The Expectant Mothers of The Homestead

If you’ve been keeping up on this homestead tour, you’ll know that Mama Duck is sitting on her clutch of eggs and Lula Mae is growing wider with her expected kid(s) by the day. It’s a privilege to watch how these mothers take care of their not-yet-arrived little ones and how their behavior changes as time gets closer.


Guarding her eggs and stuffing the nest (note how much bedding she's gathered)

The LulaBarrel is packing babies!

But I’d be remiss if I failed to tell you the other anticipated arrival on our homestead. Yes, Mr. Bee and I are expecting our first Baby Bee!

Baby Bee's first closeup!

We’ve waited a long time to share in this forum for a variety of reasons, but now that it is so close, it doesn’t make sense not to share. It’s an exciting time and I’m happy to be in the company of other expectant mothers. As my time draws nearer, I am amazed at how similar all animals act when nesting—including humans.

Let’s just hope Lula Mae and I don’t have too much in common. Our due dates are 2 weeks apart. And we’re both planning on birthing at home. =/ Did I mention she had some ovulatory complications when we were trying to breed her?

Adoption

It's been quiet around this electronic homestead, but don't for a moment think it's been quiet in our physical world. Generally, I like to write about things that are solid, or at minimum, unsettled things whose uncertainty I can count on. Instead, life has consisted of "we'll-have-to-see" or "we-won't-know-till-we-get-there"  moments, with a whole lot of decision-making thrown in. Over the coming days and weeks, I'll find the space to write about it all, and hopefully whether through this process or through time, will find solid footing I want.

One thing I know for sure is that homesteading takes you over, and over again, through the full cycle of life.

We recently lost two of our ducks. Butry, one of the big white ones, and one of "The Littles" that we hand-raised. It was torture. I went outside one Saturday morning to let the Ducks out and I counted. But before I could finish counting, I knew they were not all there.

Each morning, four quacking ducks gather at my feet waiting for treats and love. This morning there were only two. "Why couldn't it have been one of the other ducks?" I asked myself over and over again as I struggled to make peace with the truth. You know the outcome. You know it already happened, but  somehow you want to change it so it's just a little bit better. A little more palatable. Why I couldn't it have been a duck without a name?

I was scouring our property, scouring every bush and suspecting every owl that dare cry. I had to find them.
I searched each night and each morning. I would look into the thick forest and hope any moment the ducks would come waddling out, having had a great adventure but ready to return home. I was consumed with a longing I've rarely known.

Hope springs eternal.

In the end, I found something, though not what I was hoping for. The neighbors who sold us the goat, called us and asked if he had a home for their now-lonely Peckin, whose flock-mates had become the recent dinner of a raccoon or dog. We arranged the adoption, and are grateful for the addition. Our flock-family feels a little more complete, but I think there's still room for more.

Welcome, Ms. Duck.

New Kids on the Block

"So, I heard you got goats yesterday."

The voice on the other end of the receiver wasn't asking a question so much as stating a fact she already knew.

"Yeah, yeah we did. It's pretty exciting," I eeked out the words, a little bit taken aback by the rate at which news travel in this news community. We might have spotty reception, but word still gets around I guess. Gossip chains aren't a favorite societal function of mine--however it's a price you pay when your community is small. Mrs. D was one of J&E's friends. She and her partner live a few minutes away. They have a dog that likes to chase sticks and are expecting a little one in a few months. She and J see each other almost daily. I shouldn't be surprised that J&E already told her.

"That's so great! Was it Lula Mae that I heard?"

I paused. Maybe the community gossip chain wasn't that strong after all. I cringed. "Does that mean you...could hear her from your house?"

She laughed, a kind and gentle laugh mixed with no hint of annoyance.

"She was, er, a little upset by her relocation. I think it's settling down now?" This last statement was less of an educated guess and more of a desperate hope. Lula Mae had been making awful, heart-wrenching noises--multi-tonal, throaty bleats that felt more like screams than anything else. Mid-bleat she'd drop her bottom jaw and stick out her tongue to further prove her point.

"Lula Mae's a..sensitive goat," she said, choosing her words carefully. "I'm sure she'll settle down soon. It just takes her some getting used to."  You see, Mrs. D used to help milk Lula Mae in exchange for the milk, and was ifact the neighbor that helped us make the move to becoming her new owner.  She'd probably know. "Anyhow, do you think I could come by some time and visit them?"

"Of course! How does Tuesday sound?"

"Great! See you then!"

I hung up the phone and beamed with pride in our new goats mixed with a feeling that I could finally contribute to the community I've gained so much from.  Integrating into a community is tricky business for the inexperienced. When the natural community of childhood fades away with life changes like relocation and radical personal transformation, it becomes much more difficult to find a friend group, a neighborhood of connections, a "tribe," or any other name you call a community. Social institutions like school and faith groups are great facilitators, but where does that leave those of us without such ties? Homesteading can be an isolating lifestyle by default, so it takes intentionality to avoid that fate.

