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Snapping Wasps — Thursday, July 3, 2025
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Saturday, February 11, 2006
Local Animal ID
Yesterday, early, before milking even, I was out scrambling around on the ice, rapidly congealing pen in hand, (black ink only) participating in our personal brand of animal ID. As I tried to sneak around on each side of my victim I wondered why the heck our registered herd of Holstein cattle needs fancy tags and yet ANOTHER database to make them traceable.
See, Bariolee, daughter of Baton Rouge, calf of Beausoliel, daughter of Pat Berretta, daughter of LV Banana (and that is just from memory WITHOUT opening the herd book in the office) jumped out of the sawdust shed and went to see the bull. In order for her to get her registration papers, the Holstein Association needs a map of her spots. I was out in the just above zero temperatures drawing that map with a pen that was freezing up every couple of seconds. She should have been registered months ago when it was warmer. However, no one likes drawing the spotty ones and she is covered with little jiggles and speckles and such.
Now that she is "drawn" she has been turned in with Magnums Promise, our (also registered) milking shorthorn bull and both are enjoying a vigorous honeymoon. Hopefully a curly headed little black calf will show up in about nine months.
But can anybody tell me why these two animals need more identification than they already have. Not only is Lee, as we call her, purebred, registered, mapped AND already eartagged, but I can recite her pedigree back four generations without even getting out my notebook.
And tagging doesn't carry a lot of weight anyhow. We have a pen with eleven yearlings in it. All were tagged with the same type of tagging system the government advocates. THREE still have their tags! THREE! There must be something on the feed through that is snagging them. No problem though. All but two are registered and thus mapped, so all we have to do is look at their papers. Any anyhow, Liz knows most of them and I know the others.
And then there is the fact that about twenty years ago an animal from here triggered a test at the state when we sent her to the auction. There was nothing wrong with her, they had just changed the test and it was so super sensitive that there were a lot of false positives. You know what? They were on our farm testing the whole herd the next day. No forty-eight hour traceback, more like eighteen! They don't need a new system to traceback cows. They just want more control over our personal property.
Bah, humbug. At least the new camera will make it unnecessary for me to draw spotty calves any more. If the batteries don't freeze that is.
See, Bariolee, daughter of Baton Rouge, calf of Beausoliel, daughter of Pat Berretta, daughter of LV Banana (and that is just from memory WITHOUT opening the herd book in the office) jumped out of the sawdust shed and went to see the bull. In order for her to get her registration papers, the Holstein Association needs a map of her spots. I was out in the just above zero temperatures drawing that map with a pen that was freezing up every couple of seconds. She should have been registered months ago when it was warmer. However, no one likes drawing the spotty ones and she is covered with little jiggles and speckles and such.
Now that she is "drawn" she has been turned in with Magnums Promise, our (also registered) milking shorthorn bull and both are enjoying a vigorous honeymoon. Hopefully a curly headed little black calf will show up in about nine months.
But can anybody tell me why these two animals need more identification than they already have. Not only is Lee, as we call her, purebred, registered, mapped AND already eartagged, but I can recite her pedigree back four generations without even getting out my notebook.
And tagging doesn't carry a lot of weight anyhow. We have a pen with eleven yearlings in it. All were tagged with the same type of tagging system the government advocates. THREE still have their tags! THREE! There must be something on the feed through that is snagging them. No problem though. All but two are registered and thus mapped, so all we have to do is look at their papers. Any anyhow, Liz knows most of them and I know the others.
And then there is the fact that about twenty years ago an animal from here triggered a test at the state when we sent her to the auction. There was nothing wrong with her, they had just changed the test and it was so super sensitive that there were a lot of false positives. You know what? They were on our farm testing the whole herd the next day. No forty-eight hour traceback, more like eighteen! They don't need a new system to traceback cows. They just want more control over our personal property.
Bah, humbug. At least the new camera will make it unnecessary for me to draw spotty calves any more. If the batteries don't freeze that is.
Friday, February 10, 2006
Robins
We had robins today, the first of 2006. They were a mix of the bright russet and almost black ones we normally see locally and the paler Canadian ones. The light colored ones are distinctly different and very pretty. I tried my darndest to get a nice photo with the new camera, but my assistant made that impossible. Maybe they will come back some time when she and her partner aren't hanging around. Every time I tried to sneak up into the bushes to get a shot, they were right behind me wanting to join in the fun.
I wouldn't have seen them at all if my dear friend hadn't gone outside for a minute and spotted them. We had a great day, getting the bookkeeping up to date, having soup as is our tradition, and catching up on each other's doings. I meant to send some soup home, but forgot.
I wouldn't have seen them at all if my dear friend hadn't gone outside for a minute and spotted them. We had a great day, getting the bookkeeping up to date, having soup as is our tradition, and catching up on each other's doings. I meant to send some soup home, but forgot.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Chicken Wrangling
Those danged chickens will not stay off the back porch. They seem to have developed a taste for cat food that just won't be quenched. Today I took out herding them away with all three border collies and what a sight that was. Four chickens, two hens, two roosters, with three black dogs in "driving" mode, pushing them away from the house. It might have seemed like overkill, but those birds are determined. They kept trying to cut back around the dogs, but three was just too many for them. They finally left and stayed away the rest of the day.
