April in Pictures

April is being WONDERFUL here in New Hampshire. Lovely. Warm, windy, cool, sunny, cloudy, rainy, just delightful. Finally, after months of weather that only allowed short trips outside, it's all day, every day outside play. We get school done by 10am, hit the gym quick so Mommy doesn't lose her mind, then the rest is done here and there while we play.

Oh it's nice.



(Neighbor ducks who LOVE our yard because we have lots of running water.)

We added four little Rouen ducks to our flock. They are basically domesticated mallards who don't migrate and can't really fly. The babies are INSANELY cute, and we are hopeful that at least one of them will be a female for the eggs. But we are enjoying their extreme excitablity. They are SO SO SO cute.


See? ADORABLE!

My garden is blossoming a bit in a tiny little green house of sorts. I can't wait until the frost danger is past and we can put them in the ground!





My chicken-ladies are hard-workers turning soil, looking for anything that wriggles. They DO NOT appreciate the neighbor ducks and run those giant cowards off at any given opportunity.



My goodness. This little girl wants to be outside just as much as her brothers. Since she can't be out without supervision, LESS gets done inside the house. But truly, when she brings me her little tiny boots and begs for "owsigh" I can NOT say no.



What happens when we takes "selfies":


We are awesome like that.

April: Keep up the good work.

Mud Season

Spring is coming, it is! It is!!

I can see dead,  brown grass in my yard, and MUD IS EVERYWHERE.

It's Mud Season here in New England. We live on a dirt road and drive a white van. It's DISGUSTING.

This mud is a metaphor for my life, I tell you.




I'll take the mud right now, see? I'll accept it because while it's gross and ugly and cold and wet, it's BETTER THAN SNOW, better than it was.

And, mud means eventually, things will grow. Things will START to blossom.

Mud season will not last long. I'm sure of it.

And when it's over...

It'll be spring.

Life on the Farm, and Hope

Winter is streaky this year, freezing, thawing, freezing, snowing on TOP of the sheets of ice. I'm trying not to be completely offended by the entire season, but frankly it isn't going well.

The ice has caused the gate to the goats to get stuck and break, so now I have to suck in my ever-expanding belly along with my marshmallow puffy coat in order to squeeze in to feed those menaces. Additionally, they are BORED and also offended by the weather, and escape at every given opportunity. Since they free range in the warm weather, the fact that they are loose would be less of an issue except that the lack of forage when they escape has led them to chewing on my house. This is unacceptable.

But, the bright side is, regardless of the bitter cold, freezing cold snowy days, our little chicken ladies keep on laying. I'm very grateful. We've seen a bit of a drop, somedays only getting one or two eggs, but many days we get four or five. With five chickens I'd call that success. Getting them in the house before they freeze is a challenge though.

So, our little farm life isn't without it's worries or fears. I worry every night when I see how low the temp will drop, even bringing all the birds in one night when the temps were way below zero. The goats were fine, a nice thick layer of bedding and another, along with their spongy, wooly winter coats kept them comfortable. But, I stress and worry. We have had a bout of some sort of respiratory virus with both the girls, but they got over it fine, and are not worse for the wear.

It's a funny life we're choosing here. I think about undoing it all the time. Maybe I don't REALLY want to do this. Maybe the stress and worry is too much. Maybe my heart just can't take it.

I come in from chasing a wily, house-chewing goat back in her pen AGAIN and declare to Derek that THIS TIME I mean it, sell the damn goats on Craigslist!

But I don't mean it.

 I have a tendency to pull away from strong emotions, to distance myself from things that hurt or might hurt (I'm human) and I know that our little farm is a breeding ground for heartbreak, just like it is for good things.

But then I find myself at the farm store, reaching for books like these, bringing them home, and dreaming of spring when I can plant, then summer when I can chase goats from my strawberries, and hope for the future, for the new life that is promised.

So, life on this micro-farm is changing, growing, expanding. We'll plant and toil and chase and hope.

A Sad Day on the Farm

We lost our first chicken today.



