Blink.

The chicks and ducklings and goslings are a-growing, smelling more everyday. The goslings continue to be the most adorable, and Middlest can't resist them. She has gleefully taken them up to bed with her for snuggle sessions, leaving a towel covered in goose poop each time. I can only hope her future spouse is tolerant and understanding.
Huz is home from China, busy, busy week without him. I do a LOT of driving these days.
The asparagus is in full force, so asparagus with every meal. Now, we are behind already on the vege garden, and when will that happen? Who knows?! But, I can only hope, somehow, it happens.
The hogs are growing, and happy buggers, they love to be scratched, and are always looking for a treat. Youngest walks them everyday, and he is starting to see some results in the responding to commands game. It is a bit less of a chase the hog around exercise and more of a direct the hog somewhere one, but still a long way to go before entering the hog show ring.
The lambs have been pulled away from their mommas to be weaned, which makes everyone unhappy. They all bleat and cry incessantly, loudly, mournfully. It is not comforting enough to hear each other, it is still too far removed. The horses have moved out while the weaning is happening. Too loud, too unhappy in the barn. The only one seemingly unconcerned is poppa sheep. Cesar just wants to be fed and scratched as usual.
On, and on to each day.

Chicks, man.

Spring is a frantic time on my small farm. An extra evening hour of daylight does not save me from the chronic issue of tomuchtodo. Last year, we skipped adding baby chicks to the list and thus our youngest birds are two. Their best laying year is already behind them, and with all these chickens, it would be nice to have adequate eggs to show for our efforts. So, this year was bound to be a chick year. A few months ago, I compiled the list of wanted babies and placed a pick-up order at a hatchery in Polk, Ohio. I did not know where Polk was, (and having been there, I can't say I've changed that status) but my new Tom Tom(a.k.a "NewJane") from Huz figures these things out! So Tuesday morning, after chores and getting Youngest on the bus, neighbor Lindsay and her son- new to chickening -walked down the lane to join Middlest and me in my New Denty, a.k.a. Chameleon, for a NewJane guided drive to Polk. It was a gorgeous day for a drive, and was about 2 hours or so north of us, north of TBC even! As we were getting close we began seeing signs for "Grandpa's CheeseBarn". Okay, sounds promising. I like Grandpas, Cheese and Barns, my kinda place! It turns out our companions had been to Grandpas and made some fond memories. We exited the highway where NewJane said "Exit right", and what do you know? Grandpa's CheeseBarn is right there. Can't fight fate.

Grandpa's is the land of the sample. One pass through, and no one needed lunch anymore. Middlest and I deliberated, and I purchased a triple cream Bergenost, a sage Cheddar, a Garlic Cheddar, and "Grilling Cheese", which is an experience for cheese lover, Youngest. I also purchased local honey and a mix of gluten free Killer Mudd brownies. We then put our purchases in the car and entered the barn next to the CheeseBarn. This was "Sweeties" which is a chocolate and candy shop. Overwhelmingly tempting! I purchased dark chocolate pecan turtles, one for me, one for Middlest, and our companion chose a cashew turtle. Lindsay was far too principled, and just smelled the chocolate. Now, if Grandpa only had a wine shop.... my version; Disneyland.
On to Chicks, man. A few miles down the road we turned a bit here and there, whatever NewJane dictated, and arrived at Meyer Hatchery. Let me say, that I am fascinated by the Amish. I would like to be an Amish stalker. If I had the choice of going to L.A. and trying to spot the "stars", or going to Amish country, and spotting the Amish, I easily choose the latter. I haven't asked for any autographs, but I seriously want to climb into the back of the buggy and hide. At Meyer, there were Amish. A Amish lady even drove up in one of the black box buggies with a little boy in the back, probably two years old. He was adorable, with his long hair and hat pulled down on his head. He had little button shoes and a dingy blue coat held together with safety pins, the big kind you use for diapers. He had pink cheeks and bright blue eyes and was interested in the bags of feed in the supply store. His mom, after tying the rein of the horse to the hitching post went back into the buggy and retrieved what I assume was a baby. It was completely shrouded in a black cloth, with a black baby bonnet, and not a bit of the baby was showing. It also didn't move, so it could have been an Amish doll, except it was bigger than a usual doll, and she carried it carefully like a baby. I realized I was being stalkerish and trying to strike up a conversation, and following the little boy around, so I stopped. But it was tough.