Driving is less natural to a border collie than gathering, that is bringing the animals towards you. Nick did me real proud, for a young dog with very little formal training (and none on hens). A short year ago he thought chickens were just made to be chased, and preferably popped like feather balloons. Today he worked like a pro, even though he is still limping from the hit by a car incident. He only angled around in front of them once, and then came right back "inside" when I called him in.
Mike showed what kind of dog he is, driving chickens with obvious disdain and turning towards the bull on the other side of the fence every time I called, "lie down". He knows what his calling in life is supposed to be and it doesn't have anything to do with poultry. I have never let him work the shorthorn bull, but he measured him as a threat and wanted to go put a whup on him so bad he was quivering with eagerness. I am unfailingly amazed by these dogs' ability to read stock and pick out the ones that mean harm. I can't let him go after the bull though, because of his age and the deep mud out there, but I sure would love to. That bull could use a little formal education. He doesn't like me much.
Driving is less natural to a border collie than gathering, that is bringing the animals towards you. Nick did me real proud, for a young dog with very little formal training (and none on hens). A short year ago he thought chickens were just made to be chased, and preferably popped like feather balloons. Today he worked like a pro, even though he is still limping from the hit by a car incident. He only angled around in front of them once, and then came right back "inside" when I called him in.
Mike showed what kind of dog he is, driving chickens with obvious disdain and turning towards the bull on the other side of the fence every time I called, "lie down". He knows what his calling in life is supposed to be and it doesn't have anything to do with poultry. I have never let him work the shorthorn bull, but he measured him as a threat and wanted to go put a whup on him so bad he was quivering with eagerness. I am unfailingly amazed by these dogs' ability to read stock and pick out the ones that mean harm. I can't let him go after the bull though, because of his age and the deep mud out there, but I sure would love to. That bull could use a little formal education. He doesn't like me much.
Editing Congressional Style
Here is a very interesting little story about members of our US Congress and their staffs doing a little freelance editing. Seems they hit the oh-so-changeable online encyclopedia, Wikipedia, and changed their own biographies, as well as "vandalizing" those of rivals. What good and honest sportsmen they are.
Hoofs and Honors
Liz made the dean's list again, third semester in a row. This is a good thing. The not so good thing is that she is having trouble with her transfer from the two year program into the four year Bachelor of Technology program, where they were supposed to put her when she enrolled in college in the first place.
But they didn't so she has to go through all this garbage. Other colleges are recruiting her like crazy; even Cornell keeps sending her stuff. However, her own school, where she is one of the better students, (Phi Theta Kappa and all), keeps sending her back and forth from office to office with no result. No one seems to know how to do an internal transfer. I guess they lose such a large percentage of their students at the two year point that they forgot what to do with the few who stay. She wants to stay so she can live home and take care of her own cows.....which works for me.
Meanwhile, she is taking hoof trimming at school, trimming cadaver feet right now, and we are all fascinated with the play by play. Who knew that cow feet could be so interesting?
But they didn't so she has to go through all this garbage. Other colleges are recruiting her like crazy; even Cornell keeps sending her stuff. However, her own school, where she is one of the better students, (Phi Theta Kappa and all), keeps sending her back and forth from office to office with no result. No one seems to know how to do an internal transfer. I guess they lose such a large percentage of their students at the two year point that they forgot what to do with the few who stay. She wants to stay so she can live home and take care of her own cows.....which works for me.
Meanwhile, she is taking hoof trimming at school, trimming cadaver feet right now, and we are all fascinated with the play by play. Who knew that cow feet could be so interesting?
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Milk and Meat good for you after all.
"These studies are revolutionary," said Dr. Jules Hirsch, physician in chief emeritus at Rockefeller University in New York City, who has spent a lifetime studying the effects of diets on weight and health. "They should put a stop to this era of thinking that we have all the information we need to change the whole national diet and make everybody healthy."
Our industries, beef and dairy, have been terribly harmed over the past few decades, by activist food police who have screamed and screamed and screamed that fat will kill you.
Whaddayaknow? They were wrong.
Our industries, beef and dairy, have been terribly harmed over the past few decades, by activist food police who have screamed and screamed and screamed that fat will kill you.
Whaddayaknow? They were wrong.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Dear Abby
There was recently a letter in that column from a zoo keeper complaining about the idiotic things people tell their kids about animals, rather than getting the straight info from the zoo staff. I had to agree with the guy. Kids deserve good answers. If the parents don't have them, well then, what better time to teach the little folks how to find out, than when they really want to know something? We always took time to give the gang the best answers we could come up with, no matter where we had to look it up, and it paid off in a big way in school and 4-H.
Today the column ran a bunch of responses to that letter, including several wherein parents whined that they thought just taking the kids on an outing ought to be plenty, so why should they bother to actually take the time to learn anything?
My favorite though was from someone who had shown cattle and described some of the things they had overheard. Like that the ones with horns are bulls. And that brown cows give chocolate milk. Those hit home in a big way because I also have heard them too many times to count.
I spent at least one week a year for a good solid dozen years taking the kids to shows and fairs with the string. They never went without a parent until Liz turned 18 and started running things herself. At first they needed a lot of help with clipping and handling the stock. As time went on my contribution became more along the lines of nagging than helping, until most of my week was spent in a lawn chair with a good book and some nice, greasy fair food.
