Remembering the Weir

I was reminded recently of the natural rush to complete the harvest at this time of year.  The fact that very few people weed and hoe, pick and process to secure adequate harvest for the Winter months does little to change this pattern of millenniums.  Back to school, back to work after vacation, back inside after a Summer spent outside all trigger a similar instinctual response:  "Am I ready?  Have I gathered up enough to see me through?".  The rush of time passing, the hectic flow of friends and neighbors all reacting to the change of season can feel inescapable.

Molly Hiatt for Power Yoga Company's Summer photo contest 2012

I love this picture of my friend Kathy's daughter Molly.  Posing for a yoga studio sponsored contest, she embodies the peace of someone who has looked inside and answered, "Yes, I have what I need."  The photo was taken in the middle of Shibuya Crossing in Tokyo - one of the busiest intersections in the world. When the lights turn red at this busy junction, traffic stops completely and pedestrians surge into the intersection from all sides.  Many, many times each day.  Every day.  

I am fascinated by the blur of human intention:  only one of those pedestrians looks back at Molly.  What is he thinking?  What about everybody else?  I wonder how that one moment in their day impacted them.  Were they so focused on the flow that Molly's lovely pose slid right past them?

I wonder how many Molly's I miss.  The energy of the weir is about more than simply slowing the rate of flow.  In the slower, calmer, eddying liquid, solid objects precipitate out.  Resources that have been gathered up and carried along separate and settle.  Without weir zones, all manner of tresures are swept out to sea, a space so vast the likelihood of a single resource being found and recognized is slim.

What I love best about Molly's photo is that the necessary resources - her flexibility, strength, and balance - are already within her, hard won and polished.  Seeing those skills juxtaposed against the visual opposite makes them easy to recognize as treasures.  My favorite photos of harvest are just like that; pieces of sustaining nutrition against a backdrop of Autumn's dying vegetation. 

Me in the completely empty intersection in a parade-ready downtown Walla Walla

Now the days are growing noticeably shorter.  The alarm clock calls me to get busy before it's even light outside.  I feel the pull to go slowly, to catch those treasures that may have drifted close to the shore before I rejoin the crazy collective rush.  The new routine is starting to catch hold and old dreams are becoming real again.  It's certainly the best time to be alive. 

Entering the Birth Canal

I know, this title is rather graphic but it's sure what it feels like inside my life right now.  I remember all the pregnancy books trying with words on flat paper to help me understand the absolute impossibility of something that big coming out of down there.  Their comforting advice ranges from "You're almost done," to "It's intense but quick." and "I'm sorry, you can't give up now."  With nine months (or more accurately 40 weeks which is technically 10 months) of good solid achievement behind you, it all comes down to those few hours where pregnancy ends and a whole new life begins.

You can't make it go faster.  You can't skip steps.  You've just got to live it with as much grace as possible.  Endings are crazy like that.  I imagine if I had the luxury of movie-screen reviews of all the assorted episodes my life has spawned thus far, I might be able to pick out where the endings ended and where the beginnings got started.  But right in the middle of it, my head just feels squished.

I am very aware of my own birthday this year - it falls on the first day after I am no longer working as an accountant at Silver Creek.  It falls on the day that I'll take a road trip with my oldest child who is entering her Senior year of High School - confident and shiny and choosing for herself what her beginnings will look like.  We are driving to the other side of the state to witness the Parade Review of my youngest child who is entering her first year of High School - determined to shape a life for herself that fits rather than fitting into the life in which she finds herself.  We leave the tending of the farm to my true love who says that here, in this third half of his life, he's going to do what he wants.

It all feels rather intense but I know that it will be quick.  And that soon, I'll even be through the beginning, immersed in my new normal.  So it seems important to look around at this moment, to notice everything.  I don't want to skip any steps.  It occurs to me that this ending-beginning that I think is just about starting a new job might be part of an ending-beginning that I can't even see yet.  In these last weeks before my birthday, I feel more like I am participating with the ending than ever before.  Beginnings are easy for me to jump into full-on, to try on the new wardrobe and begin speaking the new lingo.  Maybe it's because I'm older this year, but it feels more like choosing the endings than taking on the beginnings.

Ahhhh, here I am trying to use words on a flat screen to describe the chaotic inbreath before a new life starts.  What I set out to do in today's post was to share this passage from "Now You See It" by Cathy Davidson:

"Learning, in this sense, is skill and will, an earned conviction that, faced with a challenge ahead, this past achievement will get one through.  You can count on your ability to learn, and nowhere is that more important than when what you've learned in the past no longer suffices for the future.  That is the glistening paradox of great education:  It is not about answering test questions.  It is about knowing that, when tested by the most grueling challenges ahead, you have the capacity to learn what is required to succeed.

It is in this sense that unlearning is a skill as vital as learning.  It is a skill you have to acquire, too.  Unlearning requires that you take an inventory of your changed situation, that you take an inventory of your current repertoire of skills, and that you have the confidence to see your shortcomings and repair them.  Without confidence in your ability to learn something new, it is almost impossible to see what you have to change in order to succeed against a new challenge...Confidence in your ability to learn is confidence in your ability to unlearn, to switch assumptions or methods or partnerships in order to do better."

 I think that's what feels different this year - I'm more confident in my ability to choose for myself how my endings will look, the unraveling of "normal" is just as exciting and full of potential as the opening up of the new way of being.  Letting a routine, whether it's a habit of behavior or a way of thinking, dissolve back into its essential pieces is rather thrilling...IF... I am not afraid of being left without anything to hold onto.  If I am confident in the pieces and not just the entire complete picture, why, then I could rearrange my favorite pieces into just about anything! 

I think that Jeff, who is indeed one year older than I am already, knows what he is talking about.

Butchering Chickens

 In my friend Jane's novel "Because of the Red Fox", two young characters discuss the eating of chickens lovingly raised.  It's a pretty typical interchange that had me giggling out loud at the oft heard disagreement over what to call the killing of chickens in order to eat them.  Butchering, harvesting, processing, or Jeff's own phrase "sending them to freezer camp."  In my opinion (and that of Jane's characters), calling the task "butchering" does not make it more or less than exactly what it is.  And in the pictures below, you will see that it is indeed done with care for both the chicken and the family whose table they shall grace. 