I knew it would happen eventually. Poor little Susie was an outcast for months. We worked pretty hard to reintegrate her, and as of late, we were having good luck.

I don't know how it happened, but it somehow, they turned on her, like chickens do. We found her this morning, the coop looking like a crime scene on TV.

Oh, but she was alive. My scrappy little chicken who had survived worms and attacks and isolation and some health problems had made it again.

I got her in the sink and cleaned her up and realized there was no hope for her. I couldn't save her. There was no chance. Even if I got her put back together somehow, she'd probably die of infection, or lonliness since putting her back with the rest was no longer an option.

So. I panicked.

I've always said there's no way I'd kill my own chickens. I'll let them retire gracefully when they stop laying, I'll probably never face it anyway, since harsh winters and predators were sure to get them before they ever reached that age.

But I wasn't expecting the need to do it today.

There was no way she'd survive. But I've also learned enough about chicken-keeping to know it could take days for her to pass naturally.

And the truth was, letting her go slowly was cruel.

One of the reasons we keep chickens is because the depravity and disgusting behaviors that exist in the poultry industry. Raising our own laying birds and buying hand, farm raised chickens from the farm down the street for meat is an excellent way to healthfully, ethically feed my family. I can not fathom cruelty when it comes to my animals. It's not an option.

I knew the only answer was to let her go as quickly as possible.

Googling "Cull a chicken humanely" was helpful, but the reality was I didn't know what I was doing. I was an emotional mess, and I was positive our axe wasn't sharp enough. I was NOT going to take this step unless I was sure I could be 100% quickly successful.

So I prayed, and I prayed. I prayed that God would just take her quickly, NOW! Please!

And that didn't work. Instead, realizing I was ill-equipped and unprepared (which made me feel even worse, really), I sent a text to a dear friend and neighbor who I know keeps chickens. Within minutes, my neighbor had contacted HER neighbor who raises and processes her own meat birds.

"She promises her a nice final resting place," My friend told me as I bawled on the phone to her. "Take her right over." She gave me the address, and so I loaded up my five kids and a chicken and went straight over.

I apologized upon meeting her for crying over a stupid chicken. But she was lovely and kind, and assured me they'd cried over a few too. "We lost one just this morning, we'd been trying to help."

My new friend looked poor Susie over and assurred me, as I already knew, that there was no hope.

"We'll take care of her right away. My husband has to leave soon, he'll do it before he goes."

So I cried some more, and bid my sweet chicken girl good bye.

We went and met Derek for lunch to try and quell our sadness, and discussed the reality that is keeping poultry.

They die.

But I am so grateful for Susie's little life. She mattered to us.  I'm grateful for that little yellow fluff ball, turned big white chicken. She taught us about food, about caring for life smaller and more helpless than ourselves. She taught us a lesson about death.

And I'm grateful for a loving Father, who's eye is not only on the sparrow, but the little chickens of the world, and the little children, and heartbroken mama who love them too.

Apple Picking

Derek's dad and step mom are visiting us from Texas. We're all having entirely too much fun. The weather today was made in Heaven, so we headed for one of the 2431 pick-your-own apple farms here in this corner of the world.












(I took pictures of Ezra, I thought, but they seem to be not on my phone??? He had a wonderful time.)

It took approximately seven minutes to pick 40 lbs of apples. Seriously, it was quick and oh so fun. The farm we went to prunes their trees so they grow out instead of up, making all but the very highest accessible to us. The trees were heavy with apples, and every single one of us got to enjoy the deeply satisfying feeling that comes from gathering one's own food.

Essentially, it was a delightful afternoon.

Around the Farm

It occurred to me this weekend, as I was trying to bathe a chicken in my kitchen sink (more on that later), that for as much time, *money*, energy and effort as we've put into our animals here at Brooksound Farm (Brooksounds? we haven't decided yet...) the animals get very little mention.

Skip it if you'd like or already know the tales of the tails that we keep around here, but we do, admittedly adore our animals and they are a huge HUGE part of our lives here on Hagey Hill. We've introduced you to most of them before, but let's start again, shall we?

