Say hello, Wave Goodbye

We are going to sell two of the cows. It's such a tough decision, but we need to free up some capital to purchase more registered stock.  So two of the cows will be leaving the farm in late March. I don't feel too badly about the decision as they are going to the fellow who bought our wee heifer in the fall. The good news is that the heifer will now be reunited with her mum. I suppose that in itself makes me feel better.

The other incredibly good news is that now I get to go cow shopping again, and there is nothing more delightful than viewing their fuzzy faces and determining if that one is going to be mine.

See what I mean? Delightful. I do think I would like to add more colour to the herd, so I am considering white and dun coloured calves.

We are also toying with the idea of doing a calf, or cow/calf operation for Angus or Hereford. We certainly have the pasture for it, and it wouldn't be that much work. Well, that's what I keep telling my dear sweet fireman anyway. Besides, he has to have something to do when he's not working right?

No - Fred is not my Uncle

The conversation went something like this...

Friend: "So...what's that urn in your fridge?"
Me: "Oh, that's Fred".
Friend: "Why is Fred in the fridge?"
Me: "He needs to stay refrigerated. I make cinnamon buns and muffins with him."

Friend looks absolutely horrified.

With a start I realize what she thinks Fred is. I began laughing so hard that I could barely explain, but between chortles I managed to get out that Fred was a sourdough mix.

She didn't believe me until I got her to open the lid on the "urn" and peek inside. I am not quite certain what she thought she would find - I am certainly not Sweeney Todd! Suffice to say...she turned down my offer of fresh cinnamon rolls as she was leaving.

Snow Princess

There is a certain thrill to sitting up high on the seat of a tractor, and cutting through the snowdrifts like a knife through butter.

I am sure that to my neighbours I look completely ridiculous, in my one piece insulated coverall, my balaclava, and my snow goggles. However this get-up has proven to be not only warm, but protecive in even the worst snow conditions.

I can complete our long snow covered laneway in two swipes, taking a little extra care to clear the end of the lane where the towns plow has helpfully piled snow in extra deep drifts.

Occasionally I get stuck, or I end up leaving the gravel driveway and hay starts spewing up from the chute, but with a quick flick of the wrist I make it right again and cruise along in my world of white.

Many times I have stopped to wonder at the beauty around me, the snow clinging to the pines and cedars like white icing. I marvel at how the birds still keep warm when it's minus 22 with the wind chill.

The old couple who used to own our farm shovelled the 2000 foot driveway by hand, and as the years went on, with a push blower. Wow. I have great respect for them.

Musings over, I put it into high gear and head down to the barns....there is snow to be blown.

Here piggy piggy

I have started to think about pigs. Older farmers tell me that pigs are a good crop - not impacted by the weather and always easy to sell.

A single sow can have three litters a year in some cases, each litter giving you 8-10 piglets to sell. Depending on the breed, and whether they are registered or not - this could be a tidy side income.

I will confess that I adore bacon, and I am adjusting to the idea that the animals on our farm are not simply pets, they are food for the table. It's hard sometimes to keep them in that perspective, and I will admit that I do have one hen that I am quite fond of, but in the end the reason we chose this rural lifestyle was to bring us closer to our food source.

Pigs, with their tiny sharp feet, have been used for years by hobby farmers to turn over a patch of earth for gardening. It does make me wonder what their pasture would be like after a wet spring. It's bad enough down by the cattle barn!

Contrary to popular belief, pigs don't eat "garbage", they require a diet much like ours - with similar protein, carb and fat ratios. Pigs are so similar to us in terms of their digestive system that they are often used for drug trials. So I have begun researching their food requirements.
If I am going to pitch this idea to my better half, I had best have my facts straight!

Wee sister will be thrilled, she likes the idea of a pig on the farm. I will just have to be careful not to tell her that the intent is to create bacon.

Fred

Sourdough is amazing stuff. I call mine Fred, and he lives in the fridge - way at the back behind the pickles.

Fred gets fed weekly, he isn't picky. A little flour and water, a dash of sugar and he's happy. But the trouble is that Fred likes to be used weekly. Why is that a trouble you ask?

Sourdough is delicious, it should be simple to keep using it up. And it is, but we are adrift in a sea of cinnamon buns and pumpkin loaf. My freezer is over flowing with sourdough creations. I have begun giving it away, and my 80something year old neighbours reminded me that they can't eat sugar...so now who do I give it to?

My colleagues are requesting that I stop with the cinnamon buns, their waistlines can't keep up. But neither can mine.

Fred will die if I don't use him.

Sometimes, I get lucky and can find some poor sod, aka a friend, to pawn sourdough off on. "Here! Take a few cups! It's awesome stuff." - and later they curse me for including them in this sick cycle of baking.

I could make bread, but my low carb diet doesn't need any encouraging in the wrong direction.

It's Friday, time to make something with Fred. Sigh...is it murder to let him pass on? The guilt would kill me. Time to make cinnamon buns... again!

Sometimes Technology Sux

So it appears that I have been happily blogging away on my iphone, and the endless blathering didn't go anywhere. I am learning that the "Free" iphone apps are free for a reason. So bear with me dear reader, as I load up posts from some time ago.

On the plus side, I can now add some photos to the posts and make your journey with me more colourful.

It pays sometimes to be a "Hick"

It's not often I get into the "big city", but recently a conference at a downtown Marriott Hotel caused me to make the trip into the endless sea of smog.

I arrived in the cement jungle at about 6AM, early enough to beat the mad dash of commuters and the streams of pedestrians that seem to ignore every traffic signal.

Following the conference, I inched my way into mid-day traffic for the trek home. It was madness, trucks were double parked, pedestrians jay walked at every gap within the park cars, cyclists couldn't decide if they were cars or pedestrians and opted instead to leap from sidewalk to road at a moments notice.

I inched along.

I came to a one way street, and it beckoned me with it's promise of directional traffic. So I cautiously made the turn, narrowly avoiding the eldery gentleman standing in the middle of the road, the bicycle courier doing wheelie hops around pedestrians, and the gaggle of business men who were ignoring the light.

As I made the turn with success, a cop on foot madly began waving me over to the side of the road. What now?

I pulled over.

"M'am, do you know what you did wrong?"
"Well officer, I apologise, I know I got a little close to those business men but the light was red and truthfully I was trying to avoid the old man and the cyclists."

He stared at me.

"So you didn't see the no right turn sign?"

Um. No.

He took my license and registration, and peered at it.
"From the country?"

"yes sir, and heading back that way now"

He stooped down and did a visual sweep of my station wagon. Poster depicting the different cow species, a Brooks and Dunn CD, and my rubber boots amuck with cow manure.

He handed me my license and registration.

"Have a nice day m'am. Go home now"

And so I sped away back to the rural roads - where the only thing I have to worry about is the odd chance of a deer cutting me off.