We do this because...

Last week for my job as a FACS teacher I had to purchase 18 roasting chickens from BJ's for our annual Renaissance festival.  As I placed these inexpensive chickens, two at a time, into a roasting pan I was struck by the dramatic difference from our pasture raised birds.  I am not an iPhone person so I did not snap a picture of their yellow tinged skin and short legs.  I observed another dramatic difference in the neck and liver in the little plastic package stuffed inside.  The chicken's neck was about the circumference of my thumb and the liver a mushy, burnt orange.

We have raised pasture based chickens for five years.  We started with dual purpose birds that we raised for most of the summer.  These chicks were cheap as they are often discarded by hatcheries selling pullets but their carcasses were not the breasty birds we are accustomed to.  We then tried the carefully breed Cornish Crosses one finds in the supermarket.  I know the ones I purchased at the supermarket last week lived about 50 days.  We were disgusted by the Cornish Crosses as they stayed belly up to the feeder not foraging and rarely waddling to another spot. 

We then discovered Freedom Rangers. These red broilers are slow growing and well suited for a grass based system.  The Freedom Rangers appreciate our efforts to provide them with fresh grass.  We move them outside as soon as they have feathers into portable pens.  We move the pens twice a day if the chickens are closed in the pen.  When the chickens are about 6 weeks we open the pens and release them into a polynet enclosure.  For the first couple of weeks of the pens being open we close them in each night.  It is great fun to watch them run when the pen is opened each morning.  They race in a big circle around the pen flapping their wings. 

We have the birds slaughtered on the farm at about 12 weeks of age.  The legs are long and strong, the neck thick and the liver and gizzard a deep burgundy color.  Beyond the health of the chicken and it quality of life it had is the flavor, it tastes like chicken and does not need to be hidden under BBQ sauce or marinated for hours to have flavor.  It is real food.

March 11th

I've called to schedule Sparkler into the Royal Butcher.  Sparks is my original sow.  She came to us over 5 years go and is a fantastic mother.  Her last two litters have been small with no piglets surviving from her fall farrowing.  After the failed fall litter we decided not to breed her again.  Mike offered to let her live out her life here as she holds the status of being our original pig.  She will follow me like a puppy dog.  Sparkler was the one who came when I said wouldn't it be fun to have a sow so we could have piglets.  After that it was "Well, if you are going to the barn to care for one why not have two, or three, or more."

I was torn about Sparkler's fate and undecided about what we would do.

The controversy this fall surrounding the oxen at Green Mountain College was a no brainer for me, of course they should be food it is cycle of life on a farm.  I was frustrated by those not understanding a farm's cycle but at the same time I was debating what to do with Sparks.  She is separate from the other sows and Boris in a hog paneled enclosure in the paddock with Maysa.  She talks to Maysa, we have even seen Maysa grooming Spark's back like she did the other horses.

One challenge with Sparkler staying is she still goes into heat.  Just last weekend I was greeted on Saturday morning by Boris out of his electric fence standing outside Sparkler's area.  He easily came for food and I closed he and sows inside for a couple of days until her heat passed.  Sparkler's age also has taken away from her the top spot with the sows.  Last fall when all the sows were briefly together she was no longer top pig and got beaten up some.  I worry about her being injured as she ages.

We talked about selling her to someone to slaughter but I've decided the most respectful thing I can do it to take her myself to the Royal Butcher.  She will be treated with respect.  She will experience minimum stress as  I will carefully load and unload her myself. 

We raise meat animals so we know they are treated well.  As a farmer I believe it is my job to care for and respect them from birth to slaughter, even when it is a difficult choice.

Darkness

Just two weeks ago I celebrated the morning light when the time shifted back to EST.  This arriving daylight allowed me to feed the animals before heading off to work each morning.  My sons were thankful for this shift as morning chores were no longer a task to be accomplished before beginning their day.  This may sound strange but I enjoy the hike up the hill to feed the pigs.  The morning air is brisk, the grass often crisp and sometimes I catch a glimpse of the sun rising across the valley.  I wear layers once the season begins to change, big fleece pants and a fleece jacket or two go over the clothes I will wear to work.  Gloves are a necessity; my current pair is mismatched remnants from last season.

