Coming over from the barn last night, talking a bit to Alan, pleasantly tired, happy to be finished with chores... just past daylight...barely needed the flashlight. Suddenly something hurtled past my head on whistling wings, a speeding susurrus, silhouetted momentarily against the last orange glow in the west. Mourning dove, I thought, wow, she is out late.
Then, from the flat, grassy knoll up by the horse pasture pond it came....for the first time in at least fifteen years I heard a very special sound. The buzzy, rasping, nasal peent! of a male woodcock courting a mate. Ah, all became clear... the feathery bullet was his lady friend heading elsewhere in a heck of a hurry.
We have a dancer! Big news! I was thrilled. Indeed cold shivers ran up and down my arms. Alan made fun of me, saying that they (woodcocks, that is) are all over the back of the farm; all I have to do is walk out there to see one. However, he has never heard the dance and doesn't understand that watching one bomb through the bushes like a flying rocket or hearing one dance are not the same thing. Not the same at all.
It was too cold last night, I was too tired, it was too dark. But (if he stays) Alan and I will tiptoe up to the pond one night soon to watch and listen to the magical sky dance. If we are lucky, Mr. Timberdoodle will spiral skyward, then hurtle to earth piping the ethereal mating whistle that makes these fat, pointy-nosed little birds a ghostly springtime wonder. It is such a special thing that you almost feel guilty watching...like you were in some one else's church or something. Once he stands there in the darkness, hearing that other-worldly song, I think my boy will know what I mean about timberdoodles though.
I had never seen the sky dance and didn't know of it at all until I read A Sand County Almanac in college, having grabbed it off the college bookstore shelf because it had a pretty cover. (Now there was a life changing moment....all these years later and I still think of the things I read there, especially how chickadees come to folks who cut firewood...looking for insects. (They do btw.) You just never know when an important book will sort of jump off the shelf at you and change your way of looking at the world.)
Later someone important to me at that time in my life found a dancing ground across the road from my camp in Caroga Lake. We sat on the tail gate of my pick up truck in the driveway, every single clear night, swatting mosquitoes and watching the dance as the sun went down. I didn't have a TV then and didn't miss it either. When I moved down here to the valley, there was another dancer who regularly performed on the heifer pasture flats behind the house. Then a few years ago he left for some reason and I never heard another until last night.
Now we have a possible avian thespian setting up stage out by the pond, which is already one of my favorite places on the farm. I hope he stays.
Check this out! A very special person gave Becky a call tonight to let her know that Emerson Drive is expected to perform at Fonda Fair, right across the river from us. After what she went through last year upon finishing high school, including having the concert to which we bought her tickets for graduation canceled, this is pretty special. I know what we will be doing this August 31st, the good Lord willin' and the crick don't rise.
We are wondering if the guys actually read the letter Liz wrote them last year detailing Beck's big disappointment and asking them to think about either coming back to Northern Lights or playing the fair. We will probably never know, as they never answered the letter, but excitement reigns tonight anyhow.
This has worked out amazingly well. We have enjoyed lots of lettuce for sandwiches and small salads and it just keeps coming back no matter how much we pick. The boss makes amazing croûtons (really good in soup too, so I made some of that Saturday, with venison, homegrown ground beef and a little Italian sausage from our 2006 piggies) so with a little super sharp hunter's cheddar and some ranch dressing we are rich indeed.
Turkish Dogs has a really well thought out post up just now, which details the agenda of the Humane Society of the United States and PeTA in a truly enlightening manner. You know, of course, that as far as those organizations are concerned we have no right to interact with animals unless they are starring in animated Disney drivel and we are paying to look them on the TV screen. Janice has included some truly damning quotes inher post. You will be grinding your teeth, I'll tell you.
Just in case you think National Animal Identificationis harmless read this story about a farmer in Great Britain whose records are alleged to be not quite up to snuff...so they killed all his cows on him.
Imagine half a million pounds worth of purebred dairy cattle butchered at a "secret location". Imagine not even paying the farmer for his loss. As in, hey buddy, you are out of business, too bad for you....all because of violations which have not been proved, and with no crime being charged. To me it is a signal to every livestock owner in the US, whether you own two back yard chickens or 10, 000 milk cows, to maintain your vigilance against NAIS. Don't let them pretend that it is voluntary and don't believe that it isn't going to hurt you.