Losing Gjynni

Today's post was supposed to be about the inevitable dichotomy of a farmer's life.  It was the first butcher day in our Pastured Poultry program.  Those first little chickies that hatched on April 1st are now ready to eat.  How could I love the little guys so much and still eat them?  Where does death fit into the life of a farmer who loves her animals?

Sadly, wherever and whenever the universe so chooses.  The dichotomy of life and death I referred to above was intended to juxtapose the incredible miracle of saving Gjynni's life last weekend from Milk Fever and the intentional taking of a chicken's life to provide meat to our friends and neighbors.  Instead I must report that our sweet Gjynni died last night.  Jeff believes that another extreme wave of Milk Fever occurred sometime after midnight and she simply could not survive.

Just across the fence at our neighbor's farm, a new calf was born all bright red and bouncy.  The farmer's partner was lifeflighted out of the County in the wee hours of the morning with a heart attack.  And Jeff still butchered the first batch of chickens in our Pastured Poultry program and delivered them to our friends and neighbors.

So, this week, I ask you to do me another favor.  Keep all your eyes open and your ears clear.  It seems like the universe is in a mood.  With much care to you all,   Lisa

Watching Gjynni

We've come to the time on our little farm that I'm sure our pretty Gjynivieve dreads.  I stare at her butt all day long.

No really, I do.  She's due to calve any moment and while she's a very easy birther, she is prone to Milk Fever.  If you've never heard of Milk Fever, I can tell you that it is easily one of the most frightening experiences in the life of a farmer, especially one who loves her animals.  Described as "a derangement of calcium mobilization when the demands for calcium to the udder for milk outstrip the ability of the bones to release it," Milk Fever can quickly become fatal. I posted our first experience with Milk Fever here.  I tend to watch Gjynni unceasingly.  She tends to avoid me at all costs.

Farmer in a Three Piece Suit - Must be Love

Fast forward 24 hours.  I was finishing my day at work, answering the phone, "Good afternoon, Silver Creek.  This is Lisa."

"Mama - it's Zoe.  Gjynni's down."


Numbers and office etiquette are gone from my mind.  Jeff and Rae had left the farm for an event outside the County just a couple hours before.  Zoe was home alone.  Fortunately, Zoe will be a vet some day.  "Has she had the calf?"

"Yeah, he's laying at the bottom of the hill.  Mama, he's not breathing very well.  Can you come home now?"

"Tell me what Gjynni is doing."

"She's laying with her head down hill.  She's breathing very hard.  Mama, can you come home right now?"

I'm on my way.  My beautiful co-workers ask "Baby on the way?"  No admonition that I still have 10 minutes to work, no suggestion that perhaps we just let Nature have her way.  Thank you Tracy and Cissy and Silver Creek.

At home, Gjynni is laying with her legs stretched out up the hill.  I call the vet while I run for the pasture.  She is panting hard and Zoe and I decide quickly that the best fast thing we can do for her is tip her over feet downhill.  This puts her at the bottom of the pasture hill, feet actually stretched out under the electric fence.  Zoe sprints to the top of the pasture to unplug the electric wire.  We calm Gjynni, calling softly, rubbing her sides, keeping her up.  As always, it seems to take forever for the vet to arrive.

Dr. Jereld Rice is gift to our farm that we never ever take for granted.  Zoe runs back to the top of the field and leads him to Gjynni, Jereld's tall lanky stride calm and confidence inspiring.  "Hello Sister," he calls to Gjynni.  Zoe, with a budding confidence of her own, gives him the account:  a tube of Calcium at 1:30, calving at approximately 4:30, down at 4:45.  Rapid breathing.  Alert.  Possibly trying to pass the placenta.  The IV kit and CMPK already at the site.  That's our Zoe.  We will never ever take her for granted.

One hour, one and a half bottles of CMPK injected intravenously, lots and lots of pushing, and our Gjynni is up again.  After a few moments, she was ready to try a few steps and when Jereld carried her calf in front of her, ready to try a few more.  It is unbelievable how fast Milk Fever takes a cow down.  It is miraculous how the correct application of medication can bring her back.

Jereld's work done, we said our thank you's and he returned to his family.  Zoe and I set about introducing the little guy to his Mama and she to him.  While we had been letting the CMPK drip into Gjynni's jugular, Zoe and I took turns rubbing the calf with a towel, trying to mimic a cow's rough licking.  This stimulates the newborn's circulation, but also connects the mother and calf through scent.  We had to transfer that scent from Zoe and I to Gjynni, rubbing the still slick parts of the calf's soft baby hair then rubbing Gjynni's nose.  Finally, Zoe helped the calf stand and latch on to Gjynni's teat while I held her still.  Immediately, I could feel the change in her energy.  I can't explain it with words but all of a sudden, her wandering spirit was fully back in her body, aware of her baby, aware of herself as his Mama.

I will never ever take for granted the life I have been lucky enough to live.  If these words share even the smallest sense of wonder I feel right now, then I ask you to do me a favor.  Next time you see a cow, or a farmer who loves her cows, or a vet who loves cows, please give them a hug.  They deserve it.

BEGENDINGS

Begendings:  how I've come to characterize this time of transition in my family's life.  Each of us individually and all of us as a family unit have arrived at a major point of before and after that hints at lasting a whole year rather than just one single moment.  It's an everything-all-at-once kind of time where important things are ending, dissolving into their individual elements which then linger in the field of our daily lives still.  More and more elements both expected and spontaneous arrive.  From all of this chaos, both lovely and stressful, important things are vying to begin.  It's the craziest feeling.

I've given my notice at the accounting firm where I've worked for nearly four years.  The owner is an incredible woman who built and has held a company in service to her community for 35 years.  No small part of this feat is the group of women she's gathered as her staff and her staunch friends - I've rarely seen such a group of women.  All strong, intelligent, confident, opinionated women who somehow manage to treat each other with respect day after sometimes brutally stressful day.  I grew to know them and the individual clients of my small community very well over the last few years and am deeply grateful for the honor of becoming their friend.  I've enjoyed the work, honing my craft to make numbers tell a story that real people can find sense in.  The job provided my family a wonderful stability from which to explore our world and our selves.  Yet, my farmer's heart beat against the office windows like a moth against the glass.

