What we saw

Yesterday was simply fantastic for bird counting, what with it being a warm day with a big storm predicted for today. The birds knew bad weather is coming and they were out in droves.The only downside was hideous holiday traffic, with at least one serious car accident that we passed. Before my counting partner had even arrived I walked out behind my parents' house to count the mourning doves, blue jays and gold finches that were just waking up there. The binoculars I trained on the Norway spruces that line the boundary between their yard and the neighbor's picked out a brown lump that clearly wasn't a mourning dove. It was plainly a small hawk, who obligingly gave me a good look at her tail before flying away, indignant at being driven out of her sunning spot-she was a sharp shinned hawk.

We also saw several red tails and a kestrel, neither uncommon, but often hard to track down on count day. During our first four roads we saw a large flock of snow buntings, (actually in a field less than half a mile from the folk's house) a flock of well over 95 crows, although they moved too much for Alan to count any higher for sure, some turkeys (just yards down the road from the snow buntings). (Not to mention lots of other birds.)

As time went on, pretty near all the normal species were represented, chickadees, cardinals, nuthatches, woodpeckers, both downy and pileated (although not a single hairy this year) one grackle, which seems an unlikely critter for this season, but I saw a cowbird just last week, so I guess not all the black birds have migrated, lots of blue jays, tree sparrows, hoards of starlings, rock doves (which are pigeons all the rest of the year) a handful of house sparrows, one house finch, etc. etc. Oh, and mallard ducks, Canada geese and a bunch of small, brown fast fliers that were probably teal, but too far away to be positive.

Then perhaps an hour and a half into the count I saw a very bright, white, something that was not a lump of snow in a snowy tree right behind a house in our territory. We stopped the car, because it just looked like "something". It was hawk-shaped, but glaringly the wrong color. I could not believe my eyes when I trained my binoculars on it. It was a snowy owl, all tucked up among the bunches of snow piled on some oak leaves that still clung to the branches. It was a treat for my brother, niece Tawny and Alan who had never seen one before. We sat quite a while watching it and went back in the afternoon to try for a photo, but alas it was gone. However, a great blue heron flapped slowly by just down the road and gave my young nephew, Kegan, his first big "ooh ahh" bird of his counting history.

All in all I think everybody had a lot of fun. It was great to have Alan and Tawny, both 17, show themselves to have learned to be great bird spotters over the years. It takes a few years for the kids to learn to pick out roosting hawks and distant turkeys from among the brown and tangled trees and bushes that line the roadsides, but these two really have "the eye" now. Tawny picked out one of our red tails from a grapevine-draped elm tree in a small woods, where I certainly never would have spotted it. On the downside, I had to drive for a while for the first time, having always been a spotter in the past. My poor brother worked all night, then drove home and came to the count. He reached his limit in late morning so the boys and I did the afternoon. Spotting is a blast, like treasure hunting in the sky. Driving, especially three days before Christmas is ugly! People don't like folks who drive slowly with their flashers on, staring at trees. They express their displeasure...trust me. I have a new appreciation for my dad, my next younger brother, and my baby brother, who have served as drivers over the years (baby brother is doing it these days). It is hard and thankless and a lot less fun than being the one staring into the tree and hollering out, "Stop, it's an ooh ahh bird!"

Gone today

Off to participate in the annual Audubon Christmas bird count, hoping for ooh, ahh, birds!
Best wishes to you all.

Here is a much nicer animal story

Family adopts son's partner

Monks harassed into getting rid of chickens

I hope PeTA is proud to have driven a group of Trappist Monks into getting rid of their chickens by relentlessly harassing them about their egg business. The monks say that they couldn't continue their lives of quiet contemplation while being pestered by these pestilential pests. Talk about cruelty! Taking away these men's livelihood just to make news headlines seems pretty darned cruel to me. Their capitulation must have been frosting on the activist's nasty cake. Those folks will rejoice when all domestic animals are dead, as they view them as unnatural exploited abominations. (You hear that Mikie? Nick? Gael? You unnatural hounds you). Pretending to care about comfort for farm animals is just that-pretending. Complete and total animal liberation is the animal rights goal and that includes dogs and cats, right along with chickens and pigs.

Old Crow

Old Crow, black oarsman in the sky, winging west from the hawk party in the orchard (you had him right on the ground under the biggest apple tree today, you dark marauder, you).

Fluff of mourning doves, half a dozen, soft as the snow flakes piled on twig and fence bars, blurring the roof lines on the barns.

