Dexter meet Angus-- Angus, Dexter

Introducing new cattle to our herd-- a family affair
We've had some excitement around the farm in the past few weeks. Mike went to the cattle auction in Benson, Minnesota knowing there'd be some great Angus stock-- bred for grassfed production-- on the block. The Lowline Angus heifers were coming from Prairie Horizons Farm- near Starbuck, and having toured their operation, we were excited to be building a herd based on Luverne Forbord's expertise, genetic selection, and care.

It was a great event opening the cattle trailer and letting the baby Angus jump out and run into our pasture. All five us, the two dogs, and our dozen Dexter cattle hopping around with excitement.

We'd put our 'guard mule' in the barn as dear old Rusty was never happy when any new creature came into his pasture. On the plus side, we've never lost a single calf to a predator, whereas our neighbor has. Also, last spring when the skunks were coming out of hibernation, Rusty would stomp to death any skunk that wandered into the pasture. He killed three of them that we saw or found.

Bad part was, Rusty didn't care for having anything new in the pasture-- including the calves. Rusty could count (note I'm using the past tense here) and so 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9 cows did not equate when they started calving and we now had 10-11-12-13. So he harassed the calves nearly from the moment they were born. We'd tie Rusty up until he got over it. But he was never fond of the new additions.

So the day after we got the new Angus calves and everyone was playing nice in the pasture, we let Rusty out to meet the new additions. I'm putting it mildly to say that all hell broke lose. Rusty saw 5 intruders in the pasture and went into kill mode-- chasing, biting, kicking, braying wildly. He mercilessly chased our new Angus calves until in utter self preservation they burst through the fence and headed for the hills.

Now we had our new, and relatively expensive, beautiful Lowline Angus cattle fanning out across the wild prairie landscape-- some went south, the others went northeast. Again, the whole family was out in the fields and spreading out across 100's of acres to try to find the cattle. A couple of them went into the slough grass behind our house-- which is about 6-8 feet high. It was impossible to even hear or see them. We tromped through, but only flushed out a big buck. Some of the cattle had crossed out of our section, so we drove around trying to spot them. Keep in mind-- we've had no snow this winter so there was no tracking we could do. Also, black calves do not stand out on expanses of black soil. The sun set with our cattle out in the wild.

Believe me there was a lot of wailing and gnashing of teeth over losing our brand new baby calves. Not the least of which was-- "I hope Luverne doesn't find out what we've done with his lovely little calves!!" All sorts of dangers lurk outside the pasture-- many coyotes, timber wolves sighted close to our farm, and I've seen a cougar. Also, with no snow there is no water for the cattle-- they can't go long without water.

So we called the Sheriff to let him know we had a few 350 pound cattle roaming the back roads (quite the road hazard), sheepishly called all our neighbors, and then reluctantly called it into the local radio station. You know, the local AM station that broadcasts all the local birthdays, deaths, and fool farmers who lost their cattle.
Two days later, two cattle were standing about 1/4 mile outside our dining room window-- thirsty, tired, and happy to be led home. That left three missing.
Our neighbors seemed rather endeared to us for losing our cattle. I guess our public radio humiliation made them remember all the mess ups they'd been in. A surprising number of farmers called with their own tales of losing cattle and chasing them through tall corn for weeks on end.

Mike (with a little help from me) spent the next 8 days walking through all the tall slough grass within a couple miles of our farm-- believe me that's a lot of slough grass (remember- we live in a USGS map section officially named "The Dismal Swamp"). On day 10, we got a call that our cattle were in a field 3 miles east of us. With the help of neighbor Russ, his wife and kids, we got our cattle into their fenced farmstead and brought them back home. These three were big and healthy-- having had their fill of all the grass and leftover corn between our farm and Russ'.
If only that were the end of the story. Rusy took up permanent residence in the barn- away from the cattle. Even so, a couple days later, the Sheriff called us and said there were cattle on the blacktop road to the west. Some other poor schmuck had his cattle get out. Mike, now owing the neighbors a helping hand in return, got in our minivan and headed out to help. Yup, you guessed it. They were our cattle again.
With the help of the Kellen boys-- the kind of young men you want to populate an agricultural county- these kids handle animals, vehicles, tractors, and more-- we corralled the 5 Angus and got them back home.