Note the buggy at the hitching post on the left. It's like seeing Matt Damon.

On to Chicks, man. We entered the store and gave our order numbers. Soon, someone came out with our little box of wildly peeping chicks. We paid and got our NPIP pollorum papers- APHIS legal, we are. We wandered around a shopped a bit. Middlest really wanted a sign that said "WARNING! GOOSE WITH BAD ATTITUDE!" Which, is true, and may be wise to post, but then the next person he dismantles could sue us, because we knew he was dangerous. Roulette, baby. Drive down Cowfeathers lane and you could lose some flesh. We did purchase some little cups that will be useful at The Fair for food and water in the poultry pens. Now, to race home. The chicks, you see, have hatched and not been fed, nor given water for maybe 24 hours. They do need these things, even though they are equipt by nature to not need them right after hatching. They also need warmth. 95 degrees. So, we baked ourselves a bit on the way home, the peepers boxed and sitting on kid laps for extra warmth.

At home we got the babies situated in the brooder, which for us is a baby pool in the mudroom. It has shavings, covered with newspaper for the first day, a waterer and a feed station. A heat lamp is shining down on one area, so if they feel cold, they will gather under the lamp. 12 baby chicks, man. I think. They're hard to count, because they aren't very still.  They are very fuzzy and cute. Apparently, I ordered Australorps, Ameraucaunas and Partrige Cochins.

But, our fuzzy, cute baby critter count was not done. The next morning, I waited for the 7:30 a.m. phone call from the post office alerting me to my box of babies waiting there. These babies were from the land of the "stars", California. Travelled a long way to see the Amish.

The newcomers are baby ducks and baby geese!

This is a baby Toulouse goose. Baby geese are the cutest of any baby feathered creature. Even the gander babies are adorable. This in direct contrast to their future personality. They make the most adorable "weeppeeppeep!" happy noises.

Jules is very invested in the babies. She would like to take one with her. They are good for hours of staring, because Mom has declared no tasting.

One of the goslings has a drink. They scoop water into their beak, and then throw their head back and move their beaks open and shut.

In order to get the babies used to people, this is me, on the computer, writing this blog. We hold the babies when we can, and talk to them. And, buttoned into my shirt, I have two hands free.

Bloggin' down on the farm, Amish style, with Chicks, man.  Wow. I am so uncool.

At the Prom in a New York Minute

At the risk of both exhausting and annoying you, intrepid reader of Cowfeathers Farm, I have been prompted, via text, to get crackin' with my report of The Day Now Past, Amen.
The Day Now Past (TDNP) lasted all day long.
Middlest was already trundled off to West Virginia for the Pony Club knowledge- fond-of- torture-fest known as Quiz. So, morning barn chores settled on my shoulders, I grabbed Youngest and off we went to the barn, and then packed the rest of the fam into the car, off west to collect one of our 4-H kids and take her and Eldest to their next State 4-H Ambassador training at the University. Less than 50 kids in the state of Ohio are chosen for the honor of Ambassador. Eldest will hold the position for life, but will be an active Ambassador for one year. This position will send her around the state, chatting up donors, being Master of Ceremonies for different 4-H events, speaking about 4-H to groups and being positioned at the Ohio State Fair for activities and award presentations. Yesterday's training was from 8:30 am to 4pm. Sharply dressed teens chatted in groups while waiting for rides to pull up and collect them in the afternoon rain. I spotted Eldest- she tends to tower over the other kids- searching for our car and then dashing out through the puddles in the awkward running-in-heels gait not displayed by female action stars. It was 3:47, and we were thankful for the extra 13 minutes.
It was raining, on Prom Night. Shu-bop-she-wadda-watta-dingie-di-ding-gi-dong (this for my fellow high school classmates that hand jived along with me in our 80's colossal production of Grease.)
Madeleine's date was expecting her at the high school at 5:15.
With a 45 minute drive home in the downpour, and a 20 minute drive to the high school, simple math (almost beyond my abilities at this point), told me we had 23 minutes after driving in the driveway to get Eldest ready for Prom. Since I wanted to take some photos of her at the house before putting her in the rain, I figured 4 minutes for photos left us with 19 minutes to get her coiffed, dressed, a little light makeup and to the car. Good thing she's gorgeous.
But we didn't make it. I misjudged photos- 6 minutes, and we had gotten a quarter mile from the house before remembering her date's boutonniere. The trip back added 4 minutes.
I guess it's not just city-folk who live in a New York Minute.
 Eldest's date was pleased to see us drive up to the front of the school, and came out to the car with an umbrella to collect her, and they exchanged flowers in the rain.

