Farm Week Review

The Farm and Ranch Living Magazine journal project has ended. Now we are just waiting a year to see the finished project which will be next year. In the last two weeks we have had a rainy birthday party, welcomed Nofu to the farm by birth, purchased a Blue Wheaten Araucana rooster, took in a Newfoundland pup and  another turkey, Tom Gobbles, who I call Satan, and went crazy pulling up high maintenance shrubs that I have tended for years. That was a very mixed sentence but that is just how things work here. The reason we wrecked our gardens is simple, to simplify things and to make room for a unified chicken garden, Chicken Nation. Instead of the four coops being scattered, they will soon all fit within the same area. May is shaping up to be a great farm month. We already have many bookings. It is exciting to be serving schools in three counties. To watch a child light up when they see the animals is very rewarding. We have another special booking at Craighead Nursing Center for National Nursing Home Week. Last year while visiting a nursing facility we witnessed seniors who suffered from dementia and other illnesses respond positively to the animals. Some recalled childhood experiences. It was good for them and good for us. It is just more proof that animals are therapy. They are my therapy after a long, hard shift. Statistics show that pets can lower blood pressure, relieve stress, lessen the chance of heart attacks and strokes and so much more. Having over 140 may not be the best way to do that. There is probably a happy medium somewhere. We are happy right where we are. Since it seems that spring has finally sprung (Punxsutawney Phil is a PUNK!) enjoy yourself and have a FARMTASTIC day!!

Just Another Day

Perhaps a day when your farm is flooded and icy is not the best day to attempt a rodeo. That is precisely what occurred earlier. After heavy rains left much of the property submerged, I decided to move a mini horse, Champ, to higher ground. On flat land there is no higher ground! I put him in with the herd and the boy went CRAZY!! His nostrils were flaring and his eyes were bugged like a weig...htwatchers class in a cookie store. Wild neighs and snorts echoed across the land. I decided it was not going to work but not before a female mini horse kicked him in the side. His wild excitement prevented aprehension for some time. I finally was able to rope him. It was like hooking a deapsea marlin and hanging on for a ride of a lifetime. Across the flooded pasture he went, pulling me with him. I finally dug in and determined that I would win this fight. In fact it was my words to him, "Champ, I always win!" That made all of the difference. I finally worked my rope around like a halter and muscled him back to where I wanted him. He had his breaks on several times. I increased my "horsepower" to overcome him. Finally, after unknown amounts of time and probably an exciting show for all of the neighbors, I WON!!! There is just one problem. My back lost.

This Is For the Birds!

The old adage, "This is for the birds!" has recently taken on a new meaning for us.  We have had ducks long before we even had a dog or even a farm.  Then last year we discovered the joy of chicken keeping.  Sometimes I wonder if we keep them or if they keep us.  I am still trying to wrap my mind around that issue.  In the meantime it seems that a whole new bird has arrived on the scene, PIGEONS!  Who ever thought that these birds were more than wild inhabitants of overpasses and city streets?  I remember growing up observing the fondness of a certain famous children's puppet for his winged friends.  While some have fondness, others detest the presents they leave behind. They could certainly spot up a wash job on a car. 

Personally, these birds of a different feather are unique additions to the farm.  The fantails almost resemble a miniature turkey with their proud stance and upright, fanned tail.  The frillbacks rival a frizzle chicken for its salon styled hairdo.    The rollers are the daredevil stunt pigeons of the group and the homers always know just where to return after a long flight.  Although often lumped together in one category, there are many more varieties than these listed.  Each one is unique, but for the most part they offer the same comforting experience.  The gentle cooing and the sound of takeoff is one of the most relaxing sensations you can have on the farm.  It is one flock of birds you will not mind being caught in the middle of.  While there is work involved in responsible care, somehow it seems like less of a chore and more like a privilege.  Pigeon keeping is truly a relaxing pastime. 

One can even up the ante and soar into pigeon racing.  Racing homers naturally are able to fly long distances from their drop locations through whatever conditions they encounter to return home.  Many races offer nice prizes to their champions.  Most often when "doves" are released at weddings and funerals, it is really homer pigeons soaring into the clouds. 