Jingle bell tree sparrows chiming through burdocks, over box elders, and around the corn crib, then flitting down behind the silo.

Tuxedo junco, flickering white tie and tails at the banquet under the bushes.

Plinking downies, whistling cardinal, Sam Peabody whitethroat...it is a beautiful bird morning in this Christmas postcard world.

The gift that keeps on giving

Joni pointed out in the comments that a calf fills that description quite nicely. I was reminded of how true that can be last night when we were finishing up milking. I walked around to the north side to see a new calf that was born yesterday morning. It hadn't stood up yet when I first saw it (actually Liz and I delivered it) and the kids wanted me to see how tall it was. (Tall, very tall...too bad it is a bull.)


Along the walkway an older black calf was tied. For a second it struck me...'I don't know who that calf is or why it is there, but that is a "Trixie" baby". You can't miss them, Trixie babies. The old cow sure stamped them and after all these years you can still see that strong, put-together look she passed along to her descendants.


Then I remembered that they moved calves night before last and that particular black calf is in fact Lucky. She is indeed from the Trixie family, and, despite the fact that Trixie herself died having Frieland LV Dixie, who died herself as an aged cow several years ago she has the look of her.


Liz and I tried this morning to count the generations that have passed since the boss bought Trixie for me as a Christmas present when we first knew one another. There was Trixie herself, dam of Emmie, dam of Ella, dam of Estimate, dam of Elendil, dam of Lucky.


Over twenty years have passed since we got her.... Mears Grand M Trixie.... at the Mears dispersal one cold miserable winter day. She gave me four daughters, Emmy (Woodbine Ellason), Melly (Shade-Acres Elevation Frosty), Fond Little Trixy (No-Na-Me Fond Matt), Dixie (Walebe Jewelmaker- a barn bull we owned) and one son, Frieland Patriot (Paclamar Bootmaker), that we used in the herd. Her last daughter won more ribbons than any other cow we have ever owned.

Today on a casual walk through the barn you can find Eland, Lucky, Elendil, England, E Train, Lakota, Dakota, Egrec, Encore, Cookie Crunch, Takala and Dixon descended through her daughters and Beausoleil, Bama Breeze, Bariolee, Volcano and Magma descended through her son.


To me that is truly a gift that has kept on giving. I only hope that twenty or so years from now, November will have offered Liz a similar list of good cows and great memories.

***November is by the bull Four-of-a-Kind Eland out of a Comestar Leader daughter Alan used to show and is half sister to Blink, the French fry calf.
I used to try to breed my cow, Frieland Profit Eland (out of Emu, out of Ella, out of Emmy, out of Trixie) to the Eland bull in order to get a calf I could name Frieland Eland Eland, which has a certain ring to it. Alas she only provided me with bulls from that cross.

Redneck Graduation Gift

Redneck window cling

And no, this is not on my car (although it does grace-or should I say disgrace-) a vehicle parked quite near mine.

A story

I was peacefully reading down the blog roll this morning, having arisen a lot earlier than I had any reason to, when I came across this on Jeffro's the Poor Farm and read it all without stopping.

These three links contain a story. I hope you have time to read it.

The Lawdog Files

A Day in the Life of an Ambulance Driver

Perspectives

If I didn't make it to your place, it is because I was reading this touching story about small town life...and loss.

Redneck chainsaw farm boy

Stormy weekend, windy Monday

I guess the worst is over, although the weekend mostly lived up to the weather fellas' dire predictions. Liz made it into school for her advanced ruminant nutrition final, although there were accidents everywhere. It isn't really all that hard to drive in this kind of snow, but you can't drive fast and careless, yakking on your cell phone and changing CDs. People have to try though.

The wind was wild last night. It shook the house (and this house is not easily shaken). This morning the sculpted snow drifts are scattered with box elder seeds. They cling much more tightly to their parent trrees than do the seeds of most members of the maple family, but last night's wild tumult freed them. Next spring the hardly, weedy, little trees will crop up everywhere. (I can't believe that the company that I linked to there actually SELLS them. It seems like selling dandelions. If you want a few thousand, just give me a shout next spring.)

The common winter birds are here in force. I sure didn't need to pish to call them out of the bushes Saturday (which is a good thing, since mostly the only thing that comes when I do is Gael). They wanted to fill up their tanks and practically mobbed me when I went out to fill their feeders. Today they are gleaning the brushy areas more than eating at the feeders. (Maybe they like box elder seeds.) Or maybe they just don't like the wind.