Rusty was a good mule and now he's in a better place. We sold him for $.50 to a nice grandfather in South Dakota who has grandkids, but no livestock.

We should have gotten rid of Rusty months ago. He may have protected the cattle, but overall didn't help our operation. For example, we find ourselves calving in January because Rusty wouldn't let the Dexter bull anywhere near the Dexter cows. And until Rusty was gone, I didn't realize what a menace he was to the young stock. Once he was off the farm-- all the babies ran around chasing each other, tails up in the air. I am seeing now how happy little pasture calves frolic, when free from the tyranny of oppression. And hopefully-- they'll now stay in the pasture.

One- Two- Three- Four- I Declare a Hay Bale War!

ONE
People sometimes ask what I miss moving from St. Paul to rural Big Stone County. But when a person has little kids, doesn't matter where you live 'cuz it's all about them.

TWO
What I don't miss is the constant vigilance of raising a kid in an urban area where you can't just put them on their bikes-- even on sidewalks in front of the house- because of the driveways and constant traffic.

THREE Rural areas and farming are dangerous business too. But it doesn't seem so relentless. Plus wide open spaces are good for the soul. Sunsets are an event. And giant hay bale are an arena for all kinds of imaginary battles between good and evil. Oh- and those bales are the best of place to kick back with all your kids and launch parafoil kites into the air.


FOUR

Saving the Saving Remnant

Swany White Flour -- Freeport, MN. Milling ended this month after a fire burnt the late 1800's early 1900's mill to the ground.

I've been buying my flour in 50# sacks from Swany White since about 1997. Even though Mike gave me my very own County Living flour grinder, I still loved my to mix Swany White with my hand ground whole wheat.

The Freeport, MN Swany White flour mill will not be replaced. They were still using the mill equipment from 1913-- and replacement doesn't make economic sense. So much loss-- a thriving small town business, a place farmers could bring their local and organic wheat, a great product that was beloved by those who knew and used it. Makes you kinda ache, doesn't it.

We're losing a lot in these couple of generations-- yours, mine, my children's. Once the pieces of our once thriving rural infrastructure are gone, they can't be replaced with the same quality as before. Just a few days ago, we lost the 2nd to last two story brick building on Main Street Clinton. It looks to me that the gaping holes that remain are filled with pole buildings. To me, those buildings don't have the permanence or skill embedded in them the way those lovely brick building do-- or as the case may be-- did.

Minnesota's 2012 Organic Farming Conference came on the heels of losing Swany White and was hosted less than 30 miles away in St. Cloud. There were a solid 450 solid people at this year's conference. Lots of old timers and new, young farmers. I walked away from that conference saying "Thank God" we have farmer like these who are stewarding the land and holding onto skills that would otherwise be lost in a couple generations. Cattlemen, vegetable breeders, small grain growers are just a few of the folks at whose feet we sat in the last two days.

One thing I learned and the crux of what I bring back to my farm, is that these organic farmers and keepers of animals and seeds (the 'seedies') are practicing "slow farming." Meaning they invest their time and give their intimate attention to their farm's plants (and animals and soil). The lessons I took away from vegetable breeding and seed saving workshop,(by humble, approachable, powerhouse Theresa Podoll) are to know what you want from your crops (taste, storage, pest tolerance) and to be mindful of every plant-- how it looks and feels the fruit; to both study and eat your squash (how long did it last in the pantry, how much flesh, how does it taste?), and; save the seeds from just the very very best.

Men and women out across the landscape (like the Podolls in rural North Dakota and ES and his soybeans) are stealthily saving the best seed from crops, developing even better varieties for the times, and ensuring a very small part of the biodiversity from the past -- for the future. These people and their seeds are the saving remnant. And frankly, in a global near-monopoly of seed companies, they are preserving freedom and independence along with those seeds. Thank you.

