Inscape

"I do not think that I have ever seen anything 

more beautiful than the bluebell ...

 I know the beauty of the Lord by it."

~ Gerard Manley Hopkins

Spring will depart in days, and I am looking ahead to summer. It's been a strange year, weather-wise and otherwise. We had the wettest winter on record, which is saying something for Oregon. February and March, when normally we are planning the garden and readying it for planting, were unsalvageable with snow and excessive amounts of rain. April was just as gross. Rosie and I managed to run out in between storms and get some peas planted, which are doing pretty poorly.

 I didn't even look through a seed catalog until April.  

With the constant cold and wet, I felt my zeal for homesteading draining out of me. In contrast, I was putting a lot of energy and attention toward activities that were less farmy in nature, but challenging to me in new and different ways. My favorite poet, Gerard Manley Hopkins, is best known for his concept of "inscape" - the notion that every living creature has a given essence, characteristics, an essential nature, that tell us about God and His character. I suppose I've used these past months to grow and refine my inscape. 

My best friend Emily and I started a classics bookclub, plus (nerd-alert) I'm reading along with a podcast bookclub; I began tutoring at our Classical Conversation co-op; I spoke at two different events; and I ran a Ragnar Trail relay in Zion National Park. So now I'm actually realizing that this lull in farm life was a gift for this season to allow me to pursue some different, but stretching and worthwhile activities. It's also given me time to really ponder what God has for me in the future and where He wants me to most focus my time and energy. 

   

There have now been a few sunny days and enough beauty to be found that I am again feeling the love and looking forward to the coming season of bounty. 

We have been busy making up for a lost spring. Here are a few snapshots of some Good Gifts: 

There were very few days during bloom that were hospitable to pollinators, so we are hoping our fruit trees will produce. Caleb is enough concerned that he has come around to the idea that we should probably have our own hives. (Woot woot!!!)

We have many new chicken faces (and stories) around here... I'll save those for another day.

Egg production has picked up and my egg business is still not paying the chicken-bills. Haha. 

My kids are wild and free.

We likely have a thriving fairy colony here at Good Gifts Farm.

No matter the weather or the difficulty or the unknowns, I know Him who holds my days in His hands.

 God's Grandeur

The world is charged with the grandeur of God. 

It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;

It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil

Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?

Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;

And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared

with toil;

And wears man's smudge and shares man's 

smell: the soil

Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;

There lives the dearest freshness deep down

things;

And though the last lights off the black West went

Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward,

springs---

Because the Holy Ghost over the bent

World broods with warm breast and with ah!

bright wings.

~ Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844-1889)

A Time for Everything

Hope is tomorrow's veneer over today's disappointment.

~Evan Esar

We started the year with such excitement and high hopes.

In Janurary we purchased a pregnant Irish Dexter named Annabelle with her steer (neutered male) calf.

She was expected to calve in February or March, and we desired to keep a heifer calf (female) to raise and breed or raise a bull calf for beef, along with Annabelle's other boy.
Although Annabelle is 11, we bought her for a good price and hoped to get a couple more calves out of her before allowing her to live out her retirement years in our pasture. She is such a sweetheart and will greedily accept my pets, brushes, and scratches all day long.

A few weeks after purchasing her, she began wheezing, while also having runny eyes and discharge coming from her nose. I waited a while before calling the farm vet, but eventually decided to. When he came out, I casually mentioned that she was due to give birth "any day". He took one look at her and said, "I hate to tell you this, but I don't think she's pregnant." Since he was doing lab work on her anyway, we opted to have a pregnancy test done and indeed, she was not pregnant. I don't believe the prior owners had been dishonest with us. They were lovely people and I do believe she had been with a bull for two months. The vet surmises that at her age her cycles are slowing down and it will take longer for her to get pregnant.

We felt quite foolish for buying this old, un-pregnant cow. She was ultimately diagnosed with lungworm, a treatable parasite, but one which she introduced to our previously-clean pasture, and we therefore had to worm all our animals. We spent $300 on the vet and lab bills, and it was discouraging to think how one thing going wrong with an animal can wipe out any profit a person might have been hoping to make. Not only would we not have a calf to raise and sell for beef, but we had to pay the vet bill, find a way to breed her, and then feed and care for her for the next year before she even calves. We obviously aren't trying to make a living doing this, but I have a huge respect and concern for people who do. The margins are extremely tight, and it is not easy. 