Thus I was in the perfect position to hear all of the misconceptions that city people have about cows. It is certainly okay for them not to know, why would they, but it bugged me that they didn't try to find out the right answers before they passed bad information down to their kids. All they had to do was ask and any farmer hanging around sweeping up straw or making the edge would have been happy to answer questions. I actually liked to discuss farm and animal issues with the public. One friendly, helpful farmer can overcome a heck of a lot of bad press generated by activist groups. There were only a few times where people were unpleasant. Most of them either belonged to PeTA or had spent a little too long in the beer tent.
Maybe that explains the guy who stopped and asked if Liz was Dixie's calf. There was simply no way I could convince him that the young person in jeans and tee shirt, asleep on top of the big old Holstein was my kid and owned the cow in question rather than belonging to her. I do not lie.
Today the column ran a bunch of responses to that letter, including several wherein parents whined that they thought just taking the kids on an outing ought to be plenty, so why should they bother to actually take the time to learn anything?
My favorite though was from someone who had shown cattle and described some of the things they had overheard. Like that the ones with horns are bulls. And that brown cows give chocolate milk. Those hit home in a big way because I also have heard them too many times to count.
I spent at least one week a year for a good solid dozen years taking the kids to shows and fairs with the string. They never went without a parent until Liz turned 18 and started running things herself. At first they needed a lot of help with clipping and handling the stock. As time went on my contribution became more along the lines of nagging than helping, until most of my week was spent in a lawn chair with a good book and some nice, greasy fair food.
Thus I was in the perfect position to hear all of the misconceptions that city people have about cows. It is certainly okay for them not to know, why would they, but it bugged me that they didn't try to find out the right answers before they passed bad information down to their kids. All they had to do was ask and any farmer hanging around sweeping up straw or making the edge would have been happy to answer questions. I actually liked to discuss farm and animal issues with the public. One friendly, helpful farmer can overcome a heck of a lot of bad press generated by activist groups. There were only a few times where people were unpleasant. Most of them either belonged to PeTA or had spent a little too long in the beer tent.
Maybe that explains the guy who stopped and asked if Liz was Dixie's calf. There was simply no way I could convince him that the young person in jeans and tee shirt, asleep on top of the big old Holstein was my kid and owned the cow in question rather than belonging to her. I do not lie.
Monday, February 06, 2006
Soldier Statistics
Here is an interesting story. I am not sure that the statistics mean a darned thing to bereaved families, but it does serve to put matters into perspective....and to make you want to keep your kids off motorcycles
Sunday, February 05, 2006
TFS Magnum
There is a good post over at TFS Magnum. It says, better than I could, what I have been thinking about the Moslem protests over newspaper cartoons in Europe. I think the perpetrators of these violent protests need to understand that the whole world is not theirs to rule and that disrespect is not illegal, or at least not in free countries. Oh, and that respect is earned. They sure aren't earning mine.
New Blog recommendation
Sarpy Sam, who writes my favorite blog, Thoughts From the Middle of Nowhere, has put up a second blog, No mandatory Animal ID, with a collection of his posts on this topic.
If you are a farmer this is a very important issue. I have been writing about it in the Farm Side until I am sure people are sick of hearing about it, but new rules are taking form like a runaway steamroller. Thoughtful people need to get the information in the hands of stakeholders before it is too late and the government takes even more control of our lives and our cows...and pigs...and chickens...and even parakeets. Sam has plenty of good thoughts on the matter and it would be worth your time to read this new blog. He calls what he writes "a voice in the wilderness."
He also said and rightly so, " Remember, an ear tag, ID number, or premise ID, never stopped a disease. Proper health and nutrition by caring people, not factory farms, provide disease prevention." His is a voice that needs to be heard.
If you are a farmer this is a very important issue. I have been writing about it in the Farm Side until I am sure people are sick of hearing about it, but new rules are taking form like a runaway steamroller. Thoughtful people need to get the information in the hands of stakeholders before it is too late and the government takes even more control of our lives and our cows...and pigs...and chickens...and even parakeets. Sam has plenty of good thoughts on the matter and it would be worth your time to read this new blog. He calls what he writes "a voice in the wilderness."
He also said and rightly so, " Remember, an ear tag, ID number, or premise ID, never stopped a disease. Proper health and nutrition by caring people, not factory farms, provide disease prevention." His is a voice that needs to be heard.
Saturday, February 04, 2006
Bayberry and the Post-operative Patient
This has been a real tough week, what with wondering if we will have a place to ship milk, talking about what we will do if we lose our market and all. Then yesterday we had to have major surgery done on one of my favorite cows, Frieland LF Zinnia. She belongs to Alan, and is actually a grown up show calf, but she stands in the string that I milk and she and I have an understanding. She is one of those cows that is no trouble at all to milk; she just stands there straight in her stall, is clean and doesn't kick, so even though her milk production is just average I am fond of her.
Unfortunately for her, she stands between two big old snake necks, who when she isn't feeling the greatest, steal her feed. Fresh cows (newly calved) seem to need lots of fiber, which they get best from dry hay. Zinny just had a calf a couple of weeks ago and I guess Char and Willow were eating most of her hay. Anyhow, she went off feed a couple of days ago, and our favorite vet diagnosed a twisted abomasum. That is one compartment of the bovine four-part stomach and when it twists no food can pass through. The result is one very sick animal until an operation untwists everything and the stomach is sewed in place where it is supposed to be. Most cows begin to eat within a few hours of their operation. Zinnia didn't. She looked real sorry for herself last night and didn't seem to eat at all, although she would lick salt, which was somewhat encouraging.
