Diet Wars

Recently, my grandson Ethan has become "horse crazy".  Since we have had the horses longer than his ten years, he has always been exposed and around them, occasionally exhibiting mild interest, but now he is full blown, head over heals, wild about the horses.  Since he is allowed and encouraged to vent his zeal on Ebony, she is the object of his desires. Grandma and I have been hoping for a horse crazy grandchild for a long time.  For a while, it appeared Emily, Ethan's sister might be horse crazy, but it is hard these days to for a kid to be able to make the commitment necessary to abandon most other pursuits and focus with the intensity necessary to win the confidence of a horse.  Time is the only way to truly bond with a horse.  Riding, brushing, feeding, cleaning stalls, and just hanging out
are all necessary to form the partnership with a horse that is so rewarding to both man and beast. 
When I was young, I was "horse crazy".  This was a very unfortunate condition for a kid that lived in the middle of a small city.  My uncle had a farm and boarded horses, but at the time, he didn't know I was "horse crazy" and I didn't know he could have used my help.  Actually, when I was about twelve, I tried to help him bale hay.  My job was to ride along on the hay wagon and stack the hay as the baler dropped them on the hay wagon.  Unfortunately, I had hay fever and despite the three hankies which were soaked by continuously explosive discharges from every opening on my face, I couldn't stop sneezing.  I was a pitiful mess and after a while it became painfully clear to all that I was destined to be a disappointment as a hay stacker.
A couple of things happened two years later that brightened my future as an aspiring horseman.  The United States Food and Drug Administration approved "Contac" as an over the counter allergy medicine and my mom started working at International Resistor Company where, as fate would have it, a wonderfully timid horse owner worked next two her.  She had a "green broke" young mare that needed to be ridden more than she could find time to do.  My mother, bless her, suggested she had a "horse crazy" fourteen year old son who would love to help her out.  In those days, fourteen year olds were kept out of trouble by being given jobs that required athleticism and a certain amount of danger to keep it interesting.  Fourteen year olds were young enough heal quickly, were not supplying the family with any meaningful income and were therefore ideal for tasks that could be mildly dangerous if attempted by someone in their mid thirties.  Putting miles on a young horse is just the sort of thing  at which they excel. 
Well that horse and I had many exciting adventures, most of which I thought would be of little interest to my parents or the horse's owner so I never mentioned them.  Consequently, I rode that horse so much, if I thought something the horse would do it.  When you ride that much, you are not thinking of riding at all.  You and the horse just become one. It is an indescribable feeling and I have always hoped to provide one of my grandkids with the opportunity to experience it.  So when Ethan started to become "horse crazy" Grandma and I were both ecstatic.  (Did I mention Grandma was "horse crazy"?)
As a result of Ethan's new interest in horses, he and I saddled up "Eb" and Belle a couple of weeks ago.  The snow was still deep and after throwing Ethan up on "Eb", I trudged over to the mounting rock (used by "old horsemen" around here) and struggled to get on.  That rock must have been heaved up by the frost, I don't remember it being so high. Anyway when I threw my leg over the saddle Belle let out a squeal of objection for some reason but offered no resistance.  (She has a nice "crow hop" which she has on occasion used to spice up a ride and see if your hat and glasses are on securely.)  The saddle had shrunk since I last sat in it and I fit in it so tight that my stomach rested on the saddlehorn.  Slowly it dawned on me that I must have gained weight.  We road and I offered a few pointers to Ethan and a couple of hours slipped by.  Finally, I decided if I was going to get off, I had better do it soon or my knees would not support me when I did get off.  After, Ethan jumped off and bounced around to put his tack away.  I hobbled around putting mine away,
I was feeling a little old and overweight. I went in the house and plopped in my chair at the table.  Kris had the computer on and said "look I got a video of you and "E" riding.  "Grandpa and Grandson riding together, pretty cool huh?"  She hit the play button and a picture of Ethan and I riding away from the camera came on the screen.  No wonder Belle squealed---I was "huge".  I bulged over the back of the saddle and out the sides.  I could still feel where the saddle horn had bounced my gut.