On a much smaller scale, I have realized this truth in raising hens and selling eggs. When hens are young and laying an egg a day in summer we can about break even on paying for feed and keeping a couple dozen per week for ourselves. In the winter when hens lay once or twice per week, or when they turn two and begin to slow down altogether, there is no margin to cover expenses. When a predator takes out two hens at once, hens we have fed and cared for and gotten to a place where they lay daily, it is a great loss. When we have to buy new chicks or medicine or cedar chips to clean out the coop (not to mention the several hundred dollars it cost to build the coop), there is no way to recover that cost. There is only so much we can charge for a dozen eggs. We charge $4/dozen for organic, pastured eggs, which is on the higher end of what people are willing to pay anyway. (Even Costco with their massive buying power charges $3.50.) And though we are certainly not the most efficient egg farmers around, I am mindful that those able to produce and sell eggs for $2/dozen must be scrimping somewhere, most likely on quality feed, animal welfare, and humane practices. (Have you ever watched one of those horrifying industrial-egg-factory videos?) It's all somewhat discouraging and disappointing.

But I will return to the subject of cows. Since we were going to need to bring a bull in for Annabelle, we decided we might as well get one more female cow to breed along with her.

And so we purchased Nutmeg, a red Irish Dexter heifer (a female that has never given birth - I define terms because it has taken me a long while to understand them myself). Now, six months later, we are still attempting to track down an Irish Dexter bull to breed them both. A woman has kindly offered to pasture them with her herd, which includes a bull, for a couple of months this summer and we will likely take her up on that. If that doesn't work out, we have the number of two different people who offer AI (artificial insemination) services.

Another major disappointment has been the ordeal of breeding our goats. We purchased a buck (un-neutered male) in January, went to the expense of registering him with the USDGA (United States Dairy Goats Association) because our doelings (females who have never given birth) are purebred and we wanted to be able to sell our kids as purebred registered Nigerian Dwarfs. We also had a vet tech out to do disease testing on our girls and the buck because when purchasing kids, many people want certification that they come from a clean herd. Nigerian Dwarfs usually have between 2-4 kids per litter, so we were expecting to have several kids to sell. 

After Westley did his job, we were quite ready to send him on to his next home. We then noticed that a large population on Homesteader's Classifieds (a Facebook group we belong to) were trying to unload Nigerian Dwarf bucks much cuter than ours and no one wanted to buy them. We became worried that we would be stuck with this stinky, horny goat, so when his previous owners offered to take him back (because they really did love him), but not refund our money, we readily accepted. We chalked the purchase price up to a "stud fee". 

Elinor

Five months passed and Elinor's due date approached. She was confirmed pregnant by a test we had the vet tech do when she was here for disease testing. Ten days prior to d-day, she began having discharge that, from all my internet research, did not look healthy or normal. I was fairly certain that she was miscarrying but being completely new to this realm of animal husbandry, I was at a loss as to what to do and was worried about Elinor's health as well. Our farm vet came out for an emergency call on a Sunday and extricated a single very under-developed fetus. So, so disappointing. 

We had thought our farm would be abounding with new life this Spring, but it has not been so. Our very last hope for a baby lies in Marianne. She was not confirmed pregnant by the test because she would not have been far enough along. She is the tiniest thing and we are all a bit suspicious that there could even be a baby in there. If there is, it's likely only one. So our goat venture has cost about $600, a lot of hassle, and may not amount to anything. 

Marianne

The disappointments in the Little House book series are truly heartbreaking. I often think with amazement of Pa because no matter what calamity befell his family - plagues of locust, ruined crops, months-long blizzards, being forced off his homestead by changing boundaries - he began again, and with a twinkle in his eye. "There is no great loss without some small gain" was a common Ingalls Family saying. Our losses and disappointments are absurdly minor compared to theirs and to those of many others. 

The barnyard on a summer afternoon is about the most peaceful place that exists. All is still and quiet, as the chickens dust bathe in the shade, the goats snooze on their wooden wall, the cows lounge under trees to avoid the flies and heat. Recently I strolled out one blazing afternoon, and it was all so good and beautiful on our property that I couldn't even conjure up those disappointed feelings I had felt two-weeks prior when I held a screaming, trembling goat with tears streaming down my face. 

There is a time for everything,

    and a season for every activity under the heavens:

 a time to be born and a time to die,

    a time to plant and a time to uproot,

    a time to kill and a time to heal,

    a time to tear down and a time to build,

    a time to weep and a time to laugh,

    a time to mourn and a time to dance,

    a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,

    a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,

     a time to search and a time to give up,

    a time to keep and a time to throw away,

   a time to tear and a time to mend,

    a time to be silent and a time to speak,

   a time to love and a time to hate,

    a time for war and a time for peace.

~Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

What else can you do but joyfully and resolutely move forward?

Giving Thanks (Reflections on Two Years on the Homestead)

Thanksgiving creates abundance.

~Ann VosKamp,  from One Thousand Gifts

Our plum tree bore fruit for the first time this year, and it gave me pause. For the first time I was able to make my favorite Autumn Jam, which calls for pears, apples, and plums, entirely with my own fruit. I reflected that when I first made (and fell in love with) that jam two summers prior we were living in our regular neighborhood house and I had bought all those ingredients at the store. Two years has changed everything.   