I dreaded going to the barn this morning. I didn't want to find her dead or beyond recovery. However, as I walked past the heifer yard, Alan's other show heifer, Bayberry, came over to the fence and I noticed that she is developing a nice little udder. This was cause for some real serious rejoicing as I had pretty much given up on ever getting her pregnant. She has been serviced AI a couple times and run with the bull off and on (off to go to the fair) since June. She looked like she was bagging up in the fall and then just stopped. I was really afraid we would have to sell her. I ran back to the house to give Alan the good news.
However, all through milking when I stopped every little while to watch Zinnia, she didn't look promising. She just lay there disinterested in everything, including her feed.
I seem to have to do that, stare at the sick cows, watching their every move, trying to figure out how sick they are, what with, and what I can do to help them. It is a real compulsion and I will go look at them every couple of minutes when I am in the barn. When we can't get them right it bothers me intensely. When they do come around it is a huge relief, not to have that urgent need to take care of them and get them better.
The most movement Zinny made was to lick desultorily at her salt once or twice. I felt pretty awful and envisioned the ugly task of dragging a valuable and much liked animal up on the hill to be composed. Then, just as we were finishing the last couple cows, she hopped up on her feet and began to gobble her straw bedding. We gave her some of our old hay and she began to sort the best pieces out of that too. Funny, we buy real pricy, high nutrient hay for the cows, but if they are the least bit out of sorts they much prefer our stemmy old grass hay. I came over for breakfast in a better frame of mind than the past few days, I'll tell you. The good news about Bay, and seeing Zinny back to eating just made my day.
Unfortunately for her, she stands between two big old snake necks, who when she isn't feeling the greatest, steal her feed. Fresh cows (newly calved) seem to need lots of fiber, which they get best from dry hay. Zinny just had a calf a couple of weeks ago and I guess Char and Willow were eating most of her hay. Anyhow, she went off feed a couple of days ago, and our favorite vet diagnosed a twisted abomasum. That is one compartment of the bovine four-part stomach and when it twists no food can pass through. The result is one very sick animal until an operation untwists everything and the stomach is sewed in place where it is supposed to be. Most cows begin to eat within a few hours of their operation. Zinnia didn't. She looked real sorry for herself last night and didn't seem to eat at all, although she would lick salt, which was somewhat encouraging.
I dreaded going to the barn this morning. I didn't want to find her dead or beyond recovery. However, as I walked past the heifer yard, Alan's other show heifer, Bayberry, came over to the fence and I noticed that she is developing a nice little udder. This was cause for some real serious rejoicing as I had pretty much given up on ever getting her pregnant. She has been serviced AI a couple times and run with the bull off and on (off to go to the fair) since June. She looked like she was bagging up in the fall and then just stopped. I was really afraid we would have to sell her. I ran back to the house to give Alan the good news.
However, all through milking when I stopped every little while to watch Zinnia, she didn't look promising. She just lay there disinterested in everything, including her feed.
I seem to have to do that, stare at the sick cows, watching their every move, trying to figure out how sick they are, what with, and what I can do to help them. It is a real compulsion and I will go look at them every couple of minutes when I am in the barn. When we can't get them right it bothers me intensely. When they do come around it is a huge relief, not to have that urgent need to take care of them and get them better.
The most movement Zinny made was to lick desultorily at her salt once or twice. I felt pretty awful and envisioned the ugly task of dragging a valuable and much liked animal up on the hill to be composed. Then, just as we were finishing the last couple cows, she hopped up on her feet and began to gobble her straw bedding. We gave her some of our old hay and she began to sort the best pieces out of that too. Funny, we buy real pricy, high nutrient hay for the cows, but if they are the least bit out of sorts they much prefer our stemmy old grass hay. I came over for breakfast in a better frame of mind than the past few days, I'll tell you. The good news about Bay, and seeing Zinny back to eating just made my day.
Friday, February 03, 2006
More on yesterday's meeting from Hell. The point of the program was to convince a few key (read squeaky wheel types like us) producers to join the new cooperative. There were many slides with program data, historical performance data on the new coop, and its debt structures displayed for our enjoyment. However, there were NO printed handouts, the slides were flashed too fast to copy the material (and I can take notes real fast) and the speakers were usually talking about something other than what was on the slide that also needed to be listened to and written down. Therefore it was darned near impossible to come home, haul out the old calculator and come up with a meaningful picture of just how bad the story is. However, with what I got from my notes, I think there were several expert proctologists among the speakers. Just a sense that I got when they were bragging about all they had done for farmers, all the while telling us that we ought to be delighted to take less money from such an august organization. I used to sit on the board of the coop we belong to now and they always said that equity in a milk was "something you get off a toilet seat." I heard a lot of glad handing and backslapping, butI didn't hear anything that changed my thought on that.
Anyhow, obfuscation seemed to be the word of the day....at least from where I was sitting.
Anyhow, obfuscation seemed to be the word of the day....at least from where I was sitting.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
We attended a very unpleasant meeting today. The independent cooperative where we have marketed our milk for quite some time is being taken over in a hostile manner by a larger one. We have been selling some of our milk to their cheese plants and they say they won't take any more if we don't join them. Shades of the big coops, the bullies of dairy farming; that is how they are taking over the industry. What a shame to see the "independents" playing the same game.