My classic moment for the ages with my Grandson and I am a blimp!
I was going to have to change my eating habits.  I thought they were just about perfect.  "Eat all you want whenever you want."  How can you improve on that?   I recalled an incident of a few years ago when we were having dinner with a friend.  He had been to the doctor and gotten the "you need to lose weight" lecture and had replied "I might die of something Doc---but it won't be starvation!"
Well, perhaps I had taken that pearl of wisdom a bit too much to heart. Slowly I resolved to lose weight.  (The thought still makes me shudder.) 
I told Kris I was going to diet.  She smiled sweetly.  She can be so irritating when she smiles like that. It was the "I know you believe you are going to diet smile, but I know you won't last a day" smile.  You know the one. So it was going to be that way. Well that really deepened my resolve.
 Still smiling she asked "What diet are you going on?"
"The one where I stop eating like a pig diet" I replied.  "You going to diet too?"
Her smile broadened. This was her "I can beat you at anything, anytime anywhere smile" 
"Sure," she replied and started giggling.
We began that day at that moment.  To say we cut back would be an understatement and the diet started in a spirit of cooperation and encouragement and I am sure if we could both lose the same amount on the same day the competitive forces that caused the first bit of underhanded diet tricks would never have started.   
The first mornings weigh in was disappointing.  Our scale obviously weighs 10lbs heavier than your true weight, but since it is the only scale we have we took note of our starting weights.  This sets the bench mark for future weight loss.  As a dieter, you can't look at where you are today.  That information would be almost as depressing as your starting weight.  Instead you look at the amount you have lost.  This is the number that scores your dieting and hopefully rewards your efforts faster than the urge to eat something big any juicy or gooey turns your iron will into mush.  Since we are together and mostly at the farm, it is easy to control your meals.  We both ate the same things and in roughly the same amounts.  I might have an extra boiled egg in the mornings.  At lunch we would have a piece of fruit.  In the afternoon we might have two small pieces of cheese and two crackers. At night we would have a salad with less meat than I would drop off my plate onto the floor in the good old days.  That's it.  If you get to the point of starving you can have a piece of fruit. 
After an almost interminable day one and night one, we jumped on the scale, each of us lost at least a lb.  This pattern went on for several days.  Kris actually was ahead for the first five days.  One day I happened to take the lead.  I might have lost 6lbs to her 5lbs.  That night Kris dished up the meat onto the salads and I got a little more than she did.  I thought she was being kind until the next days weigh in.  I hadn't lost any weight. Zero, nada, zip.  She, on the other hand had lost over a pound and was now in the lead at seven pounds.  She remained in the lead for six more days and beat me to TEN pounds by several days.  It occurred to me that I was being sand bagged by her generosity at the evening meal.  I began to pay more attention to how things were split.  Suddenly fairness became my passion.  Soon, I too had made it to the magic 10lb mark and we were even again. Then in a pivotal moment, I lost enough to claim eleven pounds and she had stalled at ten.  She went back to bed in the "throes of deep depression".  After awhile I felt she had wallowed in self pity long enough and said in what I thought was clearly a joking manner, "come on chubby time to get up."
Some things in life are not to be joked about.  Poor weight loss days evidently fall into that category and calling your wife chubby is probably poor judgment regardless of how good your comedic delivery is.  Things went from white hot to near arctic conditions around here and Kris has resorted to the unthinkable and unfair tactic of secretly working exercise into her daily routine to boost her weight loss. 
Grudgingly, I have been trying to walk at least as much as she does since I can't let her get too far ahead or I won't beat her to twenty pounds.  I am not sure how this is going to end but the war continues and surprisingly I already feel better.  I am able to bend over with out my heart being squeezed and blood squirting out both ears. By now I am sure I would have quit if Kris wasn't so competitive.  I am not very competitive.  I just don't want to get beat by a girl.  I can't see how this ends well, but I am not going to worry about anorexia until I am under two hundred pounds. She is so stubborn. 

