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?
Showing posts with label Did you know..... Show all posts
Showing posts with label Did you know..... Show all posts
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Egg Recall
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Sorting Cattle
In Irish Grove, the time has come to separate our young Murray Grey calves from their mommas.
and yet Marcel's still stalling on account of the rain, the wimp.
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?
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,
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.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Processing
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.
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.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Thirsty Birdies
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.
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.)
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.
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.
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.
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.
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:
...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.
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.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Eggs Galore...."Ooh, Aah"
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.
"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.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Goin' Against the Grain
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.
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.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Pink Eye
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.
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.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Chickens, and a visit from Cousin Jenny
Well, Saturday was a long one. It took us about 10 hours, but we butchered 40 chickens and filled the freezer with some homegrown, healthy food. I'd post pictures, but, yeah, well.....I imagine most of you just don't wanna know. Let's just say that by the end of the day it looked like the entire community of Irish Grove had descended upon our farm to partake in huge feather-pillow fight. And we'll just leave it at that.
Thankfully we had the help of my sister and her family (my lovely sister who brought her famous cinnamon rolls) and yes, the help of my kids. Ana and Madelina dove right in at the plucking station, along with Laura, Rob, Brady, and Jonathan. Wow! 6 pluckers! Armando even helped, doing a great job of taking the fully dressed (which is a definite oxymoron) chickens over to the cold water tank.
Madelina was the funniest, though, as she had decided to take on the role of narrator for the day. She was getting a kick out of the fact that her Aunt Laura was holding back a retch or two as she plucked her first chicken, and that her cousins were a little more than hesitant to get started. You see, according to Madelina, she had tons of experience in the ole chicken-pluckin' thang, so she pulled out the big guns and started in with her 1st-grader hipster talk. She started struttin' around saying things such as "It's not gross! I think it's really cool." and "Look at the guts, their like, so cool lookin'." (She gets her eloquence from her mother.) Finally I had to step in and let her know that she'd already over-impressed everyone and could put a lid on it.
Anyways, the extra help made the job much lighter for Marcel and I, both physically and spiritually. And then, of course you can't forget our other helper, my cousin Jenny, who gave us more moral support than actual physical help. Jenny did a good job of holding down a lawn chair, if ya know what I mean. For some reason or another she just didn't feel like plucking feathers. I can't imagine why!
That's okay. Jenny might not be the 'dive-right-in-and-get-dirty' type o' gal, but she is one of our biggest supporters. She loves to come out and socialize, which can be a good thing when you're filled with chicken guts. Someone has to help keep our minds off the yucky task at hand!
Jenny also likes to drive the PUG when she's here. It can be a little nerve-racking, though, 'cause, shhhhhh! don't tell anyone, but.......she's a crazy driver!
Here she is taking a whirlwind tour of our yard. (Marcel is a brave man!)
Here she is, almost taking out the garage:
Here's Marcel, waving frantically for the kids to run for their lives.
Whew! That was a close one! The garage was saved, the kids were safe, and Jenny had a blast.
I'm sure Jenny is still wondering how she got roped in to coming out to the farm for the pluckin' party. In fact, that's probably what most of our helpers are thinking right now. Hopefully the fresh, wholesome chickens in their freezers made it worth it.
Wait! Jenny didn't get a chicken! Don't worry, Jen. We've got one with your name on it. As creepy as that sounds.
Thankfully we had the help of my sister and her family (my lovely sister who brought her famous cinnamon rolls) and yes, the help of my kids. Ana and Madelina dove right in at the plucking station, along with Laura, Rob, Brady, and Jonathan. Wow! 6 pluckers! Armando even helped, doing a great job of taking the fully dressed (which is a definite oxymoron) chickens over to the cold water tank.
Madelina was the funniest, though, as she had decided to take on the role of narrator for the day. She was getting a kick out of the fact that her Aunt Laura was holding back a retch or two as she plucked her first chicken, and that her cousins were a little more than hesitant to get started. You see, according to Madelina, she had tons of experience in the ole chicken-pluckin' thang, so she pulled out the big guns and started in with her 1st-grader hipster talk. She started struttin' around saying things such as "It's not gross! I think it's really cool." and "Look at the guts, their like, so cool lookin'." (She gets her eloquence from her mother.) Finally I had to step in and let her know that she'd already over-impressed everyone and could put a lid on it.
Anyways, the extra help made the job much lighter for Marcel and I, both physically and spiritually. And then, of course you can't forget our other helper, my cousin Jenny, who gave us more moral support than actual physical help. Jenny did a good job of holding down a lawn chair, if ya know what I mean. For some reason or another she just didn't feel like plucking feathers. I can't imagine why!
That's okay. Jenny might not be the 'dive-right-in-and-get-dirty' type o' gal, but she is one of our biggest supporters. She loves to come out and socialize, which can be a good thing when you're filled with chicken guts. Someone has to help keep our minds off the yucky task at hand!
Jenny also likes to drive the PUG when she's here. It can be a little nerve-racking, though, 'cause, shhhhhh! don't tell anyone, but.......she's a crazy driver!
Here she is taking a whirlwind tour of our yard. (Marcel is a brave man!)
Here she is, almost taking out the garage:
Here's Marcel, waving frantically for the kids to run for their lives.
Whew! That was a close one! The garage was saved, the kids were safe, and Jenny had a blast.
I'm sure Jenny is still wondering how she got roped in to coming out to the farm for the pluckin' party. In fact, that's probably what most of our helpers are thinking right now. Hopefully the fresh, wholesome chickens in their freezers made it worth it.
