging through the trees on silk threads hanging from their teats. But that's just me. I'm weird like that.

Did I forget that part where pigs have been genetically altered, adding mouse genes so that they can better metabolize their food? What the.....?? I mean, they're pigs! They eat, snort, root around and get fat! It can't get much simpler, folks.

Hmmn, grilled mouse-chops. I hadn't yet thought of that, but in a pinch.... "Um, honey? Looks like we'll need to upgrade our mouse traps to a size XXXXXL."

This is not the work of small farmers, folks. This is the work of scientists that work for the dark. But unfortunately those scientists wield power. And pretty soon, when the meat market collapses out of sheer disgust, we'll all pay the price.

Consumers should be allowed to choose between the dark and the light. And when farmers make the right choice, the "light" choice, we should be able to label it clearly and be compensated for it.

Amen.

Visit www.NotInMyFood.org to voice your opposition with the FDA, and for more information about genetically engineered animals.

Goin' Against the Grain

2008-09-18T12:11:00.003-05:00

I had a nice visit with our conventional pesticide and fertilizer supplier dude earlier today. I'm sure he has a title, but I have no idea what is is. So pesticide and fertilizer dude will have to do.

It was really nice to have a long talk with a farmer who's squarely planted in the conventional world but who also doesn't freak out and have a heart-attack when I tell them we plan to go organic. We had a long chat about different planting options, about my concerns with our ragweed problem (which wasn't solved by the machete work), about his concerns with soil erosion in organic grain systems, and about the challenges of balancing our concerns for the environment with the economic health of the farm.

I must say it was pretty cool to receive advice about different things we could do to help us reach our goal faster, especially coming from a man who spends most of his Spring driving one of those tall, monstrous pesticide-sprayin' vehicles that just look evil and remind me of a giant moon rover. (Not that I've ever seen a moon rover.)

Because I gotta tell ya, I can feel myself faltering once and awhile. It simply gets harder and harder for me to maintain one foot in the organic world and another in the conventional world. Let's be honest. I have to constantly explain the rationale behind keeping part of the farm conventional when talking with my organic cohorts. And then I have to explain why I won't plant GMO crops to my conventional cohorts. Especially when I see, we all see, the major weed pressure in our non-GMO fields and a simple switch to Round-Up Ready would take care of it.

I know where I want to be. I just want to be there already.

OK, I admit...patience isn't my strongest quality. But this path in the middle is not easy. Not at all. And the worst part is that I know the longer we allow the ragweed to populate our fields, the larger the problem is going to grow. I am pretty sure that within a year or two, we'll be at the point of no return, especially in one particular 45-acre field.

I asked Mr. fertilizer dude about planting wheat. Wheat requires less nitrogen and harvests mid-summer, which would cut back the ragweed. It also bumps up your future soybean yields, something that has lagged on our farm for years. He said the ragweed could cause a big problem with our wheat crop, though. Plus, we'd have to coninue to mow the fallow field the rest of the season if we wanted to keep the ragweeds down. Can you say diesel, diesel and more diesel?

The best option we came up with is to take that field out of row crops altogether and sock it into hay ground. We could get a premium oat-hay crop in late Spring, and then two more cuttings of Alfalfa that summer. Which means we'd mow down the ragweed 3 different times. The field could be left as hay ground for two more full summers, getting mowed 4 times each summer. Then you plow in your hay field and plant corn, which would need no nitrogen since the alfalfa provided it for us. Follow that with a year of soybeans and then back into alfalfa for three more years.

And maybe, just maybe, after three more years our cattle herd might be at the size that we'd need the land for grazing. So we wouldn't even need to put it back into corn or soybeans.

Hmmn. Hmmn. Hmmn.

The only teensy-weensy miniscule problem I can find with this new little seed of a plan is this: we'd have about 95 acres of hay to cut, dry and bale next year!!!!! And you'all know that cutting, drying and baling hay without it getting rained on isn't an easy task. It isn't an easy task when your dealing with 42 acres. Add another 40-odd acres and what do you get? A stressed-out farmer, that's what you get!!