Today, Sunday January 15, 2012, we have the most complex food system in the history of humankind. You think it's easy getting your Hot Pockets and Mountain Dew to the Cenex Station in Grygla, Minnesota? It probably took 10,000 people to prepare that meal -- from making the fertilizer to grow the crops, extracting and refining the oil to make the plastic bottle, setting up the distribution system and delivering it so that we can eat it in the car on our way to our next busy task. All that for $2.59 and and a touch of diabetes.

Did I digress? No-- we've have lost a lot of our communities' real food infrastructure like creameries, butcher shops, and even our skills of how to grow food and cook it. And right now, we are under threat of losing even our rural groceries in a mass die-off across the countryside.

Swany White Flour died in a fire-- and it's not 'bankable' to bring it back. You may now check another piece of valued, needed, and beloved local institution off your list. And if you care, then hold on to and invest in your small town and local farmer.

Stirring up the last of our Swany White Flour for today's dinner

Sunrise.... Sunset

photo credit- Kathy. The sunrises on the tallgrass prairie of Big Stone County hold in common the majesty of the sunrises on the Serengeti Plains of Africa.

This week marks four years since we purchased the farm. Four years of dreaming, planning, working, worrying, planting, harvesting. Four years of awe, frustration, simple successes, a few failures. Four years of family, playing, joy, longing, and missing.

For me, it's been four years of discovering a new world. The prairie and all its subtle beauty and humble and not so humble majesty. Four years of balancing my long distance work life and my little, little children growing bigger every day. Of the contrast between frontier and urban core.

I've learned the remarkable journey of the sun from solstice to solstice. Just how crazy far towards the north the sun rises in the summer and to the south in the winter. Really people- at the 45th parallel, the range of the movement of the sun as it touches the horizon is dramatic. I've gained some intuitive sense of the cycles of the moon. I can tell from glancing at the moon whether it's waxing or waning.
It still feels new to me. And maybe that is one of the secrets (or practices) of being mindful-- keeping that feeling of everyday awe. There is a freshness in exploring the large and the small-- the movements of the sun and the seeds on the prairie grass. Meeting people who are both new to me and a stable part of a community that I will meet again and again. Thinking of new ideas on the small scale of my community life vs the larger scale of my work-a-day world. And opportunities to put my shoulder to the wheel in a way that feels like I'm making a difference on the piece of soil I've been blessed to steward.

It passes fast though, doesn't it? Here's the soundtrack for this entry-- 100 Years by Five for Fighting.
I lost a friend and a colleague this week. She lived big and was taken too soon. Linda moved through the world with an easy humor, spunk, and a perspective that I hope and intend to learn from. She had a joie de vivre like few people I've known. She was elegance and grace, with a wickedly wry and impertinent humor.

At the funeral, the pastor said that the light was extinguished only because the dawn had arrived. We will meet again one day, Linda.

In the meantime, none of us know how many sunrises and sunsets we each have. I do know that my children are getting bigger everyday and that those giddy moments of blissful child's play are numbered. I know that these are the days and moments that nostalgia are made from.


Moonrise on the evening of the December Lunar eclipse. We watched-- all five of us-- this moon rise from the ground of the eastern horizon in all its reflected blazing glory as the sun set behind us. There is magic on the prairie. Come here. Hold still. Be in paradise. 

A Hymn Sing for the Season of Peace

Last Sunday evening we launched the holiday season at the annual Eidskog Lutheran church Hymn Sing in rural Big Stone County. Eidskog is everything good and lovely about a country church... white, wooden, steeples, and stained glass surrounded by a mature grove and a cared for cemetery. And the warm, wood walls inside are steeped with the smell of brewing coffee.

The name 'Eidskog' comes from a municipality in Norway and no doubt was named such by a homesick immigrant(s) who invested time and gave of their meager resources to build this beautiful, humble monument to community.

The word 'Eidskog' means a portage through the woods. And I'm guessing that it's unintentionally appropriate as it sits kitty corner from a slough and the 2.5 mile from our farm to the church means traveling on a road that takes 3 serious curves around sloughs and wetlands. That's unusual for a State platted with arrow straight township roads.

