The day after I wrote this it snowed.

Well, it is that time of year again when happiness returns to our lives.  After months of wondering why the hell we live in upstate New York,* Spring has returned.  No more dealing with frozen water or frigid barns, though the fact that I have transplanted tomato seedlings and brought out the hammock is a guarantee for snow within the week.

I now know why the dwarves whistled while they worked:  It was warm!  Clean out the two feet of hay that has accumulated in the cow's stall before she just steps over the railing?  "Yes please!" Shovel the compost into the garden?  "Sounds like fun!"  Watch the chickens rip up all of the grass from  under the lilac tree?  "Aww.  Aren't they cute!"  Listen to Scrappy Doo scream because his brother just body slammed him on the trampoline?  "I just love the sounds of the children playing together!"  Spring is definitely this mother's little helper.

In a week we have cleaned stalls and coops, tilled the garden, pruned the blueberry bushes, cleaned out the flower bed, cut back the raspberry canes, planted trees, planted and transplanted seedlings, mulched the beds in the greenhouse, composted the manure, bought six ducklings to add to the avian free for all and mended the garden fence so Noelle can no longer be my garden apprentice.

  

I guess farming in upstate New York is kind of like child birth.  Once the pain and suffering of winter is over and the Earth gives birth to that first beautiful Spring spinach, you think, "That wasn't so bad.  I could do that again." And chances are you will, unless of course,  you smarten up, invest in some birth control and move South.

*Technically we live in Central New York, but for New York City folk, "upstate" is anything north of the Tappan Zee Bridge.

Are you there Spring? It's me, JoAnn.

As winter drags on for the seventeenth straight month and my children have all started to resemble the zombies they like to kill in their new favorite video game I swore I would never buy for them (I feel a deep shame when the gamer geek at Game Stop asks if I am aware that "Zombie Gorefest" is rated M and not meant for a six year old) I stare wistfully out the window in search of a Popcorn Bowl moment.  Sledding and skiing are out of the question due to the ice encrusted hill that would surely send someone careening into a tree and subsequently to the ER.  Hmm, that would be vivid memory though.

My ennui has become exacerbated by the photographs a friend recently posted on Facebook. Alain Laboile, documents the Peter Panesque lives of his six children growing up in a French Neverland where children run naked through the countryside befriending tiny fawns and building menacing monsters made of metal.

The photos are equal parts beauty, danger and magic.  I am obsessed.  I am jealous.  I am an inadequate parent.

I have poured over Laboile's photos a hundred times trying to find evidence that these sparsely clothed, ferrel cherubs do things like play Flappy Birds for hours on their iDevices or try to kill the undead on their game system.  No such luck.  They are perfect.

But then I got to thinking, the photos I have of my own cherubs, while generally featuring more clothing and toy firearms, also depict the magic and beauty of childhood with nary a screen in sight.

I can now enjoy Laboile's gorgeous photos and am comforted in my belief that between chasing runaway bikes and frolicking in streams, these French beauties are all vying for high score in Angry Birds.

Black Gold in the Chicken House

Despite the continued nose hair freezing temperatures at the farmette, the seed catalogues in the mail combined with the fact that it is still light at 6pm AND we have seen the sun almost every day this past week, have given me a giddy hopefulness that Spring really is coming.  I took the opportunity on one of the recent warm days to clean out the chicken house in order to harvest some of that composted black gold Martha Stewart promised I would have if I implemented the deep litter method for the chickens this winter.

For those of you unfamiliar with deep litter in the chicken house, the idea is that you keep adding bedding so the chickens have a nice thick layer of bedding throughout the winter. The chickens scratch around in it, thus composting their manure, and they have the added benefit of a nice warm place to hang out since the composting manure causes the temperature to rise.  Another plus of deep bedding is that it attracts good microbes that will break down the manure and eat mites and other pests that might attack your chickens.  It is a win-win-win-win.  The chickens are warm, I don't have to clean out the chicken house as much, we have a nitrogen rich compost for the garden and the chickens are healthier.

This miracle of nature would have worked perfectly except for the fact that one should never, ever use hay as a means of deep litter in the chicken house.

When I decided to go the deep litter route, I researched what bedding would make the best addition to the garden.  As many of you know, my thumb has been more yellow than green when it comes to my garden; Yellow as in the color of the leaves of my broccoli plants due to the low ph of my soil.  While a good pruning and lack of late frost means a bumper crop of the acid loving blueberries, the rest of my garden cries for 7.0 soil.

