Blood on the rooster

   Snowing this morning.  Folks are grumbling, but I can't help it - I love it.  I am a winter baby, and snow is my element.  Give me cold temps, and huge sweaters to burrow into and I am a happy girl!
    Brought water to the farm for the chickens.  I always put the scraps in their bowl in the run before letting them out of the coop.  Less confusion for them, less time for Snowy, the rooster, to think he might not like me today.  He hates my husband, and tries to attack him at any opportunity.  I do not need that.  When I opened the door to the run, they all came scrambling out.  I cleaned and filled the waterer, and filled the feeder.  Checked for eggs - none.  They have started laying in the afternoon.
    Looked back at the run and noticed blood spots in the treat bowl.  Hmm.  Checked all the hens, and saw a blood spot on the face of one.  Okay, maybe somebody pecked her.  Not really worried.  Then I saw Snowy.  He had blood dripping from his comb down onto his face.  He has a really lovely high comb, and it looks like he nicked the dagging on the top of his comb.  There was little to do for him,  but watch and hope it clots.  None of the hens will bother him - he is several inches taller, quite a bit heavier, and a whole lot meaner than any of them, so now we let nature take its course.
    Always something new for me to learn - including when to let things alone.

one of those mornings

       Yesterday's foray into the barn was not thrilling.  It was chilly.  Not wicked freezing cold, but 10 degrees or so.   I brought the chickens their scraps - they got left overs from last night's dinner - salad and left over spaghetti - their favorites.  As they were busy scrambling for the best bits, I filled the feeder and grabbed the waterer to change out the water.  I dumped the messy water and went to the water spigot to find it was pretty well frozen in place.  After a great deal of grunting and lifting, I managed to break the grip of the cold and lift the handle.  Nothing.  I pushed it up further.  Nothing  still.
       Damn! SOoo, with my father's influence in my heart, and the pocket knife he gave me for my 14th birthday in my pocket, I looked for a quick solution.  I found an empty milk jug on the table, cut off the top to make a scoop, then tried to open the door to the paddock.  The clasp on the chain was frozen solid.  After working on it for a bit, it moved enough to release the chain.  I stood up, and banged my head on the metal wall bracket. Ouch!  I went outside and filled the waterer with snow.  I figured that between the lamp in the coop and the heater that keeps the waterer from freezing in the winter, it would melt.
    I drove back to the house and came back with  a couple of gallons of fresh water and the hairdryer.  The birds were happy for the water, as the snow was not yet melting.  I stood for a while trying to melt the pipe from the ground up towards the handle of the hydrant, but in vain. Today my husband is researching the best way to fix and prevent the problem.
     Some mornings are going to be like this - frozen water, banged up head, and no eggs.   However, last night, under the nearly full moon, we gathered 8 eggs and then stood looking at the moon over the high pasture - it all balances out in the end. 

Taking the plunge

      We have sold our first few dozen eggs this week.  Yeah! The chickens are starting to pay for themselves!  Okay, who am I kidding? They will take years to pay for the start up costs of lumber and hardware for the coop, and the continuing costs of feed and electricity.    However, $2.50 at a time, they are starting to earn their keep.
      The real reason to get the chickens was a) to have something on the farm so we do not lose the RA40 zoning, and b) to get us into the idea of having to be at the farm a minimum of twice a day, every day.  They are our practice animals.  They have been teaching us how to be farmers.  Now comes the real deal.
      We are about to put the deposit down on the lambs.  We were originally advised that a good size for a starter flock would be six sheep - two rams and four ewes.  This way we have two sets of male genes to switch around, and having two rams mean there is never a lonely sheep during the times when the boys are separated from the girls. However, this was a touch out of our budget, and we are going for two rams and three ewes.  We will still have two different sets of genes from the boys, just one less girl, so a few less lambs in our first lambing season.

