Things I didn't expect

Well!!!  It is official, it was official, actually, last weekend.  We have lived on the farm for ONE YEAR!!  I can't believe it's been that long in some ways.  I am still learning so much every day about the property and the animals.  But yet I have also been able to develop a nice routine with the added benefit of learning from past experience to fine tune.

There are several things that have surprised me this past year, things that I wasn't expecting as a farmer or rural resident or whatever you want to call it.  Today,  few things that surprised me, another day maybe I'll share lessons learned or something a bit more contemplative.

Petey and Hercules helping me muck 

1.) Poop happens.  We all know that, especially if we have dogs, cats or kids.  And anyone with a touch of logic knows that the more animals you have, the more poop there is going to be, it ain't rocket science.  Now, what you might not know is the following; while all poop smells less than fresh, chicken poop...is terrible.  It takes extra management just to minimize the odor because you really don't want to be faced with that daily.  Also, our dogs and cats are domesticated HOUSE pets and billions of dollars have gone into producing and researching all kinds of designer foods that keep them healthy with minimal 'waste' produced.  Not so for livestock.  They eat grass...and need to eat a lot of it to get what they need and in turn...a lot comes out the other end.  I never would have imagined how much time I spend raking, scooping, hauling and composting poop.  I never would have thought that manure management would be a legitimate issue that required research, a special storage facility and tools.  But yet, that is where I am.  Poop is such a big part of my day, everyday, that I have found myself walking into Anthropologie with poop ON MY JEANS!  I always wear grubbies to the corral and always (almost, obviously) clean up and change before I go out in public...except apparently, one can actually get used to wearing poop and forget to change.  I haven't been back to Anthropologie since the day I made that discovery so I'm not sure if i made it onto some secret black list or not.

2.) There is no such thing as 'fix it right the first time'.  Not if you have goats. Goats main existence, I have decided, is to keep your skills sharp and teach you new lessons in fence repair, basic construction principles and electric wiring.  Petey, is the master at this, that little devil.  Everything I put out of his reach he makes a point of finding a way to rip down and chew up.  I have replaced and restrung way too many extension cords and hoses.  Against all my years of horticultural training, my hose is on the ground, in the dirt (and poop) because i have not managed to find a hose hook/reel that I can keep him from destroying.  He has ripped out or chewed up the wiring to my automatic chicken coop door countless times, each time requiring more ingenuity to create a barrier system that will protect it from skinny, finger-like goat lips.  I have re-engineered my chicken feeders countless times.  The chickens have had to adapt, too, since they can't have a ladder up to their roosts and feeders due to fat-assed Petey climbing a ladder meant for a 3lb chicken.  Everyday there is something to fix.

Young Petey on top of the chicken roost, eating out of their feeder

3.) Living in the country, you are much more aware of your vulnerability to mother nature, in our area, namely Wildfires.  We were used to having fire escape plans, alarms, extinguishers....all the usual emergency preparedness.  What we did not really think about were the animals.  In the 2007 fires that did massive amounts of damage just to the east and south of our new community, there were thousands of livestock displaced.  They were the lucky ones.  So, our new fire plan had to include a plan for 7 goats, 3 tortoises and 21 chickens.  Since the goats keep growing (only 2 of the 7 are fully grown our plans have changed a bit.  It used to be that we had enough dog cages to fit the goats in, with the dogs in the back of the truck with the kids.  Now that everyone is getting bigger, and our cages no longer fit everyone, our plan is to shove all 7 goats, 2 tortoises and 21 chickens in our tow trailer.  The chickens can live in the bathroom so they wont get trampled, and if we end up having to live in the trailer for a while (god forbid) I have to make sure there are extra cleaning supplies and a broom to sweep up all the nanny berries the goats leave behind.  Nanny berries, for you city slickers, is a cute word for goat poop.

4.)  Goats are big animals.  There is no carting them to the vet in the backseat or on your lap, for that matter, when they need their vaccines or routine health issues.  House calls are expensive, so many farmers do a lot of their own basic vet work.  Luckily for me, I guess, all those years of giving myself shots paid off as I already knew how to draw up medication and administer both sub-q and intramuscular injections.  Not only am I vaccinating my own goats, I am shearing them, trimming their feet (their hooves grow like toenails), giving them vitamins, supplements, dewormer, delouser etc.  I have a medicine chest full of farm meds after being here just a year.  It's kind of empowering in a way, to know that you are the first, second and third line of defense when there is a problem.  But it is also incredibly nerve wracking and a lot of pressure, especially when you realize a house call from a vet will cost several hundred dollars just to get them on the property.