Wait! Jenny didn't get a chicken! Don't worry, Jen. We've got one with your name on it. As creepy as that sounds.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Felling the Giant, one machete-swing at a time
That's right, I said machete. Machete. A third-world tool that no self-respecting, American-born, tractor-drivin', weed-busting conventional farmer would ever, ever touch.
I guess that's why I'm not your usual self-respecting-American-born-tractor-drivin'-weed-bustin'-conventional farmer.
Cause a machete is what's been occupying my right hand for a few days straight now, and I gotta tell you......ouch, ouch and ouch. My forearm is extremely sore, and my middle finger (yes, the naughty one) is barely working this morning. My hands are blistered and my waist hurts so bad from the rythmic 'bend-swing-fell' movement of the machete that I'm walking around, preggo-style, with my arms propping up my lower back. And no, I'm not nine-months pregnant! 'Cause if I were, I wouldn't be so %#$&* sore from using a machete.
But machete I did, and machete I will do again. Because we've got this little problem going on around here. OK, it's a big problem. In fact, a giant problem. A giant ragweed problem.
Gaint Ragweeds are the enemy of all conventional farmers. They are this huge-mongous weed that grows about 11' tall (seriously), their roots send out many stalks that happen to be as thick as small tree-saplings, and then. Then! Then they do something that is quite amazing, and extremely frustrating, especially if you're 1) a farmer, or 2) a person who suffers from hayfever.
They put up this glorious (in their mind, at least) flower head, with copious amounts of pollen waiting for the most minute gust of wind to carry them straight to your nose and mine. (Cue sneezing and wheezing.)
And when the pollen does its job of mixing with its friends (yes, it's called cross-pollinating....I'm not really as dumb as I make myself out to be), the flower-heads will turn into seed-heads and drops thousands upon thousands of tiny Giant Ragweed seeds into my corn or bean-field. Which will promptly turn into thousands of huge-mongous Giant Ragweed plants next year. Noooooooo!!
Giant Ragweed are all too common in these parts. Especially on farms like ours where we don't plant Round-up Ready anything. Round-up Ready corn and soybeans are also known as GMO crops--Genetically Modified Organisms. The scientists take genes from unrelated plants and splice them into the DNA of the corn or soybeans. This change allows farmers like me to herbicide-spray the crap out of our corn or soybeans without killing them. Except farmers like me don't plant GMO crops. Did I already say that?
But before you think we're all virtuous or something, we do spray herbicides on our fields. They're called pre-emergence herbicides, and they're sprayed on the land before we plant the crops. They kill all those sneaky little weed seedlings that sprout the moment the weather warms. And they give our crops a 'head-start', a chance to get established before the weeds come back and give 'em a run for their money. Or our money. Whatever.
Gosh, this is getting long.
So, we spray in the spring, and then try not to spray again if possible. If it's really bad, we can re-spray, but these herbicides WILL shock the living daylights out of the corn or soy, and we don't like to do that.
Re-enter the machete. Here I am, getting ready to go to work:
(OK, not really. I'm just being goofy.)
Marcel and I spent 5 hours slaying the giant over by my sisters house last week, and 4 hours at the back of the main farm two days ago. Yesterday I spent 2 hours, all by my lonesone, machete-ing in the same bean field as the day before. Another 2 hours will finish that field up rather nicely, upon which we'll move over to a major infestion left by Laura's. That one will take a good 5 hours or so. And I'm hoping that'll be it for this year!
I'm also hoping that by the time we're all said and done, my fingers, forearms and waist muscles will still be functioning and that we'll have prevented 459.768 billion ragweed seeds from forming. Or something like that.
And that, my friends, will make it all worth it.
So look out, Giants. There's a Machete-Wielding Gringa in these parts. She'll getcha sooner or later. If she can move, that is.
Groan.
I guess that's why I'm not your usual self-respecting-American-born-tractor-drivin'-weed-bustin'-conventional farmer.
Cause a machete is what's been occupying my right hand for a few days straight now, and I gotta tell you......ouch, ouch and ouch. My forearm is extremely sore, and my middle finger (yes, the naughty one) is barely working this morning. My hands are blistered and my waist hurts so bad from the rythmic 'bend-swing-fell' movement of the machete that I'm walking around, preggo-style, with my arms propping up my lower back. And no, I'm not nine-months pregnant! 'Cause if I were, I wouldn't be so %#$&* sore from using a machete.
But machete I did, and machete I will do again. Because we've got this little problem going on around here. OK, it's a big problem. In fact, a giant problem. A giant ragweed problem.
Gaint Ragweeds are the enemy of all conventional farmers. They are this huge-mongous weed that grows about 11' tall (seriously), their roots send out many stalks that happen to be as thick as small tree-saplings, and then. Then! Then they do something that is quite amazing, and extremely frustrating, especially if you're 1) a farmer, or 2) a person who suffers from hayfever.
They put up this glorious (in their mind, at least) flower head, with copious amounts of pollen waiting for the most minute gust of wind to carry them straight to your nose and mine. (Cue sneezing and wheezing.)
And when the pollen does its job of mixing with its friends (yes, it's called cross-pollinating....I'm not really as dumb as I make myself out to be), the flower-heads will turn into seed-heads and drops thousands upon thousands of tiny Giant Ragweed seeds into my corn or bean-field. Which will promptly turn into thousands of huge-mongous Giant Ragweed plants next year. Noooooooo!!
