Is this for you?!

This is for you, if you have the following: a sense of humor, understanding of sarcasm, if you aren't easily offended by what is reality in my world and if you like to follow someone else's life so you don't have to think about the pile of laundry, sink full of dirty dishes, overflowing trashcans, unkempt lawn, dusty surfaces and unswept floors at your own house! Oh, and if you can handle this girl referring to herself in the 3rd person...(see, not for everyone!) This is not for you if: you can't handle all of the above (and more). For those of you who can, welcome to my world friends! Enjoy!

Friday, April 25, 2014

Feeding my flock...


I get to call them 'my flock', because my husband travels enough, that we might be neck in neck on how many times each of us has fed them.  And, when I say feed them, there are numerous things to consider here. You don't just give them some 'hay' or put them out to pasture.  These 'high performance' animals require a highly regulated diet.  So much so, that my husband bought some fancy scale to weigh the amount of food we're putting in each trough (I call it trough-he calls it feeders, whatever) and another fancy scale, to weigh them!  Then there are thing like this liquid stuff that is supposed to get them to eat more (don't quote me on this, I'm not sure if it is to get them to eat more or gain weight, I probably need to clarify) and then probiotics (in powder form), and then there is the forage, they eat.  Not hay, hay is bedding, alfalfa is consumable (well, not for you and me, but for them).  The food components need to be mixed/added in the right order for some God-forsaken reason (again, I probably need to clarify this with the boss...) And of course water, in a 10 gallon bucket... I'm going to be ripped by the end of the summer carrying these dang buckets.

Sometimes, one or two of the sheep need additional attention, whether it be treating for an illness, or trying to nurse them back to health after an injury, or in this case, a prolapse.  Oh, you don't know what prolapse means?  It means the bottom falls out...literally.  No bueno... NO bueno.

So anyway, you have a valuable sheep, that you just can't bare to lose, so you tube it (I'm not going to go too far in to this, but you insert a tube in to the bottom-that fell out and when things get back to being right, you remove the tube). The process can involve antibiotics and other medications to prevent infection, etc.  In the case of this sheep, she survived and we're now trying to get her back on track as far as food and drink goes. Imagine how enthusiastic you'd be about eating and drinking after the bottom fell out...exactly.

She seems to have come around on the eating thing, but the drinking is still a little iffy, so, to fix this, we do something called "drenching".  I wish this was as easy as pointing as hose at or dumping buckets of water on the sheep, but it's not.

You need to use this tool, to suck up water, put it in the sheep's mouth, and coax it to drink.  We're not talking foie gras here (stuffed goose liver, Google it...it's not like this), but coaxing them to get hydrated. So we 'administer' water and let it drink...So you can lead it to water AND make it drink.  Crazy, huh?  I'm learning that sheep are NOT the smartest of God's creatures, but with a little assistance, they can be quite dynamic.
The tool, it sucks up water and the inverted metal tip goes in the back corner of the mouth to encourage consumption.

Now, just to be clear, drenching at the State Fair, I know for sure is illegal and we do NOT do that.  But for now, before the show season, and while we're trying to get this sheep healthy again, it is necessary.

So tonight, I feed the sheep, then I 'drench' the one, and while I'm doing so, the other one in the coat, is trying to bite the bling off my jeans.  This sheep, I have nicknamed, 'A**hole' (I know, I'm sure my mother-in-law is reading this and I'm not sure she's ever said a swear word, or even thought of one in her life, but if she saw this sheep and it's antics, she might).  It sees me and charges the fence panels in the pen to tries to get me.  It's just naughty. And furthermore, I don't think it cares for me.  At all.
This is A**hole...I know, he just looks so sweet right here...WRONG!

Baker's Rack (in the background, For Sale...) Any takers?

The other one in the coat, with the black legs, is the one that was drenched. The vet at ISU (where the sheep was for a few days after being tubed and spiking a fever) suggested that the sheep is now physically OK, but mentally has some 'issues'. We appreciate that diagnosis... Anyone that watches it for a while could figure that one out.  Anyway, this weekend, I am tending to my flock and this is a sample of what that's all about...


Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Gargantuan Garden

I have always felt that I was able to do anything, to make, or plant or produce anything I really needed.  Baby clothes/items for my kids, knitted items, I try to save money where I can by doing things myself, though it usually ends up getting more expensive, as per my husband. I'm not sure if this was nature or nurture, but what I do know is that most always, I have had the confidence to do (or at least try) anything that came to mind, and still do.

It doesn't always end in success, like when my husband told me that I probably shouldn't try to paint that piece of furniture I was going to attempt to re-purpose and use in our daughter's nursery. He was right, it was too slippery (even after sanding and priming) to re-purpose. I was too stubborn to listen and painted 2 shelves before I gave up and decided it wasn't do-able. 

I have always liked the idea of growing my own food.  At our last house, we had two, 8'x8 'garden beds and a few potted tomato plants on our porch.  Now that we live on the farm, this, is my garden.



The open space/yard north of our house.  We're also planning to add a wind/sound break just west of here to cut down on the motorcycle/plow noise in the summer/winter.

This is the garden...look how small by baby looks next to it!

GULP!  It still needs to be tilled up one last time before planting, and we're not quite sure the frost is gone for good yet.  What a horrible, horrible winter we had.  When we do plant, it might take me an entire day to get the seeds in!