5.)  That leads me to the next surprise, which came just this past week.  I didn't expect to decide one day, in all seriousness, to ask Dr. Farm Hand to educate me on the whereabouts of his shotgun, key to the trigger lock and shells.  He does have a gun for sport clay shooting that resides in the house.  In my younger years, I was pretty positive there would never be a firearm in my residence.  Things and times change I guess.  Not that I was thrilled with it at the time he purchased it last year, I wrestled with it for quite some time.  But i have come to the realization (after being told by many) that if I am to have animals, I have to be willing to euthanize them.  I have read so many horror stories of births gone wrong or predator attacks.  And it seems that everyone I have met that has had livestock for a number of years has had to go through this.  A decision where they either end the suffering of an animal they cherish, or sit by helplessly for a long period of time waiting for someone else to come and do it for them.  None of it is pleasant, and I can not promise I could ever actually pull the trigger, but I don't want lack of preparation on my part to cause undue pain and suffering.  Now, some of you reading this might know the story of how I had to call a neighbor I had only briefly met once, in the middle of the night, to come and euthanize a very ill chicken.  I had sat on the front lawn, with said chicken, a hatchet and a drink trying to gather my liquid courage.  I sat there long enough that the margarita that was supposed to calm my nerves needed refilling and made me wonder if maybe my judgement wasn't impaired enough I might lose a finger in the process.  I was smart and begged a near perfect stranger to come kill my pet. Luckily for me, this person did not think I was 'too' crazy and a great friendship has blossomed.  I'm confident that I could, now, off my own chicken to end it's needless suffering, despite the fact that both Dr. Farm Hand and my fellow farmer friend laughed and snorted when I told them both of this fact.  At any rate, I feel better knowing where and how to operate the shotgun, I just pray that I never have to use it.

 6.)  This??  Is a Big Fat Lie.  I have opened maybe 75 of these types of bags this year and not a one has been easy to open.  Each bag is different, some have a small strip to pull, some don't, some you start in the front, some the back, some the right corner, some the left.  The only thing that IS consistent is that they are NOT easy to open and experience only yields a small amount of improvement in ones feed bag opening efficiency.

So, perhaps a boring update and glimpse into my thoughts as of late, but I haven't published anything here in too long and it is getting to be a bit intimidating...that is, the length of time since I last posted something.  It isn't that I am not writing....I have at least 6 blog topics started but they get very lengthy and off topic and then I get distracted and move on.  Some days I think it's adult ADD, some days I think it's hormonal, other days I think that Dr. Farm Hand is more correct than I want to admit in calling me Mrs. 85%.  Completing things these days is a challenge.  Maybe because my mind is going in a thousand different directions, maybe because I am avoiding anything that is less than uberexciting, maybe because I spend too much time petting goats or maybe because.....well, maybe because that is just how I am.  Ta Ta For Now.

Faucet breaking in the middle of a crucial wool washing step. 

It's all how you look at it

Things have been keeping me up at night lately.  It's spring, which means that life is sprouting up everywhere.  Here, on my 3 acres, the Stinging Nettle is sprouting up, taking over and disrupting my sleep.

Last year we were in the process of moving in and getting settled when the weed season started, and being new to the property and farming, certain things were left undone or done too late.  What irks me about this is that I should have known better, in fact, I DID know better and yet I was too concerned about babying the cute little chickens that came with the property and picking oranges and blah blah blah....reaping the benefits without doing the work.  I should have known better because I am a Trained Horticulturist with many years of experience and KNOW what happens when you ignore weeds and let them go to seed.  When we did get around to the weeding and I was hand pulling while Dr. Farm Hand was manning the industrial strength Weed Wacker, I saw the carpet of seeds that the mustard and nettle were leaving behind.  I saw it, I cringed, and I thought, all of those seeds can't sprout....there are MILLIONS!  We don't get enough rain to support all of those seeds!  The birds will eat most of them!  Then, in walks Fall/Winter 2012/13 and it's never ending rain storms.  And seemingly overnight I walk out to this.

only half the real picture....