When we pulled out of our driveway and headed due south to Eidskog last Sunday night, the four of us were all startled to see and chattering about all the red tail lights on the road to the church. I've driven home in the dark 100's of times and have almost never seen headlights or taillights from that direction. On the rare occasion we do see a car and it's cause for conversation about who might be out this way and why. Nothing nefarious, but the curiosity of a rare event. But I digress.

The church was packed with more than 200 people. Bear in mind that our township and the adjoining township--a total of 72 square miles-- have a combined population of around 160 people.
The Hymn Sing began with Carl, the congregation's reigning patriarch who has been instrumental in hosting the event for the past 50 years, and his wife Jan singing a traditional hymn in a lovely duet. Carl is having trouble moving about these days and so it was touching to see him lead us off in 2011. You know, lots of people care for him and, like me, were moved to hear him and Jan sing. Let us pause to remember and be grateful for all the good things that our elders have put in place--like the Hymn Sing-- that we enjoy today.

From there on out, we enjoyed a medley of great music from all 200+ of us in the pews and musicians of all kinds from the area giving performances. The performers ranged in age from 15 to 90 years old. All the denominations were represented--and nondenominational folks too.

I smiled to myself as I stereotyped the different groups. The Baptists, of course, sang a couple of modern tunes with a guitar and tamberine. They were dressed better than anyone else in the place and they even, gasp, swayed to the music. (my husband's Baptist upbringing frowned on swaying or toe tapping as being too close to dancing) The songs were ones I'd never heard before, I'm sure they're from a big name current Christian band, but they stick in mind even 6 days later.

The Catholics--now there was a crisp, disciplined group of singers. They all showed up and sang a song that included some Latin, if I remember correctly. The 7th Day Adventists played a great brass ensemble and another with saxophone, guitar and piano. The Lutheran groups were just fine, thank you.

I'd been to church that same morning and the Advent scripture, sermon, and hymns struck me as repeating the word "peace" a lot. It made me wonder where else in the world people had been talked to and sung so much about peace that morning.

That Peace is central to the season was driven home to me again that night. As out on the pitch dark prairie--lit up only by the church and the stars--the 200+ singers at Eidskog Lutheran church in rural Otrey Township, Big Stone County, Minnesota lifted their hearts and voices to sing in spontaneous three part harmony "Go now in Peace. Never be Afraid... Go Now in Peace, in faith, and in love." And then we sang it one more time--as a blessing and Christmas gift that we gave to each other.

Go Now in Peace.

Turkey Love

Our turkey protecting the drying laundry from flies (i.e. eating the flies that were attracted to warm clothes on a cool autumn day)

We raised our first turkey this year and it was heart breaking. The baby turkey came to us under suspicious circumstances, tucked under a drunk man's jacket. Let's just leave it at that.

We put the turkey in with our spring chickens- the ones destined to be butchered in 9 weeks as fryers. He grew at about the same rate and then began to tower over his flock-mates. As he did, he became extremely protective of the flock. And then the 9 weeks were up and Flock 1 went to where all good chickens go... Ashby Minnesota. Ashby has the nearest USDA inspected poultry processing for small farmers like us. (Note: we make the 120 mile round trip twice- to drop off and then pick up our birds).

When the Flock 1 was sent to Ashby, the turkey was at a complete loss. We put him in with our laying hens, but he would run back the quarter mile to where the flock had been pastured. He wandered around gobbling and searching our back yard for his lost flock. He was inconsolable for about a week. The windows were open to let in the summer breezes and he would walk back and forth beneath the dining room window mourning for his lost flock.

So we put him in with Flock 2- which he mightily towered over. And he became their guard and protector. Standing between the flock and any dog or human who came near. Not threatening or mean-- just using his body as a barrier. When the hawk perched nearby to eye the chickens, the turkey jumped on top of a waterer and spread his big wings over the birds.

We really came to enjoy that turkey. He'd make his way around the farmyard checking things out. Including us. I've never raised a turkey before, but this was an interesting creature who was protective and cared for his fellow birds.