So, with a bit of sadness, a lot of anxiety, and a roomful of hope and belief in myself, I stepped back into the unknown.  And who do you think I found there?  The rest of my family!  Zoe, quite sentimental after attending graduation ceremonies for some of her best friends, is in her last year of school before full enrollment in college.  Rae will walk in her own promotion to high school in just a couple weeks.  And Jeff had a wonderfully successful debut of his Pastured Poultry at one of our local Farmers' Markets.

For each of us, it's a time when all of our resources, our strengths, our challenges, our hopes for ourselves and each other seem to be sitting at the dinner table, walking through the house, waiting for us in the car.  Because clear next steps have yet to crystallize for any of us, none of these possibilities can be discarded.  How can we make sure we are giving our attention to the right elements? How can we watch everything closely enough so that we don't miss our big chance?  Duke University professor and author Cathy N. Davidson has written a fabulous book Now You See It which offers answers to questions about attention just like these.  She states,

Because of the categories by which we bundle our world, we can see efficiently.  But those same categories make us miss everything else, {an infant's] job is to mimic and to master his culture's categories, long before he has the words to describe them and long before he's developed sophisticated sociological terms to explain them away...[This] is the process we all go through as human beings.  This process teaches our brain to pay attention, which means it is how our brain learns not to pay attention to the things that aren't considered important to those around us. 

But those other things do exist, all the time, even if we are not noticing them.  That is simply how the brain science of attention works, with the world around us focusing our attention on what counts.  What we are counting makes the things that don't count invisible to us.  As adults, we are not as helpless as [infants] anymore.  We have the power to make choices.  When confronted with the new - with what seems odd or outrageous, annoying or nonsensical - we can deny it has any value.  We can label it a worthless distraction.  Or we can try, on or own or with the help of others, to redraw our maps to account for the new.  We can actually use the new to reshape how we focus our attention.  We have the capacity to learn, which is to say we have the capacity to change.  We were born with that capacity.

Back to the Weir

This post, subtitled "Get Ready (minus the For What) was sparked by one of life's odd series of coincidences. First up was my Leo May horoscope from PlanetWaves: "You are at what could rightly be one of the most fulfilling times in your life, in whatever you consider your core mission to be. Yet it seems as if there's a shadow you keep encountering. Sometimes it feels like a question. Other times it feels like your most cherished goal keeps slipping out of reach." Of course, the horoscope did not explain how to fix such an untenable position between what I am so close to having and what I just can't reach.  I do believe this is where our Weir discussion began last December.

 I sniffed around feeling badly about this obviously unfair monkeying about in my business until the second part of the story dropped into my mailbox. 

“Remember to be gentle with yourself and others. We are all children of chance and none can say why some fields will blossom while others lay brown beneath the August sun. Care for those around you. Look past your differences. Their dreams are no less than yours, their choices no more easily made. And give, give in any way you can, of whatever you posses. To give is to love. To withhold is to wither. Care less for your harvest than for how it is shared and your life will have meaning and your heart will have peace.” Kent Nerburn

It was the "care less for your harvest than how it is shared" that caught my attention.  I took another look at that horoscope, placing it carefully in the "to be thought about further" slot in my brain, and left it there without the judgement label attached.  During my lunch break, I decided to explore Kent Nerburn's work a little more.  Wow.   At his website, I was able to read excerpts from his book "The Wolf at Twilight".  I had to stop reading for a moment, sending a silent blessing to the first two pebbles that had sent the ripples in my pond out to this writer.  On page 299, his Native American Elder character Dan states, "We were an honoring people, a guardian people, not an exploring and discovering people.  For us the world was a mystery to be honored, not a puzzle to be solved."

Funny, in a terribly frustrating sort of way, how easy it is to forget what I already know.  I hate having to learn a lesson over and over again, but here I was, needing a reminder.  A weir slows things down, sometimes even encouraging a thing, or an idea, or even a relationship to eddy back to us.  The Weir chapter of Lloyd Alexander's  The Prydain Chronicles illustrates this so perfectly. His character Llonio doesn't value items that he finds because he knows why he will need them.  He values the large, flat, round rock that Taran trips over for the uniqueness of its shape, the smoothness of its surface, the very fact that it appears where he can't miss it.  
  

When I pulled my horoscope back out of temporary storage and looked at it through Llonio's eyes, the part that leapt out at me was not "slipping out of reach", but rather "whatever I consider my core mission to be". For much of my life, I have been an exploring and discovering person. The kind that assesses a goal, noting the necessary steps to achievement and proceeding forward until that goal is indeed discovered, marked on the map, and becomes the point from which the journey to a new goal is plotted. Kent Nerburn's Dan describes it this way:

 "You were always seeking. You did not want to stay still - in your lives or in your minds. You were always trying to change things, to make them better, to make them different. It was like the world that the Creator had made was not good enough for you. You wanted to know what was inside of stones and what was beyond the stars. You took everything apart then tried to put it back together. You never rested."

I know that doesn't sound so terrible - in fact, it sounds like just the type of person we Americans value.   There's always something more to be learned, something more to be gained, something more to be experienced....... something more that seems just out of reach.  This restless spirit propels us forward into the unknown which is incredible, and just a little dangerous.  Let's circle back to the subtitle of today's post (Get Ready - Minus the For What) to see why.


If I wait to see the shape, feel the texture, and take measure of a thing, an idea, or an experience until a need is upon me, I am only seeing through the perspective of that need   When such a need arises, I go looking for a tool that is x big, y heavy and z porous.  My brain has a mission.  I rush past hundreds of other rocks that do not meet the necessary specifications.  And therein lies the weakness and danger of the restless spirit:  when my brain is programmed to seek only one specific goal at a time, I create a pattern of need-based, short-term achievement.