The Joys of Good Water Pressure

Occasionally, an anomaly will disturb the universe and a burst of energy will appear in an unlikely spot.  In this case, I was sipping my coffee, oblivious to cosmic forces, when it occurred to me I should hook up the pump and pressure tank (which we have had for a little over a year now) to our gravity feed water system and change our lives completely.  Most of you have probably lived in houses with good water pressure and are blissfully unaware that  the faucets in your kitchen sink, bathroom lavatory, washing machine and shower are designed to dispense adequate amounts of water at 40 to 50lbs of pressure.  At 8lbs of pressure, a gravity fed water system barely trickles.  From a conservation stand point this is fantastic.  From an efficiency stand point, if you are trying to do dishes or fill the washing machine etc., you might as well pull up a chair, it's going to be while. More importantly, since we have more to do around here than we can get done, we could have a dishwasher which would save countless hours spent doing dishes.  (We home can a lot of our food and although 600 jars in the canning cupboard gives you warm feelings of security,  600 dirty ones on the kitchen counter aging gracefully, is hard on your positive outlook on life.)
So, I mentioned that I intended to hook up the booster pump and pressure tank to Kris and she reached over, felt my forehead and  asked "You feelin' OK? This is an Aprils fools joke, right?"
Well despite Kris's underwhelming confidence in my ambition level, after a couple of days, I actually hooked it up, surprising both of us.  I can scratch this one off my bucket list and move onto my favorite part of my next project, planning and buying the parts. I usually have a wild hare and buy the parts and have them so long, when I go to do the project I can't find them.  The corollary to this is I have a large back log of projects in various stages of started with lots of parts stacked around and not enough time to do most of them. 
In my experience, doing the projects causes body pain and mental stress and shouldn't be rushed into.
Well, knowing I have the tendency to put off projects, I have come up with an ingenious motivational technique that works for me. (Feel free to use this yourself.)  I simply wait until things degenerate to such a horrendous condition, that doing the project becomes by far the lesser of two evils.  I find this technique to be so successful that I now use it on almost everything.  In this case, the kitchen counter has so many dishes on it, that it would take way longer to do the dishes than to hook up the pump and the pressure tank then get the dishwasher working again.  See how easy and natural this technique is to use.  It just sort of flows and puts a positive spin in what otherwise would be a dismal situation.
I have been toying with another technique that might be useful to you.  I call it "doing nothing."
I'll give you an example.  Animals, horses and goats in particular,  are hard on everything around the farm.  Gates, walls, fences, feeders, hoses, water tanks etc. are damaged or destroyed on a regular basis.  To take care of all the maintenance, you would need a lot more staff than is walking around here.  So there are some instances, not all, but more than you would think, for which the "do nothing" technique works well.  Our horse Ebony helped develop this technique.  For a good many years she would kick the wall between her stall and Bell's breaking boards and worse she would get her leg caught in the wall and have to be cut out of it.  After numerous incidents and redesigns, reinforcements and nerve racking episodes of running a circular saw next to Ebony while she waited seemingly unrepentant and unconcerned about her leg sticking through the stall wall, I just left the two by tens out of the wall after each episode. In a moment of clarity it came to me that if the boards weren't there she couldn't break  then or get stuck.  She would just have to find something else to do that might be less dangerous.  My favorite episode, and the one that helped cement the "do nothing" technique as one of my favorites, occurred after all the boards, in what I felt was the range she could reach with sufficient force to smash through, had been removed.  This included everything below five feet.  Well much to my amazement, she kicked the fence with enough force to get her foot caught between two boards with her hind end suspended in mid air.  It looked pretty strange to see her other foot off the ground.  Her butt was off to one side and she was slowly twisting to an inverted position which would have left the entire horse hanging form the back wall and snapped her leg.  She didn't seem that concerned about it, evidently believing that by continued application of grandma's shoulder all would just dandy until I could find something to pry her leg out.  Any rational person would have went and got the phone and taken a picture of the horse's butt sitting on Grandma's shoulder appearing to be her head, but that went right by me and I just freed her leg.  I might of thought of it she hadn't been starting to panic (Grandma--not the horse, she never did seem to notice her leg wasn't where it usually was.) The other improvement to this episode would have been to mention to Grandma  when I was about to pry the boards apart.  It evidently kind of jumped her when five hundred pounds of butt and dangling legs came down all at once.  Well live and learn. It proved I can still out run her anyway (Grandma that is--not the horse).

Well anyway, you

Laundry! Yippee!

Winter can be beautiful, muddy, dangerous, breathtaking and of course endless.   We are in the endless stage and it has been, as you might have guessed, going on for ever. We ran out of clean clothes at Christmas or Thanksgiving or one of those holidays. Not to worry, we were pretty sure that we would muster enough discipline to get a few loads of laundry out after a suitable period of recovery. Well, we went into a cold spell that lasted three weeks.  Having a homestead is pleasant duty most times but when the thermometer goes below zero and stays there for extended periods, you just keep beating the ice out of buckets and adding hot water to warm up your animals, all day. Occasionally, you get to spend a few invigorating hours facing backwards in your tractor blowing snow.  For variety there is the random tree limb buried in the snow that breaks the shear pins in the snow blower and changes the job from being boring and cold to exciting and brutally cold with the wind blowing a thousand miles an hour while you race the stiffness in your fingers to see if you can get the new shear pin in before you succumb to the elements. During the day, it is less challenging because you can see what you are doing.  Night time snow blowing is the most exciting.  Why not wait till morning you ask?  Well, sometimes it is snowing so hard that if you wait till morning you have to keep taking the tractor out of gear to let the snow blower catch up.  This happens around a fifteen inches of wet heavy snow.  It is easier on your equipment to do it a couple of times instead of one big pass at the end. 
The other reason to do it at night or before first light in the morning is to beat the neighbor to the punch so to speak.  We have a good sized driveway and a half mile road till we get to the first neighbor.  He has one of those places that is always neat, a picture of well cared for buildings.  We tell people how to get to our farm by these directions:" turn onto Jellison ridge, near the end of the pavement you will come to a beautiful farm on your right--drive right by that's not us.  The pavement ends, most times of the year the road is such that you will develop an uneasy feeling, keep going.  Just as you are deciding that you are going to turn around the first chance you get, you will come to a place where you think, "boy I sure am glad I don't live next to these people," turn right in, you have arrived. "  Anyway, because of the neighbors disgustingly neat farm, I find it strangely satisfying to beat him to getting my half mile of road cleaned up while he is still in bed.  The tractor with the snow blower clattering is deafening and I imagine to myself that his eyes pop open and his first thought of the day is "crap, he beat me again."  This is probably my imagination working overtime, but still it is quite satisfying for some reason.