As we find ourselves with an abundance of eggs and goat milk, we want to share our good fortunes with others. It's simply a fine line between feeling like you are "paying  your way' into a community and finding a way to give back after you've benefited. Community may contain elements of bartering, however, it's hard to remember that transferring goods isn't the only transaction that counts. As individuals in Western Society, it can be challenging not to judge your sense of community worthiness and belonging by what you bring to the table instead of who you are. Well, it is for me at least.

As for Chloe, she is still small and cute and surprisingly calm for such a transition. The day we got her, I gathered a bribe of over-ripe blackberries in my palm, hoping she'd forgive us for uprooting her from her known world and transplanting her into this foreign patch of land overrun with brambles if I made an early offering of peace. She pressed her muzzle into my hand and snatched up the gushy fruit. Ah if you can feed a being, it will know it's loved. Red staining juice lingered where the berries had been, and Chloe cleaned it up with her velvet tongue. Yes, you're home now. Welcome to our family. Welcome to our community.

Sneak Peak

I'd say that we've been busy, but in truth, it's just that a lot has been going on around us. In the mean time, we remind ourselves of what's coming very soon, and we wanted to show you a glimpse of our future too.

Ready?



The two gray ones are going to be ours. LuLa Mae is standing in the back right and her daughter Chloe is standing in the front left. The big one in front is Chloe's grandma, the brown little in the back is Lula Mae's other child.

You want a close up of the baby, don't you?

I can hardly wait till they are ours!

Family Planning: Same Story, Second Verse

We're courting some goats right now.

Yes, you heard me right: courting and goats.

A few weeks ago we received a somewhat serendipitous call from a neighbor we met once who heard we might be in the market.

She tells the story of some other community members that had raised goats for half a decade, and are ready to move on. Four goats need good home. An excellent breed for milk and even meat.

I thank her for thinking of us and take down her number. Mostly, it feels like a true inclusion into a community that I desperately want to be part of. Mr. Bee's been wanting goats for some time. Something about an overwhelming portion of our land inhabited by an invasive species of blackberries and more Salmon berries than we could feasibly consume in a season. Or was it the benefit of fresh milk? And cheese?

Now I'm not a fan of blackberries, but I can't justify twice daiy milkings. Mr. Bee, however, can. And Mr. Bee is close at hand.

"Let's take them."

I laugh. "We don't need goats."

We later show up at a beautiful forested property. A couple of ducks in a pen. More than a handful of hens running around. Roosters strutting at our feet. And four kinder goats.

Just what we'd expected.

Except two of the goats are babies.

I'm not prepared for this. My defenses are down. They are five months old. Still nursing occasionally. Did
I mention that everything around me is reproducing? My college roommate is some four months along with her first. J&E have the sweetest newborn you've ever seen. My Facebook (yes, us homesteaders still use FB on occasion!) feed is filled with high school acquaintances posting photos of their toddlers and baby bumps--it is a toss up which is most prevalent.

"Yeah, thanks for having us out . We'd love to take two, maybe the mama and one of the babies?"

I'm surprised to hear that it's not Mr. Bee's voice. It's my own.

So now we're slowly letting the goats get used to us as were visit in our spare time and work to fence a pen of blackberries and build a shelter for the pair.

Soon enough we'll have a baby of our very own. October is our planned arrival. Of course, we'll post plenty
of pictures on the day she arrives. We'll post pictures of her mommy too.

Nesting.

The majority of our flock hatched yesterday. The remaining few will have tapped their way out of their shells this morning. They are all set to arrive Wednesday morning after a long but exciting journey.

I have never had kids before, so I can only imagine what it is like to expect the arrival of another human, whether through physical birth or another way, to complete your family. All I know is that the arrival of our baby duckies is a very exciting and emotional time! Mr Bee's been hard at work designing and building the DuckMahal (actual pictures to follow). I keep feeling the need to clean the house, do all the laundry, and make lots of food so we can be "ready."  We oscillate between anxiety and eagerness.

What if one dies in the shipping process? What if our straight run ends up being all boys? What if we are well-meaning but terrible ducky parents and produce miserable poultry? What if this becomes our biggest homestead fail of all time?

Mr. Bee isn't his usual calm self either. There's something so exciting and scary about fulfilling a life-long dream. We keep looking around and saying to each other, "Can you believe we are making this happen?"

Hardly. I'll believe it when I see it.

But for right now, Wednesday is too soon and too far away, and most certainly, never coming.

Ah, family planning.

How many? Will you bother finding out the gender? How do you know what to expect? What do you want a new one's arrival into the world to look like? How do you prepare for something you've never done before?

The past two weeks, Mr. Bee and I have tackled these questions with the same strategies we've used to make all of our other important life decisions. We first scoured for book reviews, then scoured those books, interrogated knowledgeable friends, heard the warnings from family, and dug deep down in our beings for some sense of guidance and, well...made a decision.