Conversations with Clement, #87

Clement: "Daddy, if you were stuck on a roof, how would you get down?"

Me: "I would call for help."

Clement: "But nobody would hear you."

Me: "Well, then I would be stuck."

Clement: "But you could fly down."

Me: "I'm not a bird. I don't have wings."

Clement: "Then make some."

Me: "With what?"

Clement: "Paper."

Me: "But I wouldn't have any paper up on the roof."

Clement: "Then you should bring some up with you."

Lesson #207

Lesson number #207 of farm life is to check the car after the kids have opened it in the morning to play, to ensure that there isn't a poor kitten locked inside all day when it's a sweltering 95 degrees outside. Poor Una. She's soaked with sweat, but it looks like she will survive!

Romantic in theory, not always so in reality

Now that Franz painted you a romantic ideal of what it is to want to work your land and have animals, I am going to give a view of the realities. Yesterday is a great example of how not every day is a beautiful flow in the tapestry of idyllic life.

It started out great. I was so excited about getting our horses the day before that I volunteered to do morning chores. Normally lately, I have all too happily given Franz the duty, wanting to be a slug-abed. But not so yesterday;  I wanted to be the first to greet our newest additions, Stella my filly mare, and Tarcy, Franz's stud colt. It was pleasant doing the milking and watching the horses stick their heads over the stall door, watching greedily while the goats munched on their feed while being milked. The goats and horses are mutually curious of each other. What is really funny is to watch the saucer eyes of our kitties, Siena and Una, who have not seen such large animals as the horses before.

Okay, back on track. I finished the chores and all was well. I came in with the milk and put it in the fridge, and we had breakfast together. Afterwards the boys and I headed outside, me to drink my tea on the porch and gaze at the horses in the pasture while the boys happily explored and got into things in the garage and yard. Ideal??? So far, yes....It was a beautiful morning.

Well, Franz had to get going. He was going to help someone move and try to work some on his dissertation at the Seminary library. The boys and I kept busy setting up the tack room and doing things outside till lunch time. Then we all headed in. I made lunch and, after making sure each finished his food, which took Clement 45 minutes (apparently Clement feels we should always eat hotdogs; I think he had too much junk food while traveling to and from Wisconsin and has become a bit spoiled). Anyway, I then put Cletus down for his nap. Cyprian and Clement got to watch a movie, so I could sneak in a nap with Cletus. Well, afternoon rolled around hot and sluggish. I had to go check and water all the animals. I brought all the boys out with me since Cletus was up from his nap. Lastly we watered the horses. I let the boys all clamber into the pen, telling them to stay close to me and only let the horses come up to them if they wanted to. Cyprian and Cletus have absolutely no fear and adore the horses. Horses are funny; they seem to be very drawn to youngsters, which is neat and frightening. So, with me constantly having to rescue Cletus and caution Cyprian, we eventually got the horses watered. Cletus took this opportunity to have a splash bath with the filling stock tank. Clement the whole time was contentedly observing and hanging out with the  chickens. He did eventually come by me and the horses but is more cautious than his brothers.

Franz came home and he wanted to work on his pen for the meat chicks. I had several things to drop off at the library and wanted to pick up some toppings to put on the pizzas I was making for supper. I had asked the boys earlier what we should have for supper and Clement replied that he would really like pizza because he hadn't had any for awhile. So, after getting the dough ready and setting it in the warm oven, I set Cyprian and Clement up with a movie. Yes, I know I resorted to this tactic twice in one day; I guess I am not going to win the mother of the year award.

So, I took Cletus with me to town, stopping at the library and grocery store. Back at home I went to work on the pizzas while Franz continued working on the pen and the boys were finishing their movie. Now you will really think I am a bad mom because I had them watching Cinderella. I like fairy tales... Maybe the next Klein will be a girl.... I got a pizza in the oven and was finishing the second, and the temperature was 88 in the house. Whew. I had Clement ring the dinner bell to bring Franz in. He came and we ate supper.