That is what a vet we used to have called the first green grass of spring. Sarpy Sam's photo of his beef cows casting out across his Montana pastures in search of a few new blades got me thinking about that. Here in the frozen (see photo below) Northeast, dairy cows spend most of the winter indoors. If they are outside too long when it is this cold their teats freeze. (A frostbitten udder is an ugly thing indeed.)
However, after several months of having every bite they eat carried to them (and all of it being stored feed), they need a chance to forage around and nibble on whatever tempts them. Green grass can make them sick if they get an excess in the spring, but they just love to have some.
We have to work hard sometimes to keep them eating through the challenging weeks after they have a calf. This period when their whole metabolism is changing from resting through their "dry period" vacation to working hard making milk is called transition. Sometimes the process goes awry and they stop eating. Cows that don't eat die. Unlike humans who can go weeks without food, a cow had better be eating or chewing her cud almost all the time or you need to start worrying. Sometimes when one is just a little backward, something tasty will make her forget her woes and begin to eat again without being doctored on. There is nothing more tempting to a winter-sour cow than a handful of green grass. Even when it is too muddy to let them out, as soon as the first green spears show up west of the machinery shed, the kids and I go pick some and hand feed it to our pets. Or any cow that is a little off feed....or anybody with a long tongue and a soulful expression. You should see them bang their stanchions up and down when they catch the scent of someone with a pail of grass. It is cupboard love in its finest form. Most of us cringe when we see the doctor coming, but for cows when it is Doctor Green they come a runnin'.
I came back over to the house today, half-way through milking, to get another cup of the beverage described below. Usually I take that all important second cup with me when I go out to milk, having consumed the first here at the computer, while waiting for the rest of the household to rise and shine (or rise and glower, as the case may be.) However, last night we got a mess of fresh snow on top of partly frozen tractor ruts and mud and walking was tricky.
Anyhow, while I waited the 2.25 minutes that I nuke the water for my all-important Tasters Choice, I looked out the window over the kitchen sink at the heifer pasture hill. You never know what you might see out there, from turkeys, deer and squirrels to those big black half dog/half coyote things that got the neighbor's pony. Today there were blackbirds flying past, a little above treetop level, just about over the north side fence. The flock undulated, wave-like, as they went, maybe seventy or eighty birds in sight at any one time.
They flew...and flew..and flew...the whole time the water heated, all the time it took me to put in the coffee, sugar, and milk. All the time it took me to tug on two pairs of gloves, slip outside and get all the way to the cow barnyard without spilling any. It had to be at least five minutes worth of grackle, red-winged black bird and probably some brown-headed cow birds. At the same time starlings shuttled back and forth, blue jays flashed by and a few geese sounded their distant hound dog cries. I'll bet there were a thousand stretched birds across the roughly half a mile that makes up our road frontage.
There may be snow on the ground and ice on the river, but the ones who arrive first gets the prettiest mates and the fanciest nesting sites. The birds aren't waiting for the weather; they are migrating and they are doing it NOW.
***1453: Coffee is introduced to Constantinople by Ottoman Turks. The world's first coffee shop, Kiva Han, open there in 1475. Turkish law makes it legal for a woman to divorce her husband if he fails to provide her with her daily quota of coffee.*** I have been gently (and intermittently) enjoying the Outlander series of books for some months now. I read perhaps a chapter or two each day, with a marathon every Sunday afternoon. (On a normal non-Outlander Sunday, I polish off at least two books, but these are really, really BIG). They are vastly entertaining and thought-provoking too and I like 'em.
A lot. I am most grateful to find an author I enjoy who has written a plenitude of material because I am always running out of book before I run out of interest. These books are teaching me a great deal, as one part or another sends me searching the Internet to find more details on dozens of topics. (I also dream of Jamie and Claire as if they were friends or family members...not sure what that is all about, but I don't mind it.)
Reading about the American colonists in such detail fired up my curiosity about just how coffee found its way around the world. (After all, since it is such good stuff; we should surely comprehend its origins). This timeline tells the tale pretty well.
***The above quote should serve as a warning to husbands even if they don't come from Turkey. Don't mess with the lady and her coffee! (Or get between her and a good book!)
