My dear friend convinced me to attend a fitness class with her at a local gym. The class was called barre. Barre, as it was explained to me, is like an amalgam of ballet, yoga, and pilates. I never would have gotten up the guts or the motivation to go by myself. Since she invited me though, I figured I'd give it a go. After almost getting lost in a maze of buildings that all looked the same to me, and having to call her to verify directions, I finally arrived. It had been raining steadily hard all day. I was very happy about this because the grass had been getting crispy and was almost starting to turn brown. (Now as I look outside it's a lovely shade of bright green.) I splashed happily through the puddles in the rain and waltzed through the front door of the gym. Then I almost stopped short. Had I landed in the wrong place? A room full of well-muscled guys and big, intimidating weight machines greeted me. Thankfully, one of the men noticed the deer-in-the-headlights expression on my face and asked if I was looking for the class. He pointed me towards a room in the back, where I was relieved to find my friend. She introduced me to the other ladies and soon we were getting started. Barre gets its name from from it's foundations in ballet. The handrail on the wall is called a barre. Thankfully, these classes do not require a background in dance, or yours truly would not have qualified. The instructor was personable and excellent, modeling graceful and seamless moves. She made it look easy. At first, I thought I'd be able to keep up without too much trouble. I had been working out at home to some extent. I was enjoying learning new things and appreciating the new challenge. About halfway through though, I began to really feel it. Meanwhile, our instructor kept up the pace, talking calmly and easily without getting out of breath in the least. (That is one tough chick!) I was still keeping up, but talking would have definitely been out of the question! By the end of the hour, I was shaking. My muscles were burning. I'm pretty sure I had "newbie" written all over my flushed face. When we finally made it onto the floor for the cool down, I was just hoping to be able to make it back up again! It was then that I noticed a quote on the wall that said, "Don't worry, you'll pass out before you die." Well that's reassuring. An after-workout high is a real thing. Upon making it back to the farm truck, I had a huge sense of accomplishment and a major dose of endorphins surging through my blood. I felt like a million dollars. Nonetheless, on the drive through the now gently falling rain, my leg was shaking in the seat over the foot petals. I gulped my water and contemplated how I was going to unwind once I got home. My plans of relaxing were instantly ruined however, as I rounded the corner home and caught a glimpse of what my sheep were up to...
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It was only a few short days before my sister's wedding. I was all excited and could think of little else.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Goose-Goose had decided to build a nest. Mr. Goose-Goose doesn't really like me a whole lot to begin with, but he will usually tolerate me. For whatever reason, he prefers my husband. I'm the one that feeds the rascal! (Incidentally, the hubs finds this totally hilarious.) This makes no sense to me whatsoever, but these are the facts. That goose can see my husband coming and will leave the pond and come flying up to him, honking and carrying on all happy and excited. When he sees me however, he looks at me suspiciously and ruffles his feathers. Most of the time that's as far as it goes. Today though, his mate was nesting. Lambs grow fast, or at least they should. Most of the time lambs can be weaned anywhere from 60-120 days, depending on the circumstances. Weigh all the lambs on the same day, and then adjust for their ages and a few other factors to calculate how each of your ewes is performing. Textbook perfect, right? Well... I don't know why I didn't think of this before it was actually time to weigh the lambs, but we only have a bathroom scale. In theory however, all you should need to do is: 1.) Weigh the husband. 2.) Convince the husband to stand on the bathroom scale while holding the lamb. 3.) Subtract the weight of the husband from the weight of the husband plus the lamb. Easy, right? Um, not exactly. Bea is a bit of a drama queen. She makes all kinds of noise about all kinds of things on any given day for any number of reasons. She is a very proud huntress and especially loves to hunt skinks. She will go into the woods and catch one and bring it back and howl by the door for us to come take notice of her prize and accept her gift to us. Oftentimes the skink is still alive, and when she sees us, she howls all the louder and drops the skink and it skitters off. She expects nothing less than high praise for her skill and prowess and generosity towards us as her favorite humans. She is very vocal about it if she is hungry and we are late getting her breakfast. She parades about the barnyard like a fashion model on a catwalk - just because she can. Her personality lends itself to the dramatic. Naturally therefore it only stands to reason that if she isn't feeling well she is likely to exhibit strange and theatrical symptoms. A couple of weekends ago we were out of town a for few days and left the care of our farm to a trusted friend and neighbor. Just before we were about to head home my neighbor contacts me to tell me that Daphne (one of the yearling ewes) has diarrhea with mucous and a little bit of blood in it. "Great", I thought to myself, "Now what do I do?" I really wasn't sure what it was and began to imagine the worst, thinking it could be some contagious parasitic disease or something. (There are parasites that can cause diarrhea.) Daphne was apparently unfazed by the whole thing, acting fine, and continuing to eat grass like nothing was out of the ordinary. I decided to call on a more experienced shepherd for help.