     The emotional part of me wants many lambs, with a wide choice of fiber colours, but the practical person says no.  This is better.  Going over budget on the livestock means there is not money for something else down the line.  Where would we scrimp?  Fencing?  No.  Medications, or feed, or hay?  No, no, and no.  This is the right way to do it. Since Finnsheep tend to have twins and triplets most of the time, and litters occasionally, starting smaller may be better.  If three ewes have just two lambs each, we will more than double the size of the flock right off the bat.
     So tonight I am writing the check to reserve the lambs that will become our flock.  We will not see them until late Spring, but like having a baby, we have so much to do before their arrival!

I Gotta See a Gal About a Sheep...

     Today, my husband, our youngest son, and I went to see a lady about some sheep.  We drove north about 2 hours to visit Stillmeadow Farm, where Elizabeth Kinne Gossner raises registered purebred Finnsheep.   We had been talking about other types of sheep, but somehow (I cannot remember exactly how) my husband saw Finnsheep and started becoming interested in them.  So, we visited Elizabeth's farm today, and saw her rams (three of them) as well as her girls, (seventeen of them, all pregnant) and got a general "feel" for the breed.
     Her flock is very sweet - docile, friendly, or at least respectful, depending on the ewe, with lovely fleece.

You can see the variety of fleece colours from white to silver, tan to black

"Do his bangs taste good?"

Chillin' with the girls

Using Cream Top as a pillow, while her mom checks him out.

A hug before leaving

   We were really impressed by Elizabeth's flock, her dedication to strong bloodlines and a disease free sheep, as well as her knowledge and willingness to educate us.   Before heading out to the barns, we chatted for a while and she showed us her five spinning wheels, talked about her pottery (Yes, she is a potter), as well as telling me the felting method she uses to produce her lovely felted purses.  Before leaving her farm, she had given my son one of her hand thrown coffee mugs, and me two different one ounce batts of fiber from her sheep. Her reasoning?  "You're going to buy sheep from me.  I'm buttering you up."

     We are hoping to purchase some of her lambs come Spring.  Keep you posted. 

St. Distaff Day

     January 7 is Roc Day, or Distaff Day, or St. Distaff Day.  It was the day that women went back to their spinning work after the twelve days of Christmas were completed.  I must admit, to me, January 7 is the day the Christmas tree comes down.
     Friday, my husband spoke to a shepherd near Ithaca about her Finnsheep and the possibility of us buying some in the Spring.  They had a lengthy conversation, and we are visiting her farm today,  she invited me to come up yesterday for the Roc Day celebration her spinning guild holds.  As it was pouring rain yesterday, I really did not feel like driving out nearly two hours to go to this celebration.  However, since it was pouring rain outside yesterday, it was perfect for spinning on my own, at home.
    I pulled out the batts of Faroe Island wool that I have had for about a year now.  These sheep are a northern European short tail type, closely related to Icelandic sheep (another breed I am interested in).  I have never spun Faroe or Icelandic wool, so I gave it a go.   The results are interesting and it has been really helpful to start this now.  The wool is courser than much of what I normally spin.  It has a fair amount of kemp and, unfortunately,  this batt is full of vm.  I can see this making a nice blanket, or a sweater that you wear a turtleneck under.  It is not a "next to the skin"  wool, but I kind of like it.

I love the silver and grey variations

large pieces of straw aw well as foxtails and seeds

Spinning up nicely, but you can see the prickly,
itchy fibers standing out from the yarn.

 If this is a similar to Icelandics as I have read, I am now not certain I want to raise them for fiber. I am still really enamoured of the Black Welsh Mountain sheep, but have not done a fiber test on them.  Shetlands are a dream sheep for fiber, so they are still in the running, but Finnsheep with their tendency to have litters of lambs, not just twins, may be a good starting place.  I will tell you more after we come back from the sheep farm today.
     So a belated happy Roc Day to all the spinsters out there.  Have a wonderful new year.