Llonio however, is an honoring kind of guy.  He moves through his day with a wide-angled vision that Jon Young of the Wilderness Awareness School calls "owl eyes".  Because he has filled his mind with an awareness of all the rocks in his environment, their shape and size and texture, his inventory is incredibly abundant.  When the need for a specific rock arises, he is able to respond with little wasted energy.  Rather than chasing and retrieving, Llonio has gathered his abundance with with an appreciative, observant awareness of his place and of himself.  He truly is Ready.

The Birth of a Chick

Once set to incubate, the egg embryos develop in a constant environment of 99.5 to 99.7 degrees Fahrenheit and about 50-65% humidity. The first pips in the shell appear almost simultaneously across the tray at 20 days. These pips, little holes in the shell, allow the chick to begin breathing and strengthening their lungs. The yolk is then absorbed through their little navels and all the blood vessels leading from the navel begin to shrink (just like a baby's umbilical cord) The yolk provides nutrition for the chick's first few days.



This absorption and shrinkage phase lasts about 24 hours. During this time, we can hear little tiny peeps as the chick rests, gathering strength for the final hatching sequence. Once the yolk sac and blood in the vessels have been absorbed into the chick's abdomen, the egg home must be escaped. The tiny chick chips around the circumference of the egg until it has gone almost 80% around. It then pushes open the door it has just created and is BORN!
We marveled at our first hatch - within 36 hours of the first pip, 58 out of the 75 eggs had hatched fluffy little chicks! The remaining 17 eggs were not viable for one reason or another and were removed from the hatching tray. Our first 58 chicks were placed under a heat lamp inside for a little more than a day, then moved to the brooder.






Jeff reloads the incubator tray with another 75 eggs and the cycle continues! We have three trays of eggs incubating, each week hatching one tray and adding a new batch.














After a couple days under the heat lamp, drinking the custom newborn tea of water, garlic, honey, and cider vinegar, the little guys move outside to the Chick Safe. Jeff built this cabinet to house the brooder loaned to him by his Dad. The brooder's five levels has external feed trays on each side and an external water trough on the front. Jeff shifts from newborn tea to fresh water boosted by two tablespoons of whey to assist their developing digestion.

Each week as the new hatch moves into the brooder, the top tray moves down the line until - Freedom!!!

Our first hatch moved outside today into the sunshine and grass and great big wild world. They will spend the rest of their lives being moved every day to new pasture. The first week, Jeff has employed a hover brooder (Thank you again Joel) to help the chicks transition to a climate controlled only by Mother Nature.

I am nervous and excited to go see them tomorrow morning. As they wake up to their very first morning sunrise, their newest brothers and sisters will be busting out of their shells. We are so blessed to be part of this process. I dedicate this day and this post to our dear Drake - don't worry pup, Gr is taking his chick-herd responsibility seriously. He
won't let you down.

One Chick, Two Chick, Three Chick..... More!

So, I've alluded to our Pastured Poultry operation here at Lucky Farm. Perhaps you wondered just what, exactly, a Pastured Poultry operation entails but I am guessing that you knew it involved poultry, right? Lots and lots of poultry actually - from birth to butcher, we will raise over 500 chicks this Summer. Most people buy their chicks from hatchery sites that incubate, hatch, and ship tens of thousands of day old chicks all around the US. Depending on how many chicks you purchase (generally in multiples of 25 as that number fits best in a shipping carton), each chick costs between $1.50 and $2.00. That was a big chunk of change to commit to, especially when we've been watching our home flock hatch and raise their own babies for years. "I think that I'll keep the best birds from the flock this year and breed our own next year," Jeff tells me one golden Autumn evening. "Okay baby," I answer, "I trust you."

Autumn turned to Winter and Winter brought the idiocy of tax season to our household wherein I hold back the rising tide of numbers threatening to completely bury me. Meanwhile, Jeff showed me pictures and read me the history of the redwood Leahy Incubator which he was sure that his Dad would loan to us. "Why, that is just lovely!" I dutifully exclaimed, "and it holds 416 eggs too - that is fascinating." Jeff beamed and continued the Lucky Farm Pastured Poultry Program development. In my defense, tax law is really really really complex -- especially for someone who is HELLO - an artist, farmer, English Major!!! I didn't mean to ignore the ramifications of 416 eggs at a time. Nor did I mean to underestimate the power of watching 75 eggs being placed in the incubator each Sunday for 4 weeks. It was the numbers I tell you, the numbers (whose primary syllable is NUMB I must point out) were just too much and I couldn't take it all in.

On the fourth Sunday of placing the eggs in the incubator rather than the fridge or egg cartons for our friends, Jeff and our girls packed for a trip to his parents' house. Leaving me in charge of all those potential fluffy cutie babies. "WHAT - WAIT - No, I didn't understand. Did I agree to this? I can't do this - all those eggs - all those potential babies - What if I mess up?????" Jeff smiled gently, "It's okay baby, I trust you."

Is he nuts?????? I am the type of farmer that digs up potato plants starting in June, just to see if they are really making potatoes under there! Finally, I convinced him that I'm really not that responsible, really I'm not. Rae took pity on me and stayed home to care for the potential fluffy cutie babies. Three times a day, at precisely 8 hour intervals, she carefully tilted each of those eggs. Lest you think I was overreacting about this responsibility, here is the explanation for the importance of such tilting from "A Guide to Better Hatching" by Janet Stromberg: "Turning reduces the tendencies of the embryo to stick to the shell membranes. Developing embryos will readily adhere to the surrounding membranes if the eggs remain in the same position too long." Oh my gosh, I shudder to imagine. This stuff makes an IRS audit look easy.

Jeff and Zoe returned home on Thursday night - three days before the first of the little eggs was due to hatch (on April first - who plans to birth potential fluffy cutie babies on April Fool's day I ask you??) Jeff resumed the tilting and recording of temperature, humidity, environmental temperature, and averages. And today, on this glorious April first, I lie in my bed, grateful for a morning that I don't have to rush out to another day in the office, ducking the hordes of numbers, reveling in the peep-peep-peeping sound of Spring finally on its way.

Peep.

Peep.

Peep peep peep peep peep peep peep peep peep peep.