This year, mother nature conveniently scheduled weed season to start right at the same time as Dr. Farm Hands annual surf trip.  She also must have had the universe send an electrical or magnetic pulse or whatever to cause all of my power lawn equipment to break the very same weekend.  I'm left powerless, no batteries, no gas, no brawn against these attack weeds as they try to take over. It's just me, my gloves, and my bum shoulder against Millions.

This past week I have shed tears over this stupid weed more than once.  I'm sure the tears were in part induced by recognizing my lapse in horticultural judgement and being unforgiving towards that part of me, and in part fueled by the fact that my Right Hand was conveniently on a 5 acre island in the South Pacific, indulging in his favorite pastime, drinking Fiji Bitters and eating fresh caught sushi.  But none the less, when faced with the understanding that I had to do what i could to get the nettle out before it set seed again, I was less than enthusiastic.  I did, however, farmer up and filled one lawn bag a day with the stuff, lining the curb with brown bags on trash day felt like an accomplishment, but in looking at the square footage that I had cleared I was left heartbroken.  I have had nightmares about nettle, which morphed into that recurring anxiety dream that most of us have had at one point or more in our lives. For some it is forgetting to study for a test, or your football helmet not fitting right before a big game (you, Dr. FH) for me it has been various things, usually school related.  My farm anxiety dream, however, is a new one to me.  It consists of goats that have babies daily...sometimes they're goat kids, sometimes lambs, sometimes piglets all while I watch helplessly while fighting through the 12 foot tall nettle plants that are keeping me from the corral, unable to feed the starving mothers who are birthing themselves to death.  Hows that for an anxiety dream?  Bet you never heard THAT one before!!

As part of my goat endeavor I joined the Pygora Goat Breeders Association, since, with the birth of Jheri, I AM one (squee!) and it is a good educational resource.  Welp, the $20 annual fee paid off in full when I got my first newsletter yesterday.  There it is, in black and white, nettle is one of THE BEST things you can feed your goat.  Highly nutritious, lots of calcium, good for digestive issues and circulation.   I did try, in fact, to get Petey to weed it for me....but I didn't know the secret trick of letting it wilt or dry before hand to incapacitate the spikies.  Here, the author is stating that she wishes she could plant and bale an ENTIRE FIELD of nettle for her goats. And this is where the outlook shifts, where it is, in fact, all in how you look at it.

Suddenly, I am excited and eager to get out there and weed.  Pulling nettle has just jumped up to the top of the To Do list, and instead of being a dreaded chore, is now a way to provide for my dependents.  It's funny, isn't it?  One day, this task is overwhelming me and causing tears and anxiety dreams and the next, I am feeling like this nettle is my Green Gold.  It is true that the worth of the job changed, from meaningless  property maintenance to harvesting a farm product.  But that shouldn't account for the very dramatic shift in attitude.  I'm accounting most of it to one of my defining characteristics as a person, I am a nurturer.  I liken this newly found love of hand pulling stinging nettle to the absolute joy and fulfillment I received my making all of my kids baby food from scratch.  It's pretty much the same in my book.  I'm sort of second guessing leaving that last sentence in for the viewing public to read.  Ah  well.

laid out nicely for wilting

So, days after actually starting this post, I am still pulling and feeding the never ending patches of nettle to my little goaties.  The LOVE it, I am swarmed by 7 running furry little bodies when they see me coming to the gate with it.  Yesterday, I thought myself a tough farmer chic, hardened with experience and tried to pull the weed while wearing short sleeves.  I was being lazy, yes, and I paid for it.  The rash really isn't that bad, it goes away after a couple of hours in case you are wondering.  Oh, and the opening picture?  If anyone is interested in combining a morning workout with nettle pulling, beware of squats and lunges while sweating in jeans.  And if your old farm jeans DO rip, don't continue to pull nettle in them, I should have only had to learn that lesson once.  

Goats eating nettle, Petey, the 'special' goat is having trouble reaching it

The big disappointment

One of my biggest excitements about our new house is the pomegranate tree.  About 10 years ago, after we had been in San Diego county for a while, I passed the strangest looking tree-bush while driving home from work.  So strange it was to my horticultural eye, I had to pull a U-ey at the next opportunity to make sure I saw what I saw.  And yes, it was my first glimpse of a pomegranate tree.  I was beyond excited that they grew in our environment, but alas, living in subdivisions doesn't allow for wild, sprawling fruit trees, just maybe a dwarf....if you're lucky.

