Pre-Season (Kale Chip) Harvest

I grow kale everywhere. Outside in the garden. Outside in the front garden. In the greenhouse (read: ugly hoop house in the front of our yard.) Inside to get a jump on kale starts when the greenhouse is full. It's pretty much an insatiable love for kale chips.

Er.

Kale.

5# of kale. Phase 1: Harvest the kale from the plants. Go for the outermost leaves
and use scissors for easy leaf cutting.

Restoring the land, making space

The goats cleared out almost all the blackberries from their paddock and we are looking at fencing off a second area that is overrun in salmon and blackberries as well.

Of course as they eat away the foliage we get the pleasure of uncovering more yard decor. I haven't figured out just how people dump things on any land--let alone their own. Instead of feeling ownership over our property (well, let's be honest our mortgage company own most of it anyhow), I mostly feel responsibility. Like I should leave it no worse than I receive it--preferably better.  I want to nurture it so it continues to give back to me and anyone else who ends up here. 

Sometimes things look so neat and tidy until I pull back some of the ground cover and then WHAM! 

Preserving the Harvest

Mr. Bee and I are focused on expanding our food storage right now. We've consulted with neighbors, read books (like Indeoendence Day) and even found a second food dehydrator from someone down the road. 

There is something uniquely satisfying about taking something that should only last a moment, or a day, or a week and preserving it for a later time. 

Although my memory is less than spectacular on its own,  the moment I have something to hang a memory on it becomes nearly photographic. It becomes preserved almost indefinitely. 

Did you hear that Radio Lab episode last week? Yeah me too. And although I can't tell you what it was even about, if you replay any segment of it, I will suddenly be able to recall every detail. I will know exactly where I was during that portion of the show. I'll be transported back instantly. Even if it was four years ago. I'll remember word for word what Jad will say next, the color of my shirt if I looked down, the way Mr. Bee's face looked as he processed the information and all the colors of the cars around me if I was driving. It's like reliving the scene. (And thus, I find it very disorienting to ever listen to the same thing twice!)

As we can our shiro plum and basil jam to top winter toast, make applesauce for the spring, or blanch our greens to toss in soup on a soup cooking on the fire on an upcoming snowy day, I hope we are persevering the memories alongside. I hope we remember the joy of watching our first chard stems poke up through the ground in our newly built hoop house--long before anyone else had even purchased their seeds--as we open a jar of pickled rainbow stems.  I hope we remember laughing and picking Asian pears with Baby Bee on my back as we munch on dried pear rings and think how lucky we are to call them a "snack". I hope when we pop the cap off our apple cider at thanksgiving, we remember how our frost attempt exploded all over the laundry room leaving sticky residue and a yeasty smell to linger for days. 

I hope we remember to harvest and preserve the good days and that the memories are just as fresh, even after the seasons change.

Labor: Unassisted and In A Barn

You thought that title was about referring to me, huh? Nope! Lula Mae had her babies yesterday!!

(Actually, this happened several months ago, but I was nearing my own birth and never managed to publish the post.)

Watching my strong, stubborn goat transformed by the power of labor was beautiful. We took comfort in the facts that animal birth is, for all intents and purposes, a natural, organic process and that Lula Mae was an "experienced" mama. Sure, we read (all the books ever written) on goat labor and birth, had our birth kit nearby and kept the number of a local vet handy, but mostly we hoped she'd do it all herself. Which she did.

Even though she had all the mechanics of birth covered, she begged for us to stick around. As early labor turned into active labor she panted with her head pressed against my shoulder, leaning into the comfort of our touch and presence. We've heard some kinds of goats can actually delay their births by up to two weeks, and I am confident Lula Mae waited till she had both of us home on holiday.

Lula Mae waiting for the next contraction

I've been nearby but never attended a birth before--human or otherwise. I was in awe. Lula knew just what to do, putting her front legs up high on the hay feeder as she pushed, pacing on her breaks, moaning through the pain and occasionally biting the thick wood of the barn to cope.

Soon, her effort paid off and we saw the first signs of life poking into this world--only instead of a tiny nose, we saw a tiny tail. Her baby was breach! After two hours went by with only a tail birthed, we knew the kid was in danger and that assistance would be required.

A tail--not a nose--was our first sign of life

Just as I pulled on my long plastic glove, Lula Mae gave a deep grunt and pushed out the baby's hips.

Relieved, I returned to my role of goat doula as Mr. Bee assumed the role of stand-by midwife. Another few pushes and the baby plopped on the group, a slimy beautiful mess. Lula immediately began to bite away at the sac and lick it's face--all the while still pushing.