JEFF!!!!!!!!! You have fluffy cutie babies. Real ones! They are so wonderful and so alive. I knew we could do it.

A Lucky Farm Story

Tonight, while legions of revelers raise a glass of Irish cheer, I'd like to take you on a journey that begins with the wee miracle of a Welsh faerie cow. Gather 'round the hearth and snuggle in...

When first we followed the wind to our home in an enchanted valley, we offered our service to a strong farmer and his family of lovely daughters. In exchange, they gifted us with a white cow bearing red ears and a flowery name meaning "Luck". "She'll give you a fine milk cow next Summer," they said and we believed them.

One winter night in January, an unexpected Summer-like breeze blew over the ice-hardened ground, softening and whispering of things to come. In the morning, Jeff ran into the house calling, "There's a white calf in our field!" We threw on coats, pulled on boots, and rushed out. Yes indeed, there was a sturdy little speckled white calf in our pasture - her bright black eyes and obsidian silky ears cocked out just so. She spared us only a glace, then returned to trying to nurse...the horse!!!

Not just any horse, this is faerie story after all, but a wild red Mustang horse who had decided to let us love her. "No, no," we called, "You must drink from your cow Mama....Watch Out!!" Our gloriously proud Sierra mare was quite happy to foster the miracle baby and defended her right like the Iceni Queen of old. With such beginnings, our Zephyr grew up strong and stubborn - so full of vibrant life, she just couldn't wait to experience everything. And everywhere that Zephyr went, Sierra was sure to be watching, calling out encouragement or caution.

Right before Zephy's first calf was born, Sierra slipped on the ice and injured her hind badly. The vet sighed in the dark, cold night and told us that he couldn't hold out much hope. Under the bright stars, we covered her with sleeping bags, tucking straw beneath her huge, muscled frame, and waited. We sang and prayed, quietly shared stories, and told her how very grateful we were to have known her.

I suppose that should have been that, but Mustangs aren't built for quitting. I stepped away to fetch more straw from the barn. "You Are The Queen!", I heard Zoe shout. Turning, I saw mighty Sierra standing, shaking and spread-legged, defiant and alive. Quickly, I ran for more help and for the next hour and a half, four people on eight legs held up a beautiful red mare determined to walk back to her barn.

Weeks later, a still un-recovered Sierra watched over the stall fence as her foster-daughter gave birth to her first calf, and a few weeks after that, she let us say our final goodbyes. We buried Sierra at the highest point of our little farm, where she could watch over all.

When it came time for Zephyr's second calf to be born however, this wasn't close enough. In the cold winter night with a warm sweet breeze just beginning to blow, Zephyr left the barn. She walked up the hill to Sierra's grave and there gave birth to a beautiful speckled white calf. Jeff found them soon after, baby lying right on Sierra's spot, Zephyr lick lick licking him and calling - "Mmmmmmm, it's okay little one - Welcome to a world of love" just like her foster Mama taught her.

Tonight, we raise our glasses to Sierra and Zephyr, who taught us all that fierce and gentle are meant to be one.

A Dairy Good Day

While apprenticing at a large Market Garden farm in 2004, we were gifted with a tour of Western Cultural Heritage Institute in Corvallis Montana. A living Permaculture design demonstration, WCHI made a big impression on us. In particular, I recall the irrigation ditch running through their property. Due to highly charged water right disputes, the two families living at WCHI were not allowed to utilize the ditch in the traditional way: pumping water from them to apply to specific, discrete areas of their property. What they did instead is drawn right from one of the foundation principles of Permaculture.

While no water was extracted from the ditch, the folks at WCHI developed a riparian ecosystem all along the ditch for the full distance it ran through their property. Water loving plants, both for eating and medicinal purposes were encouraged to grow by sloping the sides of the ditch more gently, As they were allowed to redirect the ditches within their property, they added ponds and a meandering route to allow more of the water more contact time with more of their soil. As you can guess, all sorts of water loving creatures found their way to the new habitat including ducks, amphibians, and beneficial insects. Our girls especially loved the blonde lab who literally went deep water diving for tasty rocks.

Make Days, a phrase borrowed from the inspiring Kurt Timmermeister of Kurtwood Farms, are just like that here at Lucky Farm. We have not yet developed a reliable, consistent market for our fresh milk. Instead, we utilize our Gjinny's two gallon per day contribution as fully as we currently know how. Let me show you ---

A typical Make Day starts with a collected six gallons of milk. First, we hand-skim the rich cream, leaving what still tastes like whole milk in the jar. Six gallons of milk yields one gallon of cream and five gallons of milk. One of those gallons of milk becomes yogurt while 4 gallons become a wheel of cheese. But let's start with the cream, shall we?

We hand-churn our cream with a Dazey Churn purchased at our local Antique Store. What's funny about Dave Cherry's store is that most of these treasures go from working in local family kitchens to being displayed as "vintage", "collectible", and "memorabilia". Jeff has rescued quite a number of excellent homestead tools from the ignominy of a display shelf life. At least that's how I imagine it - I suppose some of them may have been hoping to retire, enjoying life on the sidelines after decades of keeping a family fit and fed. Ah well, maybe next decade!

For now, Jeff finds that if he lets the cream warm on the counter to about 70 degrees, the butter readily forms after less than 10 minutes of churning. I should qualify that - cream from milk that is about 5 days old churns that quickly. When Jeff consents to make sweet cream butter for me that is no older than two days, it takes a whopping 40 minutes to churn. My well-known preference for absolutely fresh dairy (I am so spoiled!) prompted experiments culturing the freshest cream to shorten the churn time. I found a good article with this quote about cultured butter on a quick Google search: "The culturing intensifies the butter flavor itself and also introduces a number of subtler secondary flavors that greatly enhance the overall butter experience. The action of the lactic bacteria also help break down some of the structure which keeps the fat globules apart. This increases the yield to butter over sweet cream and also makes the butter come much quicker when churning."