When we took our first look at the three acres surrounding this house, the first thing that made me catch my breath and squeal like a child was the fact that the previous owner had GOATS.  Why?  I have no idea.  I guess because I couldn't imagine why any 'normal' person would just have goats around.  (Now I have 4 of my own, and will reserve comment.)  The next discovery, that caused me to jump for joy was the HUGE pomegranate tree in the orchard!  Oranges and lemons, yes, those are typical around here, but pomegranates...not so much.  And by the looks of it, this tree-bush was going to produce DOZENS for me to hoard, or share.  Maybe.

So, flash forward to the fall when the property is ours, the rest of the orchard has been harvested and the last fruit of the season to ripen are the pomegranates.  And there were, in fact, dozens.  And I did share, just a few, though, to select special people.  I had some grandiose dream that I could somehow consume 100 of these delectable fruits.  THEN, I read that you can actually store them for months in the refrigerator, so we have had most of our produce drawer storage full of ripe pomegranates just waiting for the right occasion and recipe.

My plan has been to make jam.  I made several batches of plum jam from our fruit this summer with great success, so this seemed like the logical way to preserve my bounty.  This week, the time seemed right, and despite the fact that several friends commented on the mess and amount of work required to free so many arils from their tough casing and in turn, liberate the juice from said arils, I proceeded unfazed.  That may have been my first mistake.....

The recipe called for juice from 8-9 pomegranates (totally 5 cups of juice).  This lady must have had soccer ball sized fruits because I ended up peeling around 30 freaking pomegranates if I peeled one. I did half the first day, and then had to stop because my allotted time to make the jam start to finish was used after obtaining just 3.5c of juice.  I was still undeterred and giddy.

The next day, after finally obtaining enough juice, and staining about 4 dishtowels, a tshirt and cleaning the kitchen counters and floor half a dozen times, I started with the rest of the process of jam making; boiling, adding sugar and pectin, boiling longer, testing gel stage, pouring into jars and processing in a hot water bath to sterilize.  Let it sit on the counter overnight and in the morning, wake to a beautiful deep, vibrant jam ready for your toast.

If only that was the case.  So, after washing, peeling, separating, blending, straining, pressing, skimming, boiling, mixing, pouring, canning and sterilizing.......I have sweetened, slightly thickened pomegranate juice.  I let the jars sit for an extra 12 hours, hoping some miracle late gel would occur, and when it didn't, I covered the jars with a dishcloth so I didn't have to touch them or look at them.  And there they still sit, 3 days later. 

I've been ignoring them for days now and get this, they STILL have not decided to gel.  I have been consumed with what to do with them.  Recooking them and processing the jam again would be more time I don't want to commit to something that failed so miserably.  Yet I have so.many.hours. into this project I can't just toss it either. It's not even thick enough to use as syrup on pancakes!

This morning I woke up to a light, steady rain.  The kind of rain that makes farmers and transplanted Midwesterners breath extra deep to capture the earthy smells while a little extra spring appears in their step.  I walked the orchard in the rain today and noticed I have buds forming on my plum and peach trees already and some of the oranges have finally lost that last tinge of green, ready to be picked.  Another cycle begins, another opportunity.  And while the pomegranate substance in those jars, on the counter, under the dishcloth could not even be mistaken for syrup, I found a GREAT recipe for mixing pomegranate juice with tequila.  Not all was lost.  Maybe next fall I will hoard less and share more.  You can all hope......

Getting my Zen back

The past few weeks, I have had a hard time not sweating the small stuff.  I get glimpses of reality where I realize my lack of housekeeping isn't really a big deal, or that what is meant to happen will happen and for the right reasons.  But in general, my anxiety levels have been high over things like finding a soccer team for G or learning how to sheer my goats perfectly the first time.  These two items in particular have struck a chord with me, because I have realized this weekend that it's a prime example of me creating a situation where if my kids are paying attention (which is not guaranteed) they can learn some really bad habits. I'm a perfectionist, I always have been.  I want to be perfect the first time.  Couple that with my need to be efficient and not waste resources, it's a dangerous combination.  My  kids have tendencies towards this already and I want them to LEARN to be more patient, to enjoy the experience of gaining experience, two things I am not good at doing.  Two things they can only learn by example.