Anyway, the goats started kidding and the farm kept us distracted enough that the laundry was not just put on the back burner, it left the stove entirely.  Eventually it became a serious issue and almost impossible to ignore.  Still we found excuses.  Finally the weather broke and it appeared we would be able to hang out laundry on the line and we could avoid the Laundromat.  Just as I was about to suggest to Kris she should fill the washer and do a couple of loads, the last blizzard saved her.  Well a few days of clean up and the snow blowing was done.  Kris was still shoveling out the rest.  I was exhausted and sat in my chair with my feet up waiting for her to finish.  She makes such a big deal out of shoveling the chicken coop, the rabbit area, the path to the other chicken coop, the gates and doorways to the barns, the generator, the path to the wood shed and a few other little areas, that I like to stay out of her way while she is at it. 
By and by she comes in and plops down in her chair.  Her cheeks are flushed and her hair is poking out of her hat here and there before she pulls it off and unbuttons her coat. She sits silently and glares at me a while.  Seems like she's miffed about something.  Can't think what it might be so I suggest breakfast would taste mighty nice since I have been up plowing since four.  Her glare intensifies and I look away first and get up to make breakfast and without broaching the subject of laundry.  I find it healthier to avoid subjects that are likely to cause violent negative emotions once Kris reaches the testy stage.  I decide to wait a day to mention  laundry and the rest of the day was spent peacefully, a bit quiet, but peaceful.
Next day after chores I remember the laundry and mention it might be a good day to do laundry.  Surprisingly Kris agrees eagerly, almost happily.  Right then I should have been suspicious, but I am a trusting soul.  "Oh I have to sub at Christy's Day Care while Christy runs off on an errand.  "What about laundry?". 
"Don't worry, I'll be done at 1:30 and we'll take off from there, just load up everything and pick me up on the way." 
It didn't occur to me until I had dropped Kris off, that it meant I would be going through the laundry and sorting it by myself and loading everything in bags and hauling it out to the truck.  Well at least I would have company at the Laundromat.  Misery loves company.
I started sorting a 10:30.  At 1:00 I was still sorting and bagging.  I had found $14 dollars and put it in my wallet.  Compensation for getting "left" I reasoned.  There were still more clothes to sort and bag so I hurried and at 1:25 I was loading detergent, bleach, hangers and stuffing the laundry together in the backseat of the pickup to get the doors closed.  I jumped in and pulled into Christy's drive way at 1:30 exactly, turned off the key and waited.  I know they saw me pull in, but women being women and me being a man we both know our places.  I am to wait patiently and she will come out when she get's good and ready. Tossing caution to the wind, I jumped out and went up to the door and knocked "quietly".  The daycare kids would be taking their naps and waking one of the little angels would bring two very unhappy women to the door instead of one. No answer.  I slipped inside quietly and peaked around the mudroom door.  They were chatting quietly.  Kris looked over and gave me a smile- the one that freezes ice cubes and in this case indicated she would be out to deal with me shortly.  I went outside again and waited.  Before long she came out and jumped in the truck and off we went. 
I figured we were in for a long glum ride to the Laundromat while the reality of doing laundry set in, instead, Kris chatted gaily like we were off to a fun day at the beach.  She had me park in the fire lane next to the sign that clearly says no parking and lists all the possibilities that would happen if you decided to ignore the sign.  I stop the truck trying figure how much time I had before all the things on the sign would happen.  I began furiously unloading bags of dirty laundry trying to beat the tow truck, fines and jail time.  Kris carried in the laundry detergent and bleach while I unload 15 black garbage bags of laundry.  Then she smiled and said"how much cash do you have?  I could see my new found wealth was about to evaporate.  "Well I had three dollars and I found fourteen in my pants when I went through them."
She handed me a bunch of ones and her smile got brighter.  "Here, that should do it.  I have to go to the bank and out to Walmart to get pictures developed for Ma.  I'll be back shortly. Before I can say anything she is out the door and the truck is pulling away.  I look over at the Laundromat clerk and she is snickering about something.  She looks down quickly at her book with renewed interest.  I survey the rest of the Laundromat and find it deserted.  Just me and the laundry.  Well, I suppose I have been tricked worse before but it sure feels like I just fell off the turnip truck.  Time begins to slow down.  The change machine spits money out grudgingly, working with some dollars but not others. The spring is gone from my step and the colors are slowly fading to black and white.
By the time I get all the laundry in the first machine is stopping.  I begin moving laundry to the dryers. One after another the washers stop.  It is endless.  By the time I get to the last washer the first dryer has stopped.  I begin folding. I fold for hours.  Finally with the end in sight and an aching back from standing on the concrete floor.  The doors swing open and in walks Kris. 
"Hi," she chirps cheerfully, I didn't think I would be gone so long.  She sees the blank Laundromat stare in my eyes.  "Hey maybe I should go get us a milk shake at Guv's.  What kind do you want, chocolate?"
"Sure", I mumbled. And just like that she was gone again.  I finished folding the clothes and looked out the window at Guv's.  No red truck in the parking lot. I began to load up the clothes into bags--no Kris.  Hmmm, if she bought me a milk shake back when she left, it would be melted now. I began to suspect I had been abandoned, left on the Laundromat door step. Well, nothing to do but watch As the World Turns on the TV.  I hadn't seen an episode for 60 years so it was easy to pick up the story line since it moves just a little slower than that.  Finally Kris comes in. 
"Where's the milk shake? I asked.  "Oh, I got way laid and never made it to Gov's."  I looked across the parking lot at Gov's-- a 150yards maybe to their back door.
"Well, lets load up" and she grabs the laundry detergent and the bleach and heads for the truck which is parked next to the no parking sign again.  I load the laundry bags and get in the truck.
"Well," she says, "I sure am glad we got that done!"