 Even though most people tend to go the wood shavings route, I decided to do hay in the chicken house because A: we had a bunch already and B: I read that wood shavings in the garden would actually rob the soil of even more nutrients. What I got was C: a frozen non-absorbant carpet of muck that I had to get down on my hands and knees to roll up and drag out of the chicken house into a big heavy stinky mound next to the door.

As I grunted and pulled the frozen hay out the door, I was convinced the problem was the husband's watering system.  He rigged up a five gallon bucket with nipples on the bottom that has a heated rod attached to the lid so the water doesn't freeze.  While it was in fact true that one of the buckets had some leaky nipples (which I made sure to point out in a not at all haughty way) even I had to admit that there was no way a couple of leaky nipples could have caused the entire floor of the chicken house to be wet.  It had to be  GASP! my fault.

Back to the drawing board or the internet and the local Feed N Seed as the case may be.     After some research, I had a plan.  First,  I spread a thin layer of sand on the floor to help with absorption and then a thick layer of pine shavings which I add to weekly.  The ladies love scratching around in their new litter and while I wouldn't be bottling the aroma as perfume, it doesn't smell so bad for having 40 plus chickens

Once composted, the manure laden bedding should be an ideal addition to the garden.  Here is hoping for some bright green broccoli and lots of asparagus to go with my scrambled eggs in the near future.

Come on Let's Sweat

Move over Pilates, Boot Camp and Firefighter workout.  There is a new workout in town and if I channel my inner Tom Sawyer just right, I will make millions getting others to do my farm chores.  I am trying to come up with a name for the workout since Farmers' Workout is not really very catchy, but I might get sued for calling it,  "Chicken Run."  I've thought about "Cattle Call" and "Shit Shovel" but those names don't really seem to capture all the elements of a true farm workout.  Suggestions are welcome.   Here's how it works:
Equipment:

Five gallon workout bucket, workout shovel, workout gloves, heavy boots (steel toed a plus while doing door kick), 50lb feed bag, hay bales, large cow

Warmup

The Lunge and Shovel:

Grab workout shovel from mudroom.*   Slowly lower right leg into lunge position as you move shovel down into snow and over left shoulder in one fluid movement for 12 reps.  Change to left leg and right shoulder for another 12 reps.  Repeat entire sequence until you reach chicken house.  Rest 30 seconds.
You can set your workout shovel aside as you move into the main part of the workout.

The Workout

The Door Kick:

In standing position, pull right leg back as far as it will go and quickly kick the frozen chicken door 8 times.  Repeat on left leg until door opens.  If you need help balancing you can lean hands against the wall.

Chicken Fingers:

Most traditional workout programs do not include finger exercises, but nice firm fingers are important come swimsuit season. With your large workout gloves on bend over and attempt to open frozen lid to chicken feed.  This is an advanced move so if you are new to the farm workout you may want to remove your gloves.  You will need to work quickly though before frostbite sets in.

The Feed Fling (core strengthening):

You will need good balance for this exercise as you will have to push hungry chickens away with your foot as you dig scoop into feed and fling across the floor of the chicken house with quick arm flicks.  If you are looking for a more intense workout or if there is no feed left in the chicken house bucket, add  the 50lb feed bag carry into this section of the workout.  Depending on your strength, you many have to drag the bag the first few times you attempt this move.

The Water Lug (can be two part move):

Remove hanging five gallon workout bucket and jog quickly through sub zero temperatures into barn.  If water heating mechanism did not work, you will have to raise bucket over head while engaging core muscles and slam bucket onto ground with open end down, until ice is removed.  Repeat this with water bowl for cats and rabbit.  Fill five gallon bucket with water and carry back to chicken house; avoid spilling water all over yourself.  Replace lid and hoist back up onto hanging hooks.  1 minute rest.

Cow Core:

This section of the workout can actually turn into a kickboxing class depending on the temperament and mood of the cow you are working with. Bend over with back in tabletop position knees bent.  Slowly lift right leg into the space between the beams into the cow/horse stall.  Slip body between beams and rise to standing position.  Approach ladder to hayloft.  If cow refuses to move from in front of ladder, engage core and push on side of cow while exhaling.  Inhale and return to standing position.  Repeat exercise until cow moves.  If she gets mad, raise leg and arms into kickboxing side kick position until she settles. Climb ladder and enter hayloft.  Bend knees and dead lift hay bale.  Carry to ladder and set down on floor.  Cut string and throw hay down into stall.  Be careful to not drop hay directly under the ladder or you will have to revisit the exhale and push move from the last wrung of the ladder when you descend.