Giant Ragweed are all too common in these parts. Especially on farms like ours where we don't plant Round-up Ready anything. Round-up Ready corn and soybeans are also known as GMO crops--Genetically Modified Organisms. The scientists take genes from unrelated plants and splice them into the DNA of the corn or soybeans. This change allows farmers like me to herbicide-spray the crap out of our corn or soybeans without killing them. Except farmers like me don't plant GMO crops. Did I already say that?
But before you think we're all virtuous or something, we do spray herbicides on our fields. They're called pre-emergence herbicides, and they're sprayed on the land before we plant the crops. They kill all those sneaky little weed seedlings that sprout the moment the weather warms. And they give our crops a 'head-start', a chance to get established before the weeds come back and give 'em a run for their money. Or our money. Whatever.
Gosh, this is getting long.
So, we spray in the spring, and then try not to spray again if possible. If it's really bad, we can re-spray, but these herbicides WILL shock the living daylights out of the corn or soy, and we don't like to do that.
Re-enter the machete. Here I am, getting ready to go to work:
(OK, not really. I'm just being goofy.)
Marcel and I spent 5 hours slaying the giant over by my sisters house last week, and 4 hours at the back of the main farm two days ago. Yesterday I spent 2 hours, all by my lonesone, machete-ing in the same bean field as the day before. Another 2 hours will finish that field up rather nicely, upon which we'll move over to a major infestion left by Laura's. That one will take a good 5 hours or so. And I'm hoping that'll be it for this year!
I'm also hoping that by the time we're all said and done, my fingers, forearms and waist muscles will still be functioning and that we'll have prevented 459.768 billion ragweed seeds from forming. Or something like that.
And that, my friends, will make it all worth it.
So look out, Giants. There's a Machete-Wielding Gringa in these parts. She'll getcha sooner or later. If she can move, that is.
Groan.
Monday, May 5, 2008
I do so recall....
Maybe I shouldn't talk about buying meat from your local farmer when we're all out for the year. That's just mean, isn't it?
And yet as I was perusing the USDA website (which proves how lame I really am), I clicked on the Find current food recalls link and was horrified at the sheer number of recalls in the past few months. That's right...I said months. Then I figured out that I was looking at only the open recall cases, meaning the USDA hasn't found all of the recalled product yet. Isn't that reassuring?
There is a second link that leads you to the Recall Case Archive, which means the recall is complete and they've taken all of the product off the supermarket shelves. Phew!
And because I am known to be a caring and generous soul, ahem, I have graciously combined these two lists for your reading enjoyment. (I only included page 1 of the closed cases.)
July 19, 2007, Canned Meat Products, C. botulinum, OPEN
Nov 1, 2007, Totino's and Jeno's Frozen Meat Pizza Products, E. coli 0157:H7, OPEN
Nov 15, 2007, Double B Foods, Inc., Frozen Sausage Roll Products, Listeria, OPEN
Jan 5, 2008, Mark's Quality Meats Ground Beef Products, E.coli 0157:H7, CLOSED
Jan 12, 2008, Ground Beef Products, E. coli 0157:H7, CLOSED
Jan 26, 2008, Chicken Products, undeclared allergen, CLOSED
Feb 1, 2008, Bacon-wrapped Beef Tenderloin Products, undeclared allergen, CLOSED
Feb 17, 2008, Beef Products, problem unstated (which worries me even more), CLOSED
Mar 2, 2008, Frozen Chicken Entrees, Listeria, CLOSED
Mar 3, 2008, Frozen Chicken Entrees, Listeria, CLOSED
Mar 4, 2008, Gourmet Boutique Meat and Poultry Products, Listeria, CLOSED
Mar 14, 2008, Chicken Gibliets, adulturated, OPEN
Mar 29, 2008, Frozen Chicken Products, mislabeling, CLOSED
Apr 4, 2008, Frozen Cattle Heads, prohibited materials, OPEN
May 3, 2008, Gourmet Boutique Meat and Poultry Products, Listeria, OPEN
Only 16 products in 10 months. Not bad, right? Except that they don't include the sheer poundage of the nasty food that is complicit in the above recalls. Nor do they include the brand names the food is sold under, except for one or two.
So, let's see. I could have a banquet of Listeria, E. coli, and botulism. I could partake in a delectable feast of cow head with prohibited materials. I could ingest a few undeclared allergens...I mean, what you don't know won't hurt you, right? (Right??) Or, I could just eat something that claims to be something else. No harm, no foul.
I read a list like this and never ever want to set foot in the supermarket meat isle again. But when we take ruminants, stick them in a CAFO (Confined Animal Feeding Operation), and feed them genetically modified grains, plastic "fiber" pellets, "recycled" chicken manure, distiller's grain (ethanol byproduct), and maybe a little hay here or there, E. coli 0157:H7 is what results. When we lock thousands and thousands of chickens together with only 0.8 square feet of space per bird, who's shocked if a little Listeria winds up on our chicken nuggets? And when we forget about the pots and pans in our kitchen, and only reheat the "canned meat products" on our pantry shelves, we submit ourselves to the industrialized quasi-kitchens that process millions of canned products daily. Who knows what contaminants lurk in those kitchen-factories?
I'm not judging, people. After a quick look at my own pantry, I found canned corned beef, for pity's sake. That stuff looks and smells like dog food when you open it. But for the sake of our environment and our health, we have all got to get away from the sad, demoralizing, inhumane and unhealthy meat industry and back to the small family farms that were traditionally the backbone of our country.