This past March, Derek came home from work on a snowy Friday evening to find me surrounded by hand written notes, and the address for the local feed store.

"Wanna go get some chickens?" I asked, "The internet said..." and on I went. We'd discussed chickens for years, so it wasn't a new idea, but we had said previously, NEXT spring, when we're settled, we'd start. We hadn't even finished unpacking the house yet. (Okay, OKAY we still haven't...).

Bless that man. "Sure," he said. And by 7 o'clock that evening, we had spent $80 on six fluff ball baby chickens and all the supplies necessary for keeping three day old baby birds without a mama alive.

Now? Now we have six egg-laying machines! It's been a bumpy road. Most recently, as mentioned, we've had some injuries that were caused by members of the flock on other feathered friends. Let me tell you, washing and cleaning injuried chicken TUSHIE is not glamorous. Oh no.  And the head chicken hasn't accepted her back into the flock just yet, so she's free-range, and stays pretty near her friends, regardless of the fact that if she goes back in the run, Florence pecks the crap out of Susie.

The girls: (Florence, Kathy, Jackie, Polly and Becky)



The poor little outcast, Susie:


Next up we have the goats, who have taught us much about how farm animals prefer NOT to be fenced in and will escape at any given opportunity. We started with one, and that was a disaster, next thing we knew, we had three. The boy is Linus (I beliveve you've met him) and the twin sisters, Lucy and Sally. They are mostly free-range, as their primary job at this time is to be our lawn mowers, which, seeing as how I haven't had to mow in two months, I'd say they are earning their keep. We might breed/milk the girls in a couple years (they are all only about six months old) but for now, we are just letting them eat and eat and eat...

I have also learned how to effectively treat bloat in a goat, and let me tell you, it is only slightly less disgusting than bathing a chicken in my sink. Blech.



The kittens, Burton Guster (Gus-Gus) and Juliet O'Hara (Jules) are rapidly becoming cats, and are our mousers. Have I mentioned my husband's saint-status? I announced to him in late April (before the goats...) that we were going to need a cat for mousing and if we got one cat, we both knew we'd actually need two. One cat means you get clawed when they feel playful. Two cats mean they claw each other. Enter a good friend, Gail, who knew a girl with some rescue kittens, a quick road trip to Connecticut, and we had two fur babies taking up my bathroom and bedroom. Now, they are big, and free-range ONLY in the house, and thus far, their hunting skills have brought about the demise of exactly ONE creature.

It was a grasshopper. And Jules got tired of eating it halfway through and left it on the floor for me. Sweet.

Gus:



Jules:


All of these animals, interestingly enough were born in March. Weird.

And finally: Jonah.


Four years ago, when we adopted Jonah from a rescue, he came with the warning that he couldn't do cats, and he didn't love other dogs either. We thought, "No biggie, we'll never want any other pets, so that's fine!" He was great with the kids, kind, and gentle and NEVER barked.

Then, fast forward to now, and we have been rocking his world with all the additions. We carefully, and slowly introduced him to each new animal, and other than a couple of altercations with Linus the goat (stupid goat) and Jules, who has no patience for him whatsoever, he's done great. He's a fabulous farm dog. He doesn't even flinch (despite him being half hound) as poultry squack past him, Gus, the cat frequently kicks him out of his own bed, Linus can be seen to head-butt him, and add in the neighbors' ducks and we are all shocked with how quickly he learned and now fully understands not to hurt or harm any of the animals.

AND the neighbors TINY dog, Nikki is frequently here visiting, running the hill with him. He has never tried to harm him in any way. We are duely impressed with our overweight grandpa dog, who has earned his title as best farm dog ever.

So, there ya go. That's the rounds here at the homestead. I'm grateful for what we've learned thus far about animal husbandry and care. I know animals often equal heartbreak, and as winter approaches, I worry, especially, about the chickens. Everyone is doing well for now though, so we're happy.

The kids are learning to work, and they are also learning that if you want an animal to trust you, you must treat them with respect. This is especially difficult for the smallest boys who simply want to snuggle the cats to death. We are learning. It's amazing.