I decided I would milk because Franz wanted to get back to his project. Taking all the boys out with us we started evening chores. I locked Cletus and Clement in the barn with me so that I could keep tabs on them. Clement was playing in the tack room telling me that it is his house. Cletus decided he wanted to join him and did so. I was milking Caroline and had finished and went to the tack room to grab the hoof cutters. Cletus was playing with the cat food. I promptly took him out and went to trim Caroline's hooves. Caroline was unhappy because I had added alfalfa to their feed and it is not as tasty apparently. So I was struggling to finish her hooves. Oh, before that I did make sure to run her milk in and set it for kefir. Meanwhile Clement became unhappy about something and started throwing a tantrum. When he cries hard it usually ends with him wetting himself, which he did in the middle of the barn floor making a puddle. I told him to go take off his wet clothes and leave them on the deck and go rinse off with the hose. He threw a bit more of a fit, then finally went and did so.

Meanwhile I started milking Tam. I heard a crash and and Franz saying, "Are you okay, Cyprian?", and then Cyprian crying. Apparently, according to Cyprian, as he told me later, "Daddy did not build the roof strong enough" Franz was working on the roof of the meat chickens pen and didn't realize Cyprian was underneath and it fell on him. Thankfully he was okay but a bit bruised.

I looked over at Cletus and discovered him raking his hands through the cat litter. I started to yell (I am working on that bad habit) and was fuming because of the annoyance, and I went and pulled him out of the litter box. I still had to finish milking Tam and also trim her hooves. While trimming I had Cyprian take in the jar of Tam's milk. He got distracted and was climbing a tree and left the jar sitting in the sun on the deck. Patience is a virtue that I was not showing. We did get the milk in but what seriously can take me ten minutes took thirty. I had fed the chickens and pigs but had not yet watered them. I decided I would put Cletus on the screen porch. When doing so I discovered Cyprian sitting in wet pants because apparently when the roof fell on him he wet. Ugh, I was not feeling very nice. So ordering all the boys to stay on the porch and Cyprian to change, I went out to the horses. I caught Stella and was leading her around in the pasture. I could hear wailing and fighting and was trying to block it out. Yep, I am definitely not getting mommy of the year...

After rounding up the horses and locking them in their paddock. I headed in the direction of wailing. Cletus was the one complaining. Cyprian was still not out of his wet clothes, and Clement was running around with no clothing from the waist down.

I thought, all right, I just need to get them ready for bed. Coming in, I saw the leftover pizza was still sitting out, there was a trail of dirt and manure on the floor, dishes piled high and clean clothes dragged all over the floor and a scattering of toys. Trying to ignore the mess I started putting pajamas on. After chasing and tackling reluctant boys who declared tearfully that they really were not tired even though they couldn't stop fighting and sniveling. I did get them into pajamas. Now we had to brush teeth. Cletus loves this, Clement wants you to do it for him, and Cyprian gets distracted and has to be prompted several times. Finally finished we went and sat on the screen porch. Clement rang the bell to call Franz in. He wasn't quite finished so I decided to start the rosary with the boys in their room. By the time we actually got started and had said our intentions Franz came in. So we prayed our family rosary.

Afterwards I was discouragingly looking at my house of disaster. I started washing dishes and was mentally thinking over everything that should be done before bed. Franz graciously took my load of laundry that I had to wash twice out to hang and finished animals chores such as filling the horses hay net, bringing in my slop container, giving more water to animals etc.

I was able to work hard at putting my kitchen to rights: getting all the dishes washed everything wiped down the floor swept, rugs shook out and everything picked up. I did not fold all the scattered clean clothes but gathered them and put them on the couch. I made a pile of toys and decided that my house was presentable enough for me to go to bed and sleep.