And then this week the temperature dropped to zero and the winds howled and snow blew horizontally across the prairie. The Ashby guys had delayed processing our birds by a week (they're doing big business there these days) and so we found ourselves in a chicken crisis -- having to move our birds from their fall pasture into the barn. Mike and I carried- 6 at a time- nearly 100 bird to the barn. The turkey watched over the last few birds huddled under him. We carried him into the barn last.

He was a beautiful bird. That picture doesn't do him justice. In his final days his lovely white feathers fanned out and he was majestic and calm.

May we all be grateful this Thanksgiving for the many gifts that come to us in such an array of splendor and humble beginnings and endings.
For all thy gifts of every kind
We offer praise with quiet mind
Be with us Lord and guide our ways
Around the circle of our days
`Reeves Lindbergh` full text under extended entry - click belowHappy Thanksgiving.

The Circle of Days
Lord, we offer thanks and praise
For the circle of our days.
Praise for radiant brother sun
Who makes the hours around us run.
For sister moon, and for the stars,
Brilliant, precious, always ours.

Praise for brothers wind and air,
Serene or cloudy, foul or fair.
For sister water, clear and chaste,
Useful, humble, good to taste.
For fire, our brother, strong and bright,
Whose joy illuminates the night.
Praise for our sister, mother earth,
Who cares for each of us from birth.
For all her children, fierce or mild,
For sister, brother, parent, child.
For creatures wild and creatures tame,
For hunter, hunted, both the same.
For brother sleep, and sister death,
Who tend the borders of our breath.
For desert, orchard, rock, and tree,
For forest, meadow, mountain, sea,
For fruit and flower, plant and bush,
For morning robin, evening thrush.
For all your gifts, of every kind,
We offer praise with quiet mind.

Be with us, Lord, and guide our ways
Around the circle of our days.

Reeve Lindbergh, based on
Canticle of the Sun, St. Francis of Assisi

Farming with Nature-- or-- the Seemingly Senseless Slaughter of Chickens

View of our farm-top from the Tallgrass Prairie - Oct 2011

More Farming with Nature photos here
I have a rare few minutes at home alone. The Pandora soundtrack playing in the background is the Verve's Rather Be Here. "I'd rather be here than be anywhere. Is there anywhere better than here?..."

On a day like today it is easy to know Gratitude. Invite her into your car, house, life, and conversations. If one is convinced that we are living in the very best of times today but tomorrow we face challenges of limited resources (financial, energy, soil, you name it) then these perfect days and minutes are all the more savored and precious because one cannot take for granted that there will be more days like today or more moments like this very moment. Regardless of the where the world goes, we can all learn from Steve Jobs that every moment is to be well lived.

I drove home alone (the rest of the family going to the Friday Night Lights in the neighboring town) with the sun setting over the prairie. Another dramatic sunset due to the dust and soil kicked up from the 2 months without rain and the harvest in full gear. Geese are flying south again now that the insanely violent winds calmed down. There were deer along the roadside. I was returning from a family celebratory dinner at The Cabin Café in Clinton, MN. The Cabin, by the way, had locally grown fruit and vegetables and the food all made by scratch by Doreen. Doreen is a superb cook and invests in healthy food.

Tonight Mike charged me with getting the chickens safely into their hut for the night. It's already near dark and the chickens are still out. Just what Mike was afraid would happen and did. Yes- I forgot to put in the chickens (about 125 broilers). So I'll have to run outside with a flashlight and get the chickens into their hut before it's pitch dark. Hopefully get the turkey in too.

But I just can't pull myself away from The Verve singing Rather Be. Too perfect a soundtrack for this day.