 

Saw Mill

The saw mill is one of several pieces of equipment that has to be running to keep a farm growing. It creates a usable commodity out of a natural resource. If you have a chainsaw that will start, a tractor, a sawmill and some suitable trees, you can make lumber. Equipment, like old farmers, has a useful life span. Equipment sitting unprotected outside has a lot less lifespan, soooooo, I am trying to get a roof built over the sawmill. Ironically, I don't have enough lumber. With this in mind, I got the mill going this fall in hopes the weather would stay warm and dry while I milled the small amount it would take for the roof. Unfortunately, the roof over the sawmill was only one of the projects that needed to have posts in the ground before it froze. So, I put the posts in the ground for the sawmill, tied them together and braced them off with temporary bracing which would be used as part of the staging for building the roof.

Once the poles for the mill were in, we moved to the new fence for the goats and put in those posts. The weather was closing in and we stayed with the fence project until it was done. We needed it for a breeding pen this fall and next spring it would be useful to separate the goats during kidding season. The fence used up a lot of lumber which could have been used for a roof over the mill.

Sooo, as luck would have it, (or poor planning and cold weather which came punctually in December) we soon had a mill buried in snow, in need of wood for the roof and temporarily braced off making it impossible to mill wood until we got the roof far enough along to take down the temporary bracing. There is always a solution to these things, and it always involves lots of additional unnecessary work. After my teenage years when all work seemed a waste of my time, I made peace with the idea that work was a necessary part of life. I never completely conquered my resentment towards "unnecessary" work. "Additional unnecessary" work which I caused by poor planning was always very frustrating. Experience, however, has taught me I will be working at "something" everyday, "what" only matters that day. Being frustrated about it isn't helpful and makes it worse.

With a determined crew consisting of my daughter Hannah and her husband Buster(who graciously didn't point out how much easier it would be in warmer weather), we built the beams that will support the roof and allow me to take down the temporary bracing.

Now, I will mill lumber in the snow, so, I won't have to mill lumber in the snow. There is a certain cosmic, circular irony here that I will have plenty of time to contemplate while I am shoveling and milling.

Building a Farm

Maude working on increasing milk production.


Starting from scratch and clearing land is an inexpensive way to get into the farm business. Farming is the fun part, but making it into some type of profitable business is the tricky part. We have a myriad of possibilities and may have to do several. There are certain budget constraints to keep in mind. Whatever we decide to do, will have a zero development budget which makes it challenging.

We are currently looking at digging a cheese cave/root cellar. Despite having never made a wheel of cheese, or having sufficient dairy goats to supply the milk to support a cheese making operation, we are intrigued by the fact the cave, at least, could be done on our budget by our excavator and our raw materials (i.e. rocks and lumber from our sawmill). When starting any business, there are some things you simply cannot know before you start--in this case almost everything. How fun is this going to be!

I am sure this sounds like the idle ramblings of a wishful thinker. I like to view myself as a visionary that can see what's there before it actually appears. I subscribe to the theory, that if it were hard, no-one could do it. Ergo, I have done all sorts of things successfully using a combination of determination, blissful and massive ignorance of the possible pitfalls, and when all else fails, finally resorting to bone crushing, mind numbing hard work. Most ideas work to some extent once a gargantuan amount of effort is applied.

First things first, the first cheese cave (and probably the only cheese cave, let's be serious) is just for our entertainment and experimentation. If we can't make good cheese, there is no reason to make lots of it. Also, there are those pesky projects that I have going this winter (the sawmill roof and new outhouse/shower room--a small concession to creature comforts) and the house I should build before I am too decrepit to do it.

So, a business that will take years to develop of which we have almost total ignorance is just to juicy to resist. Hence the cheese cave. In the mean time to make a quicker business, one that might make money in my life time and requires much less equipment, work, raw materials, buildings, money and effort, we are going to make designer goat milk soap. If we are lucky, this will make as much money as Bert's Bee's does for Roxanne Quimby and will allow us to develop the cheese business and to buy the north Maine woods out from under her, and then, gamble it all to build a large cheese cave, a large dairy goat herd, a large pasture, etc. etc.

Kris has been doing the development of the soap business. She is much less experienced in business development and is doing market analysis, product testing, cost analysis, and other unfun things to make sure it will work. Being more experienced in business start ups, I am encouraging her to skip all this boring stuff and bet the farm and everything we own on the idea of the moment just like I would do.

I know this sounds crazy, but there is a method to my madness. (Pay attention now, if you have been daydreaming. This explains the kernel of apparent craziness that bubbles up in me from time to time.) Those who have started a business will recognize it as the essential ingredient to success. COMMITMENT IS EVERYTHING. All else is just a way of trying to calm your nerves before you start.

For commitment, I like to bet everything. Betting everything is a sure way to be totally committed. When success is the only option for survival, the success rate goes way up. Ninety percent of most business start ups fail because there is always plan B to fall back on. Get rid of plan B and with starvation as a real possibility, then plan A is MADE to work. Genius, huh?

Let me tell you a short story to illustrate just how well this works and how my business acumen was developed.

In my formative years, I worked for Hannaford Bros as a young produce specialist. Hannaford was building a new store in Machias. I was at a monthly store operations meeting where the main topic was the soon to be opened store. Usually, only store operations people were at these meetings, but this meeting had a broader attendance and the head of the store engineering department, a competent, distinguished fellow was there to discuss progress. Roger was the Senior Vice President in charge of Store Operations. His nickname was "the Bullet" for reasons soon to be obvious.

All store operations people live by the creed of "whatever it takes to get the job done." In Roger's case this was actually tweeked to "WHATEVER IT TAKES!!!" The unsuspecting engineer mistakenly thought when Roger asked if there were any snags, he actually wanted to know if there were any, so he said conversationally, "the lights for the poles in the parking lot are probably not going to be up in time for the opening because they are back ordered". Roger looked down the table and told him in all sincerity "if those lights aren't on the poles and working when that store opens, you will be sitting on one of them with a flashlight." None of the regular attendees doubted that at all. The point of this story is the commitment level. The engineer needed his raised for a successful outcome. Roger was a genius at that.

Applying this simple tactic to our situation, I have guided our income and bank account to near zero, and thus have raised our commitment level sufficiently to guarantee success in the new business. We will now do "WHATEVER IT TAKES!!!"

Before reading how carefully this business was set up for success, you might have thought betting the farm on a nonexistent soap business resting on the spindly legs of one unassuming (and unsuspecting) dairy goat was a bit crazy. Now, can you see the genius of it? Well, keep trying, it may come to you.

What do you think of "Maude's Milk Soap" with a line drawing of Maude's head on the label? She is, after all, providing the milk for this adventure and deserves something more than an extra flake of hay.

A Good Home Only

Kris was perusing the farm animal sites on facebook that make up the new farming community a few weeks back and ran across a live stock guardian dog for which the owner wanted a "good home", would only entertain "serious offers" and was only asking a hundred bucks. It was a Marama crossed with a Great Pyrenees that was four years old.
"Hey, Bart, look at this."
I was throwing wood on the fire and it took me a second to finish.
"Come on, you're not gonna believe this one."
I was expecting to see a good looking horse, which usually stops her aimless meanderings through these sites. We look at them together and Oooh and Aaah and then, we discuss its beauty, what we could do with it and decide it is an incredible buy, sort of a good buy or overpriced, or way overpriced, or out of their minds overpriced.

Instead, a big white dog was looking out of the picture and into the hearts of anyone foolish enough to be cruising by. Danger, whoop-whoop-whoop, danger!
"What do they want a thousand bucks?" I inquired. We had looked at every breed of livestock guardian dog awhile back and any thing with four legs and tail was a thousand bucks. I was sure the price would save me from telling her no, absolutely no, no way no how, NO!

"That's the best part--- a hundred bucks!" she gushed.

Up until that point the morning had been going pretty well. Reluctantly, I pointed out we had two dogs and another one was out of the question. No, absolutely not, no new dog.

She rushed over and gave me a big hug squeezing my neck so tightly the blood flow was being cut off and said through clenched teeth "Thank you, I KNEW you'd AGREE. I'll call and tell them we'll take it. This will be my Christmas present."

Blood flow returning, I was seeing that, actually, we needed another dog. Well, maybe it will be one we could have run loose, would stay around when we left, and watch the chickens without eating too many.

I began to ponder the "only to a good home" line that is in every ad for animals on the internet. "I really want the dog, but honestly, we aren't a very good home. We only take care of our animals occasionally, and we never pat them or show signs of affection." Maybe I should call and talk to the current owner.

Kris handled all the arrangements, and even got the dog delivered by the owner, who was I am sure, anxious to see that it went to a "good home."

A couple of weeks went by before "Frankie" could be delivered by the owner due scheduling conflicts and Kris was so excited. By the time it arrived, she was just a blur running around trying to make this place look like a "good home." In truth, I have to admit, I was excited too.

We brushed the horses repeatedly who would then roll in the mud and cleaned the goat barn several times. The goats seemed to poop a lot more than usual and the chicken coop was probably the cleanest coop in the state.

Mercifully, the day finally arrived. Kris looked me over, scruffy beard, dirty jeans, barn coat and said "may be you should go somewhere for awhile. They might not get of the car if they see you."

"Okay-- I'll trim my beard and give myself a hair cut and try to look less like a serial killer." This seemed to satisfy her and she went on to correct something else that might indicate this wasn't a "good home."

The day seemed to drag along. They lived down state and didn't leave until noon. I was just doing the goat's evening feeding when they arrived. It was getting dusky and kind of hard to see. I waved trying to look at least like a friendly, well groomed serial killer who takes good care of his animals. I directed them to the other barn where they could find Kris. As they pulled away, I peeked into the small station wagon. I couldn't see the driver, but there were two teenage boys who appeared to be smothering in white fur, in fact, the back of the car behind the rear seat, the rear seat and part of the front passenger seat were filled with it. For an instant a huge white head filled the entire front passenger's window and then the car disappeared down the driveway. I hurried after the car anxious to see if my eyes were playing tricks in the low light level.

I was getting there just as the car was emptying. Kris was still talking to the driver and assuring her it was the right place. The two boys got out and the dog began to get out. It got out some more- and some more- and still some more dog got out. It came over to the driver who was still in the car talking to Kris through her window. He had to lower his massive head to the level of the driver's head to lick her face with a huge pink tongue. BIG dog. After the dog and boys got out, I could see another passenger that had been hidden in back seat on the other side of the dog. Introductions were exchanged and the driver got out. She in contrast to the dog was a small thin woman that weighed a lot less than the dog and probably would be cheaper to feed no matter what she ate.

Kris and she were chattering away like long lost friends and making over the dog. The owner had correctly identified who was in charge and who cut the checks and who all dealings had to pass through. I was left to make small talk with the teens, who it turns out were well mannered and well spoken young fellows. They were obviously very attached to the dog. They had gotten Frankie as a pup to watch the goats and chickens at there small farmstead. Close neighbors, busy road and Frankie had ended up on a chain. Too bad, these kids loved the dog and were doing the responsible thing. These were good kids. I hadn't said a word to the mother and already held her in high regard. We all hope we would have the kind of character it takes to do the right thing too, but I think it is pretty rare. She was putting the dog's needs ahead of the family's wants. Makes you want to try hard to be worthy of such a painful decision.

They stayed quite awhile reluctant to leave, but finally when all excuses for staying were exhausted they piled back into the small car and drove slowly out of the driveway. Sadness hung in the air.

We had slipped a horse lead line onto "Frankie's" collar and he began pulling me down the driveway after the retreating car. "It's Okay Frankie, good boy." I dug in and slowed our progress down to a halt somewhere around the goat barn. Rosie was barking at Frankie threateningly. Kris caught up and we both made over him. "It's Okay Frankie" we repeated hollowly. It was a lie and we both knew it. Everyone involved was trying to make his life better, but there would be some heartbreak first.
It was getting dark and we hadn't eaten and neither had Frankie. One of the things we do at the farm is feed our animals good. The dogs get a good dose of home canned dog food from meat scraps we can after we butcher. This goes on top of their dry food which is pretty boring day after day with no toppings. Frankie ate heartily- a huge relief and a very encouraging sign.

We needed to secure Frankie for the night. We didn't want him to take off on an epic journey to locate his former owners which would make the Disney channel if successful or more likely, end in tragedy. So we walked Frankie around giving him his first glimpse of Missed Skeet Farm and the area we hoped he would keep free of predators, then, I tied him to a post inside the barn with a horse lead and went to bed.

I got up three or four times that night, got bundled up and walked him around the farm in the dark using the same path. I kept a firm grip on the rope and a free hand to pat him when he was close enough. Each of the walks lasted a good half hour. I was trying to get him through the first night without leaving him alone too long. I didn't get much sleep, but that isn't too unusual around here and dawn finally came. Kris was up now and she has a way with animals that I don't. She fed Frankie and untied him, then we went about chores and Frankie followed her around. Frankie stayed within a short distance as we moved about. If Kris walked toward him, he moved away quietly, maintaining his distance. When I moved toward him, he moved away and grumbled vocally- not growling just grumbling. Annoyingly, he never grumbled with "Sleeping Beauty" who spent the night in peaceful repose while I spent the night trying to be a compassionate pet owner and keep Frankie from feeling too lonely.

In pictures, Great Pyranees and Maramas are always laying down and watching the herd from a good vantage point. For some reason it surprised us when that is exactly the way Frankie spends most of his time. When we would move, Frankie moved and found a good spot and laid down to watch what was going on. Occasionally, he would bring his head up, stare intently and trot off barking in that direction. At first we worried he might not turn around and come back, but just keep going. Fortunately for everyone, he travels only short distances from the "herd" and then eventually returns to lay down and watch again.

As I mentioned earlier, we hoped when we considered getting a new guardian dog that it would stay close, without being fenced or tied, even when we drive away. Frankie is that dog. After a week or so, he finally quit barking and grumbling at me to warn Kris when I was approaching. The first few days, he would look in the kitchen window and bark to warn Kris whenever I moved around inside. Apparently, my attempt to look less like a serial killer was not fooling Frankie. After a week or so I could occasionally get a hand on him in passing give him a pat. By the end of two weeks, he and I were fast friends. Where someone goes, Frankie follows-- he is great company.

You can tell he is enjoying doing the work he was bred to do. He moves with purpose and dignity, satisfied with his new job and new surroundings. Frankie loves Kris and tolerates her dull assistant patiently.

So, I think he believes and in fact has come to the "Good Home" that Frankie's previous family hoped he would find. Kudos to them for making a very tough decision.

Cold Snap

Winter brings challenges to the farm. The thermometer is stubbornly staying below zero this morning so we will have to work a lot harder to keep the animals comfortable. I just went down to check on Rosie one of our livestock guardian dogs who lately is happier outside than in. I checked twice over night to see if she had had enough of the great outdoors and was ready to go in the barn. It is -2 at 4:00 AM and dead calm. For my concern, she barked at me while I was crunching my way down to see how she was doing. She was fine and when I opened the door to the barn she was not the least bit interested in going inside where the temperature is always much warmer. Fine, stay outside. I guess as long as there is no wind, and she has a bit of hay to curl up on, I am going to stop checking. I probably stand more chance of being a farmersicle than she does of being a dogsicle anyway.

As it turns out, a farm animal's comfort is inversely proportional to yours. If you spend a lot of cold hours keeping their bedding clean, dry and fluffy, hay in the mangers, and knocking ice out of buckets and replacing it with warm water, they will be fine. You will be brutalized by the elements, but they will be pictures of contentment. The phrase "Poor dumb brute" must have originally referred to the farmer taking care of the animals.

Seeing their contentment and comfort should be rewarding enough for any farmer. I have never quite achieved this bucolic nirvana. There are times when I lug warm water down to the goat barn, pull all the water buckets, (there are seven in just this barn), clean them and refill them with life sustaining warm water, and watch every goat ignore my efforts and turn up their noses. A few hours later, I can see that they didn't bother with even a small sip. Seems kind of ungrateful. It irritates this "poor dumb brute".

Our goat herd is largely does who are now bred and growing little goats inside (hopefully) and should be drinking several gallons of water a day according to everything I read. Every few hours, we repeat this exercise with about the same results. Sometimes however you will return and every bucket will be empty. There's the rub. You have to give them a lot of water each time because that may be when they need it. Mostly, you are creating round blocks of ice for your efforts. I suppose, gratitude is just not in goats. Neither is the concept of "get it while the gettin' is good," or "drink the water while it is hot" because the "dumb brute" taking care of you is having thoughts involving an act of mayhem, a freezer and a seal-a-meal.

I do have two young bucks that stop munching hay when their warm water arrives and drink gratefully every time I deliver water. I love these two and hope they pass on this trait to their progeny. It would make doing winter chores around here a lot nicer.

Our chickens get water when the goats do and most times are ecstatic to get it and have moved way up on my list of farm animals as a result.

Rationally, I know it shouldn't matter, but, it does, and there are times when I sit by the fire and warm my toes instead of rushing right out to bring water to animals that don't seem to care much. This rather un-farmer like attitude doesn't show up at all in the summer when you can just dump the water from the buckets and refill them with a hose, but... after you heat the water on the wood stove, put it in a five gallon insulated thermos jug, lug it down to the goat barn in a wheelbarrow, beat the ice blocks out of the buckets from water they ignored last time you did this, fill the buckets and rush them inside so they are still warm, well...

It's 5:00 AM and time to turn on the solar and plug in the chicken light- we sit in the dark a lot during the short days of winter when solar gain is pretty low, but the chickens always have their twelve hours of light--keeps them laying eggs. Some of the things we do make you wonder, still, there is a wonderful natural rhythm to farming- even the regularity of the goats obstinate behavior seems to fit. Putting the animal's needs ahead of yours is good for the soul and I can't explain why. It is more satisfying than a hot meal or warming your toes by the fire, so... time to put on the head lamp and go start the chores. Boy its cold out there this morning.