Small farms like ours can have contamination problems...of course! But cleanliness and herd health are much easier to manage when you're working on a small scale. Contamination is easier to track down and correct when things go awry, I might add. I know of not one local farmer who trucks in plastic pellets or chicken manure to feed his beef cattle....these things don't happen on a small-scale farm. They happen all the time on CAFO's. Not to mention the growth-promoting hormones and antibiotics.
Seriously. Find a local farmer. Ask them if you can buy some of their meat, be it chicken, pork, beef, duck, lamb, goat, mouse...OK, not mouse.
Now go. That's right, go.
Go do it. Call a local farmer.
Really. For your sake and mine, for the environment's sake, for the animals' sake, GO!
You can thank me later.
And yet as I was perusing the USDA website (which proves how lame I really am), I clicked on the Find current food recalls link and was horrified at the sheer number of recalls in the past few months. That's right...I said months. Then I figured out that I was looking at only the open recall cases, meaning the USDA hasn't found all of the recalled product yet. Isn't that reassuring?
There is a second link that leads you to the Recall Case Archive, which means the recall is complete and they've taken all of the product off the supermarket shelves. Phew!
And because I am known to be a caring and generous soul, ahem, I have graciously combined these two lists for your reading enjoyment. (I only included page 1 of the closed cases.)
July 19, 2007, Canned Meat Products, C. botulinum, OPEN
Nov 1, 2007, Totino's and Jeno's Frozen Meat Pizza Products, E. coli 0157:H7, OPEN
Nov 15, 2007, Double B Foods, Inc., Frozen Sausage Roll Products, Listeria, OPEN
Jan 5, 2008, Mark's Quality Meats Ground Beef Products, E.coli 0157:H7, CLOSED
Jan 12, 2008, Ground Beef Products, E. coli 0157:H7, CLOSED
Jan 26, 2008, Chicken Products, undeclared allergen, CLOSED
Feb 1, 2008, Bacon-wrapped Beef Tenderloin Products, undeclared allergen, CLOSED
Feb 17, 2008, Beef Products, problem unstated (which worries me even more), CLOSED
Mar 2, 2008, Frozen Chicken Entrees, Listeria, CLOSED
Mar 3, 2008, Frozen Chicken Entrees, Listeria, CLOSED
Mar 4, 2008, Gourmet Boutique Meat and Poultry Products, Listeria, CLOSED
Mar 14, 2008, Chicken Gibliets, adulturated, OPEN
Mar 29, 2008, Frozen Chicken Products, mislabeling, CLOSED
Apr 4, 2008, Frozen Cattle Heads, prohibited materials, OPEN
May 3, 2008, Gourmet Boutique Meat and Poultry Products, Listeria, OPEN
Only 16 products in 10 months. Not bad, right? Except that they don't include the sheer poundage of the nasty food that is complicit in the above recalls. Nor do they include the brand names the food is sold under, except for one or two.
So, let's see. I could have a banquet of Listeria, E. coli, and botulism. I could partake in a delectable feast of cow head with prohibited materials. I could ingest a few undeclared allergens...I mean, what you don't know won't hurt you, right? (Right??) Or, I could just eat something that claims to be something else. No harm, no foul.
I read a list like this and never ever want to set foot in the supermarket meat isle again. But when we take ruminants, stick them in a CAFO (Confined Animal Feeding Operation), and feed them genetically modified grains, plastic "fiber" pellets, "recycled" chicken manure, distiller's grain (ethanol byproduct), and maybe a little hay here or there, E. coli 0157:H7 is what results. When we lock thousands and thousands of chickens together with only 0.8 square feet of space per bird, who's shocked if a little Listeria winds up on our chicken nuggets? And when we forget about the pots and pans in our kitchen, and only reheat the "canned meat products" on our pantry shelves, we submit ourselves to the industrialized quasi-kitchens that process millions of canned products daily. Who knows what contaminants lurk in those kitchen-factories?
I'm not judging, people. After a quick look at my own pantry, I found canned corned beef, for pity's sake. That stuff looks and smells like dog food when you open it. But for the sake of our environment and our health, we have all got to get away from the sad, demoralizing, inhumane and unhealthy meat industry and back to the small family farms that were traditionally the backbone of our country.
Small farms like ours can have contamination problems...of course! But cleanliness and herd health are much easier to manage when you're working on a small scale. Contamination is easier to track down and correct when things go awry, I might add. I know of not one local farmer who trucks in plastic pellets or chicken manure to feed his beef cattle....these things don't happen on a small-scale farm. They happen all the time on CAFO's. Not to mention the growth-promoting hormones and antibiotics.
Seriously. Find a local farmer. Ask them if you can buy some of their meat, be it chicken, pork, beef, duck, lamb, goat, mouse...OK, not mouse.
Now go. That's right, go.
Go do it. Call a local farmer.
Really. For your sake and mine, for the environment's sake, for the animals' sake, GO!
You can thank me later.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Unhealthy
I just ate store-bought chicken. The rotisserrie kind.
It was gross, but I ate it anyway.
I do this often. Eat first, think later. It is the first of many symptoms that prove I have a unhealthy relationship with food. (I know, I know....who doesn't?)
The chicken meat was soft. The edges of the pieces were slippery and slimy. And the plate the chicken came on was positively swimming in grease.
By now you must be thinking, "And why, for the love of God, did you eat it!?!" That's a great question, of course, but what intrigues me even more is "Just how does a harmless piece of chicken get to be so soft, slimy and greasy?"