Home again, blessedly, an evening visit from Tary Mike, company and some wine, in preparation for the evening ahead.

At 11:15 pm, a call from Middlest, on their way back from W. Va, could we please collect her at Walgreens?

She  got in our car in triumph. Middlest's first Pony Club competition ending in a blue ribbon! Her team came in first place, handily. The most knowledgable.

TDNP ended waiting for Eldest to be delivered home from the dance. In the dark of the late night (early morning?) her date walked her to the door, still both looking rather dapper, if tired.

Amen.

7 hours and 17 minutes.

3 pm- girls get off bus
3:42 pm- finally corral Middlest into following me to barn and assisting in getting large board replaced after it's mysterious removal in a.m.
4:02- Youngest off the bus, told to practice talk while I get dressed for evening activities
4:26- leave with Middlest for Lancaster Walgreens parking lot, where we met with other Pony Club mom to drive girls to Quiz Practice (like college bowl, but about horses).
5:27- zoom west to Cowfeathers to collect Eldest and Youngest, note outfits inappropriate, enact clothing change for both, place necessary items (computer, jars, whipping cream) in car with children
6:01- screech into Pickaway County Fairgrounds for Eldest's 6:00 speech
6:03- sit down
6:10 - watch Eldest craft an excellent performance in the Senior Individual Speech or Demonstration in the Pickaway County 4-H Communications Contest. She was informative, funny, cute, captivating. Huh. She sets a high bar and 11 minutes later, I know way more about being a Drum Major. I'm giddy.
6:28- Huz arrives at contest after being stuck in traffic, missing Eldest's performance. :-( He is bereft.
7:35- After listening to several Junior speakers, it is Youngest's turn. Once again, we have a star. He speaks frankly, directly, bouncing with energy and information. He is making butter, explaining the biology of butter while cream turns to buttermilk and butter. His talk goes a little over, but as biased Mom, I could've listened forever. Audience is left stunned (I'm just sure of it).
8:12- Speeches, skits, Communications Contest is done, all but the awards. Our 4-H Club has put in a brilliant show, with one Senior speech, three Junior speeches and a Media design entry.
8:49- We are in the car, with one first place winner! The other first place winner is in Huz's car. Both Eldest and Youngest place first in the county, and are invited to compete in the State Communications Contest at the Ohio State Fair. We are hungry, but jazzed, and I'm wondering what has happened to Middlest, who has yet to contact me...
8:52- Get a hold of the wonderful Mom stepping in to squire Middlest to practice. They are nearly to Lancaster. Oops. So, zoom east again, to Walgreens.
9:24- Collect Middlest from large SUV decorated with "Quiz or Bust" slogans in preparation for tomorrow's trip to WVa. and the regional Pony Club Quiz Rally.
9:58- home. Do barn chores- poor critters! And, feed family?
10:03- putting on barn boots, Huz comes back from barn. It is done. And, he has fed himself and Eldest with sandwiches from Subway, and, has brought a sandwich back for Youngest and Middlest to share. My hero.
10:17- okay, Youngest, how much homework do you have? Can you do it before school tomorrow?

Eldest mugs for my camera before the talk begins.

During the talk, Eldest conducted the audience in "Happy Birthday".

One of our new Club members, does a demo on fire starting.

The head honcho of county 4-H introduces Youngest to the audience and judge panel.

Youngest gets shakin'.