Hope you are warm. Hope the guys can get the hydraulic lines back on the spreader tractor (heifers pulled them off and everything is frozen-boss is not happy.) Hope summer is thinking of us down where it is hibernating.

Dan Fogelberg passed away

An incredibly talented man, who wrote and performed a number of my favorite songs, including Run for the Roses, Leader of the Band, Same Old Lang Syne, and so many other great ones. Prostate cancer claimed his life at only 56.

Farm vacations

People doing for fun what we do for a living.

Letter from college (to Liz)

CONGRATULATIONS! As the Bachelor of Technology 2007 graduate with the highest grade point average in the School of Agriculture and National Resources, you have been selected as the recipient of the December 2007 Commencement Academic Achievement Award.

Not bad at all

Herd health yesterday. A chance to talk with our favorite vet for a few, which is always a treat. (We share a lot of interests, such as birding, quiet times in the Adirondacks, and the health of the Northview cattle. If life wasn't so busy I'll bet we would talk more often.)

It was a great day for preg checks. Both Lizzie's top show cows are in calf, my lovely Beausoleil is bred to Straight-Pine Elevation Pete (YAY!), poor little Chicago finally caught, and Lily, down to her last chance before the one way trip to the auction barn, got lucky too. There are a number of others, Bubbles, E Train, Zinnia. Just a good morning all around.

Mandy is bred to Silky Cousteau. Blitzie is bred to Citation R Maple. We are breeding a lot of the first calf heifers to R Maple (who was big news many moons ago) because he throws smaller calves. Despite the fact that he was born in 1962 and by today's standards has a horrible proof we have never milked a bad daughter.) I was glad I had Alan's show cow, Bayberry checked, even though I knew she was open. She was in heat just a bit ago, but she had developed a cystic ovary and had to be treated yesterday. She went cystic last year too, and it took us months to get her bred. She is a big sweetie and I want her to have every chance to do well.

The best part of it the day was that when we were figuring up at the end we realized that two of the cows were bred by Liz back when the boss couldn't work because of his shoulder. She was only about three weeks into her AI course over at school and had to breed four cows. Three of them caught, but Hooter lost her calf a couple weeks ago. I think it is a tribute to her AI teacher that she did so well. (Just wanted to give credit where it is due after my diatribe the other day...he wasn't one of those guys.)


***Another ooh ahh bird sighting...the girls told me yesterday on the way over to the college that Tuesday night coming home from a late AI class they saw quite a sight. There were a bunch of little rodents, mice, voles or the like, in the middle of 30 A, down below the turn off for Corbin Hill where the state forest is. Just as they neared them, not one, but two snowy owls swooped down to grab a couple. Wow! I am so jealous. Odd for them to be hunting at night, but the weather was horrible...

Omen

I hope this morning is one for our luck on the Christmas bird count, which is coming up soon. The girls and I were walking over to the barn at about five minutes past needing a flashlight. We were traveling real slow and cautious as it is nasty icy under about four inches of mealy, slick new snow.

Just as we got about half way there this huge, ponderous, slow-flapping bird lumbered over the heifer barn roof, barely flopping along. I was hoping for an exotic owl of some sort until I saw the long, trailing legs. Of all things to see in December when everything but the river and the Schoharie are frozen-a great blue heron. I know almost exactly how low it was flying because it winged its way right past the tower on the house. That is 72 feet tall and the bird was halfway up the roof part, we'll call it 65 feet. What a strange sight for this time of year. We have counted only two on the Christmas bird count in all the many, many years we have done it. I am crossing my fingers that he flies up to the Mayfield South section of the Johnstown count and sits around waiting for us to drive by. We just love those "ooh, ahh" birds. (That is what you say when you see one.)

***Herd health today. Cross your fingers, if you will, for lots of pregnant cows.

How do you spell relief?

Headlights of the girls' truck coming up the icy driveway...home for the night.

Wood gathering

Southern style.

And northern style.

The boss cut this mostly dead apple tree down for me last week. Since we are expecting a major "snow event" in the next couple of days, I brought down all I could so it doesn't get covered with snow.

The lichens like it (click for closeup)

So do the cottontails

Now

'N later

This Problem has Legs

Because I simply must work on the Farm Side today...and because there are other irons tangling up the fire...I will share with you a math problem a friend sent us recently.

I didn't have a lot of time to spend on it, which is my excuse for not coming up with an answer. Ditto Liz. Becky didn't bother. However, Alan is like a pit bull when a problem intrigues him. He just works and works and works until he figures it out.

Which he did.