Cool Down:

Return to chicken house to collect eggs.  Walk briskly back to house with eggs and workout shovel.

This is obviously the winter workout.  I plan to change it up for the spring/summer season including the "Rototiller Abs" workout which will get you a six pack in no time.  I'll be drinking mine on the back deck watching.



*If you forgot to bring the workout shovel into the mudroom the night before, you are kind of screwed because it probably snowed 10 inches overnight.  Warmup will now include a slow jog through two feet of snow into the barn to retrieve workout shovel.  Continue with Lunge and Shovel.

Unlikely Friends

As a child I was obsessed with the story of Koko the gorilla and her pet kitten.  The adorable photos of the giant ape gently cuddling the tiny cat  made me long for both a gorilla and a kitten.

Fast forward a few years and I am still fascinated with the unlikely Jet and Shark friendships that occur in the animal world.  The boys share my love of these stories of animal odd couples, as does most of the world, if the over 12 million views of the Youtube video featuring polar bears frolicking with sled dogs is any indication.  I am happy to announce the farmette now has its very own unlikely friendship and I am not talking about the fact that since moving out of the city I have become friends with some very cool Republicans.

Meet Baby Bunny and Tommy the cat, the latest besties on the farmette.  Maybe our politicians can learn something from these two.

Holiday Tradition Envy (HTE)

I obviously have a little problem with my need to stuff my children's heads full of wonderful memories, especially when it comes to holidays. I envision their significant others rolling their eyes as my loving boys share yet another of the countless precious stories of growing up on the farmette with their perfect mother and all of the holiday traditions she shared.  One of these days when I am not busy throwing Halloween parties or forcing my boys to press autumn leaves or make paper snowflakes or dye easter eggs or eat bagels with cream cheese and caviar on Christmas morning (that is a new one this year ) I will go to a therapist and get to the bottom of my severe case of Holiday Tradition Envy.

Growing up in a small, waspy, New England town, you are not really exposed to anything outside of the traditional American Christian beliefs and traditions.  Elementary School art classes were filled with Christmas and Easter crafts despite the fact that there were a handful of children who did not celebrate these holidays.  These students drew landscapes or the occasional menorah while the rest of us sprinkled glitter on our construction paper Christmas Trees. I never really questioned why. It wasn't until college that I began to understand the scope and breadth of cultural and religious traditions from around the world.  It was then that my HTE first began, though I convinced myself it was just cultural curiosity.

My HTE became a real problem when I moved to New York City and started having kids.  All of a sudden turkey on Thanksgiving, opening one present on Christmas Eve, staying up until midnight on New Year's Eve and Easter Egg hunts seemed trite and mundane.  I wanted the seders and the dreidels.   The Christmas Crackers and sugar skulls.  Where were my Boxing Days and the fireworks celebrating a new year in a calendar I knew nothing about?  What about the fasting and feasting? The King Cake and the Yule Lads? I needed some exotic holiday tradition cred fast.

I thought about adopting a tradition from another culture or country, but that seemed a little phony and I am too lazy to read up on all of the history.  As much as I love the idea of 13 little Santas leaving gifts in my shoes, I would never be able to memorize their Icelandic names unless Bjork wrote a song about them.  Actually no, that wouldn't help.  I can't understand a word when she sings.  I needed to make up my own tradition. Thus began our  Winter Solstice Celebration.

The first year I concocted this tradition, I decided we would celebrate the longest night of the year by lighting candles, eating food with toothpicks and reading books or poems about darkness.  The books and the candlelight made sense because it is the longest night and plus the boys loved (and still do) blowing the candles out and touching the hot wax. I honestly cannot remember what my impetus was for the eating dinner with toothpicks part but I probably saw some pigs in a blanket at the Food Emporium.  The first year was a success and I still remember reading one of my favorite Children's Books with Scrappy Doo sitting in my lap on the floor.

Through the years our tradition has changed here and there but the basics are still the same.  Last year we decided to include other families in our celebration which was a lot of fun, but somehow celebrating the  Winter Solstice seems like it should be a quiet intimate affair.  When I announced to Prince that we were having our celebration with just the family this year, the normally broody pre-teen started jumping up and down exclaiming, "Can we have apples with chocolate fondue?"