Another member, new to our Club gives an excellent talk on fire safety.



An old hat to the Communications Contest, this year, Ems put her winning hand (and back) intoT-shirt design. 

In the category with the most competition, Youngest brings home the blue!

Leading the pack, Eldest gets some kudos.

Our Saddle and Sirloin 4-H Communication Contest Stars!

Walkin' hogs. ?

Okay, wow. Well, we have hogs, this you know. I have stopped singing "Chicago" in my head, and now expect to go see the happy little grunters a couple times a day. They like Mentos and marshmallows, and they like to lie in the straw and be scratched, like odoriferous big dogs. And, Youngest has to "walk" them. So far, this mainly entails encouraging them to leave the pen, singularly, and then following them around until they decide to go back. When Youngest shows "Wilbur" and "Willis" (names which caused Middlest to sniff her nose in disdain until I pointed out that she had called her geese "Henri" and "Henrietta"), he will walk them out of their pen, down a chute (no options in a chute) then pen the hog beside the show ring. When the judge points to him, he will open his pen, allow his hog out into the show ring- with the other hogs- and then close the pen behind himself. Then, he will try to locate his hog, and guide him to politely walk back and forth in front of the judge, no galloping, no rooting, no biting. In preparation for this, he will practice walking alongside the hog, and get him used to the idea of being guided. Seems like making the hog desire to do so is wise. I advise lots of bribery. 

The hog showman carries an instrument to help guide the hog. There are three main choices, a whip, a pipe made of plastic and a cane. The showman is supposed to tap the shoulder of the hog when he wants him to turn away from the tap. This takes a lot of practice. We don't have any of the preferred guidance aids yet, so Youngest is using one of my dressage whips. It is the right size, but oh, how I dread trying to collect Oslo's trot and smelling hog.

So far, I have been pleased by the piggies not going for a run. I mean, there is nothing between our yard and Canada, and if he made it across the border I do believe he'd be welcomed as bacon, eh?

Meanwhile, a much more sensible way to walk an animal is with a halter and lead rope, right Middlest?

Eldest just steers fairly clear of the barn and it's unruly creatures. Here she is getting ready to address the local Kiwanis, as a Kiwanis Academic Scholar, about high school academics and plans for the future.

And, for those of you who always buy white eggs in cartons at the grocery store, you're missing out on variety. I call this little fairy tale "The Three Bears", with an appropriate amount of sympathy for the hen who managed "Papa Bear." Ouch. And, yes, the eggs are blue and green. All by themselves.

Destination; Charlottesville Virginia

Before there were hogs, there was vacation. To end vacation, I pushed the fam into swinging a bit to the left of Ohio trajectory and landing in Virginia. University of, to be precise. See, Eldest is gettin' up there and it is time to go college looking. What better place to start than UVA in the springtime. Pure collegiate seduction. Although not all family members could be considered enthusiastic about my plan, they at least were persuaded by the enthusiasm of the second part of my plan- seeing their cousins. So, to Charlottesville we went.
And, UVA is just beautiful.
We parked in the parking garage the Internet had guided me to look for, and then stumbled around a bit. Looking lost prompted a student to stop and ask "Can I help you find something?" Ah, Southern Hospitality already (okay, so it was basic politeness, but you get starved for these things after moving out of the South). She directed us to admissions,  where we picked up information and headed towards the "Lawn". This, the Lawn, is the showpiece of UVA. Topped by the rotunda, the Lawn ripples down, wide and crowned by tall trees, lined by 200 year old Greek style temples separated by rooms where the privileged still vie to live, even though they have no potties. That is the true mark of prestige, a room where kids want to live, even though they have to go outside to go potty. Although, if my college memories are accurate, not all college kids are very particular.
We lurked outside the chapel, waiting for the tour (which was full) to finish their orientation and then, when they came outside into the sunshine we joined Marcus Leibowitz, first year student from New Jersey. He wants to be an Orthodontist (jeez, I miss the South, but I miss the Northeast too). Marcus was the tour guide, and after approximately 10 minutes, Eldest whispered "I love it here, I want to go to UVA.". Sometimes I wonder about my underlying motives. Why, when I'd love to have her stay nearby, go to OSU, do I feel compelled to show her what it would be like to spread her wings?

