When it rains…

Last week I wrote about perspective, and how it was too easy to focus on the mini-dramas of daily life while other people experienced true suffering. The mini-drama I was experiencing was a flood, the second of the season and one that peaked at about 16.5 feet on our nearest flood gauge. “Minor” flooding starts at 15 feet, according to the National Weather Service. The farm starts flooding at around 14 feet. At 16.5 feet, we were almost at “major” flood stage, and we thought it showed. As I mentioned in my last post, we had to do a lot of late-night scrambling to get animals to higher ground, but everyone made it safely and the waters quickly receded. It was easy to sit in my warm house and contemplate how lucky I am.

Mother Nature sure has a way of laughing at over confidence, doesn’t she? The next flood (our third in as many weeks) was predicted to crest at 18.5 feet, two feet higher than the last, and there was still standing water on the farm. The soil was completely water-logged, so there was no room for absorption. The next flood came fast, and it came big. Now this isn’t what you might imagine from a newsreel, where water is rushing by and people are being saved by daring rescuers. Here the flood doesn’t really rush in; instead it seeps in from all directions until gradually the new lakes meet in the middle.

We knew this next flood was coming for a few days, so we were a little better prepared for it. We were able to get most of our animals up to high ground early in the day. We built some temporary pens in a hay barn next to our house, and herded all of the goats, sheep, and our landlord’s two fat, little American Guinea hogs up the hill into safety. Our sows (breeding pigs) were dozing in a stock trailer parked on a concrete pad that, in our previous experiences, stays dry. The hens were locked into their house for the night next to the sows. Our market hogs had previously been moved to a new paddock in a relatively high spot, and were blissfully piled onto one another amid a deep bed of hay in a covered pen.

For the previous flood the turkeys had been moved into a dry hoop house to wait it out. The water started seeping into their house early in the morning, so I ushered them out and let them wander around the dry spaces on the farm. After the water receded we spread a large round bale of oat straw into the hoop house, set up nice roosting spaces for them, and turned them back in to happily (and dryly!) spend the last week of their lives. We knew this next flood would also get into the hoop house, but we had a hard time coming up with a good solution. Andrew thought maybe just having roosting bars would be enough to keep them out of the water. I agreed in theory, but in the last flood I learned that turkeys are drawn to the water at night. Birds have terrible night vision, and they are prey animals. They do whatever they can to be safe, and at night the water reflects light. The turkeys go towards the light, thinking, I imagine, it will be safer there. It is not. We decided to go in for dinner and revisit the issue afterwards. The floodwaters were not threatening just yet.

Our friend Ross was at the farm helping us prepare for the flood when he got stranded here. Our roads in and out of the farm are the first to go under water, so we put him up on the couch. We were grateful for this turn of events, as he was a big help getting animals safe. I should mention that in addition to the flood warnings, Western Washington was hammered with a massive windstorm that night. Our little house is up high on wheels, on top of a hill, and it was rocking in the wind. Trees behind us were smashing to the ground, which is actually pretty common; they’re old rotted plantation poplars. The wind was coming from the north, opposite from the normal pattern, and that small change gave the storm a more sinister feel. Spurts of intense rain pounded our metal roof and added to the feeling of being under fire. Ross and Andrew went out to move cows up to higher ground while I sat on the floor in the only spot I thought would be safe from shattering windows. I’m not sure that was a real possibility, but it sure felt like one! Something like 300,000 people in our area lost power that night. Remarkably ours never flickered.

Once the guys came back in we had a nice hot dinner, and thankfully the intense wind pushed the rain clouds away. We decided we had better take advantage of the clear skies and move the turkeys up to even higher ground. We moved a small tunnel that was previously the sheep house up onto the hill that was quickly resembling an ark. We herded the turkeys into it, which was a slow tedious business since it was dark. We tied the door shut and blocked off any possible escape routes, since heritage turkeys are not fond of being penned up. After that we went in for the night to try and get some sleep.