Warning: Stop here if you love to eat store-bought chicken.
Did you know that the chicken you buy at the grocery store was only 6 weeks old at the time of slaughter? 6 weeks old, and already 4-5 pounds! In the early 1900's, it took chickens about 16 weeks to reach 2 pounds. How could that be?
Well, in the 1930's some enterprising scientists, in the name of national security (ok, not really, but it sounds good) taught the old-fashioned poultry breeders some new tricks, and they began to produce broilers (meat birds) that were bred for rapid growth, white feathers, and meaty breasts and thighs.
Soon after, the mighty chicken complex was born. You might be surprised to learn that most meat chickens aren't raised in cages (laying hens are less fortunate). Instead, they get to live in a chicken complex. It sounds pretty fancy, but it basically means they get to share their bedroom with 20,000 other chickens, and the lucky dogs err chickens get a whole whoppin' 0.8 square feet all to themselves.
While in the complex, they are privy to an all-you-can-eat chicken-food buffet, every day of their lives (which might make my brother-in-law a little jealous). And chicken food is oh-so-delish, usually consisting of a little bit corn and soy, a little bit rendered animal parts (chickens don't get mad cow disease), and a little bit o' drugs, i.e. antibiotics, to help those babies grow big, fast.
(You can read about a study performed by Consumer Reports regarding Roxarsone, one of the antibiotics used that actually contains arsenic by clicking here.)
So now I know. Now I know why my disagreeable chicken meal was so soft, slimy and greasy. I just ate an overweight, under-exercised, flabby, drugged-out baby. Shouldn't someone call the Department of Child and Family Services or something?
If I had only thought about that before eating, I could have prevented this physical and mental indigestion. And regarding my unhealthy relationship to food? I think I may have just taken a baby-step towards a solution. No pun intended.
It was gross, but I ate it anyway.
I do this often. Eat first, think later. It is the first of many symptoms that prove I have a unhealthy relationship with food. (I know, I know....who doesn't?)
The chicken meat was soft. The edges of the pieces were slippery and slimy. And the plate the chicken came on was positively swimming in grease.
By now you must be thinking, "And why, for the love of God, did you eat it!?!" That's a great question, of course, but what intrigues me even more is "Just how does a harmless piece of chicken get to be so soft, slimy and greasy?"
Warning: Stop here if you love to eat store-bought chicken.
Did you know that the chicken you buy at the grocery store was only 6 weeks old at the time of slaughter? 6 weeks old, and already 4-5 pounds! In the early 1900's, it took chickens about 16 weeks to reach 2 pounds. How could that be?
Well, in the 1930's some enterprising scientists, in the name of national security (ok, not really, but it sounds good) taught the old-fashioned poultry breeders some new tricks, and they began to produce broilers (meat birds) that were bred for rapid growth, white feathers, and meaty breasts and thighs.
Soon after, the mighty chicken complex was born. You might be surprised to learn that most meat chickens aren't raised in cages (laying hens are less fortunate). Instead, they get to live in a chicken complex. It sounds pretty fancy, but it basically means they get to share their bedroom with 20,000 other chickens, and the lucky dogs err chickens get a whole whoppin' 0.8 square feet all to themselves.
While in the complex, they are privy to an all-you-can-eat chicken-food buffet, every day of their lives (which might make my brother-in-law a little jealous). And chicken food is oh-so-delish, usually consisting of a little bit corn and soy, a little bit rendered animal parts (chickens don't get mad cow disease), and a little bit o' drugs, i.e. antibiotics, to help those babies grow big, fast.
(You can read about a study performed by Consumer Reports regarding Roxarsone, one of the antibiotics used that actually contains arsenic by clicking here.)
So now I know. Now I know why my disagreeable chicken meal was so soft, slimy and greasy. I just ate an overweight, under-exercised, flabby, drugged-out baby. Shouldn't someone call the Department of Child and Family Services or something?
If I had only thought about that before eating, I could have prevented this physical and mental indigestion. And regarding my unhealthy relationship to food? I think I may have just taken a baby-step towards a solution. No pun intended.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Burgeoning Locavores
Did you know that the Oxford Word of the Year for 2007 was "locavore"? Here is an excerpt from their website:
"Locavore” was coined two years ago by a group of four women in San Francisco who proposed that local residents should try to eat only food grown or produced within a 100-mile radius. Other regional movements have emerged since then, though some groups refer to themselves as “localvores” rather than “locavores.” However it’s spelled, it’s a word to watch.
So, anyways, I've been struck at how when you live and work on a farm, it's pretty easy to be a locavore. Okay, maybe not easy, but definitely easier.
Here's Armando exhibiting our crop of free-range eggs, collected this morning:
I love the way the white and brown eggs mix and match in their cardboard homes.
But what about supper? (And no, it's not dinner, darn it. Dinner happens at 1:00 p.m., when the long morning's work is done.)
We ain't San Francisco, but we got a little somethin' somethin' going on in that department, too. Here's what I'm cooking tonight:
Yum, yum. You can always butter me up with some butternut squash. Just in case you wondered.
And some good old fashioned, home-grown and corn-fattened beef (non-GMO, at least).
In a year or so, we'll have some even better beef to eat (and, yes, sell!). Our very own (non-certified organic) 100% grassfed beef!! Yoohoo!! I highly recommend you check out Jo Robinson's website Eat Wild for some really great information about the health and environmental benefits of grassfed beef. And then I highly recommend you mark your 2009 calendars with capital letters: BUY BEEF FROM JACKIE IN IRISH GROVE.