Fam on the Lawn.

Even Middlest enjoyed UVA, and Youngest planted himself right next to Marcus, our tour guide, and between stops on the tour peppered him with questions.

 After leaving the bookstore at UVA, purchasing a shirt for Eldest and a postcard for Middlest, we headed back out to the car, and the dogs- very happy to see us. We drove a bit around, found the new Marching Band building, much to Eldest's delight and saw full tennis courts and tidy, massive sorority houses. Then, over hill and through dale to Aunt E. and Uncle D.'s house!

This was our first visit to this house, and it is adorable. Set in a cozy holler, with a honest to goodness babbling brook running so close to the house, you'd think it wanted to come to dinner.  It is a perfect kind of house in my estimation. It started as one thing and then each generation has added it's own notion of home. It rambles on and disorients you and surprises over and over. And, although my sis pointed out the overall sogginess of living in a holler, spooning with a creek, the gardens are verdant, soothing and beautiful. And, they have a best rock!

Cousins watch Aunt E. in dinner preparation.

My Middlest and E.'s Middlest look pretty much the same from the back. This is the back of their heads, pressed together.

Cousins! A bit murky to figure out who's whose....
I get to claim the  boy.

Hogfeathers

In the musical "Chicago", there are songs that pick you up, grab you and don't let you go. Cell Block Tango for one, "Momma" Morton's slimy power song another. But, yesterday, as I climbed up into Blondie and maneuvered the truck and trailer around in the driveway to head out, another song kept repeating in my head, over and over, and only one line from the song "Nobody's Got No Class". The line? "Holy s***" I don't know if it being put to song made it more acceptable in my brain, or what, but it was there, and still keeps coming around. This is because I capably shred any last clingy bits of my gossamer shroud of sanity and took Youngest to buy two hogs.
Hogs.
Let me revue; we have horses, sheep, ducks, chickens, a prehistoric dinosaur, dogs, cats and a kitchen full of annoying little ants. And, now? Yes. Hogs.
To be clear, it was not one of those, "So, Bud, what should we do this afternoon?" "Hmmm. I know, Mom, let's go get some hogs!" This has been a drop trembling on the edge of an over full cup for a while. Youngest has wanted hogs for years. He is interested by the hog show at the fair and when he was about 5 announced he was going to show pigs. Third grade is the first year they can actually show animals at the county fair, and I thought I was toast back then. That was until the 3rd grade class read Charlotte's Web. Youngest came home, all teary, and said "I don't think I can take a pig this year, Mom." Sad for him and reality, but thankful for reprieve, I comforted him and said "Of course, baby. Some other time perhaps." Accompanied by some discreet fist pumping and a happy dance. So, now, made it to fifth grade, and screwing his courage to the sticking spot he determined he was ready.
He got books from the library, even read some of them, on small scale pig farming. I helped him determine where the pigs could be housed  (NOT in my barn) and Kendra and I spent a day cleaning out the back of one of the tractor bays and attempting to make it pig-proof. And, he went into action, calling people  who might know someone who might have pigs he could buy, and then calling those people. As, you might have figured, hogs are not all that common. Where there are hogs, there are bunches and bunches and no humans within miles, because, and this is no joke; Hogs smell bad. Really bad. And this is coming from a woman who makes her living fixing things that smell really bad, I mean, rotting skin and impacted anal glands ain't no bed of roses. And still, pigs are truly, deeply, madly stinky. There goes any hope of outdoor dinner parties this spring.
But Youngest went to a pig auction to learn how to choose a good show pig, he called a dear friend and neighbor whose children used to raise hogs and take them to fair and borrowed their waterer and feeder. He found someone who would sell him pigs and arranged to come get them, negotiated a price and asked me to drive, writing down the address and double checking the cell number in case we got lost. Whereupon the soundtrack from Chicago crept noisily into my brain. The kid is eleven, and all I have to do is drive? Okay. Okay. Holy s***, we have pigs.
Now, I wondered, why is this freaking me out so much? I like pigs. They are funny and meaty, and lazy and smart. I know I'm going to get attached, but the smelly part will make me miss them less, and I'll be so busy trying to bolster Youngest's spirits when they head off in that trailer to the slaughterhouse, that I won't feel much sorrow for myself. So, why the large dose of panic?
They don't lead. I cannot pick them up. They don't come when you call them, and yet, they need to get out of their pen every day and have a walk. So, I keep wondering.... when I walk out with Youngest, and we open the pen and let out 120 lbs of hog for a walk...then what? Will he come back? How far can a hog run before it gets tired? Chasing it around won't work, as you can't actually catch it and lead it anywhere, or beg it to follow you. These have not been pet pigs. They don't exactly see people as a plus. So, between Youngest and I they have been visited 4 times this morning. They have been brought oatmeal, carrots, coleslaw and some potato skins. I scrambled up an egg, and look forward to making them some lunch. I want them to see Youngest, or me, and visualize a ticket to gastric nirvana. Here, piggy, piggy, piggy. Holy.

