The Real Deal

Last week, while in the village of Vesuvius voting, I was fortunate enough to be near the train tracks to hear a train approaching from the south.

I ran to the tracks and looked, but I could not see a train, yet....

What seemed like ten minutes, but was probably more like one; I finally saw the train inch around the bend - still a ways off.  The lights on the front of the engine provided the necessary focal point to ascertain the actual train moving against the dull background of the wooded hillsides lining the tracks.

The lights got closer, and so did the grinding of the rolling wheels.

I quickly moved to the actual railroad crossing for what I thought would be my best vantage point.

The ding, ding, ding of the crossing gate sounded, the red and white striped bar slowly lowered.  I had to move out of the way or else I would get struck by the gate.  I wanted to be as close to the tracks as possible, I wanted the real deal feel of the train as it passed.

A few cars and trucks were detained on both sides of the tracks as the train neared - not many, though, since this crossing is not well-traveled.

 

Finally, the engine's whistle blew as it approached the Route 56 road junction.  I was smiling, I was excited.  I was within ten feet of the moving mass of steel.  I could feel the vibrations.  I could feel the power. 

I watched as each train car passed me by - some decorated with graffiti, others not.  Each specific car was carrying a specific load - box cars, oil tankers, flatbeds.  I watched the wheels turn round; metal against metal with some screeching, but mostly with a regular rhythm.

The last car of the train  passed, the crossing gate raised, the waiting vehicles traversed the tracks, and I watched the train continue north out of sight.

Now, I have a vivid picture to bring up from the depths of my memory vault when I hear, and do not see, the train at the farm.

But, most of all, I am anxious for my next train encounter....

Buying Hay

Glenn had an opportunity to buy a few, 109 to be exact, square bales of hay from a nearby neighbor/friend this week.   So, he did.

This is such an atypical year.  Usually, hay season is over by the end of September, some farmers try to push into October; but November...nevertheless, the grass continues to be green and growing.  The only hindrance is in getting the desirable weather to dry the cut grass adequately - that's the trick. The hot and dry days of summer are gone...

What with getting an early snowfall at the end of October (also very odd); Glenn thought, perhaps, having some extra square hay bales in the barn would be a good plan.  Better to be prepared than not.

Yesterday, Glenn W. delivered the hay.  As G.W. and Bryce (our high school senior help) unloaded the square bales from the wagon onto the hay elevator (which has not been used in years since we had been producing all round bales), Glenn stacked the bales in the upper level of the pole barn. 

The elevator, powered by an electric motor, saves a little (a lot if you are the one moving the bales) manual labor in moving the bales to the upper level of the barn.  The machine moaned and groaned and experienced one minor breakdown, but for the most part, performed well enough to get the job done.

Years back, when we were baling only square bales, I was the main help in placing those heavy bales onto the elevator .  We would bale and stack over 500 during the hot days of summer.  I like to make hay, but moving it was a different story - hot, sticky, itchy....and at about 50 pounds per bale, I was hurting.  I am not strong now, nor was I back in my younger years; but the bales had to be stacked out of the elements - in the dry barn.  I survived.  Today, I got to enjoy by watching all the guys - great timing.

So, even though we did not make any hay ourselves this year, and we never plan to make hay again; we have an ample supply in storage if needed, in case our grazing management alone will not get our cattle/sheep through this winter - whatever weather Mother Nature brings our way. 

Even though we purchased hay, in the overall scheme; we saved time, energy (fuel), and money.

Perfect ending to a perfect day!

My Potted Grapefruit Tree

I have a potted grapefruit tree (plant) that normally resides next to the pergola.

Now, that the weather temperatures have cooled to near or below freezing at night, I have brought my potted grapefruit tree inside - to a sunny corner of the living room, to be exact. It sits on a short wooden platform in a metal dish to protect the hardwood floor from moisture. (I learned this precaution the hard way.) This tree use to spend winters in the basement until I realized that the basement was not providing the necessary light for adequate survival.  And, since I rarely spend much time in the basement, I always forgot to water the tree on a regular basis.  Despite its shortcomings, the tree survived.

This grapefruit, even though very old, has never produced one fruit.  I can understand why - it grows in a very small pot. 

I started this tree from a seed from a grapefruit I was eating in 1969.  I remember the year because this is the year my brother graduated from high school - the same time I planted the seed in a six-inch terra cotta pot.  As the tree grew, I would transplant it into a larger pot.  I had to stop at a 14" pot because the tree/pot was getting too heavy for Glenn to move from outside to inside in the fall, and back outside in the spring.  Now, the tree pretty much stays the same size because of the size of its pot - kind of like bonsai.  Sometimes a branch dies. I cut if off, and a new sprout begins to grow.  I am sure if I removed the tree from the pot that I would find a mass of intertwined roots, very little soil.  But, the tree continues to live.

This tree has traveled the United States during our several moves - Illinois to Virginia,  Virginia to Colorado,  a short visit with my parents in Illinois when we moved to Alaska, Idaho back to Virginia.