Two years have passed since we said yes to the dream that had been tucked away deep in our hearts. Two years ago we packed up our four children, our 13 year-old dog, and more belongings than we realized we owned. We left the house we had designed and built and planned to raise our family in and hoped to grow old in. We drove down the beautiful road that meanders along the river, turned left at just the right place, crossed a lovely stretch of railroad tracks, meandered a little farther, and settled onto a piece of land that God gifted to us. I still marvel at the ways this homestead seems to have been designed and planned with us in mind, including  

the barn of my dreams (we only needed to paint it red),

a shed that perfectly converted to a chicken coop, 

a treehouse with electricity (Yes, it does!), 

a large paved driveway for the kids to ride bikes, skate, play basketball and four-square on (plus two gorgeous Autumn trees), 

a second barn that would perfectly convert to a fruit and vegetable stand (Woops, just dreaming out loud there), and fenced pastures for livestock,

fruit trees, 

 a fully enclosed 1200 square-foot garden

and so, so much more.  

Prior to our move, I had always possessed this vague notion that I should not be tied down to land. Leisure activities and unfettered freedom are often associated with happiness in this American life, and I certainly wanted my fill. I thought that the hard work and time commitment involved in a homestead would keep me from more fulfilling endeavors. But now, this land... my very soul is wedded to it. Truly, no matter the charms of a destination I visit, I soon feel a restless longing to go home - to walk my sod, check my fences, tend my garden, and breathe my sky.  For me, the Good Life is not out there. It is right here.

Historically,  most people did not have the option to be "animal people" or not. Animals were tied to a family's livelihood and sustenance. For most people now, animals are relegated to the role of pets, and upon moving to our homestead, in the whole of my life, I had owned a few cats and the old dog that we brought with us. I was not a lover of animals, and considered them a stinky nuisance. And while they are definitely that, as we seek to live more traditionally, sustainably, and self-sufficiently, they have taken a larger and more welcome role in our lives. We have learned so much, and still have so much to learn. 






























And two years, 
Four cows, 

Two goats,

too many chickens,

an additional dog,

and a daring cat (who's down to at least 8 lives now) later,

I can honestly say that our lives have been deeply enriched by them. These animals bring such life, vitality, and often hilarity to our land. I'll never forget sitting on my driveway watching Caleb and the kids lighting  Fourth of July fireworks, when I glanced over and saw our crab-apple trees bobbing up and down, being pulled at and eaten by the cows. I thought, "Hmmmm.... I didn't know the cows could reach those trees from over the fence." And then I stood up and saw that the cows were actually not in the pasture, but standing in our yard. If you could have seen Caleb, Britton, and I trying to herd\force\lure these two 1000-pound animals who are not halter-trained and pretty skittish back into the pasture, you would have laughed heartily. And that was Act II. Not ten minutes before, Digs, our cat, had run right through the firework excitement with a rabbit in his mouth. He dropped it and we all cheered for the rabbit as Digs chased it in and out of pasture and bush. We thought the rabbit had escaped, but alas, we discovered Digs feasting later that evening. There is never a dull moment around here. 

These animals have led me to praise their creator over and over as I marvel at His designs. I have not bought eggs in 18 months and have provided many friends with fresh, pasture-raised eggs, as well. By the end of this week we will have filled our own, and many friends' freezers with healthy, humanely-raised, grass-fed beef. I have planted, grown, and harvested food that will feed my family all the year long.

It is the Land that has made these miracles possible. How can I not feel tied to it? And a sweet bridling it is. 

Most mornings when I walk outside to let the chickens and goats out and I see the sun cresting over the hill and feel the wind swirling against my face and listen to the blessed sound of silence, I can do little but whisper a feeble, "Thank you." 

A Summer of Small Moments

“Summer afternoon—summer afternoon; 

to me those have always been the two most 

beautiful words in the English language.” 

~Henry James

A common annual refrain is that summer flew by and we can't believe school is upon us and where did the time go? But not this year. We lived summer this year. We lived it in slow, ordinary moments. As Sherlock Holmes says, "There is nothing so important as trifles." We had a very trifling summer, in the best possible way. 

Maybe it was that after arriving home from China at the end of June, we did not do any traveling, aside from a weekend trip to the beach. 

Or maybe it was because we stuck fairly close to home, while settling Graham into our family and our routines. 

Or maybe it was because it was the hottest summer on record and we found ourselves longing for a gentle autumn shower to quench our parched pastures. 

Or maybe it was because we had a record-breaking zero minutes of screen time for seven straight weeks, which helped us savor those fleeting summer moments a little more deeply.

Whatever the reason, come September, we were ready for routine and cooler days and the end of summer, and school. And we did not grieve because we lived summer, and who could begrudge September her rightful place in time? 

September...

"This strangely still pause between summer and autumn, 

greenery and gold, and the heat and rising wind 

that is once again readying itself to 

rush it all away in a climactic symphony 

of color and scent is - in my opinion, 

one of the best parts about living on earth."

~ Victoria Erickson