Sleep didn’t come to me, so I spent time on facebook, chatting with family across the country, which helped keep me calm. I also obsessively checked the flood prediction gauge. At 1:30 am I decided to go on a round to check on the water’s progress. It became obvious that the water was coming much more quickly now, and that the high ground where our sows and hens were parked was not going to stay “high” for long. Our ten snuggling pigs were also going to need to be moved higher. Andrew had set his alarm for 2:30 am to check on things, but I could see that we didn’t have that much time. I ran in and roused him, and we moved all of the rest of the animals up to the highest possible ground. Andrew easily passed back out (a trait of his that makes me insanely jealous), and I continued to quietly fret. A couple hours later the flood prediction jumped from 18.5 feet to over 20 feet. I panicked about this news, but there was nothing more we could do but wait.

Once morning hit we were amazed by what surrounded us. Water was everywhere. This was the first time since we’d been here that all of the farmable space was under water. We did our morning animal chores, which was relatively easy with all the animals in close confinement. We boarded our canoe to shuttle Ross across the street so he could go back home, and then we went up to our neighbors for a cup a coffee and a chat. Darryl, the patriarch of the family across the street has a million stories about this valley. His family has been living and farming here for generations, and as far as he was concerned this flood was minor. He regaled us of stories about previous floods, including one in 1990 where the peak hit 25 feet. At that level everything on the farm except possibly our house would be under water. After departing we took the canoe around the fields to investigate and take photos.

While the flood was dramatic, we were mostly prepared and everyone stayed dry and safe. We spent most of the day inside recovering, and while the animals were restless they put up with their confinement well. Thankfully the flood never reached the predicted 20 feet, and even the van our vegetable farming partners accidentally left on the farm seemed to have avoided getting water in its engine.

As I type all of this it’s hard to remember that this all happened yesterday. It seems like so long ago. I suppose lack of sleep and boosted adrenaline will do that to you. Needless to say were more than ready for bed last night. Andrew has been battling bronchitis for a week now, and I had been having sneezing fits and a plugged nose since the morning. Sleep was in order. And then, just as we started dozing off, we heard a strange sound. Actually it wasn’t that strange, it sounded exactly like gusts of wind rattling the plastic that covers the hay barn. Only there was no wind, it was an eerily still night. After this happened three or four times we ran outside to see what was up. The door on the turkey house had broken free and swung open, and the noise was the whoosh of turkey wings as they flapped out of confinement straight into the lake that now flanked our house.

Wearing only underwear, I grabbed my long down parka, which wasn’t the greatest choice considering it was now raining heavily, but I didn’t have time to think. I jammed my bare feet into my boots and ran out the door, yelling at Andrew to grab the canoe. I began wading into the frigid water to retrieve those turkeys that were within reach. The cold water rushed over my boots and filled them. I sloshed around, urging turkeys to walk up the hill. Those that were too cold to move merely stood there shuddering, so I picked them up and carried them one by one back to their pen. Some of the turkeys were in too deep, so we had to canoe over to them. We took multiple canoe trips, flinging scared, wet birds into the center of the boat while trying to maintain our balance. One bird was roosting on top of the hoop house, impossible to reach. Once we retrieved all the birds we could find we quickly realized that only about half were there. It was dark, raining, our teeth were chattering and my feet and legs were numb. We could not see or hear any other turkeys.

Defeated, we went back inside to deal with our oncoming hypothermia. The fire was out, so we put on dry clothes and crawled under the covers. I was inconsolable. The thought of helpless turkeys, birds I had raised since they were two days old, shivering and drowning in the cold was too much to bear. There really was nothing else we could do at that point but wait and hope for the best. I certainly expected the worst.

After a fitful night filled with horrible dreams of drowned turkeys and restlessness, I awoke this morning to an amazing sight. The water had receded substantially in the night, and I saw turkeys walking inland from various parts of the farm. Although they sounded hoarse from spending the night in cold water, there were no other obvious signs of distress. I don’t know how they made it through the night, but apparently they are stronger than I thought. Last night in the midst of my meltdown I proclaimed that I would never raise turkeys again. Now I’m not so sure. These guys are badass. They are survivors. It’s a strange irony knowing that I will willfully end their lives this weekend, but I am proud that they will be consumed at feasts designed for reflection and thankfulness. Everyone who has ordered a turkey will be sent the link for this post. As you sit down to your Thanksgiving meal, I hope you will feel deep gratitude for these creatures that have given so much of themselves for us.