I'm back--the chickens and turkey are safe in their hut. And I'm reminded of a few things:

1) That it is always good to go outside on a moonlit dusk/dark night
2) That having to do chores is a blessing in making you go outside and be
3) That it's damn sensible (and humane) to put the chickens in at night
In just the past 20 minutes I was reminded that we farm amidst the wild, like few commodity sized farmers do. This place where we live and farm has deep molic soils next to complexes of pothole ponds and prairies; all intertwined. I stood outside between the barn and house (which are ridiculously far apart due to building the house on one hill in a swamp and the barn on the other hill in the swamp I imagine) when an animal stirs in the grass to my left. Then the coyotes start to yipe yipe yipe awooooooooooooooo--sounding too close for comfort. The chickens, now safe in their hut, start to stir around. They recognize the sound of a predator. I make for my house. There is lightening flashing all around the horizon to the south and east. And a three-quarter moon above me with wisps of clouds passing over.

We've had more of our broilers chicks and chickens lost this year than any time in the past. Massacres of dozens of baby chicks and finding the remains of the mature chickens nearly ready for butcher out in the fields. We keep our chickens in pens at night and even tied the dog to the pens for a couple weeks as the predation was so bad. But we farm amidst nature--sloughs and prairies and wetlands. We are 'blessed' with fox, skunk, weasels, mink, raccoons, owls, coyotes, and hawks. And they all love to eat our happy, free-range pasture raised chickens. What's sad is that sometimes it seems like a senseless slaughter dozens of chicks as they just leave them laying there - dead and uneaten.

Farming wise, this means the cost of raising our chickens has skyrocketed this year. It's one thing to lose a $1.25 baby chick and another to lose a full grown, ready for market 8 pound broiler that has consumed $8 of high quality feed. That's a full $9.25 loss to distribute among the remaining chickens--and we've lost dozens.Live and learn. Or lose and learn. I'm grateful to Jane who with her sensible good humor wrote up the Golden Guide to Chicken Death. Click on extended reading for all the gory details. 

Jane's Little Golden Guide to Chicken Predators

Description of damage or loss Probable predator
Dead chicken in pen, scattered feathers, may have entrails torn out = Hawk
Headless chicken carcass found in morning, either inside or outside shelter; may be slight smell of skunk = Owl
One to several dead chicks or pullets found in the morning with gashes on neck but no other damage, especially in pen or shelter that you thought was secure = Weasel
Six to several dozen dead chicks or pullets found in morning, damage to heads and necks, minor feeding on carcasses = Skunk
One or two dead, partially eaten young chicks per day in or near pen = Crow
Missing chickens, may find feathers on the "back 40" = Fox
Dead chickens scattered across 40 acres = Raccoons
Scattered broken eggshells in laying flock shelter = Skunk
Two dead hens, one missing, and a very guilty looking German Shepherd (submitted by Jaden Forbord of Starbuck, MN) Inside job


Predator Predator control measure

Hawk Put up tall posts in your pen and weave twine in a criss-cross pattern between posts, as high up as you can (so that you can walk through the pen). Hawks will see this as a trap and won't enter the pen.

Owl Close up all gaps in the shelter with solid material (wood, sheet metal) or with chicken wire. Be vigilant about closing up all chickens inside the shelter every night.

Weasel Trap it.

Skunk Shoot it.

Alternatively, put an electric wire around the entire perimeter of the pen about four inches off the ground. Fill in all gaps or holes where a skunk could possibly slip under the wire. It is difficult to keep a wire this low "hot," because weeds & grass will continually grow up and touch the wire. Skunks are dedicated diggers - if the bottom of the fence isn't protected with an electric wire, they will get under it.

Crow Keep chicks indoors until they are large enough to make a crow think twice, and fast enough to get away. Or, put up netting over the top of the pen.

Fox Have a fence that is at least 3 feet high chicken wire, topped with hot wire that is no more than 3 inches above the chicken wire. Make sure the chicken wire is taut between posts. Fill in all gaps where a fox could slip in under the wire. Build up soil or place logs at the bottom of the chicken wire fence to discourage digging under it.

Raccoons See "Fox." Raccoons really, really don't like getting shocked by an electric fence. They are not as prone to digging under fences as a skunk, but they can climb over any fence that doesn't have an electric wire to stop them.

Inside job See "Fox." Also, make sure that your canine doesn't sneak in past you when you go into the pen - and always remember to close the gate behind you.