Today we farm crawled, mama with two in tow, hurt wrist style. That means no pictures.
We toured 3 of the 6 farms and focused on the three that were most like what we want to do. CSA, orchard, pumpkin patch/pick your own......veggies, apples, pumpkins, honey, chickens, but no beef. I know that one of the farms we did not visit has meat herds but by 2 pm Lil'Bug was clamoring to go home and sick of being in the car with a 45 minute drive still ahead.
We met some people that will be our neighbors. They were friendly and helpful and this reinforces our decision to move there. Did I mention the crawl was through the county our farm to be is located in? Yes indeed. For those of you who were wondering...we close in December!
Sunday, 5 October 2008
Farm Crawl 2008
Mother, wife, sister, friend. This is our second year on the farm, a dream we've had since we were first married. We unschool, AP parent, and grow our own food (or try to).
Tuesday, 30 September 2008
What We've Been Up To, or Why Rubber Chickens Are Funny
* WARNING, pictures may gross you out. But at least you cannot smell them. Just saying.
The lovely Abby at Sugar Creek Family Farm invited us out to help with chicken preparing. Good times that. I'd helped with this chore as a kid at Deedle's farm, but Dearest had never even seen it done. We are all about hands on learning.
So, chickens are calm when you hang them upside down by their feet.
Feathers come right off after a scalding dip. That's the part that smells. Really smells yucky.
Dinosaur looking feet snap right off. You know, I never really thought about that part before.
Wee tots hiding under native lean-to. Cute toes. They mostly avoided the carnage of the day. Despite Lil'Bugs exclamations of, "We'll eat them!"- I think some of the visuals upset her. She's learning too.
Me? I held the baby. Thank you Blueberry! Hey, I'm good with fruit. Fruit is not bloody, does not smell like wet feathers, nor does fruit come pecking at the carnage bits of its tree brothers. Shudder. Apple anyone?
Then, I was blessed with the chore of laundry. I washed the chicken blood spattered clothes three times, frustrated and grossed out that a spot on Dearest's work jeans just wouldn't come clean. Until I realized it was a paint spot. Red paint from our parlor ceiling. Gah. The same red staining paint that has plagued me in recent times into thinking I had a rash. I am never using red house paint ever again.
The lovely Abby at Sugar Creek Family Farm invited us out to help with chicken preparing. Good times that. I'd helped with this chore as a kid at Deedle's farm, but Dearest had never even seen it done. We are all about hands on learning.
So, chickens are calm when you hang them upside down by their feet.
Feathers come right off after a scalding dip. That's the part that smells. Really smells yucky.
Dinosaur looking feet snap right off. You know, I never really thought about that part before.
Wee tots hiding under native lean-to. Cute toes. They mostly avoided the carnage of the day. Despite Lil'Bugs exclamations of, "We'll eat them!"- I think some of the visuals upset her. She's learning too.Me? I held the baby. Thank you Blueberry! Hey, I'm good with fruit. Fruit is not bloody, does not smell like wet feathers, nor does fruit come pecking at the carnage bits of its tree brothers. Shudder. Apple anyone?
Then, I was blessed with the chore of laundry. I washed the chicken blood spattered clothes three times, frustrated and grossed out that a spot on Dearest's work jeans just wouldn't come clean. Until I realized it was a paint spot. Red paint from our parlor ceiling. Gah. The same red staining paint that has plagued me in recent times into thinking I had a rash. I am never using red house paint ever again.
Mother, wife, sister, friend. This is our second year on the farm, a dream we've had since we were first married. We unschool, AP parent, and grow our own food (or try to).
Saturday, 27 September 2008
Place
Ultimately, I believe what Wendell Berry says in his last poem in A Timbered Choir: “There is a day when the road neither comes nor goes, and the way is not a way but a place.” That day has come for me. The way to a more sustainable life indeed is a place.
Wow does this passage speak to me right now. I was blog hunting for similar families in our new neck of the woods. She's up in South Dakota (Google is weird sometimes), but I love the poetry of this passage, both in the actual poetry quote and in her response.
Mother, wife, sister, friend. This is our second year on the farm, a dream we've had since we were first married. We unschool, AP parent, and grow our own food (or try to).
Falling
Fall is here. I just noticed. Last Spring I took the time to pay attention each day to the unfurling of the tree foliage and I intended to meditate the same way on the color changes this fall. We haven't had a cold spell and it still feels like summer to me. So it goes.
We are very busy around here. Sarah came to take photos and share chocolate yesterday. Much to my chagrin my dog jumped on to our king size bed and pushed all the blankets and sheets to floor. He was upset I had closed him in the room when company arrived. So I had spent the effort making the beds for naught. Gah. Tornado Tot did the same thing to her own room. And I was making apple butter. I wonder why I bother making the beds first thing in the morning if all they do is rampage my efforts.
Oh yeah, it is in case we get a Realtor showing up with prospective buyers. Okey-doke, I'll keep at it. We've been on the market 3 weeks and had 7 families look. Not so bad really. The next open house is early October. I hope to have the laundry room done by then.
Anyway, things are moving forward here on all fronts. Canning is getting done, house is clean, photos taken, slugs cuddled (yeah, it's a Lil'Bug thing), and we are all happier than ever.
The energy and excitement being generated from the farm acquisition moving forward is amazing and contagious.
We are very busy around here. Sarah came to take photos and share chocolate yesterday. Much to my chagrin my dog jumped on to our king size bed and pushed all the blankets and sheets to floor. He was upset I had closed him in the room when company arrived. So I had spent the effort making the beds for naught. Gah. Tornado Tot did the same thing to her own room. And I was making apple butter. I wonder why I bother making the beds first thing in the morning if all they do is rampage my efforts.
Oh yeah, it is in case we get a Realtor showing up with prospective buyers. Okey-doke, I'll keep at it. We've been on the market 3 weeks and had 7 families look. Not so bad really. The next open house is early October. I hope to have the laundry room done by then.
Anyway, things are moving forward here on all fronts. Canning is getting done, house is clean, photos taken, slugs cuddled (yeah, it's a Lil'Bug thing), and we are all happier than ever.
The energy and excitement being generated from the farm acquisition moving forward is amazing and contagious.
Mother, wife, sister, friend. This is our second year on the farm, a dream we've had since we were first married. We unschool, AP parent, and grow our own food (or try to).
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