A tail poked out and we knew another baby was on its way! This one slid out more easily but didn't stir once it hit the ground. When kids are born breach, they don't have the same pressure on the way out of the birth canal, and it is easy for them to come out having mucous in their lungs. Mr. Bee picked up the second kid and swung it by its ankles. I watched as mucous spewed out and the tiny body began to cough and breath.



A family was born.

Lula Mae licked her babies continually and made the most wonderful cooing noises at them. They struggled to suckle but eventually got the hang of things. Within 5 minutes the wobbly legged babies were wandering around. One of them even went outside!

Desi and December, 1 hour old
Each year, a different letter is used in the goat breeding world for record keeping, and it is common to name the babies using that letter as the first letter to their names. This year the letter is "D".

We felt so privileged to witness Lula's birth experience and to greet her little ones moments after they arrived. We were so caught up in the moment that we forgot we had our own birthing class to attend!! We showed up covered in afterbirth and hay, but our instructors said it was the best and most unusual reason for being late she'd ever heard.

Homecoming

I thought when we found a place, began forcing roots into the ground, determined to settle ourselves, that we had arrived.

I thought we'd found ourselves in a new relationship to one another, in a new community, in new hobbies and fresh starts.

I thought my life was full of beauty and joy and richness that I never could have imagined.

I thought we'd come home.


Now, as I curl my arm around my feisty bundle of life and pull him closer to my chest, the past looks different. Everything I thought before was true, but I can barely remember the days before Baby Bee, similar to how I can barely remember life before getting married. It's like our souls have all always been intertwined.

Baby Bee's arrival feels like coming home. Instead of coming home for the first time, it's like returning home after a long absence. It is warm and familiar. Soothing and still exciting. Very different from the place you just were, but precisely the place you know you need to be.



**Thank you for your patience with my 8 month silence. We're back now. Just as we should be.**

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.

You win some...

If I were to say, "it's been busy lately" then I would be painting you an inaccurate picture. I'm searching for other words....frenetic, intense, overloaded. In case you are a visual learner, you may find the following picture more telling than any of my words.

Taken at the END of my workday. Moments after discovery.

We have gotten a lot done. It's true in a sense. But no matter how hard I try, I cannot cram more than 24 hours into a day. Except daylight savings time. And I usually forget to take advantage of that (next year, next year). We finally expanded our duck pen, dug up part of the lawn for our square foot garden, installed a deer fence around the garden, built "tunnels" for our veggies while they attempt to grow in this stubbornly cold weather, introduced baby duckies to big duckies, and started a worm compost bin. Oh yeah, we both went to the dentist too.

(read more after the jump)

Firsts.

Those who know me consider me an "over achiever." But those who really know me, know that I do well at what I attempt and only attempt that which I know I can do well.

Did you catch that? Most of my success rests in the fact that I don't take a lot of risks. Overall, I'd say it's a pretty decent plan. It leaves you feeling competent. You never have to put yourself out there. You get good results.

And that's all that matters, right?

Er, I guess you could say, well, that's all that used to matter. This whole homestead adventure has gifted me ample opportunities to attempt new things at a pace so rapid I forgot to be cautious. In fact, in the past 4 months, I have done more new things than I usually allow myself to try in 5 years. In case you are wondering, yes, I do treat "new things" like a controlled substance." Don't all risky things require regulation?

Since January I have:

Homestead Wins

With so many homestead fails in the last week, it's good to have a win or two.

Those of you who know us personally know that we love learning to forage for our own food. In particular, we (primarily Mr. Bee) love hunting gourmet mushrooms. We've found chanterelles, porcini (and a host of other boletes), lobster, chicken-of-the-woods, oyster, inky caps, shaggy parasol, prince, matsutake, hedgehog, shrimp russula, slippery jack, blewit, candy cap, witch's butter, edible puff balls, and fairy ring to name a few. But in our two years of hunting, we had never found the famed Morel.

That all changed this week. We don't have good phone reception at our house, so on our way home from work we pulled over to make a few calls. On our way back onto the road, Mr. Bee found his prize. In fact, within an hour we had loaded the paper bag we keep in the car for just such opportune "sightings" with more than 300 morels. (I can't describe to you how many that is. Think like, uh, if you reached down to pick up what you thought was a dollar bill and it turned out it was two 100 dollar bills. That kind of crazy!) Most are black morels, which are the most common kind in the PNW. We also have yellow morels and even a few of the West Coast-native red morel (NOT the red false morels, mind you). It was a mushroom hunter's paradise and I'm proud to say that my morel spotting skills are almost as good as my legendary chanterelle locating skills. With more practice, I'm certain they could be refined.

How many morels can you find?

Hint: there are at least four that are visible in this picture!

You can see the answer below the jump.