So there you have it. It is a romantic notion and does have it beautiful moments. But the reality is that there is a lot of hardship that can cause frustration and work, though hopefully and ultimately it is the hard won moments of beauty and peace that make it so worth the effort....

First thoughts on chickens

Although horses might be more exciting, I've always had an affinity for chickens. Even living in town growing up, we kept a sizable flock in the backyard coop. We had our own eggs and meat. And the most fun part was raising heritage breeds to show at the local county fair.

Here I am with a Best-in-Show Wyandotte, probably in the Fall of '97 or '98.

While renting the place in Dallas, Rosemary and I finally got to raise some chickens of our own. The professor who leased us the house allowed me to construct a chicken coop and run, and we built up a thriving business selling eggs to professors and fellow graduate students at the university. In fact, we made enough money to cover all the feed expenses and even to purchase our raw milk supply.

Here are a few pictures from the Texas years:

Cyprian being chased (or chasing?) our Texas chickens, his beloved pet turtle shell (yes, it's a real shell) in hand.

Larry, my rooster (may he rest in peace!). St. Lawrence, the early martyr, was reportedly grilled alive, telling his torturers, "Turn me over; I'm done on this side." Larry the Rooster, on the other hand, ceased crowing long before his untimely end in a crock pot. 

Look at that smile. You would almost think Rosemary likes cleaning chickens!

Here in North Carolina, Rosemary scouted out the cheapest hatchery before we had even closed on the house. All but a few meat chickens survived the arduous two-day postal journey all the way from Iowa and were soon under a heat lamp in the garage.

The chicks on arrival.

Even the broilers are cut as babies!

Our current flock, which is now 2 1/2 months old, consists of 14 or so broiler meat chickens and 20-some of a variety of other breeds--California Whites, Americaunas, Rainbow Layers, Production Reds, Isa Golds, Australorps, and Barred Rocks. Since most were unsexed straight run, we'll have more than a few roosters vying for dominance (and, for that matter, for avoidance of the crock pot!). The non-roosters will become our flock of layers. Three or four months from now, we should start getting enough eggs not only for ourselves, but also for colleagues and friends.

So, why chickens? First of all, they're fun animals to have around. They love you because you're their source of feed. Their hierarchy/pecking order is a lot of fun to observe. The crowing of the rooster is a beautiful sound early in the morning (well, maybe once you're used to it), as is the cackling of the hens as they lay their eggs in the morning. From a romantic standpoint, chickens part-and-parcel of living on a farm.

Of course, there are the practical reasons: meat and eggs. In Texas, we were accustomed to putting a whole chicken in the crock pot and getting several meals from it. There was a definite difference between the flavorful white and dark meat. And even the organs are tasty. Just ask Cyprian, who would vie with me for the heart every time we cooked a new chicken. By way of contrast, here in North Carolina we stocked up on 80 pounds of boneless chicken breasts. While they were "all natural" (what does that mean, exactly?) and antibiotic free, the breasts are uniformly tasteless apart from whatever spices we cook them with. I was reminded of how good free-range chicken is the other day when I helped a fellow St. Catherine's parishioner--a gentleman with a family of eight (with another on the way!) who is also beginning to homestead--to process 20 chickens. He paid me with a chicken, which quickly made its way into the crock pot. The difference is unmistakable. 

Our own 14 meat chickens are common broilers, bred specifically to put on weight quickly. Yes, heritage breeds would be even tastier (and we'll get some of those later on when we butcher the excess roosters), but broilers have a lot more meat on them and reach processing weight twice as fast. They're already twice as big as the heritage breed chickens. Due to cost considerations, ours eat conventional feed. But they get plenty of space to roam about and greens and table scraps in addition to the feed. 

Big, fat broilers. Phew, eating is a lot of work!

I'm currently building the meat chickens a second pen so that I can "finish" them apart from the layers.