I have a photo of Matt sitting under the tree, on top of the soil, and hugging the stem when he was two.  He had a great big smile. What would entice a little boy to do such a thing? 

Buddy comes by for a drink when I water (about one gallon total per day during the summer) the tree (outside) as the water pools before it is absorbed.

Now, inside for protection from the cold, the grapefruit slowly loses its leaves as it makes the transition. 

As the leaves dry, one by one, they drop to the wood floor with a soft crispness.  Loud enough, though, breaking the silence; that I can be roused from a nap as I unintentionally doze, reading (?) a book. 

The faintness of each sporadic leaf descent is calming, pleasant - so much impact for so little gesture.

The leaves gather around the base of the plant.  I sweep up the fallen leaves daily.  The next day there is a new gathering.

I thought about counting the downed leaves and the leaves remaining on the tree - there is quite a significant number and I was a bit curious, but that little task would just be a waste of precious time. (I am not that curious.)  After all, more leaves will fall, and more leaves will grow.

No, this tree of mine does not produce any fruit; but it does produce many memories, many singular moments.

And, my grapefruit tree continues to endure.

Weaning - UGH!

Yesterday, we weaned the older calves (6-10 months) off their Mamas.

The process starts like a game of  'musical pastures'.

First, the entire flerd was enticed into the barn lot.  Then, the cows and sheep (and Jenny, our donkey) were separated back out into the furthest paddock.  The calves remained in the barn lot.

Then, the youngest calves (the late arrivals) were let out to join their Mamas.  They would be weaned when they got a bit older.

The remaining group of calves were scrutinized.  We had to decide which calves were staying on the farm and which would be going to market.  Calves going to market were placed in one pen, while those remaining stayed put.

Becky is much more superior than I am in helping to move the animals.  I am glad she was present to facilitate the entire endeavor.  Besides, since she is advancing into a management position, she has to be included in the decision-making.

The three bull calves were a no brainer as we had previously determined the best of the bull calves to be future breeding stock - to keep and to sell.

The heifer (female) calves were a bit more difficult to evaluate.  In the end, all South Poll heifers were retained for our future breeding cows and all Angus heifers were slated for market. We had already decided to favor the South Poll breed in our current farm managment operation.

Finally, the steers.  Six were retained for future, from-the-farm marketing.  A beeve, beef  meat animal, will graze about  24 months before it is ready for meat production - especially when grass-fed, grass-finished.  The other steers - to market.

  I get to be with the cows again? Fantastic!

Then, our herd bull and his steer companion, who had recently been sequestered from the flerd, rejoined the group.  Little Red seemed a bit surprised that he was returning to the flerd so soon.  But, we needed his 'retreat' pasture to hold the calves (bulls, heifers, steers) we decided to keep and we did not want any early breeding to occur with the juvenile heifers.  The bull calves are too young to breed, but Little Red would have been very interested.

Glenn and I took 12 calves to market.  We left with our vintage (old) stock trailer at 11:00 AM and got back home at 3:30 PM.  An all day affair when you  consider that we began in the barn lot at 8:00 AM.

On our return, we were greeted with the familiar, and constant, bellowing of the the divided cows and calves.  This bellowing continued throughout the day, throughout the night, and will continue for another two to three days. The cows actually sound hoarse after a few hours.  Each day the racket lessens, but it is very grating on one's (mine) mental state. Sleep is rare. Eventually, the cows wander quietly back among the flerd.  I am guessing (and, perhaps from experience) the bellowing is due more to the discomfort of an engorged udder which diminishes over time. 

Also, during the initial separation, the cows sometimes try to rejoin their calves by tearing through fences.  At times they are successful and; at other times,  not.  I am always hoping - not!

All in all, weaning time is most unfavorable.  Holiday, anyone?

The Rams Are Out

The rams are out...not escaped, but have now joined the flerd and are out with the ewes.

 

At first, all three rams gingerly walked through the gate, more interested in eating fresh grass than in finding the females of their kind.  But, as soon as they walked within eye shot of the ewes, interest piqued.

They quickly moved within inches of the electric fence waiting on the flerd to be moved into their pasture.  Cows, calves, donkey, and ewes stepped slowly into the fresh grass.  Within seconds, the sheep were  a bit restless.  Male sheep...what to do?  The cows, calves, and donkey immediately settled to chowing down.  Big deal...three more sheep.

Winky, the older ram, did not waste any time and got right to his intended task.  With 70 ewes, I felt he was going to be worn out by the end of the day.  He and Blinky and Nod have 60 days to complete their mission - breed all 70 ewes, but they do not know that - like they say, no time like the present...

The two buck lambs ran around chasing the ewes, tails swirling around as they moved.  First one direction, then another.  The ewes were not particularly receptive to these young bucks, but the bucks looked extremely happy.

Soon, the entire flerd was calm and content.  Winky and the younger bucks would perform in due time.

