Our First Guest Blogger



As Melissa (aka The Farmer) recovers from surgery with her nose pressed against the front door, longingly gazing toward the barns and animals and work, and as I am outside slaving away (oops, I mean cheerfully tending the flock), I decided making her my guest blogger would be a good idea.

She didn't agree. It took my considerable persuasive skills, and a list of questions to give her direction, before she warmed to the idea. So below is a Q&A. If you have any questions for our guest blogger, don't be shy.

Here's your chance to ask about the reproductive cycle of sheep, why chickens have belly buttons, and what it's like to live with a very reasonable, patient, totally laid back, non-anxiety-prone writer!

Okay, Melissa, what's your favorite part of farming?

The animals...and the machinery...and the open space. Do I have to pick one?

Least favorite?

Mucking out manure... although I don't really hate it; I like to keep the animals' bedding clean and healthy.

Funny things that have happened to you?

The time I tried moving the flock up a short, wide, fenced area so I could de-worm them. I stood in the middle of the flock, and some sheep decided to run one way, and the rest of them ran the opposite way. Wool is a lot like Velcro-- my pants stuck to the sheep as they ran by me (in different directions). The flock spun me around until I finally was able to fall to the ground. They didn't step on me, they just ran around me. Catherine was at the house and saw me disappear into the ocean of sheep! By the time she got out to me, I was up again and laughing.

Is there anything you wished people knew or understood about farming?

They should read your book, "The Compassionate Carnivore". That will help people understand small farmers. [Thanks for the plug, dear.]

About sheep?

Y'know, sheep have always had a bad reputation. People think they're just dumb, but in raising sheep for 12 years, I've observed them at length. Sheep can't bite you (no upper teeth in front) and they can't fight back if attacked. Sheep are ever vigilant because they are prey animals. Their only means of defense is to stay in the flock or run like hell. Here I need to add that a ram, the male sheep, is like a miniature bull. A ram is unpredictable and can "ram" into you. That's how they play (and fight) with each other. So a ram can defend himself to a point.

Sheep have personalities, like cattle and goats. Some are more docile than others, some can't get far enough away from the shepherdess! Some are determined to go where you don't want them to go! (We call this a "mutiny.")

I think I may be starting to ramble... I'm known for making a short story long.

How do you feel about Catherine being in charge of the animals for 2 weeks? Does it make you a little nervous?

Just a little apprehensive... she doesn't see all the little things that constantly need fixing/ improving. I know she'll do a good job, and the animals will still be here, safe and sound, when my two week grounding is over. I miss them already!

If you weren't farming, what would you be doing?

Probably working with agriculture in some capacity. Or maybe repairing electronic equipment.

Which do you like better, poultry or sheep or cows?

I like them all! I've thought about "thinning the herd" and only having one or two species on the place. I can't decide which group of animals to part with. I love them all. Each is fascinating in a different way.

Favorite songs?

I can't narrow it down. I grew up in the late '60s and early ''70s. I like the older Beatles music, Cat Stevens, Shawn Phillips, Melissa Etheridge... Not "hard" music. Lighter, happier stuff.

What are you reading now?

I'm reading 2 books right now. One is titled "Dewey". It's about a stray kitten who was allowed to live in the library in Spencer, IA. The other book is "Coping With Your Difficult Older Parent". (Guess who's got a difficult older parent?)

Favorite movies?

Harold and Maude, The Sound of Music, Grosse Pointe Blank, Mumford, Willow, The Princess Bride. That's all I can think of right now.

Once you're done healing, what's the first thing you'll do when Catherine releases you from house arrest?

Run outside and greet all the animals! Then look for things to fix.

Hard at Work

My readers are really funny people, and, as it turns out, a tad impatient... Here's the email I received this morning from someone named Charlie:

RRRGGGHHHH; gasp, choke, moan, No new Farm Tales...

, ,

Okay, okay! Here I am, with another post. Moral of the story: Harassment works!

I've not been posting because LOTS has been going on, culminating in Melissa having surgery the day before Thanksgiving. She's fine---no worries there---but she can't be active or lift more than 10 pounds for the next two weeks, leaving yours truly in charge. I was joking with friends that I might have to chain her to the living room sofa to keep her quiet and non-active. I was joking, but it turns out I might have to do just that.

The day after surgery (Thanksgiving Day---hope everyone had a nice one, by the way!) I went up to the big barn to feed and water the sheep, thinking I'd left Melissa resting quietly in the house. But then she took the dogs out the back door to play for a few minutes. Then, back inside, she went out the front door and wandered into the little barn, where she moved some lumber to fix a problem I was having with the steer-feeding set up. I caught her there, red-handed, about to start another little project to make life easier for me.

I marched her back inside, sat her down, gave her the lecture of her life. While I appreciate that she wants to help me, being active too soon, overdoing it, then bleeding internally or having her insides head for the nearest exit...this was not going to help me at all. Oh. She hadn't thought of that.

I made a new rule: For the next four days, she is not to step one foot out the front door. The back door leads to a fenced area, so she can hang out there with the dogs if she needs to go outside and walk around a bit. Okay, fine, she said. But Jenny was coming over and Melissa wanted to show her some cool rocks she'd gathered, three huge buckets full. She could go out the front door for that, right?