They are offering us a very substantial cut in payfor the privilege of selling our milk to them. Where the coop we now ship to has one of the most competitive quality premium structures in the region, this new bunch is so restrictive that basically they offer no premiums. Quality premiums are one place a conscientious farmer can make a few bucks. Here at Northview we have qualified for awards every year since we took over the farm and make the highest possible premium more months than not. We would not qualify for ANY from the new guys. The only carrot the new guys are offering is a place to ship our milk. That's it, just a market, but a lot less money. Our old coop only marketed milk, so they took no equity. The new guys own four plants and take a whole bunch of nickels here and assessments there that look to me to equal over two bucks less a hundredweight if you figure in premiums. Which, of course we do figure in, as they have been enough to pay for our quality program here. DHIA, sanitation, etc. has pretty much all come out of the premium check.
It is pretty worrisome and the only guys who like it are big producers, who will get volume premiums, which will make up a little bit of the loss in quality payments. Of course we are far too small to get those either. From our point of view there is now little to choose from between continuing to sell regionally, or just biting the bullet and joining another, even bigger, monster coop that everybody loves to hate. It comes down to a lose/lose or just sell out situation. Dang.
They are offering us a very substantial cut in payfor the privilege of selling our milk to them. Where the coop we now ship to has one of the most competitive quality premium structures in the region, this new bunch is so restrictive that basically they offer no premiums. Quality premiums are one place a conscientious farmer can make a few bucks. Here at Northview we have qualified for awards every year since we took over the farm and make the highest possible premium more months than not. We would not qualify for ANY from the new guys. The only carrot the new guys are offering is a place to ship our milk. That's it, just a market, but a lot less money. Our old coop only marketed milk, so they took no equity. The new guys own four plants and take a whole bunch of nickels here and assessments there that look to me to equal over two bucks less a hundredweight if you figure in premiums. Which, of course we do figure in, as they have been enough to pay for our quality program here. DHIA, sanitation, etc. has pretty much all come out of the premium check.
It is pretty worrisome and the only guys who like it are big producers, who will get volume premiums, which will make up a little bit of the loss in quality payments. Of course we are far too small to get those either. From our point of view there is now little to choose from between continuing to sell regionally, or just biting the bullet and joining another, even bigger, monster coop that everybody loves to hate. It comes down to a lose/lose or just sell out situation. Dang.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Just a dusting of snow this morning. It snowed off and on all day yesterday too...when it wasn't raining that is. Still, Peg's daffodils are peeking out, tucked into the corner of the foundation as they have been faithfully since long before I came here. Bulbs are like money in the bank, except that they pay interest by making the place look nice, which is hard to spend, but mighty enjoyable just the same. Actually I think the clumps beside the house were here before the family bought the place over forty years ago, and for who knows how long before that.
Another Farm Side deadline has come and gone; this week compensation for unfunded takings of private property, in particular regulation of what the view looks like, is the focus. It was pointed out quite strongly to me recently, by a local agri-pundit, that the folks driving by the place don't own the view and are really reaching when they tell you that you can't put wind generators in your back fields because they don't like the look of them. Let's see what response that opinion brings!
Another Farm Side deadline has come and gone; this week compensation for unfunded takings of private property, in particular regulation of what the view looks like, is the focus. It was pointed out quite strongly to me recently, by a local agri-pundit, that the folks driving by the place don't own the view and are really reaching when they tell you that you can't put wind generators in your back fields because they don't like the look of them. Let's see what response that opinion brings!
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
I know just where I was eighteen years ago this morning and exactly what I was thinking. It was clear and warm and very springlike for so early in the year that morning too. (Today I awoke to unexpected darkness. Yeah, I know it's always dark that early in January, but last night there was snow to brighten things up. This morning it was raining hard, banging the tin porch roof like a kid with a new drum. Perhaps I should check the weather channel now and then. Going to have to dig out the boss's extra rubber boots for the barnward slog this day.)
In 1988, I was debating at this hour of the morning, awake and who wouldn't be, how early I dared call our dearest friends who were going to take Liz to spend a few days with them, while the big doin's went on at our house. We lived in town then so the boss went up to the farm to milk and do chores and left me alone. (Good grief I was an independent fool.) I guess it was around nine thirty that they came and picked up our little one for her "vacation" with her favorite people. She actually took her first steps at their house, not so many months before that day. They didn't mention it because they thought we knew. It was wildly funny when I called Caroline a few days later and said, "Elizabeth is walking," and she said, "Oh, wasn't she walking before?"
Anyhow, by the time they came I was enthroned on the sofa in the living room, wishing the boss would forget the darned cows and come and get ME. St. Mary's was calling me loud and clear and it was TIME with a capital T.
By noon-thirty Liz had a sister. She was sure a keeper. Happy eighteenth birthday Becky, our quirky, funny, quiet one, Emerson Drive fan extraordinaire, middle kid, that oh, so hard spot in the family lineup. We thank you for all the years of help and fun and cooking us great dinners, especially your best-in-the-world macaroni and cheese. Many happy returns new voter, soon to be driver and ready for college young adult. We sure do love you!