Guess I've got me some thinking to do. And guess I gotta consult with the family.

Let's see. What should I bring up first? My great idea on how to get rid of our ragweed problem? Or the fact that we might be hayin' on 95 acres next year?

If you have any advice, this is the time to cough it up. Unless you're the conventional-judgemental type or the organic-judgemental type. Then you can just keep it to your nice little self. Thanks in advance.

Pink Eye

2008-09-15T12:21:00.005-05:00

Around the time we had our chicken harvest, our baby calves came down with Pink Eye. We noticed it first in the second youngest calf...the one that was too lazy to search out his mom, if you so recall.

We check on our cattle every day, often times more than once. But, as you well know, cows run in herds. And when you see the herd mullin' around, nicely chewin' their cud and swattin' at flies with their tails, well.....well, they check out just fine.

Mother cows keepin' up their conditioning? Check.
Grass supply sufficient? Check.
Babes nursing? Check.
Water tank in workin' order? Check.
General all-around happiness? Check.

I guess what I'm saying is that we don't literally look them all in the eye, every day of the week. And especially not in each eye, as was needed in this particular case.

When I checked on little lazy calf, he looked just fine. Perfectly fine. Until he turned his head the other way, which provoked me to loudly exclaim, "WOA....What is THAT?"

*Insert violin soundtrack here*

Oh no! His eye! His poor, poor eye. It was all squinty, and runny, and sportin' a nice crop of flies, those despicable creatures. The worst part was that his eyeball was snow-white. White as could be. The kind of white that you know means one, and only one thing: Blindness.

My heart sunk. My (s)mothering instinct kicked into full gear. And my thoughts started racing: Could he have impaled himself on a piece of wire? Did he get kicked by another? Was there a possible predator attack?

But then I knew. I just knew. I knew the truth when he walked out of the shed for a moment, only to immediately turn around and high-tail it back in.

Oh no.

No.

No, no, no.

Not Pink Eye. Anything but Pink Eye.

But Pink Eye it was. I started looking, really looking this time at each and every calf. In each and every eye. And in all of the calves but one, I saw it. I saw the signs of that blasted disease, and in the blink of an eye (sorry) I knew our lives had become much more complicated.

I called the vet and arranged to pick up an antibiotic spray that would need to be sprayed in the affected eyes, once a day. The exact indications read: 2 squirts directly on the eyeball, every day until the infection clears up.

Did I mention that it could take over a month for the infection to clear up? And that we had to spray the antibiotic directly on the eyeball?!?!? It was going to be one long month. Sigh.

All but one calf had Pink Eye, so we decided to treat them all. The flies were carrying the infection from one calf to another anyway, so it was only a matter of time before the last one would contract it as well.

And hence began the rodeo at Irish Grove. 'Cause for the next week, once a day, we had to corral the little buggers into a corner pen in the bullshed, handling them one by one, until we had sprayed their infected eyes with the antibiotic.

Marcel came to the scene armed with a lasso, I came with the spray. Marcel would gently slip the lasso over the head of one calf, and then quickly pull it tight. At this point the calf would go nuts, bawlin' and kickin' and jumpin' all over the place. Marcel would hold on tight until the calf was close to a corner of the pen, at which point Marcel'd shove his butt into the corner, and I'd shove his head and neck against the wall.

We'd have about 3 seconds before the calf figured out that if he jumped forward, he could get out of this hold. Umm, 3 seconds is not a lot of time. Especially when you've gotta ply open an eyelid and spray 2 squirts of antibiotic onto their bare eyeball. I'm sure you can imagine that the calves just somehow weren't quite goin' for the whole scene.

I'd usually get one squirt in before the kickin' and jumpin' and bawlin' started up again. Oh, and did I mention that we're in a pen with all 8 calves, not just one? Yeah, so while we're trying to wrestle one calf into a corner, we're also tripping over and generally trying to avoid gettin' kicked by the other 7. But it's easier to control an animal when he's with his buddies then when he's alone, so believe it or not, this was the better option.