A little science field trip may be helpful here. Wikipedia has this to say about the process of making butter from cream: "The process can be summarized in 3 steps:

1. Churning physically agitates the cream until it ruptures the fragile membranes surrounding the milk fat. Once broken, the fat droplets can join with each other and form clumps of fat, or butter grains.
2. As churning continues, larger clusters of fat collect until they begin to form a network with the air bubbles that are generated by the churning; this traps the liquid and produces a foam. As the fat clumps increase in size, there are also fewer to enclose the air cells. So the bubbles pop, run together, and the foam begins to leak. This leakage is called buttermilk.
3. The cream separates into butter and buttermilk. The buttermilk is drained off, and the remaining butter is kneaded to form a network of fat crystals that becomes the continuous phase, or dispersion medium, of a water-in-fat emulsion. Working the butter also creates its desired smoothness."

Once the butter is complete, Zoe and I feast! Only kidding a little bit here, but the Make Day process for butter has one more step. A portion of the butter Jeff makes from 6 gallons of milk, about two pounds of butter, is used to make ghee or clarified butter. Because ghee has all milk protein removed, it becomes shelf stable. This is a great benefit for a family with loads of fresh dairy and limited refrigerator space. We first appreciated ghee for this ability to store "butter" for the months when our Gjinny is dry (we do not milk her in the approximately 2 months before she gives birth). Then Jeff found this fabulous ghee article which clued me in to the intense, ancient wisdom: "The milk of cows is considered to possess the essence or sap of all plants and Ghee is the essence of milk... When we consider Ghee we are in the company of superlatives. In India, Ghee has been so highly regarded for so many things, for so long, that one is slightly embarrassed to enter into this crowded river of praise."

Phew! That's a lot of butter education for one day. Next time - yogurt!!

So...... What Exacly Is A Weir

In last week's post, I implied that our budding Pastured Poultry program operated as a net or trap to capture and retain fertility in the soil of our small farm. It's a pretty straightforward concept, one of the foundation principles of Permaculture: The waste from one activity provides the fuel for another activity. Especially since the majority of our chicken feed is grown in the County, and our birds will feed friends and neighbors in the County, this kind of resource cycle is beautiful in its simplicity.

But what of resources or customers that are outside of that inner cycle? Taran brought several gifts to Llonio's family including that initial flock of sheep and the wind-powered flour mill. Absolutely, Taran was nourished and gifted in return with the experience of a different perspective. He was never meant to stay at the little farm even though what he gave to Llonio's family and received from them would have long-lasting benefit. In our culture of private ownership and individual achievement, how do we make room for assets that aren't meant to be tied down?

Enter the weir. I grew up on the Columbia River so I know in my bones what a dam is. A dam completely, irrevocably alters the environment. A dam changes the nature of the river's flow to meet specific and limited tasks, many times prohibiting all other functions that flow used to serve. A dam must be intensely managed or it ceases to even serve the limited uses for which it was constructed. Mismanagement can have truly catastrophic consequences. Fish ladders, for example, must be integrated into the design and daily operation of a dam or salmon simply become extinct within the Riparian system above the dam. Once a constructed blockage in a functioning system is introduced, the continued benefits of that system are limited to those that can be identified and managed by other constructed means.

This is not a weir. While there are indeed many types of weirs, and technically, dams often incorporate weirs in their design, a weir is all about the laminar flow of water. A weir is designed to increase the time water spends in one place, to slow the flow without creating turbulence above or below the structure. A weir increases the contact time resources have with a specific section of the riparian ecosystem without changing the function of that system. Weirs let the nutrients and energy flow according to greater patterns of the natural system where the river finds its home and simply creates relatively calm spots where treasures (and trash) have a chance to drop out, or be plucked out, of the flow. Conversely, as illustrated by Taran's resumption of his quest, resources can find an easy re-entry into the greater flow from these points.

A weir is the place where the farm meets the greater flow of nature and culture. It's where our Permaculture farm inner cycle makes new Taran-like friends. While the systems of our farm is where we most love to spend our time, this year we will be putting much energy into the Weirs. I'm thrilled to announce one such: I've been hired as the Market Manager for the Wallowa County Farmers Market. While the Markets in Joseph and Enterprise have been operating for several years, this is only the second in which they've had a hired Manager. At my interview, I was not shy about my vision for the gathering of Wallowa County farmers, craftsmen, and neighbors. And oh baby, do I have ideas!!! Stay tuned.......

Building a Weir

Read full Weir Chapter here.
" Looking at his handiwork, Taran felt a stirring of pride for the first time since leaving Craddoc's valley. But with it came a vague restiveness. "By rights," he told Gurgi, "I should be more than happy to dwell here all my life. I've found peace and friendship - and a kind of hope, as well. It's eased my heart like balm on a wound." He hesitated. "Yet, somehow Llonio's way is not mine. A spur drives me to seek more than what Small Avren brings. What I seek, I do not know. But, alas, I know it is not here."
He spoke then with Llonio and regretfully told him he must take up his journeying again. This time, sensing Taran's decision firmly made, Llonio did not urge him to stay, and they bade each other farewell.
"And yet," Taran said, as he swung astride Melynlas, "alas, you never told me the secret of your luck."
"Secret?" replied Llonio. "Have you not already guessed? Why my luck's no greater than yours or any man's. You need only sharpen your eyes to see your luck when it comes, and sharpen your wits to use what falls into your hands."
Taran gave Melynlas rein, and with Gurgi at his side rode slowly from the banks of Small Avren. As he turned to wave a last farewell, he heard Llonio calling after him, "Trust your luck, Taran Wanderer. but don't forget to put out your nets!"

I am a very visual person. Very. So while the concept of using Lloyd Alexander's Prydain Chronicles chapter "The Weir" as a lifestyle foundation makes fabulous logical and practical sense to me, it wasn't until I could see the picture that I felt anchored into the plan.

One early morning before work, in that slippery time between sleeping and waking, I could feel the great rush of time and energy flowing past me. Not a slow, gentle flowing but light speed - like when the Star Trek Enterprise goes into warp speed and all the star specks become streaming luminescent lines, so many it almost looks like a solid bank of light, and the feeling of speed is undeniable. Yet, I was still, calm. "Oh," I thought, "just like Llonio's farm near the river."

We are all in the flow of time, culture, nature - there's no getting around reality. But how we are here is a choice. We've chosen to be apart from the rush - not by dropping out or falling behind, no longer by trying to get out in front and lead. We've chosen just to be still. To say, "We have enough, we've found the end of the rainbow and it really was in our home all along." Just like Llonio, we recognize the great and small treasures flowing all around us, some of it wholly unacknowledged for its value. But our Weir, our traps, have been pretty accidental. It's exciting to work within a context that's more than just "Not Mainstream". With a framework to build from, we can be intentional, purposeful - feel proactive rather than buffeted about by the random winds of fortune. Like Jeff asked "Have we checked our traps today? Do we recognize what's become available?"

So how do we set a trap on purpose? One way is the CASA Individual Development Account Jeff has almost completed. The IDA is an incredible program - check it out and see if you can access it in your community. We will be utilizing Jeff's IDA to build a Pastured Poultry operation. As our Llonio luck would have it, the Oregon legislature passed HB2872 last year allowing on-farm processing and sales of up to 1000 birds per year. We are so proud of the chicken Jeff produces.

I am especially excited for the education module of Lucky Farm Chicken. Pasture rehabilitation is a phenomenal benefit of moving the portable chicken coops to fresh pasture every day. We lease 10 acres from a wonderful family who purchased hillside land 40 years ago, put in a house and a small barn/workshop and great fences. The fields have never been abused but neither have the been intensively managed in atleast the last decade. Jeff, in classic I-love-this-guy-so-much form, has calculated a detailed program for renewing the fertility and integrity of the soil. When he first started describing the feed to meat and waste conversion as it relates to manure distribution, I remembered the powerful documentary "The Power of Community: How Cuba Survived Peak Oil." The film explores Cuba post Soviet Union:

"When the Soviet Union collapsed in 1990, Cuba’s economy went into a tailspin. With imports of oil cut by more than half and food imports cut by 80 percent, people were desperate. This fascinating and empowering film shows how communities pulled together, created solutions, and ultimately thrived in spite of their decreased dependence on imported energy."

I saw this film in 2007 and was deeply impressed by the impact decades of petro-chemical fertilizers had on Cuba's ability to feed itself. In short, the soil was dead. Without regular, recurring application of the fertilizers, nothing would grow. Do you know who saved the day? Composters and their worms. Scientists and farmers and regular people who knew that to bring life back to the soil, massive infusions of natural fertilizers must be gathered, cured, and worked into the dirt. It wasn't easy and it wasn't tidy but it was incredibly effective. What's more, healthy soil is self-sustaining. Talk about a Weir to gather treasures, the soil has always been such!

Learning a Different Way

. When Taran then spoke of seeking pasture for the sheep, Llonio nodded briskly.
"Why, here shall they stay, and my thanks to you." he exclaimed. "There's no grazing fresher and sweeter, and no sheepfold safer. We've seen to that and labored since the first thaw to make it so."
. "But I fear they may crowd your own flock," Taran said, though he admired Llonio's pastureland and the stoutly built enclosure, and would have been well content to leave the sheep with him.
. "My flock?" Llonio answered, laughing. "I had none until this moment! Though we've been hoping and waiting and the children have been talking of little else. A lucky wind it was that brought you to us. Gowein, my wife, needs wool to clothe our young ones. Now we'll have fleece and to spare."
. "Wait, wait," put in Taran, altogether baffled, "do you mean you cleared a pasture and built a sheepfold without having any sheep at all? I don't understand. That was work in vain--"
. "Was it now?" asked Llonio, winking shrewdly. "If I hadn't, would you be offering me a fine flock in the first place; and in the second, would I have the place to keep them? Is that not so?"
. "But you couldn't have known," Taran began.
. "Ah, ah," Llonio chuckled, "why, look you, I knew that with any kind of luck a flock of sheep was bound to come along one day. Everything else does!"

My mind loves the idea of this idea. I slide right up to it, circle round, peer over the paddock fence and can almost imagine myself behaving this way. But not quite. I've got 45 years of practice chasing the next step. You know - get good grades so you can get into a good college, get that Degree so you can get a good job, work diligently so you can retire, yada yada yada.....

The idea of being still, polishing the tools and resources I've already gained seems so, well, lazy. If you aren't chasing the next step, the bigger better thing, aren't you just settling? But when I take stock of my skills, what I know and what I can do, I'm glad to see my favorite things: permaculture, herbal medicine, physical fitness, clothing design, food preservation and powerful nutrition. I am also overwhelmed by how much I still have to learn and to do within these areas. Permaculture truly isn't real if it's still sitting on a bookshelf and the green medicine chest does no good if I've never taught my family how to use the herbs when I'm too ill to help myself. I could indeed spend a lifetime deepening my understanding and honing my crafts, both for myself and to share with others.

Conventional wisdom says this would all be great if I could somehow make a living at it. And just like that, I lose sight of the idea and am off chasing a new business plan. That path is a well-traveled Express Lane with no outlets for many many miles. I'm getting better at pulling over to check the map sooner rather than later but it still requires a stiff discipline.

Recently though, I've learned a new trick. The map reference I'm using isn't the end goal but rather my home point. Stated in terms of Llonio and Taran, I try not to chase all over the countryside after a flock of sheep. Jeff placed this in perfect context when he shared with me his thoughts about a new book reviewed in a NY Times article by Jane Brody. The book, "30 Lessons for Living" (Hudson Street Press) offers advice from more than 1,000 older Americans from different economic, educational and occupational strata who were interviewed as part of the ongoing Cornell Legacy Projects. Brody writes:

"ON HAPPINESS Almost to a person, the elders viewed happiness as a choice, not the result of how life treats you. A 75-year-old man said, “You are not responsible for all the things that happen to you, but you are completely in control of your attitude and your reactions to them.” An 84-year-old said, “Adopt a policy of being joyful.”

Jeff felt that Llonio had that attitude and could make lemonade from lemons. He was also patient and very creative. Stuff would come his way which most people wouldn't even realize was passing so closely because they would be too busy working to acquire new things - off chasing a flock of sheep. Like the elders, Llonio recognized that the stream was always moving, always bringing stuff with it. He couldn't choose what life brought him, but he did recognize that it was something. He just needed to be good at trapping those offerings and eventually the accumulated resources could indeed make something quite extraordinary.

Jeff, impressed by Llonio's humility in learning to see what life offered him, is also inspired by his diligence in trapping it. Scraps from others' lives are treasured finds. So when Taran showed up, the trap had been set. Not in a deceitful manner as in getting something for nothing, but with a joyful curiosity and patience for what life brings and where it takes us.

I in turn was impressed, inspired, and soothed by Jeff's sweet call to action, "Who knows what will come our way today. Do we have the vision to see it and have we set the trap to bring it into our lives?"

What the River Brought Us

Read the full Weir Chapter text here.

" "How then," Taran exclaimed, feeling perplexed as he had ever been, "do you count on baskets and nets to bring you what you need?" He looked at the man in astonishment.
"That I do," replied Llonio, laughing goodnaturedly. "my holding is small; I work it as best as I can. For the rest - why, look you, if I know one thing, it's this; Life's a matter of luck. Trust it, and a man's bound to find what he seeks, one day or the next."
"Perhaps so," Taran admitted, "but what if it takes longer than that? Or never comes at all?
"Be that as it may," answered Llonio, grinning. "If I fret over tomorrow, I'll have little joy today."
So saying, he clambered nimbly onto the weir, which Taran now saw was made not to bar the flow of water but to strain and sift the current. Balancing atop this odd construction, seeming more cranelike than ever as he bobbed up and down, bending to poke and pry among the osiers, Llonio soon gave a glad cry and waved excitedly.
Taran hurriedly picked his way across the dam to join him. His face fell, however, when he reached Llonio's side. What had caused the man's joyful shout was no more than a discarded horse bridle.
"Alas," said Taran, disappointed, "there's little use in that. The bit's missing and the rein's worn through."
"So be it, so be it," replied Llonio. "That's what Small Avren's brought us today, and it will serve, one way or another." He slung the dripping bridle over his shoulder, scrambled from the dam, and with Taran following him set off with long strides through the grove of trees fringing the river."

So..... what has the river brought the Mathias family this week? A reminder that we can indeed rely on what we know, what we can learn, and what we can create to help ourselves.

A couple weeks after I wrecked our beautiful truck, I developed a horrible rash on virtually every bit of skin I possess. Like the worst chicken pox stories you've ever heard, I itched from my toes to my ears. The rash however, did not present with a typical, diagnosable pattern. It wasn't chicken pox or topical dermatitis from an external allergen. We could identify nothing that I'd done differently in my diet or environment that could have caused the reaction. And, as any little kid can tell you, all the messy oatmeal baths and chalky lotions only help the grown-ups who are trying to make you feel better feel better. Allergy medication did finally make the itch sensation bearable but it never eliminated it nor did it remove the odd thickening and texturization of my skin.

After two weeks of the torture, I began focusing on supporting my liver and cleansing the blood with lots of raw beet salad, nettle tea, and clay baths. It made my heart and mind feel better to be doing something. I'd reached the conclusion that my body was trying to process the residual toxins from the stress of the crash and dealing with the insurance company as well as the chemicals in the pain medication and dissolvable sutures. In addition, this was the last month of the year - 4th quarter for an accounting and payroll firm. I added a supplement specifically for my adrenal glands, put my back to the load, and pushed on.

Christmas arrived with a wonderful gift from Jeff's parents: DVD's from the Great Courses company. We watched some lectures from the Mysteries of the Microscopic World course, including a fabulous lecture on the 1918 Flu. A few days later, we switched to the Stress and Your Body DVD because I couldn't watch the subsequent microscopic worm lectures - they made me itch so bad I couldn't stay in the same room!!!

The river swept the banks, whispering soothing sounds and brought us the lecture titled "The Nuts and Bolts of the Stress Response". And I remembered. Jeff and I had studied the 1918 flu from the book Herbs and Influenza by Kathy Abascal while on Vashon Island where she makes her home. Wikipedia does an admirable job providing a synopsis of the Pandemic, drawing heavily on John M. Barry's noted text The Great Influenza: The Epic Story of the Greatest Plague in History. The website states:

"Most victims were healthy young adults, in contrast to most influenza outbreaks, which predominantly affect juvenile, elderly, or weakened patients...Tissue samples from frozen victims were used to reproduce the virus for study. This research concluded, among other things, that the virus kills through a cytokine storm (overreaction of the body's immune system), which perhaps explains its unusually severe nature and the concentrated age profile of its victims. The strong immune system reactions of young adults ravaged the body, whereas the weaker immune systems of children and middle-aged adults resulted in fewer deaths."

In his Great Courses lecture, Stanford University Professor Robert Sapolsky showed a similar response of the autonomic nervous system to chronic psychological stress. Our body's stress response systems simply doesn't turn off - it continues to trigger and complete fight-or-flight mechanisms even after the acute physical threat has ceased. My nervous system was in overdrive, and I had been shoveling coal in the firebox. It was one of those "D'oh" moments.

In the next days, I continued supporting the cleansing work of my liver but stopped focusing on the adrenal response. Instead of slathering my skin with creams meant to combat an allergen, I took hot baths and then, with the skin soft and pores open, I massaged in St. John's Wort oil. We'd gathered the flower last Summer in the edge zone between our farm and the wilderness forest and infused them in organic olive oil. In addition, I began taking the California Poppy tincture we made our first Summer here to help soothe my frazzled system. Four days later, I've mostly stopped itching. My skin is returning to normal and I've regained emotional equilibrium.

It's tough. I told Jeff that the height of an itching disease is a terrible time to start looking for a cure to the itch. It's almost impossible to think of anything but the itch. All I could manage was the top two or three items on the Priority List and then I was simply incapable of focus. This meant that I could go to work and function as an accountant but I was pretty detached from my coworkers and friends there. I could make birthday cakes and holiday dinners but I would have greatly preferred to be in the tub coated with clay than enjoying the celebration with my lovely family. That's no fun.

Not itching is much better. Not itching because I understood the imbalance and had the knowledge and resources at hand to restore health to my weary system ---- that's priceless.