Okay, I admit. To make the near-authentic Panamanian meal carne asada, which, by the way, is what I'm cooking, I couldn't pull off the whole meal without a few un-local, fossil-fuel-siphoning, carbon foot-printing, world-warming ingredients to round it all off. Especially since it's January, and much of my garden-preserved goodies have long since been eaten.
Here are a few of the guilty parties:
I say if you strive for perfection, you'll only end up a downtrodden, bitter, wrinkly worry-wart. That's what I say, alright. (Why I say that is unbeknownst to us all.)
The moral to the story? When the urge to join the locavore movement becomes too great to resist, give your local farmer/gardener a call. Preferably one that lives in Irish Grove. We'd be more than happy to help you attain your new hipster status.
The “locavore” movement encourages consumers to buy from farmers’ markets or even to grow or pick their own food, arguing that fresh, local products are more nutritious and taste better. Locavores also shun supermarket offerings as an environmentally friendly measure, since shipping food over long distances often requires more fuel for transportation.
"Locavore” was coined two years ago by a group of four women in San Francisco who proposed that local residents should try to eat only food grown or produced within a 100-mile radius. Other regional movements have emerged since then, though some groups refer to themselves as “localvores” rather than “locavores.” However it’s spelled, it’s a word to watch.
By now, you all should know that I am one fashionable, trendy lady, and so if locavore is the new word, then you shall find it here ad naseum. Plus, as my friend Margie put it, this is Madison South, baby. Just as "locavore" is the word to watch, Irish Grover's are the people to watch. Period.
So, anyways, I've been struck at how when you live and work on a farm, it's pretty easy to be a locavore. Okay, maybe not easy, but definitely easier.
Here's Armando exhibiting our crop of free-range eggs, collected this morning:
I love the way the white and brown eggs mix and match in their cardboard homes.
Locavore breakfast? No problemo.
But what about supper? (And no, it's not dinner, darn it. Dinner happens at 1:00 p.m., when the long morning's work is done.)
We ain't San Francisco, but we got a little somethin' somethin' going on in that department, too. Here's what I'm cooking tonight:
Homegrown butternut squash.
Yum, yum. You can always butter me up with some butternut squash. Just in case you wondered.
And some good old fashioned, home-grown and corn-fattened beef (non-GMO, at least).
In a year or so, we'll have some even better beef to eat (and, yes, sell!). Our very own (non-certified organic) 100% grassfed beef!! Yoohoo!! I highly recommend you check out Jo Robinson's website Eat Wild for some really great information about the health and environmental benefits of grassfed beef. And then I highly recommend you mark your 2009 calendars with capital letters: BUY BEEF FROM JACKIE IN IRISH GROVE.
Okay, I admit. To make the near-authentic Panamanian meal carne asada, which, by the way, is what I'm cooking, I couldn't pull off the whole meal without a few un-local, fossil-fuel-siphoning, carbon foot-printing, world-warming ingredients to round it all off. Especially since it's January, and much of my garden-preserved goodies have long since been eaten.
Here are a few of the guilty parties:
I say if you strive for perfection, you'll only end up a downtrodden, bitter, wrinkly worry-wart. That's what I say, alright. (Why I say that is unbeknownst to us all.)
The moral to the story? When the urge to join the locavore movement becomes too great to resist, give your local farmer/gardener a call. Preferably one that lives in Irish Grove. We'd be more than happy to help you attain your new hipster status.
Monday, December 17, 2007
The Story of Stuff
I don't normally plug other websites here, but as a farmer and environmentalist, and with it being the consumer, I mean Christmas season and all, I couldn't let this one pass by.
With the New Year right around the corner, I opine that it would serve us all well to slow down and perhaps decide our yearly resolutions should be about something a little grander than, say, making it to the gym each week or not drinking soda pop. Not that those aren't good ideas.
I propose we stop and really think about how our own personal actions affect our loved ones, our community, our environment and our future. I know that I, for one, need to do much, much better in all of these areas. Shall we try a little harder?
My answer? Yes.
Please check out: http://www.storyofstuff.com/
With the New Year right around the corner, I opine that it would serve us all well to slow down and perhaps decide our yearly resolutions should be about something a little grander than, say, making it to the gym each week or not drinking soda pop. Not that those aren't good ideas.
I propose we stop and really think about how our own personal actions affect our loved ones, our community, our environment and our future. I know that I, for one, need to do much, much better in all of these areas. Shall we try a little harder?
My answer? Yes.
Please check out: http://www.storyofstuff.com/
Saturday, October 27, 2007
The Harvest
Thursday night, Irish Grove was a beautiful sight, lit brightly by October's harvest moon. Friday afternoon, the corn harvest began.
That kind of naivety is common. In reality, all of those idle tractors have very important roles to play, depending on the time of year (not to mention they are worth thousands of dollars). At corn harvest, a farm like ours needs at least three tractors. One to run the auger that loads the corn into the corn bin, and two to haul grain wagons back and forth to be loaded/unloaded.
I'd love to claim that we time our farming activities by the moon's cycles, but I can't. It was, in all truthfulness, pure coincidence that Farmer Mark called us that evening to tell us he was moving the equipment over the next afternoon. And coincidence or not, that phone call caused the typical pre-harvest scramble that has become commonplace around here.
The first thing that needed to be done was set up the auger.
I was (un)lucky enough to be working by myself as we got started yesterday, and so got to climb up that little ladder you see on the right-hand side of the bin, up the roof to the very top, to take the bin's cap off. Yikes! I'm not a huge fan of heights, and my knees quivered for about an hour afterward. Farmer Bill told me you get used to it after awhile. I hope so.
Next, we had to find some extra tractors. In the year and a half that I have been a farmer, it has become painfully obvious that one tractor is not enough for a farm like ours.
Big blue, she's a beauty, and we're super lucky that my dad put in an order for her before his accident, but she just can't cover all the jobs that need to be done at the same time.
I have an acquaintance who is a new, start-up vegetable farmer. She really needs a tractor. One day, she commented how she couldn't understand why one of the local farmers wouldn't just give her one of theirs. "I mean, they've got all these tractors just sitting around doing nothing. They should share."
I have an acquaintance who is a new, start-up vegetable farmer. She really needs a tractor. One day, she commented how she couldn't understand why one of the local farmers wouldn't just give her one of theirs. "I mean, they've got all these tractors just sitting around doing nothing. They should share."
That kind of naivety is common. In reality, all of those idle tractors have very important roles to play, depending on the time of year (not to mention they are worth thousands of dollars). At corn harvest, a farm like ours needs at least three tractors. One to run the auger that loads the corn into the corn bin, and two to haul grain wagons back and forth to be loaded/unloaded.
Our farm only has one tractor, hence the urgent phone calls Thursday night to neighbors and farmer friends to see who could be oh-so-generous enough to let us borrow their tractor for the next week. One kind neighbor lent us his old John Deere with dead, never-to-be-resurrected batteries that have to charged with jumper cables every time you want to start it. I do believe our thank-you payment to neighbor Mike will be new batteries for his tractor.
Farmer Bill is always extremely generous, and lets us borrow his loader tractor a lot. In fact, Farmer Bill says yes to most of our requests, although I do remember a stern "no!" from him a few years back when we lived in his rental house and wanted to raise chickens.
Next, I get on the horn to call all Irish Grove farm hands to duty. That'd be me, Marcel, Rob, and Matt. We immediately cancel all off-farm work schedules, and all planned outings. Today we're missing the one Badger football game that we were going to make this season, which is a big bummer. (Go Badgers!)
I call the truckers to push, plead and cajole them into hauling my grain to the elevator. I need to push, plead and cajole because I'm one of about 30 farmers in the area jockeying for their services. As you might imagine, a little butt-kissing goes a long ways.
And finally, I scramble to find someone to watch my kids for the next week.
Usually, that means Grandma, although yesterday my sister Laura filled in, and my kids had a blast playing at her house.
Of course we need to haul the wagons to the corn field, put them in place, and wait for Farmer Mark to fill them up with corn.
Here's Farmer Mark in his combine, although this picture was taken during the soybean harvest:
Here's the auger hopper, waiting to be filled with some more corn:
And here's two happy Irish Grove farm hands, Matt and Marcel:
Irish Grove is in full swing. You just gotta love harvest time on the farm.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Rakin' It In
On Monday, I spent 7 hours raking hay. (You didn't really think I meant money, did you?)
Yep, it's hay-makin' time in Irish Grove, and when the hay is ready, it's ready. It doesn't wait around for you to finish the laundry or run a needed errand, and it doesn't care if you have to cancel that scheduled play date with the kids that they've been looking forward to for two long months. It doesn't wait for an empty day on your calendar, or even for the weekend. Gees.
Making hay can be a complicated and unforgiving process, especially for beginners like us. The alfalfa's gotta be at just the right maturity to ensure a high quality, highly-nutritious product for the cattle. That is when the plant is in the budding out stage, right before the flowers bloom. And that can take about 28 to 30 days from the previous cutting.
This is what the hay ground looks like about one week before it's ready to cut.
That's our barn in the distance. And that's Mom's round barn alongside the hay field. Very cool, eh?
Of equal importance to proper plant maturity is the weather. I have to italicize weather, because I can't emphasize enough how important it really is. From the day you cut the hay to the day it gets baled, it is really important that it doesn't rain. Rain causes the alfalfa leaves to wilt and yellow, and could even cause the the hay to rot, which is obviously undesirable. It also delays baling. The longer the hay is exposed to the elements, the more nutrient loss you will experience. So, depending upon humidity levels, and the amount of sunshine and wind present, you will need about four full days of dry sunny weather for the hay to properly dry. Finding that four-day window can be challenging and frustrating, especially during the spring and fall cuttings.
Aha, good weather on the horizon? Cancel all plans, dump the kiddos at Gramma's, and get busy!
To mow hay, you need a tractor and a haybine:
These two machines will be connected via the PTO, which incidentally does not stand for Parent-Teacher Organization. PTO is short for Power Take-Off. The PTO is a handy-dandy device on the tractor that basically enables all of your farm implements to do their job.
When you finally get everything connected properly and you've said farewell to your lovely children, you get to work mowing the hay. Mowing hay may look easy, but it isn't. You've gotta look ahead to watch where you're going, and behind at the same time, to make sure you've got the mower positioned just right. If it's off, you could either leave a swath of uncut hay bobbin' in the wind, mimicking you're novice abilities, or you could cut too narrow a swath, meaning you'll have to make numerous extra trips around the field, wasting time and diesel fuel.
The swaths are called windrows, and look like this:
Hay must be crispy-dry before you bale it, because it is going to be stored in close proximity to other hay bales. Any moisture present will start to decompose the hay, causing heat to build up in a very tightly packed space. And if that happens, you have a pyromaniac's dream-come-true, right there in your very own backyard or barn. Poof!
So, the next step is raking. Once the top 80% or so of the windrow feels crispy-dry, you rake the hay, which flips the alfalfa over and fluffs it all up nice and pretty. Many people hear us saying we have to rake the hay and think we mean by hand. Fortunately no, even though that is how it was done before all these fancy machines were invented.
Our hay rake looks like this:
After I spent 7 hours rakin' hay on Monday, the field looked like this:
Oh, and one more very important thing: you never, ever rake the hay if it's going to rain. This may come as a surprise to most of you, but occasionally the weather forecasters are wrong! I know it's hard to believe, but sometimes our four-day-dry-weather-forecast miracurously turns into thunder clouds looming in the distance. If that happens, it's better to let the hay lie there, and turn the other cheek. Rain will cause the hay on top to yellow, but the bottom leaves can stay green and fresh if you're lucky. (And if you do rake before rain, you may also be subject to a gruff lecture and once-over from Farmer Bill. Which is not pleasant. Which I experienced the first time I tried to make hay.)
We don't own a baler, so we have to call ahead and make sure the local guy can come before we dare think about raking. This time around we had contracted with some local fellows who will bale it and buy it. They are large hay brokers, and deliver hay to dairy farmers in Wisconsin. It pays less, but it also saves us the hassle of storing and marketing the hay ourselves. When they bale it, they make it into large squares, which look like this:
And we get to "relax" for another 28 days. And counting.
Yep, it's hay-makin' time in Irish Grove, and when the hay is ready, it's ready. It doesn't wait around for you to finish the laundry or run a needed errand, and it doesn't care if you have to cancel that scheduled play date with the kids that they've been looking forward to for two long months. It doesn't wait for an empty day on your calendar, or even for the weekend. Gees.
Making hay can be a complicated and unforgiving process, especially for beginners like us. The alfalfa's gotta be at just the right maturity to ensure a high quality, highly-nutritious product for the cattle. That is when the plant is in the budding out stage, right before the flowers bloom. And that can take about 28 to 30 days from the previous cutting.
This is what the hay ground looks like about one week before it's ready to cut.
That's our barn in the distance. And that's Mom's round barn alongside the hay field. Very cool, eh?
Of equal importance to proper plant maturity is the weather. I have to italicize weather, because I can't emphasize enough how important it really is. From the day you cut the hay to the day it gets baled, it is really important that it doesn't rain. Rain causes the alfalfa leaves to wilt and yellow, and could even cause the the hay to rot, which is obviously undesirable. It also delays baling. The longer the hay is exposed to the elements, the more nutrient loss you will experience. So, depending upon humidity levels, and the amount of sunshine and wind present, you will need about four full days of dry sunny weather for the hay to properly dry. Finding that four-day window can be challenging and frustrating, especially during the spring and fall cuttings.
Aha, good weather on the horizon? Cancel all plans, dump the kiddos at Gramma's, and get busy!
To mow hay, you need a tractor and a haybine:
These two machines will be connected via the PTO, which incidentally does not stand for Parent-Teacher Organization. PTO is short for Power Take-Off. The PTO is a handy-dandy device on the tractor that basically enables all of your farm implements to do their job.
When you finally get everything connected properly and you've said farewell to your lovely children, you get to work mowing the hay. Mowing hay may look easy, but it isn't. You've gotta look ahead to watch where you're going, and behind at the same time, to make sure you've got the mower positioned just right. If it's off, you could either leave a swath of uncut hay bobbin' in the wind, mimicking you're novice abilities, or you could cut too narrow a swath, meaning you'll have to make numerous extra trips around the field, wasting time and diesel fuel.
The swaths are called windrows, and look like this:
Hay must be crispy-dry before you bale it, because it is going to be stored in close proximity to other hay bales. Any moisture present will start to decompose the hay, causing heat to build up in a very tightly packed space. And if that happens, you have a pyromaniac's dream-come-true, right there in your very own backyard or barn. Poof!
So, the next step is raking. Once the top 80% or so of the windrow feels crispy-dry, you rake the hay, which flips the alfalfa over and fluffs it all up nice and pretty. Many people hear us saying we have to rake the hay and think we mean by hand. Fortunately no, even though that is how it was done before all these fancy machines were invented.
Our hay rake looks like this:
After I spent 7 hours rakin' hay on Monday, the field looked like this:
Oh, and one more very important thing: you never, ever rake the hay if it's going to rain. This may come as a surprise to most of you, but occasionally the weather forecasters are wrong! I know it's hard to believe, but sometimes our four-day-dry-weather-forecast miracurously turns into thunder clouds looming in the distance. If that happens, it's better to let the hay lie there, and turn the other cheek. Rain will cause the hay on top to yellow, but the bottom leaves can stay green and fresh if you're lucky. (And if you do rake before rain, you may also be subject to a gruff lecture and once-over from Farmer Bill. Which is not pleasant. Which I experienced the first time I tried to make hay.)
We don't own a baler, so we have to call ahead and make sure the local guy can come before we dare think about raking. This time around we had contracted with some local fellows who will bale it and buy it. They are large hay brokers, and deliver hay to dairy farmers in Wisconsin. It pays less, but it also saves us the hassle of storing and marketing the hay ourselves. When they bale it, they make it into large squares, which look like this:
And we get to "relax" for another 28 days. And counting.
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