In 1988, I was debating at this hour of the morning, awake and who wouldn't be, how early I dared call our dearest friends who were going to take Liz to spend a few days with them, while the big doin's went on at our house. We lived in town then so the boss went up to the farm to milk and do chores and left me alone. (Good grief I was an independent fool.) I guess it was around nine thirty that they came and picked up our little one for her "vacation" with her favorite people. She actually took her first steps at their house, not so many months before that day. They didn't mention it because they thought we knew. It was wildly funny when I called Caroline a few days later and said, "Elizabeth is walking," and she said, "Oh, wasn't she walking before?"
Anyhow, by the time they came I was enthroned on the sofa in the living room, wishing the boss would forget the darned cows and come and get ME. St. Mary's was calling me loud and clear and it was TIME with a capital T.
By noon-thirty Liz had a sister. She was sure a keeper. Happy eighteenth birthday Becky, our quirky, funny, quiet one, Emerson Drive fan extraordinaire, middle kid, that oh, so hard spot in the family lineup. We thank you for all the years of help and fun and cooking us great dinners, especially your best-in-the-world macaroni and cheese. Many happy returns new voter, soon to be driver and ready for college young adult. We sure do love you!
Monday, January 30, 2006
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Walking back to the house at night, finished with work and ready to rest, is always a special time for me. I stop by the heifer yard, look up at the stars or across the valley to the town lights and just unwind, dial down, reflect and get ready for the end of the day.
Last night the moon was dark and it should have been a good time to gaze at Orion making his endless quest across the winter sky. Sadly, I could barely make out the stars in his belt. Smoggy air and light from those same towns diminished the night's starlight almost into oblivion.
I remembered decades ago before farm and cows, camping at Tirrell Pond, which is actually a gorgeous lake in the Adirondack Mountains. We spent the evening hours standing (on the beach that you see in the picture at the site above), looking up at the whole Milky Way Galaxy sprawled across the sky in glorious abandon. You could pick out tiny stars so far away that they were no more than specks of sky dust. It was worth hiking in October and camping cold to see such a sight mirrored in the glassy little lake. Then today I saw this story on the Associated Press that told me what I already knew.
If you live in the city, or even near it you miss a lot.
Last night the moon was dark and it should have been a good time to gaze at Orion making his endless quest across the winter sky. Sadly, I could barely make out the stars in his belt. Smoggy air and light from those same towns diminished the night's starlight almost into oblivion.
I remembered decades ago before farm and cows, camping at Tirrell Pond, which is actually a gorgeous lake in the Adirondack Mountains. We spent the evening hours standing (on the beach that you see in the picture at the site above), looking up at the whole Milky Way Galaxy sprawled across the sky in glorious abandon. You could pick out tiny stars so far away that they were no more than specks of sky dust. It was worth hiking in October and camping cold to see such a sight mirrored in the glassy little lake. Then today I saw this story on the Associated Press that told me what I already knew.
If you live in the city, or even near it you miss a lot.
This was the day to take Nick's stitches out. Perhaps this should have been a job for a veterinarian who has the proper tools. You know, a brightly lit table, hemostat clamps, teensie-weensie little scissors, professional help and all.
Oh, well, it takes about twelve bucks worth of gas to get to the vet's and back, plus eating up half an otherwise useful day, so Alan and I undertook to get 'er done ourselves.
First the table. The kid has been sleeping downstairs on his camping cot, because his room is cold as a polar bear's den in the winter. That made a table. Then some electical tape to help ease the pup's urge to rip our throats out if we got a little clumsy. Not that Nick is that type, but, hey, you never know.
Then tiny, hooked sewing scissors, a seam ripper and my little bitty electrician's needle-nose plyers.......now where the heck were they?
Oh, yeah, still in my tackle box out in the front hallway. They work the nuts for messing with lures and such and for taking hooks out of sunfish, which have the tiniest mouths of any fish I have ever seen.
I opened my big green box and the scent of rubber worms and WD-40, Skin-so-S0ft and slowly melting swimming grubs burst out. The smell of good summer afternoons on the lake, catching a bazillion rock bass or evenings swaying with the rocking of the boat as we waited for those huge rainbow trout to suck up a worm and begin the battle.
It fired me right up for the task of removing those little black knots of thread from little Nickie's back knees. He was such a good boy, just lay there thumping his hard black tail on the cot as we dug around trying to grab the threads and snip them. Alan wound up taking out most of the stitches because I couldn't see them well enough. Now our border collie boy no longer has his cone head on and is relieved of the itching of those pesky stitches. For myself the unexpected flashback to the best times that Alan and I spend was pay enough for playing dog doctor first thing in the morning.
Oh, well, it takes about twelve bucks worth of gas to get to the vet's and back, plus eating up half an otherwise useful day, so Alan and I undertook to get 'er done ourselves.
First the table. The kid has been sleeping downstairs on his camping cot, because his room is cold as a polar bear's den in the winter. That made a table. Then some electical tape to help ease the pup's urge to rip our throats out if we got a little clumsy. Not that Nick is that type, but, hey, you never know.
Then tiny, hooked sewing scissors, a seam ripper and my little bitty electrician's needle-nose plyers.......now where the heck were they?
Oh, yeah, still in my tackle box out in the front hallway. They work the nuts for messing with lures and such and for taking hooks out of sunfish, which have the tiniest mouths of any fish I have ever seen.