Fatty Patty needs a trim

Two of my pygora goats could use shearing.  They are off schedule, so it's too cold, but if I leave it on then it could ruin their one and only kid fleece. What do I do?  How do I process the fleece? How do I maintain the lock structure?  Will it be too coarse if I don't have the guard hairs removed?  Will I waste length if I use hand shears versus trying my hand at electric shears?  Should I dye it? Should I put it in a mixed batt or spin alone?  I suck at spinning!!  I need lessons!! I need help and I hate asking for help!! I'm going to fail!! and last but not least...I suck!!  That old negative, circular argument that keeps me paralyzed from even starting something has returned.  There will be more fiber and more shearing opportunities, obviously.  But I'm not enjoying the EXPERIENCE of gaining experience.  I'm putting pressure on myself to be perfect at something I've never even done before.

Saturday I tried to work on finding my Zen through a rough workout, outdoor time and dinner with good friends.  Sunday I tried to find it through family time, football watching and knitting.  Monday, it was back to the gym for boxing which very therapeutic for me.  Beating on something helps.  But what made me turn the corner was a conversation with a friend about a memorial service for an 8 year old boy.

I knew this boy, his parents are friends of good friends and I have spent time with them over dinner and at parties many times over the past 7 years.  Max was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor at age 4.  For 4 years we have heard stories of experimental treatments, unthinkable side effects; we have participated in fund raisers and silent auctions.  As an outsider, it is easier to ignore or stay ignorant to the trials and heartbreak of caring for a child with a terminal illness, I think.  You don't know the details of what they are going through and it is harder to imagine something so hard and tragic and obscure.  But now that Max's journey in this life has gone and he has moved into something free of pain and limitation, that is easier as a parent to imagine, I think.  Death is permanent, there is no ambiguity for those of us left here.

I was recounting my conversations with my friend to Tim last night.  We were trying to put ourselves in the shoes of the parents who had just lost their only child, who was only weeks younger in age than our oldest.  Yes, we would be heavily medicated.  Yes, we would be going through the motions.  But what....what event would cause you to change from that state?  How do you recover from that and live your life?  In our case I would think that still having one child would help pull us through.  But losing your only child after knowing what that experience is like and fighting for it for so long.  How cataclysmic does that event have to be to pull you back into living a life that is a constant reminder of what you have lost?   I just don't know.

One thing that Tim and I both realized though, was that the small stuff has to step aside.  We've been guilty lately of being tense with each other, not engaging enough with the kids, worrying about things like money and a messy house. We have forgotten how very fortunate we are, and how perhaps, we need to be more appreciative and grateful of the people and things that cross our paths, however long we might travel this journey together with any of them.  What these two situations that I have described have illustrated to me is the importance of understanding one thing.....Control.

I like to view life in the lens of one of my favorite outdoor activities, hiking.  I picture myself on this beautiful path through untouched landscape.  Sometimes the path is a single track, sometimes it is wider.  There are many forks in the path, there are hairpin curves and steep rocky sections as well.  One thing about being out in nature that is a given for me, it is always beautiful.  There is always something of wonder in your field of vision whether that is a emerging mushroom on the forest floor, the bubbling breath of a sand crab coming through the sand as the waves retreat or a wide, expansive vista at a mountain top.  There is always beauty.  We have the opportunity to see beauty every day if we chose it, whether it is rare glimpse of a bluebird in your yard, the gentle sloping curl of your child's hair right behind her ear, or the way your dog takes ultimate care in choosing his spot in the sun making sure to tuck in each and every pug toe to keep them warm.  When I am hiking and I see a steep, hairpin curve up ahead, I don't stop in fear of whats beyond it, I feel excitement at what might be on the other side.  When I come across a spot that is rocky and requires the use of hands and maybe even knees to get over, I don't stop and cry because it's going to be hard and I might fail.  I don't get paralyzed by fear, I look around for a more practical option to reach the same outcome and if none present themselves, I press on without hesitating. I just do it.  These are the two aspects that I need to remember to bring back my Zen.  Picture the trail.  Enjoy the experience.  Enjoy the journey.  You don't have control of the trail, but you have total control of the decisions you make on it, and how you greet it each day. See the beauty in life, it is there, everywhere, you just have to pick you nose up and not allow your vision to be obscured by the things that are less important, like money or clean houses.

Nature is Happiness

This quote just about sums up why we moved, or I should say, why I wanted to move.  I've been in Southern California for almost 14 years (gasp!) and while I can't complain about much, it has never seemed like home.  After returning from a trip, I am always pleasantly surprised at how much I like the scenery and the weather, of course, is always amazingly beautiful.  But I guess I've expected it to become, over time, like a favorite pair of old jeans, or a favorite pair of comfy shoes that instantly make you breathe deep and smile when you slip them on.  And it hasn't.