After a few days of corraling calves, squirting 'em in the eyes, and leaving the barn covered from head to toe in manure, we noticed the calves weren't getting any better. The spray wasn't working.

We didn't want to, but we had to call the vet and have her come out. The vet came the very next day, and we repeated the rodeo scene for the last time. But instead of spraying them in the eyes, she gave them a shot of antibiotics in the neck, and then a shot into the tear duct!

*Cringe. Wince. Shudder.*

The shot into the tear duct bathes the eye with antibiotic every time they blink, as the intra-muscular shot works its way throught the blood stream to the infection. As horrible as it was, I was relieved that it was finally going to help the poor calves.

I have to brag and say that the vet was very impressed with our setup, and especially with how smoothly it went. It's always nice to be complimented, but especially by the veterinarian!

Pink Eye is a horrible disease to suffer through, and a horrible one to treat. But I've gotta be straight with y'all: I enjoyed every last minute of it. Handling those calves was exhilarating!

A little extra swagger in my step? Check.

Rest and Relaxation

2008-09-01T12:15:00.010-05:00

Happy Labor Day! I hope you're taking full advantage of your day off.

I see these guys sure are.

They deserve a break. I mean, it's hard work following your mother around all day, trying to sneak a drink of milk here or there.

The calves tell me that Labor Day is the perfect day for relaxing,

visiting friends,

and just hanging around.

Obviously I'm not the only one who agrees!

It must also a great day for daydreaming. Take this chicken, for example. She's wondering if maybe, just maybe, she'd make it as a flamingo.

What do ya think?

The goats also have an active imagination.

They think they'd make great mountain climbers.

As for me? Today I'm dreaming of vacations, good food, and great company in a far away land.

That's me and Madelina in Boquete, Panama. Isn't she the cutest, sweetest thing ever?

Hope you find a restful, relaxing way to spend your day.

Help Us Decide!!

2008-08-28T15:17:00.005-05:00

I've got a fun little task for y'all to do for me.

You see, rumor has it that we here in Irish Grove just might be going organic on some of our acres next year. Grassfed beef is our main push with those acres, but we won't be able to certify our beef until the following year. So, in the meantime, we're thinking of raising some organic, pastured chickens to sell for meat.

This is where y'all come in. Organic pastured chickens will be a lot of work, for minimal return, especially the first year. Organic pastured chickens mean Marcel and I will be spending many winter hours building moveable chicken pens. Organic pastured chickens mean that yours truly will be spending about 2 hours/day, 7 days a week, for 4 long months next summer, feeding, watering, and moving those same chickens to a fresh paddock. Organic pastured chickens mean we'll be buying organic grain from someone for extremely high prices. And organic pastured chickens mean I'll be driving 4 hours south, once every 2-3 weeks, for a long, boring day waiting for the chickens to be processed at an organically certified chicken processing plant.

The extra work doesn't scare us. We're farmers; the type of people who like to work. What scares us is the prospect of extra work coupled with few customers and a failed business idea.

So, I need to know the following: Do you think organic chickens is a good idea and worth the effort? And do you or would you pay more than $3.00/lb for organic chicken?

This is not a ploy for customers, even though I'd love to sell you a chicken, but a ploy for opinions. You all are very aware of my opinions on store-bought chicken. Now I'd like to hear yours.

You can reply to this post, or vote on my cute little poll that I'll be adding in the sidebar. It's as easy as that. We'll just call today "inform a farmer" day.

Please?

Mi Bountiful Gardenita

2008-08-27T12:45:00.004-05:00

Gardenita. I like the ring that has. Even if it is Spanglish and might win me some scorn from our anti-immigrant compatriots.

I've spoken Spanish daily for the last, oh, 12 years or so, and I still find it exciting to communicar in another language. Especially for small-town-old-me. And somehow I'm still as American as I was before I spoke Spanish. Or at least I think I am. I think I'll go check, just in case. Yep....still freckled, still blancita, still blue-eyed. Our compatriots can all heave a sigh of relief on their way to their jobs at the meat-packing plant. Oh wait. Our compatriots don't like to work at meat-packing plants. Never mind.