I opened my big green box and the scent of rubber worms and WD-40, Skin-so-S0ft and slowly melting swimming grubs burst out. The smell of good summer afternoons on the lake, catching a bazillion rock bass or evenings swaying with the rocking of the boat as we waited for those huge rainbow trout to suck up a worm and begin the battle.
It fired me right up for the task of removing those little black knots of thread from little Nickie's back knees. He was such a good boy, just lay there thumping his hard black tail on the cot as we dug around trying to grab the threads and snip them. Alan wound up taking out most of the stitches because I couldn't see them well enough. Now our border collie boy no longer has his cone head on and is relieved of the itching of those pesky stitches. For myself the unexpected flashback to the best times that Alan and I spend was pay enough for playing dog doctor first thing in the morning.
Saturday, January 28, 2006
Please, please, please, take a minute and read this post at Thoughts From the Middle of Nowhere. Maybe one of you can tell me just what the USDA is thinking of, trying to import chicken meat from China, where bird flu is rampant. I can't seem to think of a logical reason why we might want to do something quite that dumb.
Thanks
Thanks
Just as we were about to head upstairs last night, the house filled up with smoke. It smelled like it might have been coming from the woodstove, kind of sweet, and grandpa's pipish, but we couldn't be sure. So we looked. The upstairs was innocent, no tinge of smoky air there. We therefore descended deep into the bowels of the cellar.
I hate it down there. The stairs are steep with a wobbly railing. It is dark and crawly and full of weird things left behind by previous tenants. I just don't like it. However, there was no doubt that the smoke was thicker down there, although it didn't trigger the smoke detectors.
The scent was evasive, clearly there, but not traceable. The boss took off the back of the oil furnace, the fan of which runs air over the plenum from the woodstove, to turn hot water into hot air to warm us. The belt that drives the fan was severely cracked, not much more than flapping idly at the pulley, so he replaced it with one that was hanging from the chimney and turned it on.
Bang, it sprang into action faster than it has run in years. Dust billowed out of the registers all through the house. We have had at least THREE different repairmen look at three different problems with that old air furnace in the past couple of years, including an annual tune-up, wherein they are supposed to find problems like that. None of them spotted the cracked belt. It has certainly been that way for a long time, as the furnace is pushing more air than it ever has in the four years we have lived up here. Boy am I going to have some dusting to do. We checked all the smoke detectors and left Gael the run of the house. She will wake us up if a heifer so much as bawls off key, so we figured she would be a good addition to the more traditional safety technology.
Then as a last resort I went outside with a flashlight to see if I could find the source of the smoke. Sure enough there was a soft, gentle, southerly breeze blowing. The plume of steamy smoke from the stove curled quietly up over the apple tree and right down to the cellar window. Talk about a wild goose chase. Oh, well, I FINALLY got the boss to show me how to change the furnace filters and we found the bad belt. We should be warmer now.
I hate it down there. The stairs are steep with a wobbly railing. It is dark and crawly and full of weird things left behind by previous tenants. I just don't like it. However, there was no doubt that the smoke was thicker down there, although it didn't trigger the smoke detectors.
The scent was evasive, clearly there, but not traceable. The boss took off the back of the oil furnace, the fan of which runs air over the plenum from the woodstove, to turn hot water into hot air to warm us. The belt that drives the fan was severely cracked, not much more than flapping idly at the pulley, so he replaced it with one that was hanging from the chimney and turned it on.
Bang, it sprang into action faster than it has run in years. Dust billowed out of the registers all through the house. We have had at least THREE different repairmen look at three different problems with that old air furnace in the past couple of years, including an annual tune-up, wherein they are supposed to find problems like that. None of them spotted the cracked belt. It has certainly been that way for a long time, as the furnace is pushing more air than it ever has in the four years we have lived up here. Boy am I going to have some dusting to do. We checked all the smoke detectors and left Gael the run of the house. She will wake us up if a heifer so much as bawls off key, so we figured she would be a good addition to the more traditional safety technology.
Then as a last resort I went outside with a flashlight to see if I could find the source of the smoke. Sure enough there was a soft, gentle, southerly breeze blowing. The plume of steamy smoke from the stove curled quietly up over the apple tree and right down to the cellar window. Talk about a wild goose chase. Oh, well, I FINALLY got the boss to show me how to change the furnace filters and we found the bad belt. We should be warmer now.
Friday, January 27, 2006
Just one question on this morning's topic. When are they going to start sneaking a little peek into the character (or lack thereof) of the folks they hire to teach, coach and monitor our kids at public schools? You have to undergo a background check, finger-printing, wear a badge etc., etc., etc. to "cool out" hot horses at the race track. I know this because I used to do that little job, and the maps of my calloused finger tips are no doubt still on file somewhere. However, you can look after innocent children without doing any of that stuff because teachers have a heck of lot better union than hot walkers.
Anyhow, here is another sex offender and this time he was working at OUR school! He was coaching the swim team, teaching fourth grade and, for an extra-curricular activity, hitting on the children placed in his care...right where we personally entrust our two younger children every day. Nice huh? I suppose I should be glad this his alleged victim was a sixteen year old rather than one of his fourth grade students. And glad that none of our kids was in his class or on the swim team.
Rumor among the students says that the girl's father beat the stuffing out of him. Good move.