We went over the rule again, more slowly this time, and the Farmer now understands she will be in serious trouble if she steps outside the front door.

Meanwhile, I'm trying to find my grove. Farms always have transition times as they move from season to season, and we're in the middle of our fall to winter transition. The lambs, who need to eat some corn for energy against the cold, and to help them grown, don't know what corn is. It'll be my job to teach them that. We're working out the kinks as we house our four steer in the little barn, and learn how to feed corn without being killed by excited cows.

So I'm sure, Charlie, I'll have plenty to blog about in the next two weeks. I may not have the energy, however.

Maybe I can persuade the Farmer to be a guest blogger! Then you guys can help keep her out of trouble for an hour or two.

Important Advice: Don't Drink and Farm

The Farmer was gone hunting a few weeks ago, so I was in charge, always a heady time because I get to wear so many hats.

A few days into my solo farming career, I woke up and put on my Writing Hat, writing an hour before feeding myself and the dogs. Then I donned my Chore Hat and went outside to feed the chickens, etc. Back inside I put the Writer Hat on again. Late morning I jammed on my Maintenance Hat, and using a two-wheeled dollie, dragged my ugly gray four-drawer file cabinet (empty) out the back door, through the yard, up the driveway, and into the shed, where I spray painted it burgundy. Some of the paint actually made it onto the cabinet.

Then after lunch I switched back to Chore Hat and hopped on the 4-wheeler to move the sheep to fresh pasture. (In fall in MN the term 'fresh' is relative...it's not succulent new grass, but mostly the older stuff the sheep turned their cute little noses up at the last time through that pasture.)

Then back to the house to find my Editor's Hat, working for a few hours helping other writers improve their manuscripts. Then I had time to put on my Self-Pity Hat and watch a DVD because I was still feeling the effects of a sinus infection.

While under the influence of the Self-Pity Hat, I decided I needed a treat. No candy in the house that I could find (At my request, M hides it, then doles it out a piece at a time), but we had some wine.

First let me say that I understand excess drinking is a serious problem. I might drink 1-2 glasses of wine in a month, so please don't think I'm out here chugging down gallons of Boone's Farm every day.

(I drank to excess once in college, and that was enough. My roommate and I held a wapatoulie party: Take one clean waste basket, line it with a clean trash bag, then everyone brings a bottle of something and pours it in. This is just as bad an idea as it sounds. Luckily we'd used my roommate's waste basket because I spent the night sitting on the edge of my bed hugging my own.)

But here I was, alone all week, a bit lonely, so I opened a bottle of wine and drank a glass. It was good, so I drank another. Also good. Unbelievably, and uncharacteristically, I then consumed a THIRD glass. Three glasses in about 45 minutes....ah...bad idea.

Now it was dark, so I had to put on the Chore Hat and close up the barns, feeding cats, ducks, and cattle. The ground seemed a bit unstable as I headed out, but I was fine. I started with the shed, and was suddenly fascinated with the four homing pigeons living up in the rafters (long story.) Instead of finding them irritating, I thought they were a lovely white, and I spent lots of time standing beneath them, enjoying their sweet cooing.

I turned out the lights and headed for the little barn, amazed that the ground could undulate so without an earthquake. In the little barn I talked to the chickens, collected their eggs, and told them what a marvel I thought these little orbs were. The chickens, all perched for the night, clucked nervously at the chatting fool below them.

Then I turned my attention to the four steers, and grew nostalgic. "Just six months ago you little guys were small enough to pick up. I fed you from a bottle. I taught you how to drink from a bucket." I went on and on about how big they were now (450 pounds) and how much they'd grown. I walked through the pen, scratching heads, patting flanks, hugging heads, gushing a bit over how great they looked. Imagine a 14-year-old boy trapped in a room with a great-aunt he hasn't seen for a few years....this was the look on the faces of the four steers.

Then I climbed up into the hay mow. I fed the cats (we feed them up there so the chickens can't get to their food.) I tossed hay down through the hole in the floor for the cattle below. Then I returned to the ladder and looked down.

This was when it hit me: perhaps those three glasses hadn't been such a good idea. To get down, I had to grasp the handles on the pole, step down onto the first rung of the ladder, walk my hands down the pole, grab the ladder with one hand and pull the door closed above me with the other. I stared down the hole. One misstep and I'd end up in a rumpled heap on the hard ground. Not only would I hurt myself, but I'd startle the cattle.

I donned my Instant Sobriety Hat, took a deep breath, and got myself down safely without hurting myself or scaring anyone. So the ending to this story is sort of anticlimactic, but that's okay. One doesn't need to be grievously injured to learn a lesson.

The next night, I skipped the wine altogether, and wore my Sober Hat out to do chores.

The first night Melissa was back, it was her job to close up the barns, so I uncorked a bottle of wine and poured myself a glass.

"Hey, can I have a glass?" she asked as she was pulling on her boots.

I snorted. "I can't believe you. Don't know you know it's a bad idea to drink and farm?"