Now that the waters are once again receding, I have released the rest of the turkeys and the hens. They are wandering happily around acting as a kind of clean up crew, enjoying the worms and other delicious tidbits the flood dredged up. Their sounds of joy and discovery delight me, and while the logistics of this weekend are looming and our roads are still under water, somehow I know it will all be ok. And it’s all thanks to those pesky turkeys.

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Canoeing during Flood #1. Thinking, “this is fun!”
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Flood #1…
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Flood #2 was a little worse
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Flood #2…
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Trumpeter swans enjoying Flood #2. Notice all the crops that survived this one?
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Preparing for Flood #3
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Flood #3…no crops escaped this one
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Flood #3…the hoop house on the right is where the turkeys were originally hanging out.
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The view of our new houseboat!
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Silage bales (fermenting hay) were floating everywhere. The owner’s teenage son had given some of them faces.
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The turkeys in their pen on “the ark.” Pre-escape of course.
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Hens locked inside on the left, sows on the right. Water got close but stayed out of their enclosures.
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Pig Mountain. On the left is the blue covered pen where they had previously been snoozing.
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View from Pig Mountain.
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The lucky van!
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The workstation. A lot of equipment was left out under here since this is normally a high point. Thankfully the barbed wire fences around the farm caught most of the stuff that floated off.
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Water water everywhere
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The inner Ark. Goats and sheep and two little pigs.
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Thank you. Thank you.
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The Ides of March (har har)

Whoa! It’s almost April and I haven’t written in since late February. Time sure does fly when you haven’t filed your taxes! This spring has been exceptionally mild. We’ve had several days in the 60s and 70s, with ample sunshine. It’s gotten to the point where if it rains for more than a day I catch myself thinking “What’s with this crazy weather?!” which of course, up here in Washington state is downright silly. I really feel for my family back east who are suffering from such a miserable, protracted winter. I also ache for my family and friends in California who are in the midst of a horrible drought. I’m sure we’ll be paying for this wonderful weather in one form or another, but at the moment all I can do is be grateful.

Obviously a lot has happened in the past couple months, including the official switch from growing vegetables alongside meat, to focusing solely on ethically raised meat and eggs. In order to help spread the word and grow our business, I spent a good chunk of time building a new website for our farm. Please check it out and let me know what you think (and consider supporting us by purchasing our meat if you’re local)! Link: www.brightide acres.com.

This switch has been challenging in several ways. First and foremost is the loss of early season capital. With our vegetable CSA, much of the money for the produce was collected before the season even began, which gave us a good amount of money we could then use to buy our baby chicks, pigs, feed, and other supplies. This year of course we don’t have that capital, and we’re also doubling and tripling our animal numbers so it’s a bit of a dilemma. We are working on some alternative loan options, so if anyone out there in the world reading this wants to help a small farm get a foothold, I’d love to hear from you!

In the meantime Andrew and I have both been busy both on the farm and off. In order to make ends meet we’ve found a few part-time jobs can really help. I’m still washing dishes and doing some catering assistance for some pals who work at a winery, and have added a day of vegetable packing for another farm-fresh operation nearby. Andrew has started pouring concrete two days a week, which is a skill he has honed since high school. We consider ourselves fortunate that we found work easily and that we can be choosy about how we spend our time working for others; most people don’t have that luxury and for that we are grateful.

One of our biggest areas of growth this year is in our pastured chicken husbandry. We are going from raising 600 broilers last year to 1,200 this year, and in order to do that we are hoping to utilize a new WSDA inspected mobile slaughter unit. This slaughter unit would come to the farm and slaughter, air-cool, and vacuum seal our birds. Since it is inspected by the state, we would then be free to freeze the birds and bring them to farmers’ markets, sell to restaurants, or any other way we see fit. This is only possible if electricity becomes a reality at the farm. Eric, the landowner, has been working on this for months, but of course government red tape is making progress slow. We have our fingers crossed, bound, and doubled over backwards for the approval, but only time well tell and we’re furiously working on a plan B just in case.

