Mud and shit

There is nothing more glorious to a NYC parent than a clear, 50 plus degree day at the end of January. It is a little gift from God. We don't have to shell out tons of cash going to the Museum of Natural History or the germ infested Children's Museum nor do we have to drink heavily to dull the monotony of endless days spent inside our two room apartments with children swinging from their loft beds because it is too cold to go to the playground.  Mind you, there are a few brave souls; mostly parents of boys, who will brave the windy frigid city weather and force their young men to run around the playground until everyone's feet and hands are throbbing from impending frostbite, but a 50 degree day in January brings everyone outside with a smile and a twinge of Spring fever.

Up here on the farmette, 50 degree days in Jauary suck. You are probably all thinking, "Does this woman do anything besides complain about the weather? She bitches about the 17 below days and now she is bitching about 50 degrees."

It is true that 17 below weather caused me great anxiety but more in the Laura Ingalls Wilder, "Will we all survive?" kind of way and not in the, "The snow has melted and all I see is mud and animal shit" disgusted kind of way.

When we were discussing the purchase of the farmette and our dream of self sufficiency, I envisioned  our kids running around barefoot through the grass in a bucolic scene straight out of a Merchant Ivory film. The day we signed the papers on the place, the kids did just that and images of flower beds and I guess, poop free animals grazing in the meadow, filled my silly head.

The reality is this folks:  Farm life is dirty and full of shit and sometimes you can't tell if that is a pile of shit or a pile of mud you just stepped in.  There is no walking around in bare feet because you will either step on a stinging insect, a nettle or into a big pile of dog, deer, cow, chicken, rabbit, you name it poo.  Oh, and inevitably some of that dirt, mud and poo gets tracked into the house on dog paws or boys' boots.

I am sure that most farmers just put on their Mucks and go about their day without a second thought of whether that is poop or mud they are standing in because it all kind of just mushes together to turn into some sort of rich organic soil that makes the grass lush and green come May, but when you stand outside on a grey, unseasonably warm January day and survey the sludge that was a beautiful blanket of snow just yesterday, you're just not feeling that circle of life moment.

Since it was such a warm day and the snow had melted, the chickens happily ventured from their house and foraged their way up the hill.  I decided it would be a good day to do a little spring cleaning in their coop, which I have to boast is probably a lot cleaner than most.  First of all, there are only a few chickens. Second, I am using a deep bedding method so the chickens basically compost their own manure from scratching around for food. Third, I spot clean their abode every few days.  I cannot have my ladies laying eggs in a poopy nesting box.

Once I was finished with the chicken house, I moved on to the rabbits.  In my early thinking, the rabbits  would be used for their manure.  That's what John Seymour told me to do.  I set up a little catch box under the hutch so when they pooped it would just fall through the wire and I could easily gather it to add to the beds in the greenhouse where I am supposed to be growing my winter crops (maybe next year).  Seemed like a good system except for the fact that rabbits like to poop in the bedding in the enclosed part of the hutch so I have to wear elbow length gloves and stand on a chair to shovel the soggy straw out, as little balls of rabbit turd cascade to the ground to the delight of my turd eating dogs.  FYI, it is true that rabbit shit doesn't smell but the piss soaked straw will make you want to slap someone.

I then turn to the dogs.  I wish my dogs were like my cat.   Big Kitty discreetly wanders into a wooded area to relieve himself so I never have to see it let alone step in it.  He is such a thoughtful cat. Not the dogs. No, they just dump right out the front door, or the back door, or next to the barn or if there is snow, on the deck.  My big rugged livestock guardian dog and fearless hunting dog are in way too much of a hurry to track their dirty paw prints back into the warm house so they can snuggle up on a soft cushion.  They can't possibly be bothered to take the time to find a secluded spot to drop a load.

During the recent cold blast I was remiss in my pooper scooper duty and now along with melting snow I had piles of melting dog shit to deal with.  An hour later, after managing to smear as much shit on the grass as I was able to shovel up, I realized I should have waited for the cold weather to come back because poopsicles are much easier to shovel.  The dogs watched my weary disgruntled face with what I interpreted as, trepidation and sincere empathy.  Pepper seemed to be saying, "That is one unenviable chore.  I am sure glad I don't stand on two feet and have opposable thumbs because I am pretty sure you'd pawn that job off on me."

I then went inside to sweep the white dog's fur off of the black stairs and the black dog's fur off of the white bathroom floor.  Note to self:  Really good idea getting a white dog and a black dog.  Wouldn't want any surface in the house to appear clean.

The boys came home from school in the rain and after homework and dinner they started running around the house like lunatics with the dogs in hot, floor scratching, fur flying pursuit.  We all laughed and I was happy and relieved to not have to yell my famous apartment dwelling mantra, "No running! The baby downstairs is probably sleeping!" because the only babies downstairs at the farmette are the baby mice trying to stay warm and I am not too worried about upsetting those little fuckers.

I crawled into bed with my seed catalogue.  Despite my day in mud and shit, I too had a little flicker of spring fever and fell asleep thinking about all the bushels of gorgeous vegetables that will surely grow effortlessly in my garden this year, as well as the poopless sheep that will be grazing on the luscious grassy green hill under the watchful eye of their regal guard dog, who discreetly shits in the woods.