The meat chickens' pen-in-progress

Currently all the chickens are residing in the main chicken coop, converted from one of the horse stalls. A colleague helped me to dig the fence post holes and construct a large run extending from the stall. I've built a roost and a feed trough, and, later on, I'll be adding nesting boxes. We also plan to let them out of the run regularly once they're a little bigger.

The main chicken run.

Chickens in their run.

Horsing around

Since we added horses to the Shire today, I figure it's worth writing a second post. One of the days last week, while Cyprian, Clement, and I were visiting family in Wisconsin, Rosemary was out front mowing the grass with Cletus on her back. As she tells it, a guy pulled up in a pickup truck and randomly started talking about horses. I guess having a pasture up front leads to conversations of this sort. That the guy was a neighbor who is in the process of buying a restaurant and who didn't have the time he had anticipated to work with some of his younger horses. He ended up offering Rosemary two of his horses--Tennessee Walkers--for free. Obviously we're aware that horses can be costly to keep and that the horses therefore aren't really free. But imagine Rosemary, who sold her horses when we moved to Dallas and made me promise that someday she'd have horses again. It seemed rather provident.

Well, today was the day, and it was an adventure. The neighbor called in a professional trainer who works with some of his horses. And it turned out to be a good thing. Untrained horses apparently don't like to go where you would like them to. And they especially don't like to cross blacktopped roads. It was quite the sight, with random neighbors and people stopping to watch, smoke cigarettes, and offer advice--and in one case to help--as the horses stalled and balked. Rosemary's filly mare, whom she named Stella, went first. It was difficult but without incident. Mine, a stud colt who will go by the name of Tarcisius, was another story. He was absolutely certain touching the blacktop would kill him and acted accordingly, at one point running all the way back to the neighbors despite the fact we were leading his mother in front of him. So, some scraps and bruises and even some spills later, we finally crossed the road. I think that a horse's answer to the question "Why did the chicken cross the road?" would be something like, "He wasn't as stubborn as a horse." Good thing we were more stubborn.

The horses are now safely ensconced in the back paddock since the trainer said they needed time to get used to our lush pasture. Tarcisius's mother is with them to help him with the transition.

Stella--Latin for "star"--gets her name because there's a white patch on her forehead. Tarcisius gets his name mainly because Rosemary liked it. But, in the interest of having some reason behind the name, I looked up the story I remembered of a heretic, who told St. Anthony of Padua that he wouldn't believe in Christ's Real Presence in the Holy Eucharist unless a horse would genuflect before the Sacred Species. As the story goes, St. Anthony held the Blessed Sacrament in one hand and oats in the other. Sure enough, the horse bent one knee and bowed his head to acknowledge Christ's presence. Be patient--there's another step in this labored rationale for the name... Tarcisius was the name of a boy martyr from the era of the Christian persecutions. Tarcisius was carrying the Eucharist to other Christians when he was ambushed and beaten by a mob of other boys. I believe he's the patron saint of altar boys. So, in this belabored, convoluted way, Tarcisius is an excellent name for a horse in a Catholic household. ;-)

Here are Stella (left) and Tarcisius (right): 

Here's a closer shot of Tarcisius. He's a little shy of two years and hasn't been worked with at all. Earlier this afternoon when we put them in the paddock, I caught him and put some healing salve on the cut he got during the transfer. Tennessee Walking Horses have a calm disposition, and though he is currently skittish, I can tell that he'll be far calmer once the trauma of the move has passed.

Here is Tarcisious acting babyish and hiding behind his mother. Stella is in the background.

Stella is up front in this picture.

All three horses are looking towards the neighbor's pasture, across and a little farther down the road, where a bossy gelding is demanding that they return asap.

Incipit

In the beginning there was... a farm.