Since we aren’t growing veggies this year, a lot of acreage that we were using is now available, and a new group of farmers has come in to lease the land. Rand and Alice are two very nice, intelligent, and experienced women farmers, and we’ve enjoyed getting to know them as they start working the soil. It’s truly impressive to watch farmers who were originally trained on bigger, more professional farms. Comparing their efficiency to how we scrambled around these last couple seasons has cemented my confidence in our decision. We certainly loved growing vegetables and we did pretty well for ourselves, but now that we’re on the other side looking back I can see we made the right choice for us. In a few days Rand and Alice’s interns start arriving, and I’m looking forward to meeting some more like-minded people and making new friendships.

I guess I should mention the baby animals! We’ve had 28 baby goats born at the farm in the past month or so. We’ve also had 11 lambs born. Out of those 11 lambs, only two are female! That’s nice because the males will be raised for meat, although it makes growing our future flock more difficult. Either way at this point all I can say is baby animals are adorable, hilarious, and so much fun to be around. And really what more can you ask of life than to be nibbled on by such sweet little faces?

Escaping Winter: Part 2

Spring seems to be arriving early at the farm. Today I was walking around in a t-shirt while the low winter sun warmed my face. The pregnant sheep and goats are close to having their babies, and we’re scrambling to get ready for the season ahead. I have more of our winter get-away to write about, but if you’re dying for some farm-related news check this out: http://us9.campaign-archive1.com/?u=76509a2c1f99173c27cbcc178&id=d67b98781a

I also promise to post baby animal photos as soon as they arrive, so be sure to check out our facebook page as well: www.facebook.com/brightideacres

And now…back to the Southwest!

After leaving Salt Lake City, Andrew and I spent an uneventful night in Moab, Utah, one of our favorite spots from our 2012 road trip. Unfortunately in the winter Moab is like a ghost town, and most of the restaurants and shops are closed for the season. In light of this, we left early the next morning and headed down into Arizona. We debated about whether or not to hit the Four Corners region, but decided instead to drive through Monument Valley, which is in the Navajo Nation Reservation. We were fortunate enough to drive through this amazing landscape after a recent dusting of snow. The roads were clear and safe, but the red rocks that jut out of the ground like alien formations on Mars were sprinkled with white powder. The contrast of colors made for an unforgettable experience, especially when the semi-wild horses wandered past. We listened to the local Navajo radio station as we drove through, and felt our souls vibrate in tune with the native chanters as we marveled at the magnificent terrain.

That night we stayed in the Canyon de Chelle at a Navajo run campground. It was a frigid night and the campground water tank was frozen solid, so we melted snow to make some pasta and curled up in our tent early. I was thankful for the extra heft and warmth our new Pendleton blanket provided! The next morning we drove into the Canyon to take a look at some of the sights. This is a holy place to the Navajo people, and I was excited to notice some tokens of offering that had been left at the base of Spider Rock. I am thankful to Andrew for always packing every possible item we may need on our trips; were it not for the binoculars I would have missed this small, reverent detail. Our next destination was the Petrified Forest National Park, a place I had visited as a child. Unfortunately after the beauty of Monument Valley, the Painted Desert fell a little short. Many of the petrified logs once held glimmering crystals, but rude tourists and other scallywags have dislodged and stolen the crystals over the years, which also added to our sense of disappointment.

Happily for us our next stop was Tucson, where plenty of joy and amusement awaited. We were stoked to meet up with my sister Meghan, her husband Jonathan, and their baby Juniper, and spend some quality time with my grandmother as well. Tucson activities included swimming in a lovely heated pool (Jonathan’s all-time favorite pastime, and Juniper’s first swim!), visiting Biosphere 2 out in the desert, hiking in Sabino Canyon, enjoying delicious food and drink (including the various meats and eggs we hauled down with us!), and taking a family portrait at JC Penney for Grandma. One of the days we went to lunch in downtown Tucson at one of our favorite places, The Blue Willow. We invited our old nanny Kaye, who took care of Meghan and me from infancy through childhood while our parents worked during the day. Kaye was 90, and her health had rapidly declined in the year since I’d seen her last. I’m so grateful we were able to spend that lovely afternoon with her, as it would turn out to be our last. Kaye passed away last week at home with her family. If only I can be so lucky as Kaye, to live a long, happy, joy-filled life and pass away in my home surrounded by love. She was like a grandmother to me, and I will never forget the warmth and tender care I received from this wonderful woman.