The Hopeful Farmer #8

       Cleaned the coop this morning - fun, fun, fun.  I just keep reminding  myself of the benefits all the composted chicken manure and shavings will have on the gardens this coming year.  Hauling out wheelbarrows  filled with droppings is not my favorite part of owning chickens.  The eggs, however, are.  We have been getting an average of 5 a day now, so we are going to need to start selling some occasionally.  Here are some pictures: you can see the difference between the eggs of the chickens who just started laying this last week (very small) versus the  girl who lays huge double yolkers.

A wide variety of colours, sizes and textures

This one is crinkly, but hard, unlike the few leathery ones we had a couple weeks ago. 

Barred Plymouth Rock vs new laying Australorp

An example of the variety of brown eggs we have been getting.

The Hopeful Farmer #7

   After a week of well below freezing temperatures, we are experiencing our January thaw.  I vividly remember these thaws from  when I was a girl, because they always happened when we'd had several inches of snow on the ground and my father was on a business trip.  What???  No, really, every time, Daddy was traveling.  Why do I know this?
    We lived in a house with a basement that flooded every time we had these conditions.  The thaw would come, along with rain, and somewhere in the middle of the night my mother would wake the five of us up with these words, "Girls, I'm sorry.  You have to get up.  I need your help.  The basement is flooding."  Followed soon after we got downstairs to see the two or more inches of standing water, by these words: "Where is the hose to the sump pump?"  And we would scramble, trying to find the hose, to hook it up, so the pump could help drain water out, as we mopped, squeegeed and pushed water out the door using snow shovels, push brooms, dustpans as scoops.  It was crazy, and tense, because my parents' business and all the stock and equipment and computers were in that basement.
    One year we could not find the "damn hose" and had to try to reach Daddy.  Because his job came with a very high security clearance, we were never allowed to know exactly where he was; no hotel name or room number, so reaching him involved calling his secretary, having her call Daddy, then having him call us.
    I thought of all those crazy nights with my sisters and the dustpans and push brooms this morning when I went into our barn.  Nothing like a driving rain and melting snow to show you where someone else made a mistake.  I walked in to see a puddle near the pump - not unexpected, as there had been ice there.  Then I noticed puddled in the middle of the floor near the tractor, and looked up to see a very rusty patch in the metal roof, leaking quite nicely.  That will need a patch.
    The area near the large back double wide door was a gigantic puddle, merrily encroaching on the chicken coop run.  I spend several minutes digging petrified horse manure, hay and dirt out of the very dry run in and throwing it at the base of the door to create a small dike.  Then  I added more to the small pond that had developed along the side of the coop, trying to absorb some of the water there.  Realizing that half the run was dry, but half getting very muddy, with a small puddle forming at the far end, I took pine shavings and tossed them in the run, hoping to keep a drier section for the girls until this evening when the temp will drop to one degree above zero and freeze it all again.  Since the coop door was open, I tossed a handful into the coop.  BAD IDEA!  The hens in the coop could not see me, just saw pine shavings exploding across the floor of the coop through the small door, and they freaked out!  I have never heard such squawking!  The rooster started crowing, the girls were as loud as they could be, and there I was, holding a bag of shavings, trying not to laugh out loud and add to the cacophony.
   Apparently all the puddling and flooding is due to the "brilliant" requirement of a person who was planning to buy the farm (before we did), and needed the barn to be scraped out before she bought the place.  Well, rather than using a tractor and a back blade and leveling it,  several local kids were hired to dig it out by hand, so there are MANY sections of the barn floor that are below the outdoor ground level.  So water runs in, the floor is muddy, and it is a mess.
    The silver lining?  This happened now, so we know where to fix and level and add dirt, before we have sheep in there.  I now know we have a weak spot in the roof and can fix it.  So, all in all, as frustrating as it sounds, this was a good morning.  Well, except for dumping the chickens water down the inside of my rain boot.  That part, I could live without!