Actually, the terms "beginning" and "farm" are both a little misleading. Though April 22nd marked a beginning of sorts with the purchase of the Shire, Rosemary and I have wanted to have a place of our own for years now, probably due in large part to way we were raised. Rosemary grew up out in the country with horses, and even I, a city-boy, grew up on a large plot, weeding the garden and showing my chickens and turkeys every year at the local county fair. Our first "beginning" together was our first year of marriage in an old, rented Wisconsin farmhouse while I wrote for a newspaper. Our animals consisted of a mother cat, who bore kittens, and our garden yielded a few tomatoes. Then it was off to Dallas to pursue graduate studies with our oldest--then seven months old--in tow. One of our kittens came with us too, but that first year in the big city we lived in a small apartment, far removed from country life. The last three years in Dallas we were able to rent a house on a few acres from a professor, who also allowed us to build a chicken coop and raise chickens--a true God-send that helped Rosemary to tolerate city life. Alas, all good things come to an end (though the Lord always prepares something better), and soon we were in Raleigh, North Carolina, where I had found a prep school teaching position. Our first year here in North Carolina was spent in a rented house with a strict no-pet policy in suburban Wake Forest, longingly perusing properties on the internet. Finally, with the tax refund money in hand in February, the time was right, and we practically pounced when a property within the range of my modest teacher's salary became available. April 22nd might not have been the beginning, but it was certainly an important one.

The term "farm" is also a tad misleading. What constitutes a farm, after all? I noticed that farm truck registration in North Carolina is only available if one has at least ten acres. Since the Shire is only 2 1/4 acres, it seems the state doesn't think we're much of a farm. And admittedly, we're not. I certainly couldn't quit my teaching job and expect to eek out a living on these two acres. But Rosemary and I are optimistic that we can live a sustainable lifestyle--raising a great deal of our own food, both meat and crops--and even earn a little side income. Perhaps most importantly, we believe that we can inculcate in our children a love and respect for God's creation in an environment like this. I had to smile the other day when Cyprian, our oldest, after spending a little too much time by our feeder pigs, noted, "Daddy, I smell like a real farm boy!" I really don't like the term "hobby farm" because what we're doing isn't so much a hobby as it is a way of life. Sure, we'll shower before heading into town for church, but there's something right about getting dirty and working with one's hands, even if one doesn't have to. I'm fully aware that we're not dependent on the capriciousness of the seasons and the volatility of the market in the same way as real farmers, but Rosemary and I want to get our hands dirty; and in an romantic, idealistic sort of way we want our children to get their hands dirty too, to learn the value of hard work, to learn what they're capable of accomplishing.

So, it's not really the beginning, and Kleinshire isn't really a farm, but that's okay. It's both a beginning of sorts and a farm, at least for me and Rosemary. And this blog, by the way, is a joint venture of ours, with Rosemary writing some posts and me others. It's probably for family and friends, simply an outlet to share what we're doing with family back in Wisconsin and our many friends from Dallas and elsewhere. If it attracts a wider readership, then maybe we'll change things up and get more professional; but I've seen some pretty fancy sustainable lifestyle blogs out there, and I don't think we have the ambition at present to aspire to that level of greatness.

Let me end this first post by sharing what Kleinshire is and what we've accomplished thus far. As I noted, the property is 2 1/4 acres. It's located a mile or two outside of the small town of Bunn, North Carolina, 35 minutes from the school where I teach and nearly 30 minutes from our current parish, St. Catherine of Siena in Wake Forest. We're a ways out due to high property values closer to the city. Though the house is small, the property came with a large, two-car garage; a four-stall horse barn; and two fenced pastures.

Here's the land survey:

Here's a photo from the far right of the property looking towards the house and barn:

Here's the horsebarn

The back pasture, looking toward the right side of the property:

Rosemary's goats:

Ella, our baby goat:

Milking Tam: 

Straining the milk:

Our feeder pigs, Ham and Bacon

My first big project (building a chicken run extending from one of the horse stalls):

Our chicks (forty, including 14 meat chicks and our future flock of laying hens):

Clement and Cyprian hanging out in their new fort: