Hands

My mother once made a remark about “Brenda’s hands” because I can’t keep them still.  Mother, Artist, Massage therapist, tender of animals, cook, seamstress, hippie-in-general about doing things myself and more… and I think, as the years have passed, that I agree with her.

My hands would never win a beauty contest of hands, if anything such as that existed.  Maybe it does, and I just don’t know.  It wouldn't matter - they are broad palmed with very long lean fingers, and riddled with scars.  When the weather changes, the knuckles get a little red.  (The awesome goat milk soap I make and use keeps it from being worse. Before goats milk soap, they would get so red and raw each winter that they bled often from the deep cracks.)

On my left index finger are the scars of when I was very young and everyone I knew had warts - so did I, and they were surgically removed.  The middle finger that was broken in a car door and bends slightly out at the distal joint.  The ring finger is remarkably unblemished, and the pinky has a mystery scar at the middle joint. 

The right hand is a plethora of scars including a one inch plus scar across the back where I broke it in a closing door while carrying in a box of holiday gifts for all of our student assistants in the office, and each of the fingers bears some sort of mark (most very small) from life experiences.  Most recently I was bitten by some insect that caused it to swell gradually for two days straight.  (I still cannot close it or open it all the way, and the knuckles have disappeared for all the swelling.)  I've broken this hand 3 times in the last 5 years.  One broken finger (ring finger) and my first metacarpal broken in two different places, two separate times.  I sprained the distal joint of the ring finger and that was far worse than any of the  breakings!

I digress - my point is that these hands may never meet the standard of beauty, but I have learned to find the beauty in them because they are so capable. They can soothe a hurt... feed and care for my family, and my farm... they can create art and build things that are sturdy and useful... sew a French seam and trim a donkeys hooves.  Time has taught me to appreciate all the things they are capable of, and the inherent beauty in that. 

It isn't often that I appreciate something in myself - but every time I look at my big, sometimes rough, scarred up, and occasionally swollen hands, you'll see a smile.

Priorities

The summer is starting off hot and lovely, and with that come all the plans and trying to prioritize what really needs to be done now, and what can wait a little while.  Bill and I agree that re-roofing the barn must be a top priority, as is moving the rest of the gravel and creating a better / more solid gravel floor in the barn.  (The silly chickens get in there and make hollows then dust bathe in the rock dust.  This creates great little pitfalls to twist an ankle in… ) 

Another project that will not take very much time is moving the ducks to a small pen with some grass!  This will be located in the back yard, and well fenced off from the dogs.  And it will have its own real gate with hinges!  I know that sounds silly to be excited about, but their temporary pen has a fence that has to be unclipped and re-clipped every time we go in and out.  They should also really have a cooler shelter – the dogloo is doing an ok job, but I want something prettier to look at this time! 

The third priority project for the summer is building a picnic table for the back yard.  Not just any picnic table, but one that I was inspired to build after seeing a really cool one with an inset tray down the center that can be filled with ice to keep water, iced tea, beer, wine, etc. cold while serving!  YAY!!

Oohh... and another I hope to accomplish - but am afraid of calling it a priority because then I set too many priorities and none will get done - is finally building the planting beds that didn't get built this year.  If I get them built soon, then they can compost over fall and winter and in spring we just till, plant and water.  (Drip lines are going to be mandatory though... *sigh*)  I have this plan in my head for how to do it with some of the scrap lumber we have.  Now if only the plans in my head can translate to reality!

Those little things like making functional still at least pleasing (for me that’s often rustic) that make a difference in how I perceive our farm.  One of these years, I’ll get around to planting more flowers too.  I won't call that one a priority either, just so that maybe it really will happen!

Gender Roles

Now that the insanity of the end of the school year, one daughter graduating, and the Renaissance Festival have all come to a close I have a moment to write again.  With the pace we have kept for the past few months (imagine it - no more than 4-5 hours a sleep at night for months and the days full of stress and activity dawn to midnight) there has been something niggling at my brain. 

I'm all for getting as much done myself as possible, and it truly causes me physical pain to have to ask for anything or to ask for help, and the concept of gender roles just fried my apples, as Mom would put it. As far as work goes, I'm all about equality.  Everyone does their share, because collectively it helps everyone.

This extended to farm care.

Our mornings begin about 5:45 a.m., and until recently we traded off on who was going out to feed and milk and who was going to take care of things in the house.  I found that quite often, when it was my turn to feed and milk, I would still end up doing the cooking and other indoors tasks.  When my hubby did cook, the oatmeal ended up as paste and the eggs were rubbery so no one wanted to eat.  We would choke down a few bites out of politeness, but there was a lack of nourishment, as well as consistency and creativity there.  (This still baffles me because when it comes to dinners, he's truly an amazing cook!)

As the morning pace became even more insane with kids needing to be at the school by 5:45 or 6:00 am (sometimes 5 a.m. even) the classic division of chores based on gender started to appear.  He did more and more of the morning milking / feeding and I did the dishes and cooked the breakfast and fed the dogs, and started the laundry, etc.

It is both frustrating and somewhat comforting.  It's nice to know that he can take care of things outside, and that everything in the house is running as it should (and that we would in fact have clean clothes as well as nourishment!)  BUT, and it's a big but hence the caps, I dearly missed the soft quiet mornings with the animals.  Despite it being Texas, the mornings outside are still cool enough and possess that gentle quality that grounds the spirit and makes a person feel whole again.

The schedules have settled down.  The kids are sleeping in. The husband is sleeping in. And me?  I'm still exhausted, but I think that maybe I have learned something.  Gender roles in farm care have a time and place that create better functionality.  I'm still glad that it seems that time has past for a little while and I can take up my part in the morning barnyard again!

This morning I spent almost an hour just Being, in the soft quiet morning surrounded by my animals.

Good morning, Penny!

And Ms. Balvenie

And who could resist a good morning from this handsome guy?!

Roosters -

I have learned something about roosters - they older they get, the meaner they get.  My once pet-able and handle-able rooster HotShot has gotten progressively more evil in the past six months, and while some transgressions I can overlook others are far beyond acceptable.

He chases the other animals around, and only the donkeys fight back enough that he doesn't bother them. Ok, and my husband. HotShot doesn't bother Bill too much.

He attacked one of our new ducks, and while the duck will survive with limited damage that's still not a trait that we want to have in the barn yard.  Then... well, he attacked me.  I only had a scratch or two, as I was quick to hide behind a donkey.  (Yes... picture it - I'm no small woman hiding behind a donkey FROM A BIRD!!!)

Then... the little son-of-a-gun attacked one of my daughters.  She has multiple punctures, one of which bled for more than 3 hours.  She only walked into the barnyard, and he full out attacked her puncturing her tall barn boots and her legs.  She's got an infection going on in the wounds, and a round of antibiotics.  Thank goodness she is up to date on her tetanus vaccinations.

The poor hens are so abused by him now that some are sporting cuts on their backs from how aggressive he is with them.

Sadly, I think the time has come that he becomes dinner.  I will not de-beak a rooster, as that is horrible abuse and while his spurs and toenails can be clipped it doesn't take away his agressiveness.  A few family members are wearing scars on our hands from where he has bitten us so deeply that the wounds are silver scars to remember forever.

We have a friend with several young roosters, most with mild temperments.  She has offered our pick of the lot, and we'll start fresh.  We will doctor our new little duck until he (or she) is healed, and go on...

These are the rough days.

The Ducks Have Arrived!

They first few minutes were entirely devoted to food and water - which they kept returning to through their first 30 minutes.  The poor things had been about 24 hours without real sustenance.

After a rough twenty four hours, the rescued ducks - new additions to the farm - have arrived and are alive and well and eating!  Oh they are so happy to be eating it would be funny if it weren't so sad. 

And we get a little look around the temporary pen, until they are ready to integrate with the rest of the animals.

My daughter welcomes the crested one to our farm

And I add the fawn one - from a little bit of research online (ha!) I think it's a fawn runner, but would love to hear other opinions.



My young son helps welcome the two little rescues!

It's a Tiny Pond!

MORE WATER!  Gotta have that water!

Hello!  We are here to take over your world, and look cute while we do it!

Ducks Alive!

My husband called my office this morning with the strangest note in his voice... maybe half amused and half concerned.  It seems that someone in a related office rescued two domestic ducks that had been unceremoniously dumped at a local park, apparently to fend for themselves (poor babies!).  The pair were afraid of the big open water pond, and didn't really know how to forage, and were oh so willing to be picked up and petted and carried around.  Well, the ladies ended up taking the ducks home and feeding them lettuce and berries for their dinner - and accomodating them in their apartment bathtub!

I applaud them for rescuing these poor creatures, but they certainly couldn't keep them in their bathroom for very long.  Knowing about our farm-y habits, the lead rescuer of these two unfortunates contacted my husband asking for help rather than taking them to a shelter of some sort. 

So - being the softies that we are (and knowing full well how much our middle daughter has always wanted a duck!) we said yes.  They will be delivering the two ducks to our farm this evening wherein I will be taking lots of photos and hoping to make time to post the pictures soon!

All it takes is a little Donkey Frolic!

As people we have known for some time but not seen in recent years become reacquainted with us, and find that we now have a little farm we are often met with remarks along the lines of “That’s a lot of work!” or “Better you than me – that’s a lot of work,” or other things along those lines

I have discovered in recent stressful days (stressful only because of the flurry of activity my graduating high school senior has going on, and one injured donkey) that my down time with the animals is the best therapy.

 Despite the challenges lately – Ms. Lulu tore her legs up pretty badly and has had more than two weeks of daily treatments, culminating tonight in her last antibiotic injection (Say Hooray! here), and a much healthier donkey than two weeks ago – just being out there in the barn and pasture has helped me regain some equanimity. 

This morning, that moment of peace came in taking less than a minute to watch the donkeys play chase in the pasture.  The goats stood on the big tree trunk logs watching with some degree of fascination as Lulu would chase Penny around the pasture at full speed, heads up and oddly enough naturally pacing.  Then Penny would put on the brakes and Lulu would run right past her and wheel around while Penny ran the other direction.  This went on for a while, with them trading off on who was the chaser and the chasee, and just that dose of their joy in life and the ability to run and play before finally settling down to graze in the shade of the big tree out by the back fence was a balm to my frazzled nerves. 

It’s the little things… like a little donkey frolic!