The arriving morning light is celebrated but the quick dash to do evening chores is getting old.  Three of the sows have moved to the barn but the dozen weaned piglets and Boris and Penny are still in the pasture.  The turkeys are over by the stream, hopefully fertilizing the raspberry plants before they are slaughtered for Thanksgiving this weekend.  Maybe this weekend or next will bring the opportunity to move the Big B and Penny to the barn as well.  I considered undertaking this on my own last weekend but with the rest of the family off hunting I decided it was best not to let the 600lb. boy out and simply encourage him to follow me down the hill.  There are way to many potential mishaps if he decides he does not want to go into the barn.  The piglets will venture to Rhode Island to be pasture raised meat pigs the weekend after Thanksgiving.  So until life is simplified by all of the critters having access to our barn with lights I will dash out each evening in the dwindling light and then retreat into our warm, well lit home.

A Goodbye

Yesterday Mike and I were out doing early morning errands in preparation for cider pressing.  The boys were home doing morning chores.  Thatcher called while we were checking out at the SoRo Market to let me know something was wrong with one of Flicker’s hind legs and she did not come down the hill to get her grain. She nickered from the top of the hill and he took the grain up to her. Thatcher told me she was just standing in one spot and occasionally lifting the leg.

Flicker came to our farm from my Uncle John and Aunt Lucy’s.   I remember having just adopted Pica in the fall of 2003 and was visiting John and Lucy as Aunt Lucy lived her last days with cancer.  Aunt Lucy suggested maybe the pony who had come from the Warner’s and kept their old workhorse company would be a good match for Pica.  Flicker was exactly what Pica needed a friend.  A couple of autumns later Maysa joined us and I had a little band of mares.  Flicker was smallest of the crew but as a pony her attitude made her the leader.  As Maysa matured she took the alpha role from Flicker but Pica would always move when Flicker pinned her ears back.

The initial vet visit when Flicker joined us revealed she had a previous hock fracture so she gave pony rides on lead when the boys were little.  As the vet estimated her to be at least 20 she was really just a companion and a critter small enough so the boys could easily love on her and lead her when they were little.  Flick’s gait was off slightly because of the hock injury and it bothered her sometimes more than others but she trotted as Pica and Maysa galloped through the pasture.

My initial assessment yesterday was one of uncertainty.  It was her weak leg; she was putting no weight on it.  We brought her hay and water debating whether it would be more stressful for her to leave the pasture and Maysa or stay there.  Checking her a little later she had gone done with her injured leg underneath her.  It was time to call Dr. Stuwe to evaluate whether it could heal or she would need to be euthanized.  When on the phone Dr. Stuwe said he had a portable x-ray and could scan it if we could get her close to electricity.  As we waited for the vet’s arrival we decided to wait for his assessment before we moved her from her comfortable spot in the field.

Dr. Stuwe. Pauline and I hiked up the hill to check her out.  He immediately knew it was a bad break and said it was good we had left her in place rather than causing her the stress of moving.   As I rubbed her head he quickly injected her, her head dropped down before he could finish the shot.

While Dr. Stuwe was evaluating and euthanizing Flick Maysa stood guard.  As we left the pasture to get Mike with the backhoe Maysa stood guard.  Friends stopped by for cider pressing and found it a little surreal Maysa was simply standing there next to her deceased herd mate while Mike dug Flick’s final resting spot at the edge of the woods.

Although Mike had offered to take care of Flicker alone I helped him load her into the tractor bucket, as I know this is part of the lifecycle for on a farm.  Maysa continued to watch.    I know the animals communicate in subtle ways we do not observe so I wondered what Maysa understood.  When the tractor bucket lifted Flicker’s body Maysa flipped out.  She began to run and neigh listening for her buddy to respond.  I then knew Maysa had not known Flicker had died.  She is our lone horse now and spent her afternoon standing at the edge of the hill looking over the valley and the pasture, occasionally calling out for her herd mate to respond.

As I walked down off the hill yesterday afternoon I realized Maysa had been with Flicker since coming here as a weanling seven years ago.   We had the opportunity to say goodbye as we knew what was coming and we know she had lived the life as a fancy little show pony and then years of retirement, Maysa knows her Flicker is gone.

Trenton and Flicker, Summer 2004

Flicker, Trenton and Thatcher

Trenton  and Flicker

Flicker a gentle child's pony

A Day Away

Yesterday I had the opportunity to spend the day with a good friend from UVM and her sister at the Sunapee State Park.  When I received the invite I figured why not a day away would be great and certainly the new pig fence I was planning to build could wait and the additional blueberries I was thinking of picking would still be there another day as well.  All three of us are graduates of UVM and married for a long time with 3 or 4 children, but each of us have very different lives.  Certainly I have chosen to live a life where we raise all of our own meats and as many veggies as possible.   Although I would love to simply farm our mortgage prevents that so both Mike and I are employed full time.  We are fortunate not to have to worry about the bills but the cost of college is looming over our heads.

Yesterday I felt like an outsider but maybe I am really just caught in the middle.  (Certainly the sharp contrast of my short tan lines when I changed into my swimsuit was one stark difference) Both Deonne and her sister are full time stay at home moms.  Their lives are centered around family and friends.  One lives the lower middle class life style as her husband teaches and they make it on one income.  She gardens, home schools and is always on the go with friends.  The other lives an upper class life style as her spouse is an attorney in the city.  Both are intelligent women and terrific mothers.

I am in the middle because although I have the opportunity to spend summers full time with my sons and have a career that allows me to see all of their sporting events. I must work to balance family, farm and teaching.  Rarely do I make the time to spend a day at the lake with friends.  I am in the middle because I know our income level means we make enough to pay all of our taxes but do not have enough to ski, trips to Europe or cruises.  I know we work hard and are blessed but sometimes I feel caught in the middle.

Sweet T

When we first moved here a dozen years ago we were surprised one winter day to see a tabby cat sunning itself in a small opening on the south side of the barn.  We did not have a barn cat, at that point we did not have animals other than our dog.  We wondered how many generations of barn cats had tucked themselves into this opening to absorb the warmth.  Three and a half years ago our neighbors had kittens and gave us a beautiful pair of cats for the barn.  We live on a busy road (well a busy road for Tunbridge) so we were uncertain how long they would survive before being hit.

The kittens were not going to be named because they were barn cats, not pets, and we knew we could lose them to traffic.  We began calling them Thing1 and Thing2 as they were almost a matched set.  When we took them to be spayed/neutered the female officially became Thing1 and the male Thing2.  T1 and T2 were not your average barn cats, they were longer haired, petite and friendly.

Two years ago T2 was hit and instantly killed by a car.  We were home at the time.  T1 became the solo barn kitty, still as friendly but now simply known as T or Sweet T.  Her nose was slightly bent out of shape this winter when a little black kitten who was my shadow as I did chores arrived in the barn.  T tolerated Shadow and put him in his place with a swift swipe of the paw.

This spring T disappeared for a few days and I thought for sure she was gone.  Then she reappeared seeking to be swooped up for a cuddle.  Now T has been gone for about 10 days.  I've checked the third floor a few times to see if she is back and sleeping safely away from the dogs but her spot is empty.

Chicken Mama

One of our buff orpington hens became broody in March. She carefully tucked herself on top of a clutch of eggs in the upper part of the barn not realizing Vermont weather is not conducive to raising chicks with just a mama's body heat in March. I snagged the eggs and carried her back to the coop and she often would try again.  At the beginning of June she tried again on a clutch of mostly Welsummer eggs.  I was hoping this clutch would hatch as I was curious what Welsummer/Araucana chicks would look like and what color the eggs would be.  (Our Welsummers lay terra cotta colored eggs with a speckling of darker brown spots).  The Buff was again unsuccessful, I am not sure if it was the dogs disturbing her or if the Welsummer adding an egg each day. About two weeks ago the buff hen left the hay loft and ventured down the stairs and to her amazement she found her chicks.  The brooder was holding our Freedom Ranger meat chicks that arrived in the mail toward the end of May.  The buff immediately began making all the great noises a momma chicken makes, she clucked and scratched when grain fell to the ground outside the brooder and protected the brooder from the dogs and the boys.  One day when the brooder was open while I feed the chicks she hopped up in happy to not longer be separated by the brooder wall.  She embraced watching out for her 150 chicks making reaching in to feed or water them a careful balance.

At the beginning of this week Mike finished one of the three new chicken tractors we will use for the meat birds.  As I began carry the chicks outside to their new residence the hen was super protective.  After she bit my arm, I snagged her and shut her into the coop.  Two at a time I carried the 150 plus chicks outside and then let the hen out.  The next morning she found her babies and I let her in the portable pen with them.  She continues to happily stand watch over her really big brood.