Update on the baby chicks that came in the mail last month: They are growing very quickly! This picture was taken last week, so this little guy (or girl not sure yet) is three weeks old here. You can see the top hat feathers starting to grow out on (we'll call it his) head. I totally love the color pattern and crazy headdress of the silver laced polish chicken. The little things are fast movers! It is a bit difficult to photograph them because they run like the wind! I decided to just hold him. When I was about 10 years old, my little friend and I wanted nothing more than to go bird watching. She lived out in the country in Southern Indiana, where gently rolling hills and meadows met thick woods. The deer loved to be anywhere here and quietly graze and raise their young in the springtime. It was a beautiful day. We struck out on an adventure to scout out and journal on any bird’s nest we could find, drawing pictures and writing descriptions of the birds next to a few meticulously placed cute stickers, all the while relishing the fragrant air and soft breezes and golden sunshine. Having looked in on the robin’s nest and the bluebirds, very carefully so as not to disturb them, we decided to venture further in our bird-hunting and walked happily down the dusty dirt and gravel road. There was one mild disturbance to our perfect morning however: It seemed as though the neighbor’s dog might be following us. Guineas are funny looking birds. They look like a cross between a vulture and a clown. They may be about the same size as a chicken, but they act completely differently. They aren't very tame. They go wherever they please with no regard to fences. (I asked my mom once what I was supposed to do if the neighbors complained about them and she just said, "don't claim them." Well then.) They are exceptionally loud and insist on making a raucous every time a car drives up that they don't recognize. This can have its advantages though, as they will call a sneaky predator right out and start yelling and screaming at him mercilessly. Guineas are famous for their appetite for bugs and especially ticks, which is a plus on a farm too. I offered my young guineas to sleep in the chicken coop with the chickens, but they would have none of it, preferring instead to roost in the branches of the big tall pine tree in the chicken yard. The chickens were completely fine with this arrangement. A couple of weeks ago the hubs decided to stick some duck eggs he had collected into the incubator. It takes duck eggs 28 days to hatch, so they are about half-way through. About a week ago I candled them for the first time, at which point I threw away the ones that weren't developing. (You could call those duds.) If we left the duds in there the whole time, the danger is that bacteria might grow in that lovely warm environment and you could end up with a rotten egg in the incubator. Gross. Since nobody wants to have to call Templeton the Rat to carry that off (think Charlotte's Web), that's why we candle eggs. Oh, and just in case you were wondering why the ducks don't just hatch some babies out themselves... Well, I've been asking myself that very question for about a year now... One of them actually did try last year, but none of the eggs made it. Perhaps she was discouraged after that, and maybe that's why she hasn't tried since. The other ducks most of the time don't even lay their eggs in a consistent spot every day, so it's a little bit like an Easter egg hunt every morning. Many domestic duck breeds are just not that likely to reliably set. I got the less likely to set breeds I suppose, but they are still really pretty and very sweet so there you go. |
AuthorI'm Debbie. I love listening to chickens cackle and sing. I love Lindt chocolate truffles, a good cup of coffee, and a good book. Archives
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