Sure we can. Which led to the inclusion of chocolate and cheese fondue in our annual Winter Solstice Celebration passed on from generation to generation (actually four years).  When my grandkids ask me what it all means, I think I may be able to make it sound somewhat legit:

"The Traditional Winter Solstice Dinner celebrates the longest night of the year and also the fact that the day will be slightly longer tomorrow. We eat cheese and chocolate fondue because, well, they taste good" (need to work on this explanation).  "The tiny bites of food, tiny cups, tiny plates and tiny appetizer forks we use" (I upgraded from toothpicks this year) "symbolize our need to eat less in order to make our harvest last all winter as well as the small amount of daylight we enjoy in the winter."

"We light the candles at sundown and share stories of night or winter that bring us joy and remind us that the days will soon get longer, the weather warmer and the work on the farm more vigorous."

Time will tell if the boys will continue this celebration, but the fact that they stepped away from the Xbox for a few precious moments to eat, talk and laugh with each other, is a reason to celebrate.

Happy New Year!

RIP Itty Bitty Kitty or Enjoy Your Life in the Woods with Your Husband JFK.

It has been a month or so since we last saw our mama cat, Emma (aka Itty Bitty).  I think we all know she probably met her demise in the woods, facing off with some nasty critter, but the good thing about not finding your cat dead in the road or in our case, your decapitated chickens in their nesting box, is that you can live in a suspended state of disbelief and imagine the nice new home she has curled up on someone else's dining room table to rest after enjoying someone else's chicken leg she swiped off of someone else's counter.

Prince was the first one who mentioned the fact that he had not seen Itty Bitty for a while.  "Do you think she is dead?" he asked.

"I honestly don't know" was my reply and I really don't. Given the fact that I did have a pet cat rise from the grave once before, it is hard to say for sure.

When Prince and James Dean were babies we lived in New Haven, CT for a couple of years.  We had two cats at the time and the female cat, Petunia was not happy.  She took off out the door within the first few days of moving in. The next day, as I was pulling out of the driveway with the boys, I noticed a dead cat in the middle of the road about 10 yards up the street.  Not wanting my precious babies to see their cat as road kill, I got to our destination and tearfully called the husband to tell him what had happened.

He went out and retrieved the remains and gave her a proper burial in our new backyard.  I was sad but somehow comforted by the fact that I could look out the kitchen window and see her little grave.

A few weeks passed and busy with unpacking and taking care of a two year old and an infant, I didn't give much thought to Petunia.  Then one day I glanced out the kitchen window and there she was,  strolling across the backyard just inches from where we had buried her.  Either she had been resurrected or we buried the wrong cat.  Not wanting to dig up the remains, I decided to go with resurrection.  You can see why I am able to still hold out hope for our Itty Bitty.

Prince went searching around the property and in the barn to see if he could find Itty Bitty, but there was no sign.  James Dean and Scrappy seemed to be oblivious to the fact that they had not seen her for quite a while.  They played with the kittens without noticing the missing maternal presence that was never far away from her now much larger offspring.

I was going to just let dead kitties lie, but I was more than a little curious as to what they thought happened to the cat, so I decided to ask:

Me: "Hey, has anyone seen Itty Bitty Kitty recently?"

JD&SD: "No"

Me: "Where do you think she is?"

Prince:  "I think she is living in the woods hunting and climbing trees."

JD: "Yeah.   She is living there and mating with her new husband, JFK.  (wtf?)

Prince:  "But she is fixed."

SD:  "I think she is living in a blue and green house with no other cats so she doesn't have to share her food."

JD: "She and JFK probably have a new family."

Prince:  "But she is fixed."

Scrappy Doo turns to walk away, "She could be dead.  OR she could be working with Santa to get all the toys ready."

Wherever she is, I am going to miss that loud bratty little cat who left our lives as suddenly as she entered. She gave us four adorable kittens and one of the funniest popcorn bowl memories to date: Watching a 50lb dog pee on the floor for fear of incurring the wrath of the 5lb mama who didn't like the way the dog was looking at her kittens.

Farewell Itty Bitty.  I hope you are working hard with Santa and will get back to your blue and green house soon so you can mate with JFK in the woods even though you are fixed.