We spent close to a week in Tucson, and were itching for some rock climbing so Andrew and I headed north to Queens Creek Canyon up near Phoenix. The desert landscape here was gorgeous, and Andrew and I hiked through a canyon, past a little pond where we waited out a rain shower under the shelter of a small mesquite tree, and came out on top of a cliff. We strapped on our gear and rappelled down a route known as Geronimo. This exposed cliff was nerve-wracking for me since I haven’t done much outdoor climbing in the past few years, but I was proud of myself. Once we rappelled down we had to climb back up (of course!), and I managed to do it without help from Andrew since he was ahead of me and couldn’t do much but holler encouragement from above. As we hiked back down to our truck we were treated with a gorgeous rainbow, and we deeply inhaled that damp, musky, invigorating scent that only rainfall in a desert can produce. That night we made friends with our camp neighbors and enjoyed some beer and company around a roaring fire.

While we would have loved another day or two in Queens Creek, we had Joshua Tree on our minds. We hightailed it through Arizona (thanking our luck that gas prices had dropped to $1.84/gallon outside Phoenix!), and zoomed into Joshua Tree in the evening. Joshua Tree is a very special place for us: we met there, were married there, and I even have a Joshua tree tattooed on my ribcage, so we were excited to spend some time in one of our favorite spots. We wound up sharing a campsite with a young couple from Montana. Sam and Ian were kindred spirits, and we had a good time sharing meals, laughs, and campfires with them. We even took them to the Chasm of Doom one night, which is a fun cave scramble you do in the dark (assuming you have a knowledgeable guide like Andrew!). Unfortunately for me my fickle stomach wasn’t on board with this adventure, so I spent most of that time lying on a picnic table in the dark alternately listening to their hoots and hollers as they wormed their way through the cave and keeping an eye out for nosy coyotes.

After a couple days of rock climbing, lounging, and general merriment, we told Joshua Tree “goodbye for now”, and headed into Desert Hot Springs for a few hours’ soak in a natural hot springs pool. The resort we went to obviously had its heyday in the 1980s, and we enjoyed the cheesy music, cheap prices, and delicious mai tais as the desert dust rinsed away. That night we spent at Andrew’s grandparents’ house in San Clemente. Andrew’s grandmother always prepares for his visit by baking a fresh batch of his favorite chocolate chip cookies, and we always have a warm comfy bed on standby. We had a nice breakfast the next morning and polished off the last of our traveling bacon, and then headed through the LA madness towards his other grandparents’ home. We stopped at my favorite LA spot: Scoops Ice Cream for a delicious treat, (their flavors are incredible and they have the BEST soy ice cream options I’ve ever seen!), and the stress from LA traffic vanished at that first bite. Once we made it to Andrew’s grandparents’ house we sat and chatted with them for a while about life, death, grief, and other important topics before hitting the road yet again.

Our next couple days were full of driving, though we were lucky enough to have the time and good weather to drive up the eastern side of the Sierra Nevada mountain range. We stopped for a night in Mammoth and saw my pal Jill, and stopped for a couple hours in Reno to catch up with some of Andrew’s old friends from college. Finally we made it to Eugene, Oregon where we spent the night with my brother and sister-in-law (and their menagerie of dogs), and before we knew it we were back on the farm, frantically planning for the season ahead. One month later and we’re still at it, working on spreadsheets, business plans, and figuring out how we can afford to buy the animal feed we’ll need to keep 1,200 broiler chickens, 120 laying hens, 40 pigs, and 100 turkeys alive and healthy. Thankfully the goats and sheep eat grass, but there’s a lot of work involved with those guys too, so it’s bound to be a busy season for us again. After this nice relaxing winter I think we’re ready for the challenge!