Anyhow, here is another sex offender and this time he was working at OUR school! He was coaching the swim team, teaching fourth grade and, for an extra-curricular activity, hitting on the children placed in his care...right where we personally entrust our two younger children every day. Nice huh? I suppose I should be glad this his alleged victim was a sixteen year old rather than one of his fourth grade students. And glad that none of our kids was in his class or on the swim team.
Rumor among the students says that the girl's father beat the stuffing out of him. Good move.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
People ask us all the time why we have this huge set of scales in our dining room. We are never quite sure how to answer, because there is no real reason. We bought it years ago when a local knitting mill went out of business. They must have done a lot of weighing because they had several of these big ones, plus a number of somewhat smaller units for sale for various prices. I think we paid $125 for ours.
Anyhow we were noodling around the old warehouse where the sale was being held and both, separately, came to the conclusion that one of them would be just right for this old house. We just had to have it.
My mother-in-law was alive then and living up here (we lived in town and commuted). She was as taken with the scale as we were, when we hauled it home, but we couldn't figure out how to get it into the house. Thus it lived on the porch for several years until she passed away and we moved up from town. When we hired movers to bring the fridge and other heavy items up we got them to bring the scale indoors. Now there is sits among the guitars and shotguns in all its glory.
Anyhow we were noodling around the old warehouse where the sale was being held and both, separately, came to the conclusion that one of them would be just right for this old house. We just had to have it.
My mother-in-law was alive then and living up here (we lived in town and commuted). She was as taken with the scale as we were, when we hauled it home, but we couldn't figure out how to get it into the house. Thus it lived on the porch for several years until she passed away and we moved up from town. When we hired movers to bring the fridge and other heavy items up we got them to bring the scale indoors. Now there is sits among the guitars and shotguns in all its glory.
The guys went to get some wood from some real good friends of ours yesterday. The town cut some elm on them and they let us have it. There is just nothing to beat free wood, and we are staying nice and warm on the strength of it. The fellows did get to talking and get home late, which is understandable. Farmers hardly ever get to see their friends to visit with because they always have a pile of chores waiting at home. I am glad they got to catch up on the news. We didn't get out of the barn until 8:30, but the boss is taking a bunch of calves to the sale today, which will give us earlier nights from now on for a while.Seems to take forever to warm milk in this weather. Last year we had so many heifer calves we are still struggling to house them. This year it looks like the bulls are going to make up for it. Three in a row now. Only one was by an AI bull, Ocean-View Extra Special, who came out with a very disappointing proof, so it isn't such a bad thing I guess. We have nine yearlings in one pen, with two more needing to go in there, calves in the sawdust shed and in every empty cow stall in the barn.
Alan got his new chainsaw tuned too. They have to adjust the choke after ten tanks full of fuel and he had reached that point. I worry about him using it, even though he is old enough to drive, or will be soon. Still he is getting the box elders all cut down and made into wood, which makes the place look a world better. They are such scrubby trees and crop up everywhere.
We love the woodstove, but it added an awful extra lot of work on the boss to keep enough wood ahead heat this huge place and run the place alone (except for us) too. It makes a huge difference when Alan can cut up a bit when it gets busy.
Alan got his new chainsaw tuned too. They have to adjust the choke after ten tanks full of fuel and he had reached that point. I worry about him using it, even though he is old enough to drive, or will be soon. Still he is getting the box elders all cut down and made into wood, which makes the place look a world better. They are such scrubby trees and crop up everywhere.
We love the woodstove, but it added an awful extra lot of work on the boss to keep enough wood ahead heat this huge place and run the place alone (except for us) too. It makes a huge difference when Alan can cut up a bit when it gets busy.
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Wednesday noon, deadline for the Farm Side. Getting that puppy written leaves little time or energy for blogging, even though that is so much more fun. However, the paper actually pays me so they get priority today.
This week the column hit on the Hoard's Dairyman judging contest, the new BSE case in Canada, the failing (to put it mildly) audit of USDA on packing companies, dairy monopolies, and the outrage of National Dairy Promotion and Research Board handing over six million bucks worth of checkoff dollars to the EPA to buy a new stick (air emissions monitoring) to beat dairy producers with. Nice of them to spend our money on us that way. I have to thank Sarpy Sam for giving me ideas about where to dig up some of the dirt on these topics. Not all the ag news that's fit to get upset about is printed here on the "right" coast.
And last but far from least, condolences to the family, friends and readers of John Jablonski, fellow Recorder columnist for lo these many years. His passing sure was a shock!
If you want to spend a buck on Friday you can read all about it on the opinion page at the paper's website.
This week the column hit on the Hoard's Dairyman judging contest, the new BSE case in Canada, the failing (to put it mildly) audit of USDA on packing companies, dairy monopolies, and the outrage of National Dairy Promotion and Research Board handing over six million bucks worth of checkoff dollars to the EPA to buy a new stick (air emissions monitoring) to beat dairy producers with. Nice of them to spend our money on us that way. I have to thank Sarpy Sam for giving me ideas about where to dig up some of the dirt on these topics. Not all the ag news that's fit to get upset about is printed here on the "right" coast.
And last but far from least, condolences to the family, friends and readers of John Jablonski, fellow Recorder columnist for lo these many years. His passing sure was a shock!
If you want to spend a buck on Friday you can read all about it on the opinion page at the paper's website.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
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