The dream of having space and animals started years ago.  The space I have always craved, So Cal subdivisions have always felt claustrophobic and 'cult-like' to me, very...well, wrong.  And having a long history woven with plants of all sorts, it just seemed natural to have gardens which postage stamp sized lots don't allow. The animals dream came once I started knitting and met my first alpaca.  Or maybe it started when Tim and I got our first dog, Curly-Fries, way back in 1994.  Being avid animal lovers, and the realization that Curly was the Best Dog Ever, we instantly wanted space to have 10 pugs and run a rescue.  That was the pipe dream anyway.

What I don't think I realized was my need for space, until we actually moved.  In just weeks it seems, I was happier, more productive, more energized that I have felt in years, honestly.  Our 1979 house is nothing like the professionally decorated model home we moved from.  Things are mishmash. Things barely work. Things like cupboards and closets are seriously lacking.  Things break all.the.time.  Yet, it was almost instantly home.  Even Tim, who bears the financial responsibility for all of this and does enjoy his creature comforts, felt it too.  He told me after living here for 6 months that this was the first place we have lived in our 20 year history that he could not imagine losing or leaving.

Tim's comment meant the world to me, though I'm not sure I've duly expressed that to him.  You see, he is always the man with Plans B and C lined up if his business goes bust or the world does come crashing in around us.  All of those plans eliminate whatever mortgage we are paying at the time, being our biggest budget item, and at least one of those plans always involves moving into our tow trailer on his parents property in north Idaho and shooting squirrel for food.  The fact that he is having trouble creating Plans B and C without the farm is huge!  But perhaps the most rewarding compliment and confirmation that this is, without a doubt, the right move came from the Boy a few day ago.

G releasing Olive Ridley hatchlings in Todos Santos

My son is almost 8, and his heart and soul are so much like mine.  He is sensitive to a fault and goes through phases where his emotions are just too much for him.  This holiday break has been great, as most are, and the past week he has been very weepy about it coming to an end.  He is scared of fitting back into a routine, school will be hard, he will miss his dad and I SO much after spending so much time together.  He's been in tears everyday, several times a day for....days.  Sunday I asked him to come outside with me, it was a gorgeous day and I had farm work to do.  He grumbled a bit but followed. We collected eggs, found some mushrooms, trimmed and planted succulents, fed and pet the goats.  After 15 minutes he stopped and looked at me with a huge smile and bright green eyes and told me how happy he was.  "Nature is Happiness, mom" is what he said to me and asked me to remind him of this moment the next time he felt sad.  We proceeded to have a long, deep conversation on our feelings and the benefits of nature and living things and what spending time outside and care taking the land and animals actually provides us physically and emotionally.   As I continued to watch him that afternoon I realized that this moment may have been a catalyst moment for my boy.  The type of moment I was sort of hoping this move would provide.  The type of moment that you remember forever, if not in exact detail, by the way it shifted your path.  Only time will tell.

New Year, New adventure.....

The idea of a keeping a blog has been in my mind for several years and has always been accompanied with excuses as to why not to start it.  The main one, I have accepted recently, is that I want to hit the ground perfect.  Anyone who knows me isn't surprised, and those who have been on this journey with me the past few years aren't surprised that I'm just foraging ahead anyway, none the wiser.

What will this blog be about? How often will I write? Will I remember to spellcheck?  Will it ever be interesting?  Well, I have no idea to be honest.  But what I do know is that I've reached a point in my life where I am happy, I am confident in what I am doing for the first time in a long time, and I want to capture it in writing.  There will be lots of tales from the farm, some funny, some which might be funny in years to come, some which might be sad.  I have big plans for this little homestead and the queasy pit in my stomach tells me I'm afraid to fail, so I must be on the right track. There will undoubtedly be tales of parenthood, which has guided so much of my journey these past few years.  There might be knitting and spinning as I try to push my fiber hobby and affection into something more accomplished, despite my lack of clear talent.  You will just have to tune in to see. What I can promise you, is that it will be from the heart.  And it is my hope that I can impart some laughs, some comfort, some useful information to those of you who choose to read.

And with that.....let's begin....

Petey the goat.  Our latest addition.