Lard in the Larder & Meat on the Mind

A couple of weeks ago the first over-wintering trumpeter swans began flying overhead in small groups of four or five. Their ethereal trumpeting, along with a few storms and the quickly dipping mercury, are a sure sign that Old Man Winter is slowly wrapping his gnarled hands around the farm. As I sit here typing the wind is gusting wildly, rocking the tiny house on its tractor-trailer foundation. While Andrew and our part time farm hand William run around taking apart now-empty animal enclosures and gathering loose items that are blowing about, I sit here in the warm house with the excuse of fire-tender; we have many pounds of hog lard to render and keeping the fire alight is a very important task!

Speaking of hogs, all eighteen of our wonderful pig friends have been slaughtered over the past few weeks. The hogs are a huge part of our farm and bring a lot of character, so when they are first gone I feel their absence acutely. Someday soon we would like to breed our own hogs, and at that point we would have permanent pig residents to amuse us. For now the cycle of pig life on the farm is relatively short, but ends in a year’s supply of healthy, delicious pork. Many of our customers do not claim the leaf fat from their pigs once at the butcher, and so Andrew and I are happily collecting the leftovers for our own use and for gifts. Hog lard is making a comeback people: mark my words!

Today also marks the first goat slaughter of the season. Andrew performed this task himself, and I am so proud of how efficiently and humanely he accomplished this. This man I married never ceases to amaze me. He continues to learn new skills every day, and is constantly pushing himself to be better. If I only had half the drive he has we could conquer the world! Fortunately we’re happy just plodding along on our fertile little patch of borrowed land in this gorgeous valley. Who needs the world when you have everything you need just steps away from your front door?

As winter approaches we are trying to get things ready, doing what we can to prepare for the cold. We need to cut more hardwood for heat, and insulate the pipes coming out of the new well. We need to dig up and store our carrots, beets, and dahlia tubers in sawdust to protect them from freezing. On the back burner are plans to filter our water system and get the hot water heater back up and running. In the meantime we’re still hauling in our drinking water and taking showers at the neighbor’s. I started washing dishes part time at a nearby winery (the chefs were CSA members this season and are so fun to work with!), and I’ve gotten into the habit of brining my own dirty dishes with me. Having copious amounts of hot running water right out of the tap is a luxury I am still struggling to get used to.

In my last post I mentioned I was going on vacation to visit my sister and her new baby, along with some other family members. We had a great time in beautiful Autumnal Maine, enjoying the newest addition to the family and eating our way around Portland. Little Juniper is adorable, a perfect mash-up between my twin and her husband. It was surreal and amazing to watch the girl I grew up with mothering her child. I wish we lived closer so that I could watch Juniper grow, but photos and video chats will have to do for now. Despite kind of living as if we’re still in the 19th century, Andrew and I suffer that great dilemma most modern American families face: dispersion. We’d love to have everyone all living together on one big bustling farm, but for now we’re thankful for the technology that allows us to stay connected.

Typically wintertime on the farm is spent planning and plotting our next moves. Things are going to be a little bit different for us next year, and we have a lot of work to do in order to get ready. Our passions lie in humane animal husbandry, and we’re looking forward to making that our main mission at Bright Ide Acres. While vegetables will always be a part of our own homestead, the availability of healthy, organically grown produce is widespread in this part of the world. Ethically raised meats are harder to find, and the demand for this niche product is increasing. With the rise in consumer awareness about the factory meat industry and how much more nutritious and environmentally friendly pastured meats are, we feel there is a good marketplace for us.

One big challenge for selling meat products is that the regulations required for selling cuts are proving prohibitive for us. I am adamant about having animals slaughtered on the farm rather than subjecting them to stressful transport and slaughterhouse conditions. Right now all of the large animals that are slaughtered for customers are done so under a custom arrangement, which is great for people who have the freezer space to take a half hog or quarter cow. Our mobile butchers are not USDA certified, which means we can’t take back the meat and resell it as bacon or pork chops at farmers markets or to restaurants. While some neighboring counties have USDA certified mobile slaughter units, our county currently does not.

Unfortunately many potential customers in Seattle and surrounding areas, (who have both the desire to support ethical meat and the means to do so), don’t have big freezers in their apartments and townhouses. Our goal is to find a way to create a meat CSA or cooperative whereby we can provide monthly (or so) boxes with various cuts of different animals, eggs, and honey. Another difficulty will lie in advanced funding, since most of the revenue made from animal products don’t come until after slaughter, which is later in the season. I have been mulling the idea of a Kickstarter campaign or something similar, since I know a lot of you might be interested in supporting us in our endeavors. Please let me know if a comment if you have any ideas or suggestions for farm fund-raising!