Regardless of the breed or purpose, pigeons are beautiful birds.  Here on our farm I love the robust, bellering sound of a  donkey's heehaw.  Roosters crowing are an absolute delight.  Our dover of quacking  ducks provide backup watch dog service.  Even the llamas hum their familiar tunes.  All of these sounds and more make Fair Haven Farms what it is.  There is just something about the gentle cooing of the pigeons that is as a trickling stream.  Cares seem to vanish as stress gives way to feathered peace.  It is truly a unique experience.  As for the farm,  this is definitely for the birds!

Little Miracles

I was thinking the other day, as I was holding a tiny egg with its inhabitant's beak breaking through, what a miracle is contained in such a minute thing.  The little chicken grows inside and knows just the right time to pip its way out to meet a new and exciting world.  The same can be said for most seeds.  Inside that small package is a life force, an eager embryo, awaiting the proper conditions in order to spring forth.  In both cases the end result is the genesis of life, new birth.

There is never a more proud moment on the farm than when one observes this process first hand.  Whether it is an egg from your flock of birds or a seed that you have incubated in the earth, the satisfaction is the same.  When I experienced my first farm hatch, I stood in complete amazement like a proud papa scarcely able to leave my new children's "bedside."  So, I know exactly how the farmer or gardener can easily feel that the power of creation comes from their own ability or strength.  Do not the wild birds hatch out broods without the help of a farmer?  Do not the wayside plants give forth life all on their own? 

A farmer or gardener is a mere participant and observer of a power much higher.  Even these small things strive for life.  With that in mind, consider the life force that is within us.  It is as a fire burning within.  Like a flower that emerges from the soil grows and fights adverse growing conditions to eventually burst forth in bloom giving rise to new life, may we also have that same force within us that drives us to blossom.  There are many types of flowers as there are many types of people.  Some will excel in certain areas or conditions while others another.  But just as a beautiful blooms, so are we each one unique. 

Many try to farm their lives.  They try to mold themselves into a desired end.  Does an emerging seeding have a choice in the species it will become?  Does the chick?  It was already determined by the higher power.  We, too, cannot fight to become what we are not, but rather strive to bloom into what we are intended to be.  If life can be tucked into the package of a seed or of an egg, why would one not trust the maker of such miracles with their own life?

Standing at the chicken coop, I had to come to the realization that I had very little to do with what took place inside.  I was certainly a part of the equation, but just a small part.  That is one thing I love about the farm.  Yes, I have things that I would love to accomplish, but ultimately in many ways this place I love surrenders to something different, what it yearns to be.  There are cycles that I do not control, life and death, nature.  These things are out of my control.  But there are times like observing the egg and the seed, that I can hold that amazing power in my hand and dream of what it could be.      

My Old Tattered Coat

My life is pretty much an open book.  I find the old adage, "Honesty is the best policy," to be very true.  All of my early life I was raised with strong ethics such as these.  These tried and true lessons we not only given verbally, but also lived out before my brothers, my cousins and me.  There just seems to be something about being raised poor that teaches you that which everyone else does not learn.  I will not say that we lived in poverty, but we did not always have a lot.  I can remember holes in our living room carpet and if memory serves me well there were a couple of holes in the ceiling.  Our old roof leaked so bad one time that there were buckets all over the back three rooms.  Once you became accustomed to the rainy  weather drip, its rhythmic sound would lull you off to sleep.  My dad, at times, worked two jobs to support our family that was comprised of my mom, an older brother, myself and a younger brother.  We always had a dog (or several dogs) and cats as well.  Once a stray duck arrived, being chased by our curious canines.  He was rescued and secured in a pen all his own.  He was white and seemed huge to me.  I think now that he was probably a Pekin like the ones I currently have.  You just never knew what or who might show up.  My dad always had a free and charitable heart, he welcomed them all in.

Mama was just as giving.  She was a homemaker throughout my school days.  She operated her free "taxi" service not only for us boys, but for Grandma, my great aunts, cousins, and anyone else who had somewhere to be.  She tirelessly cared for my grandmother after her strokes never considering it an option to place her in a home.  Later she did much the same for my great aunt in her late stages of Alzheimer's.  All of this background information is to fill the canvas of this portrait I wish to convey to you.  There were a lot of us for one working man to support.  I never once remember being wanton for something.  Every need always seemed to be met.  I am sure that there were times that my parents worried where the money would come from, but I was never aware or concerned. 

Did I as the middle child catch a lot of hand me downs?  I absolutely did.  This never made me feel like less of a person.   In the photo above you may note my old worn, brown coat.  I am standing in front of one of my favorite places on earth that we simply called "the pond."  Built by my grandpa decades before, it was the only pond we knew for so many years.  It also was my only connection to my grandpa who passed away when I was too young to remember him.  That piece of land will always hold a special place in my heart as will that brown, corduroy jacket.  It was not new when it became mine, but it kept me warm just the same.  For some reason of all the coats I have had through the years, that long-gone, tattered coat is number one.  Don't get me wrong.  I have had some great coats, leather, goose down, wool, expensive brands, etc.  Although I am grateful for them, they, to me, are just coats.  I was so proud of that old coat. 

My mom had some Dolly Parton records when I was a kid.  For some reason there has always seemed to be a common kindred between me and the country legend.  Perhaps our less than wealthy childhoods bear striking similarities.  Maybe it is the story she shared of a coat of many colors.  There is a line in the song I especially love, "They couldn't understand what I was trying to make them see.  One is only poor if they choose to be."  We never had much money but I appreciated everything we did have.  I never felt slighted or as if something was lacking.  Yes, I dreamed of being rich and owning half the world.  Somehow, though, I was content in the world I was in.  Things do not make you rich.  Love makes you rich and happiness is worth far more that gold.

I learned that lesson in a house that needed repairs, riding in cars that were only new to us, and wearing clothes from someone else's closet rather than a rack.  Those things the teenage me was self-conscious of, I realize today, made me who I am.  I would not trade that for anything.   

Farm Destiny

Not everyone believes in destiny.  Ultimately, like an evolving garden, I feel there is a grand design for each life.  We may spend all our existence trying to figure that out or rather fighting against it.  All our married life was spent in town.  Heathen children vandalized and stole from us.  Once there was a robin nest just outside of our kitchen window.  We watched that nest in awe until the little criminals from the next street stole it.  I really do not exaggerate my description of these children as they did have records.  I even called the police when I caught them in my goldfish pond.  I later learned that they had sacrificed my fish to who knows what.  Once I barged up to their door and demanded my hummingbird feeder back to which the mother handed it to me.  We were patient (as we could be) knowing these children and others were brought up in a horrible environment.  It was frustrating but sad.  At the same time we were planning an exodus from the city.

In 2002, we acquired a piece of property outside of the city limits from Tabithia's grandfather.  There were already to dilapidated houses on the front where we intended to build.  These collapsing structures were in such poor condition with leaky rooves, broken windows, loose boards,  and fenced yards surrounded by weeds and and trash.  My dad tore down one of them and the other was burned.  The fences were removed so that concrete trucks and deliveries could arrive.  In just a few months a home was built and on New Year's Eve 2003 we moved in.  For some time we lived "normal" lives.  We really continued to live the city life in the country.  Slowly that all began to change.  Ducks, dogs and rabbits began to coexist here with us.  Years later donkeys, miniature horses, more ducks, chickens, alpacas, llamas, goats, a miniature bull, pigs, cats and I feel like the list goes on all began to find their way to Fair Haven Farms.  In fact there was a time when there was no FHF. 

The thought that I wish to convey today is not so much about our destiny.  It is about these 4+/- acres that we signed on the line for.  The fences that we broke down have in many places gone back up.  Where animals roamed long ago, they once again graze.  Perhaps we are not only fulfilling a plan for us, but just as much satisfying what the this piece of earth desires to be.  If left to itself land will in time revert back to a natural state.  Trees emerge in the  unmowed grasses and wildlife will once again live in reclaimed ecosystems.  This land was carved from a swamp over a century ago.  If it had a mind perhaps its true desire would be return to the ancient wetland forests that once prevailed here. With levee in place and the St. Francis River held firmly in controlled parameters, that is not possible. The next best option for this tiny parcel is to be a farm.  This idea may seem a little like I am painting with all the colors of the wind.  To me it is a beautiful, natural concept.  I have to think that maybe we are not what we are because of who we are, but instead because of where we are.

When we lived in the city, we lived the city life.  We even tried that upon our move into the county.  An evolutionary process occurred within us.  Those urban ideas were washed from our minds and we soon were country farmers.  Perhaps we do not possess the land, but rather, the land possesses us.  Perhaps this earth, comprised of the same basic elements and compounds as we, quietly communicates and guides us to our destiny.  Are you fulfilling your true destiny?

Bats In Our Belfry, A Duck In Our Bathtub

Doesn't everyone have baby chicks in their house?  With the introduction of Noel (top) and the New Year Baby (bottom),  we have had chicks brooding in our house on three separate occasions during 2012.  That is not so strange I am sure, especially in this frigid weather.  Why would any self-respecting hen want to sit on a nest of eggs in these conditions is beyond me.  That to me is not all that strange either.  The hens are giving a lot of body heat to the eggs, but their efforts are not all lost.  The eggs also provide heat back to the hen.  Otherwise her heat would be lost to the surroundings.  At least the eggs can be a hot water bottle of sorts.  These nesting hens are snugged in nesting boxes lined with hay and straw, tucked away from the winds and elements.  So maybe they are not as crazy as I think they are sometimes.  Nonetheless, that does not change a thing for me. 

 

It is very often that the line between barn and house has been blurred here.  Rabbits, ducks, raccoons, a lamb, dogs, a miniature horse, pigs, chicks, cats and possibly more have somehow found their way into our home.  My next question that comes to mind is, "Doesn't everyone have a duck in their bathtub?"  That cannot be as uncommon as I think.  The Peabody hotels have duck parades, leading their feathered celebrities off of an elevator and into a fountain in the lobby.  Or adventure is far less glamorous.  A mallard duck named Scooter has taken residence in our bathroom.  She really is our child as we are the only parents she has ever known.  When this little weak, dying duckling was found in the duck pen she was just hatched, still had bits of shell attached and was completely rejected by her natural parents.  She was rushed to the house for intensive care.  Her body temperature so low, she was barley clinging to life.  Careful use of a hair dryer began to bring the little one around.  As she became more alert, her eyes began to take in things around her.  She saw this new place she was in and the parents who were caring for her.  She was so weak at first that it seemed touch and go for a while.  Then she began to move around on her own.  She scooted without using her legs.  We thought we had done a bad thing and that perhaps nature was just taking it course int he duck pen.  We did not give up on her and the name Scooter emerged.  She waxed stronger every day.  

 

Scooter became so imprinted to us, she will follow us in the yard.  She took to the air only one time.  She is a bit spoiled and wants what she wants, when she wants it.  We had a garden that year.  This mallard loves to hang out in the swimming pool.  We were in the garden which she was becoming more and more impatient with.  All of the a sudden the fussy duck lifted off the ground going as high as an airplane gaining altitude.  We thought our time with her was over.  Like a plane shot down over enemy lines, Scooter noticed she had made a big mistake.  She was high enough to see the object of her affection, the pool.  She hurdled straight down flailing as if her parachute failed to open.  She made less than a perfect 10 landing, but safe in the water regardless.  She never attempted to fly again after that episode.  Four years have passed and this girl is still in the house.  We tried to introduce her to her own kind once she was big enough.  She hated them and they hated her.  She is a duck of privilege.  She has played in snows and flood waters, but at the end of the day she is back where she belongs, inside with us.

 

It is not easy to raise a duck inside.  There are anatomical reason that I will not go into that prevent them from being tidy pets.  There are sanitary remedies that can make the process easier.  We have little complaint about our feather child.  She molts quite often.  At times it seems she has exploded as feathers are every where.  She is an excellent drummer as she taps along with the television.  She places drum beats and rolls in places that they were not originally but sound great.  She can hear us turn over in the bed.  Forget having a lazy day because she sees that as her cue to eat.  She lays eggs regularly, too.  In all she does we do not complain.  Our minds go back to a little helpless chick, sure to die and look at her today.

 

It has been quite a journey and still going.  We never knew when constructing our home that it would be just another stall.  It is not animal hoarding.  There are not that many critters in the house.  They are kept in sanitary conditions.  In addition from a duck in the bath tub, we truly must have bats in our belfry.  But then again, doesn't everyone?