We were told that young ewes produce one lamb, while older ewes typically have twins per year.   So, we are expecting about 100 lambs during our first lambing season (April/May  2012).

Whether we will be trying to get to sleep or not, we will be counting a lot of sheep!

Small Town America - Vesuvius

Voting Day (actually yesterday) - Yep, this is the city - no, town - no, village - ?...whistle stop (not even that) where I vote.

Vesuvius is located about two miles down the road from Steeles Tavern, and about two miles 'as the crow flies' from our farm.  At our farm, we can hear the many daily trains passing through the Route 56 railroad crossing even though we cannot see them,  and we can hear the church bells ringing on Sundays.  But, the actual village is out of sight - beyond the woods, over a ridge, and down in the South River valley.

Our farm is located somewhere up behind that treeline in the background.

Vesuvius is booming with a U.S. Post Office (hours of operation 7 - 4:15, closes 11-12:15 for lunch) and a small gift shop, located on the west side of the railroad tracks; and an auto repair shop, car wash and community center (polling place) located on the east side of the tracks. 

Today, another gorgeous autumn day (how lucky are we) was perfect for our mini excursion to vote.  Two of the three potential county supervisors met us outside the center to foster one last attempt for our vote.  One guy, much too liberal for my tastes; and the other, a neighbor (his property actually adjoins part of our farm), one of his daughters played high school volleyball with Becky.  We started a conversation about neighborhood interests.  I guess you can tell who garnished my vote. (Note: I am glad to report that Ronnie Campbell was victorious - not all my votes cast went to winning candidates, though - boo!)

dirt road access to the VCC (Vesuvius Community Center)

Once inside, we presented ID and voted.  There were three voting officials present, more officiating than residents voting.   No lines, no waiting.  Why should there be?  We have two voting computers.  And yes, we do use computers (for two years now) even though our polling place sits just about in the middle of a cow pasture.  Previous,  we hid behind a thin curtain where we had little red metal tabs that had to be manually flipped next to a candidate's name - so charming!

As we left the polling place, two more voters arrived - a nice steady stream....

Before leaving Vesuvius, Glenn stopped in at the auto repair shop to check in with our mechanic.  We spent just enough time with Gwen to actually see one of those trains (the phantom train) that we normally only hear from our farm.

At first, a distant whistle could be heard.  As the train grew closer, so did the churning sound of the wheels.  I ran to the tracks and saw the lights as the train rounded the bend into view, slowly making its way toward my direction . 

Soon the ding, ding, ding of the crossing guard gate could be heard as the red and white bar began to lower.  I had to move so that I was not hit by the lowering bar - I was that close to the tracks.

My anticipation was building. 

 More train whistles, then...the roar of the train cars rolling past me - a mere ten feet, at most, away.

 I was excited!  I look forward to my next train encounter - I hope it will be soon and not another year from now, when voting for our next president. 

Ranger Cookies - YUMM!

I got the hankering to bake some cookies, so I made a fairly new recipe to me, Ranger Cookies. This was only the second time I ever made these cookies.  Boy, was I missing out....let's see...for decades.

My added dried fruit of choice was a combination of golden raisins; dried, chopped cranberries; and a tad of dried, diced apricots (leftover from an earlier recipe I prepared).  Any combination of dried fruits would be delicious.  Also,  I always seem to modify any recipe to my taste, so I included 1/2 cup of chocolate chips.

Look at all those tasty nuggets!

Glenn does not favor coconut, but the 1 cup used delivered only a hint of coconut flavor; so all was well.

So well in fact, that Glenn ate two cookies right off the cooling rack.  Glenn is not a sweet eater; cakes, candy, cookies; but for some reason, he likes these cookies. Drat..I will have to share.  Hmmm, now where can I hide these cookies????

As I was mixing the ingredients, I realized that cookies are not cheap to make. Within the last few months, my sugar cost has increased from $2.50/five pound bag to $3.08; my flour from $1.28/five pound bag to $1.98; and those items which I do not purchase often; like the dried fruits, chocolate chips and coconut are, what I consider, expensive.  And, do not forget that chicken feed has also doubled in price while my chickens are slowing down in their egg-laying production (due to age and season); meaning, they are eating more and I am getting less eggs in return.

No doubt, cookies are expensive to make.

But, I am a CARB freak - especially cookie-carb freak. 

My justification...I do not smoke, I do not drink, I do not use drugs (not even aspirin) grow most of my our own vegetables, we raise all our own beef, I rarely leave home (cuts down on that gas expense)...

I can afford to make cookies!  And, if I make them, I must eat them!

P.S.  Notice my stainless cookie scoop in the top two photos...I only recently purchased this tool.  For those of you out there, like me, who are slow to try new ideas/tools; (I used two teaspoons for close to 35 years of cookie making) I highly recommend this scoop.  It is not only easier, but it also makes more uniform cookies.  And, a tip I just picked up (Again, where I have been?) from a cooking show on TV, the more uniform the pieces (they were talking about vegetables, but I think the same holds true for cookies), the more uniform the cooking.