This year, we have seeds or starters for: Potatoes, spinach, 4 packets of green beans, zucchini, butternut squash, sweet corn, cucumbers and pumpkins.  We also have blueberry, raspberry and blackberry bushes and strawberry plants to plant in a separate area.  I plan to add rhubarb in the fall, when it's ideal to plant it.

Graham had to have pumpkins, and he loves blueberries. We are in the 'sweet corn, sweet spot' in our area (apparently it's prime soil for sweet corn) and one of the most delightful fruits of our summer gardening labor last year, was to be able to serve green beans from our garden for Christmas dinner.  You just can't buy them that sweet-especially in the dead of winter.

Here is my problem with gardening: I am terrible at plants. When they start to emerge, I have a tendency to pull the plants and leave the weeds.  Idiot.  Though in my defense, the last couple of years, I've either just had a baby or had a young infant (or two) and been unable to spend the necessary time outside to properly maintain the garden.

So this year, my goal is to maintain the garden on the days I am home, with Graham's help.  As a parent, I want to instill in my children the value of hard work.  You want to eat the vegetables? Then you need to help with the upkeep.  You want to show the sheep? Then you need to collect pop cans and other change to afford the entry fees (or at least part of them).  I don't believe that he he is too young to learn these lesson. He may not be able to cover the entire entry fee or want to eat everything we grow, but as a parent, it's my job to teach him these things don't come easy or without hard work, dedication and committment.

In high school, my economics teacher, Mr Phillips, always said, "there's no free lunch." And boy was he right.  I just hope that I can raise my children to be compassionate, independent, self-sufficient, productive members of society. Too often, we try to make things easy for our kids.  Sometimes, letting them fail while the stakes are low, teaches them the most in life and helps them to be good problem-solvers and better decision makers in the long run.

[Off my soap box]

So it's my goal to make our family garden, a labor of love until the fall brings frost.

Monday, April 14, 2014

We clearly need to establilsh some rules around here...

(WARNING: No photos...sorry)

OK, when the sheep and all the stuff that goes with them was at my in-laws, I could really get in to this sheepin' business. Yeah, go out, play with them, vaccinate them (well not me, but I'll watch), even draw blood (OK not this either, but I can shake the vials so the blood doesn't coagulate), shear (I draw the line at bathing them-I don't even like to bathe my 13 pound dog).  It was fun.

Fast-foward a few years and now on OUR farm, this weekend...

My husband put sheep blankets and towels and other washables in my washer.  The washer that is in the house, that I wash my babies clothes (and mine) in.  And my sheets.  And my dish rags and other kitchen linens.  When I figured out what my husband had done, my mind raced.  Will bleach kill diseases like ring worm and sore mouth and scrapie and whatever else (I don't even know if scrapie is contagious-I need to do more research on that, but that is not the point here...)? How about those washer cleaning packets? There is no way those are cut out for this task. Eugh, can I just put my washer in a pot and boil it for 10 minutes?  Will my clothes ever be clean again?  Or am I destined to have that tangy smell of poo following me around forevermore?

I realize that this may sound crazy to some people who live on farms, I've never noticed it on any of our friends, but still in the back of my head, I cannot get over this.  It's the City Girl coming out in me.

So back to my story, my husband opens the washer and the smell of poo, slowly begins to creep deeper in to my house down the hall to our bedroom, toward the kitchen.  Then, [GASP!] he turned the load pink (this would not be the first time he's dyed a load) and decided to wash it again.  Sheep laundry run through twice?  I could hardly breathe.  Seriously.  So we decided to put some Oxy Clean in the load (I mostly thought this might help my washer recover from being violated, I didn't really care about the sheep laundry).  We washed again. On Hot.  This morning, he opened the washer door and again, the smell began permeating our home.  So maybe my washer doesn't work?!

Then (I know, how could there be more?!) he hung the sheep laundry in the garage to dry.  This is MY garage. Where MY car is parked (because his enormous truck won't fit in it), where my treadmill sits collecting dust (I'll be honest,  I don't use it much, but it's still there).  This is NOT a place to hang sheep laundry to dry.  My husband must have noticed the smell on his way out as there was a tick of cinnamon vanilla air freshener looming in the air when I went back out to get the kids in the car to take them to school.  It works about the same (except worse) as when you use it in the bathroom...I'll just leave that there.

You have no idea how fast that sheepin' smell creeps up and engulfs your skin and hair.  It's truly remarkable.  Crap, I wonder if I smelled sitting at my desk today?  Anyway, I got home, pulled in the garage and wham!  There it was again! And it will remain there until my husband gets home and does whatever he needs to do with them.

So, here is the start of my Sheepin' Rules:

Rule #1 If you are washing sheepin laundry, you must use a washer cleaner packet AND run a bleach cycle after.

Rule #2- We do NOT hang sheepin' laundry in the garage

That's as far as I've gotten, because as I am writing this, the washer is making a terrible grinding noise instead of spinning and my laundry is locked inside soaking wet-all I can think about is MOLD. Who knew I was such a clean freak, anyway? [This will shock my mother.] I fear my poor washer is headed to the washing machine graveyard. Excuse me while I continue to try to get my wits back about me and processes the violation to my laundry room and the subsequent breakdown.