*There be mountains* *Even if they are kind of small*
*A pretty red train that was parked along the road*
*Beaver house on Route 7 near Oneonta* *Photos by Alan*
When I hear the bugling of north bound geeseI can just lean over here at my computer, look up and out the window, and watch them winging over the barns and house headed for the Arctic tundra. Any other time of year they pretty much seem like pests, gobbling crops and hanging around parks eating and excreting, but in the spring their calls are stirring. Electrifying even. They make you want to get up, get moving, and go out doors and do something.
Therefore yesterday Alan, Becky and I did a bit of gallivanting. We headed off to Oneonta after chores in search of the elusive Brook's Barbecue chicken dinner. As it happened that is just what was being served at a farm information meeting presented by the company from which we purchase our cow grain, Pennfield Animal Feeds. Since this week's Farm Side is going to be about said meeting I won't spoil it for local folks by telling you all about it. However, it was a pretty trip as you can see from Alan's photographs. We sang all the way down and all the way back. With Alan's steady (not to mention on key) bass to help us along, even Becky and I could get by. We actually discussed the possibility of just driving right on by and singing some more, but the lure of that wily chicken was just too strong. We gave in.
At the dinner we learned important facts about raising calves, including all sorts of stuff about esophageal grooves, abomasums, reticulums, rumens and rabies. I also won door prize of a nice hat and Alan won a tote full of goodies and tools. He traded me the tote for my hat, shared the cookies and crackers with everyone, and snagged the ruler and work gloves right quickly (before some a certain nameless individual could get HIS hands on them).
It was a valuable meeting especially in that the program information could be used by small farmers like us, even though it applied to just about any size farm. All too often we may learn something new at a farm meeting, but it is something almost impossible, or at least totally impractical, to implement on a fifty-cow dairy. I was grateful to bring home information on raising babies that I could put into practice this very morning, rather than talking about it while milking, then letting it fade from my memory because it was a thousand miles out of reach for little old Northview.
I have to thank the geese for the inspiration and Pennfield for prime poultry and super schooling. I had a real nice time!
I'm sorry, but this just makes me shake my head in wonder...
"A North Pole expedition meant to bring attention to global warming was called off after one of the explorers got frostbite."
Am I missing something here?
"Then there was the cold - quite a bit colder, Atwood said, then Bancroft and Arnesen had expected. One night they measured the temperature inside their tent at 58 degrees below zero, and outside temperatures were exceeding 100 below zero at times, Atwood said."
Come Back Kennels came back in a big way as Lance Mackey won the 2007 Iditarod and became the first musher ever to win back to back Yukon Quest and Iditarod sled dog races.
Jeff King, my own favorite musher, had class enough to cheer Mackey on when it became clear that he himself was out of the running. Jeff is running in fifth place right now. Zack Steer, who will likely come in third is in Safety.
***I see by reading his profile that I should be including Paul Gebhardt, this year's second place musher, in my list of favorites....he grew up on a Minnesota dairy farm, which makes him A-okay in my book!
Day 10. As the leaders pass towns and check points with names like Shaktoolik and Unalakleet, this years race has turned into a dash for Nome with several top racers within a few hours of one another. Right now Lance Mackey has a decent lead, but Paul Gebhart is making him work for it. Martin Buser, Jeff King, and Zack Steer round out the top five. Other high caliber mushers are also within striking distance.
Mackey has an interesting thing going with the fact that he is running the race for the sixth time wearing bib number 13. His father and brother both won it under those circumstances and it looks like those numbers might be the charm for him too.
Big news in Upstate New York. I haven't seen a train all day so I guess the tracks are still closed. They were this morning anyhow. It is so quiet with no rumble grumble across the river every few minutes.
If I have missed replying to your comments, or answering emails from a couple of you who are my favorite folks, it is because I somehow changed the filters on my main mail box. Kind of an "oh, duh", moment. I think I have it fixed now, but if you are fuming and wondering why I am so rude, well, now you know. Nothing to do with rude, but everything to do with clutzy. Or idiotic. Or careless. Or a doofus. You get the idea.
Sorry.... if you have emailed me in the past few days and didn't get an answer I humbly apologize, but you are going to have to resend because they are just gone...
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