One downfall of being bi-lingual, however, is that my command of the English language has faltered. I used to have an impressive arsenal of complicated palabras ever at the tip of my tongue. My college friends would sometimes comment on my impressive vocabulary and use of proper grammar, and I'd feel all smart and educated. (That is until I'd get to my next class, where the professors were more than happy to bring me back to reality.)

The grammar I'll attribute to my Grandma Alice....she's a stickler for proper usage of the English language. She always knows whether one should use 'lie' or 'lay', 'who' or 'whom', and 'its' or 'it's'. I find myself double-thinking through my sentences when speaking with her, lest she raise her cejas at me and say, exasperatedly, "Jackie!" (Hi Gramma!)

My nice vocabulary, however, was due to the fact that I was quite the bookworm as I grew up. I read lots and lots of books. Of all types and kinds. At all hours of the day, night, and early morning. In junior high, I was a huge fanatica of the Anne of Green Gables series, and I imagined myself to be just as heady, analytical and charming as Anne. Why, I was Jackie of Irish Grove, mind you. Except I wasn't really all that heady, analytical or charming. Ah, the beauty of an over-active imagination and plenty of tiempo to read!

My vocabulary now, however? Post-Spanish? Now I stumble on even the silliest of sentences. I often can't think of the names of simple things like 'strainer' or 'chain' in English, because colador and cadena are just easier to remember. That leads me to say really inteligente things like, "Mom, where do you keep your, um...your, eh...you know, your colador? What's that thing called that let's you squeeze the liquid out of a food?"

Knowing a second language has freed up my mind and improved my creativity, but boy, has it put a padlock on my tongue!

The worst part is that while I can still call to mind some pretty nice words, I can't remember their proper pronunciation, and they tend to come out with a Spanish accent. This gets really bad at work, where I teach biologia and nature-related topics. Oh, and even though I'm interacting with kids of all different ethnicities, I pronounce their Asian, African, and sometimes even American names with a Spanish ring. Sometimes even rolling an 'r' here or there. Then they raise their cejas at me.

Anyways, I was wanting to talk about how much comida I've gotten from my teensy-weensy gardenita, and I got side-tracked.

Gardening is fun, and it is absolutely amazing to see the cantidades of food one can get from even the smallest of gardens. When Marcel and I first moved into this house, we planted a huge, lovely garden that was about 1/3 acre. Wowsa. That was alot of work, especially since Ana was a bebe. We kept it up for two short years. With each additional child, my garden got exponentially smaller. Until we ended up with our cinco, quaint, small raised beds.

But I still get a lot of food from my gardenita, especially considering the cold, wet primavera we had. When you add in my many failed tomato plants (they had a fungus or something), an extremely late planting date (mid-June), the fact that my espinaca bolted as soon as it had about 2 leaves (too much heat), and a pretty lackadaisical attitude about watering and weeding, you'd have thought I wasn't going to get much of anything. But I've gotten loads of medium-sized onions, enough tomatoes for fresh salsa, green and wax beans (yummmmm-y!), and zucchini.

Oh, zucchini. Lovely, lovely zucchini. Bountious, copious, plentiful, fertile zucchini. It's the conejo of the vegetable world, if you know what I mean. Thankfully I love it, so no complainin' here. I've shredded and frozen bag after bag of zucchini to use for muffins and queques this winter. I've chopped and sauteed zucchini every night for weeks now.

Today I made zucchini bread, zucchini cake, and zucchini hashbrowns, even, topping them with homemade salsa. De-lish. Tomorrow I might try a zucchini pie recipe I found in one of my cookbooks.

And if my zucchini plants don't slow down soon, I just might have to start pranking the vecinos with my zucchini. You know the one, where you ring the doorbell and run, leaving a pile of.....um, zucchini.....yeah, that's it......on their front doorstep?

Between the home-grown garden veggies, eggs, chicken and beef, we've been eatin' like reyes y reinas here for weeks now and we don't even have any large grocery bills to show for it. Now if that's not un-Amercian, I can't think of what is.