I'll bet all of you smarter than the average-type bear folks can too. Here it is.

Who can figure this out? (In school - this is called a story problem.)

There are 7 girls on a bus
Each girl has 7 backpacks
In each backpack, there are 7 big cats
For every big cat there are 7 little cats

Question: How many legs are there in the bus?

Actually, I just couldn't get past those backpacks...can you imagine the howling, and growling and yes, even caterwauling that went on within them? Glad I wasn't on that bus anyhow!

We never got rich and missed out on Disney World

Our Liz is about to graduate from college with a Bachelor of Technology degree. She has to finish an internship working on another farm and then she is done. Since she started college, four long and challenging years ago, she has wanted to come home and work into the family business with an eye to taking over. She has worked here on the farm since she was a toddler, including during all those years in college. (As have her siblings.) She has still maintained a spot on the Dean's List the whole time, as well as a membership in Phi Theta Cappa, and taken as many as 24 credits at a time.
Yeah, we're proud of her.


And yeah, we would love to have her come home to farm. (Any and all of the kids are welcome if they can work out a way to work together.) There have been plentiful times when we thought eagerly of retiring, but the place was kept afloat so we could take over and it only seems right to try to do the same for the next generation.


Wouldn't you think that the profs at an ag and tech school would be delighted to see her join us? Wouldn't you expect them to love to send young adults home to continue the family farm?
That is certainly what I expected.


However, for weeks, months even, Liz's teachers have been berating her for throwing her life and education away by coming home, especially since we are a small and not particularly outstanding farm. Discussion has become quite heated. All the many ways we might fail or she might fail have been pointed out. Her skill at breeding show cattle has been called into question (there have been several critters with the Frieland prefix that stood grand champion over the years-all of them hers). Her intelligence has been belittled. (That "dumb farmer" stereotype again). One teacher pointed out today that when she marries and has children she will want enough money to take them to Disney World and can't make it on a small farm.


And that, right there, just nailed me to the wall. Disney World! As if that were the gold standard of pleasure and achievement. The be-all-end-all epitome of American existence.

Although my folks ran an antique shop and book store when I was a young 'un, the boss comes from untold generations of farmers (we literally don't know how many). This farm itself is well over sixty years old and our kids are the third generation at this location. (The great grandparents had another farm on the other side of town.) We both grew up somewhat less than wealthy by conventional standards and never made it to Disney World. Can you imagine that? And then we went ahead and raised our kids the same way.

I know I should feel the depths of cultural deprivation over the Disney issue but actually I was perversely proud when Liz and Becky were in the lower grades and failed a test based on their cultural knowledge (they didn't know all the characters from the Little Mermaid or some other Disney flavor of the day movie.)


The boss and I both grew up showing at the county fair and thinking that was pretty big stuff. We have had visitors sneer at that, but darn, it really WAS fun. So we made sure our kids got to do it too.

When things got tight when they were small, instead of hopping on a plane for a warm climate and a theme park, we took "nature walk" mini vacations hiking around the farm. If one of us couldn't go their grandpa took them. They learned to recognize real birds and animals, to read tracks and know trees and plants. (Too bad about missing Minnie and Mickey, but they got to see robins and green frogs instead.) When we had time we took them hunting brachiopod fossils in Schoharie, digging Herkimer diamonds or hit the Old Stone Fort Museum or the NY State Museum. Or Blue Mountain Lake Museum. Or the Farmers Museum in Cooperstown. Poor deprived little things.

They missed out on jaded people dressed up as imaginary characters, and million-dollar thrill rides, and had to make do with piddly little tractor, horse and pick up truck rides (and cow rides sometimes). They had to suffer with just time with their folks and the grandparents...every day. However, they did get the chance to know that what they did every day mattered. Not only did their help mean a lot to us, but every time one of them picked up a shovel, taught a new calf to drink from a bucket, or drove the tractor out to rake hay they were helping feed the world.


To me, that stacks up pretty good against flying down to Disney World, but then I am not much of a sophisticate, so I could surely be wrong. And we certainly may fail, Liz or no Liz. Farming is tough stuff, no matter whether you have fifty cows or ten thousand. (The challenges are different, but I know I would much rather get up every morning and go out and milk our fifty than be the owner of a 10,000 cow place when the INS shows up and there is nobody left on the place to milk them at all.)


Anyhow, I personally can't wait until Liz is done with her education and home farming with us. If the farm fails, she has that degree to fall back on. If it succeeds, well, good, maybe she can afford to take her future children to Disney World.
If they even want to go.