I hear some sizzling from the lard pot, so it’s time to go stoke the fire and add more fat. I hope all of you across the country stay warm during the brutal week that’s predicted ahead. If you’re feeling down about the weather I can recommend some homegrown beans simmered in a dollop of trotter gear, (gelatinous pork stock made from pig’s feet!), to keep those winter blues in check. There’s really nothing better than a steaming mug of homemade chili on a cold blustery day!

Breathing Room

One nice thing about autumn is the waning daylight hours. While I may very well regret the lack of sunlight in the coming months, at present I am relishing it. The darkness of night forces us to quit working outdoors and settle in for the evening, allowing us to eat dinner at a reasonable time and get some much needed paperwork (and blogging!) done before bed.

Fortunately along with the reduction in daylight hours comes a reduction in duties, or at least that’s the idea. With as many animals as we have our work is never done, but the weeds have slowed down and we’re no longer planting new crops so we have a little more space to breathe. The farmer’s market season has ended and we’re in the home stretch of our CSA, with only three weeks left. At the end of October Sam will be leaving the farm, and Andrew and I will be back to the drawing board, coming up with new ideas for next year while we keep our little wood burning stove alight.

This season was quite a whirlwind. Some random highlights include:

* The switch in seasons as marked by the transition from horrible buzzing mosquitoes to horrible buzzing cluster flies (it turns out our home built house is NOT air tight. Surprise surprise.) I (along with the many spiders in the house) have become an insect serial killer
* Making homemade kombucha, water kefir, sauerkraut, mead, tomato sauce, jam, pickles, dilly beans, picked beets, chicken stock, salsa, preserved lemons, applesauce, apple cider vinegar, noccino, and shrub (to name a few!)
* An (unsuccessful but fun!) overnight trip into the mountains to try and see the Aurora Borealis
* Farm yoga sessions with our friends at a neighboring farm
* Three hours spent chasing our brand new ewe who escaped into the “wilds” of 100 or so farm acres
* One edible trout we finally caught in our “backyard” river
* ~600 broiler chickens successfully slaughtered at the farm by us and an army of volunteers
* Zero major injuries, despite Andrew’s repeated attempts to ride “piggy back”

With the craziness of another farm season under our belts comes some powerful lessons. We have learned that there is way too much going on for just the two of us, and even with Sam’s help we were often overwhelmed. We’re going to have to figure out how to make our vision sustainable for the long haul, especially if we plan on raising a family some day. Additionally, owning our own business has been a lesson in fiscal responsibility and management. Next year I will need to invest in some software to help me better track our accounts. Stashing crumpled receipts in our Carhartt pockets or the truck dashboard to be added to Excel spreadsheets later is probably typical behavior for farmers, but not so great for business owners!

Unfortunately this season I have been struggling with a general lack of energy, likely caused by a combination of stress, irregular eating habits, and an underlying blood sugar issue. It’s a difficult dilemma, because work on a farm is truly never done. When the sun sets I spend much of my evening writing emails and catching up on paperwork, when mostly I just want to crawl into bed and sleep for twelve hours. This is part of why I have been so bad about updating this blog! We knew going into this that this farm gig wasn’t just a job, but a lifestyle. We are so lucky to have found something we’re passionate about, and I would never complain about our (chosen!) circumstances. It is important to be honest though, and admit that there are times I feel a real apprehension about this life. I have met many farmers who feel chained to their land/animals/crops, and never seem to find time to take a break. This is not how we feel yet, although with our growing animal herds it may prove harder and harder to find a good “farm sitter.”

My solution to that problem is to take a vacation this month while Andrew and Sam hold down the fort! Next week I’ll be visiting my sister in Maine, and get to meet my baby niece Juniper for the first time! My dad, uncle, and spouses will also be there so it will be a wonderful mini reunion. I’m looking forward to some time away, where I can rejuvenate my body and soul (and take hot showers on the daily!).