When they arrived, Youngest filled their feeder, tested the waterer, and began to spread straw so they would have a nice soft bed.

Here they are, both "barrows", or castrated males. They are filthy now, but I look forward to Youngest giving them baths when it is a bit warmer, and we conquer that "will they come back" question. Youngest is working on names, and they switch frequently. I'll keep you posted on the final choice.

Vacation.



Yummie's sheep (well two of them, anyway). Maryland in March.

Morning starts with coffee, paper and a fire in the fireplaces. Why? Because March in Maryland is a little chilly. 



But March doesn't stop Youngest from attacking the pool. No turning back now!

Even Middlest braved the waters "It's really cold!"

And the dogs? Well, Tucker is a long standing fan of the cove at Wing and Wing. Julia was trying it for the first time. So, Middlest (yes, in jeans, sweater and scarf), rolled up her pants and wandered in with her. It wasn't too long before Middlest was in the drink well past her knees (so she had me hold the scarf).

Tucker hasn't gotten to retrieve sticks without competition since I brought Jules home. He was thrilled! Julia was a bit frustrated. Not a swimmer, evidently.

In the center is the osprey nest behind Wing and Wing. Only, if you have really good eyes, you can see that the bird on the nest has a white ring around her black neck. That is a Canada Goose. Usurper. The osprey are upset and fly about, but the goose doesn't want to give up her stolen nest. This distresses my mom, who fancies herself as the great bird equalizer. Protector of the weak (mom designated: Osprey and Bluebirds) long arm of the law for the greedy (mom designated: Exhibit "A"- pooping bird from the North, and sparrows) Watch out Canada. She's gunnin' for ya.

Here she goes out to the Osprey nest to launch illegal, loud, usually celebratory combustibles over the nest, making Canada, reasonably, leave. Temporarily, at least. And, yes, that is Youngest with her in the "Yumvee" passenger seat, which means my mother is teaching my son some sort of lesson....maybe I shouldn't dwell.

Most of the photos end up being action shots. Eldest isn't real central when it comes to the action. She's into more laid-back pursuits. Designated watcher when it comes to swimming in March, kayaking in March, Sailing in March. Who could say she isn't being the wise one?

And, she may come by her sense naturally.

 Youngest doesn't roll like that, though. He is ACTION CENTRAL. Kayaking? You bet. Swimming, biking, digging, delivering, visiting, baking, running? Sure. "Yummie, what's next?"

 Tucker is also up for just about anything. Poised to follow the arc of the stick Youngest is about to toss into that ever-so-warm looking bay.

And, no moss growing on this stone, either, Middlest has outfitted the sunfish with assistance from  Poppie, and off she goes. The kid can sail. Cool.

 Jules, hanging on the dock, as the earlier attempt to leap to the oyster floats was a big, ol' FAIL.

Okay, you've seen Youngest swimming, and kayaking, Middlest swimming and sailing and even Eldest hanging out on the dock in a tank top. This is a picture of me and the two action kids. I am sunbathing on the beach. ( photo credit to Huz, who was standing- I am obliged to point that out due to previous pic)

Middlest takes Cleo the mini-donk for a cove side stroll.
Vacation.