Bueno

Noelle is pregnant. This either makes us experts in bovine estrus or incredibly lucky.  Either way, it looks like a new bundle of joy will arrive on the Farmette mid- June and we will begin our daily milking chores, never to have a family vacation again. I exaggerate a bit but travel will be much more difficult.

Since lengthy family vacations may become a thing of the past, we figured we might as well go out with a bang and bring the children somewhere exotic and unusual.  A place that will give the boys bragging rights later in life when they are comparing  "messed up things your parents did when you were a kid" stories with their friends.

With the recent announcement that the US would be normalizing relations, we decided on Cuba.  It is not a destination many American consider when planning a vacation so we would still maintain a modicum of street cred while enjoying a warm tropical retreat from the subzero temperatures we had been experiencing in upstate New York this winter.

 Back in the 90's when we were young, childless and carefree, the Husband and I visited an artist friend in Cuba .  We fell in love with the warmth of the people and the decrepit beauty of Havana.  We spent our days walking through the streets photographing the once magnificent Colonial buildings that still housed people despite the fact that they looked like they could collapse at any moment.  In the evening we sipped mojitos on the veranda at the Hotel Nacional half expecting to see Michael Corleone walk through the door. We vowed to return someday.  Little did we know it would be 15 years later with our three boys. We wanted them to experience the off-limits Cuba of Castro before US sanctions are lifted and hoards of Americans descend upon the tiny island stuck in the 1950's with its orange and lime green tiled hotels and streets lined with, "Chebies" (old American cars from before the revolution that are beautifully maintained and still running.) They needed to see for themselves that countries are about the people who live in them and not foreign policy decisions or governments, despite what the press and the history books say.

We went online and reserved rooms at the hotel we had stayed at during our earlier trip as well as a four night stay at a beach on the western tip of the island.
Since as of this writing it is still illegal for U.S. Citizens to travel to Cuba unless they are part of a tour group or have a special visa, Americans must fly through another country.  Every other country has relations with Cuba so flights are not hard to come by.  The first time around we opted to fly through Cancun which was a breeze.  You can obtain a visa right at the terminal in a matter of minutes.  This time we decided to fly from Toronto and visit Niagra Falls along the way. The visa process at the Toronto airport was equally easy. Contrary to popular belief, Cuba wants Americans to come. Tourism is their largest industry and they welcome us and our money. Our money, we soon learned was a problem.

It is not visiting Cuba that is forbidden.  The sanctions against Cuba are economic so spending money there is verboten for US Citizens. You cannot use credit cards from American banks or write a check.  Once in Cuba, you can change dollars for CUC which is one of two Cuban currencies and the one most used by tourists, but there are higher fees for changing American dollars.  We exchanged our American dollars for Canadian at the Toronto airport, but we would soon learn that we should have exchanged more.

Upon arriving at the hotel in Havana, we discovered that our credit card had only been used to reserve the rooms.  It could not be used to pay for the room due to the sanctions.  Since Cuban hotels will only allow 4 people/room we were forced to have two rooms for our family of five.  At $400/ night for both rooms that would take a big chunk out of the $1500 we had brought with us.  I started to question the prudence of our vacation destination.

Luckily, we had paid for our four nights at the Villa Maria la Gorda in the Cabo Corrientes Nature Reserve thanks to a British travel agency we found online, so we decided to ditch our second night in Havana and head to Vinales, a lush mountain town where the tobacco for the infamous Cuban cigar is grown.

We managed to get five seats on a very comfortable coach bus that drove us the 3 plus hours to Vinales for 15 CUC per person. When we arrived we immediately went to the taxi office to find a car to drive us another 3 plus hours to the western most tip of the island where Cabo Corrientes is located.  Despite the effort the Cuban government has made to preserve this 30 mile reserve, it is a difficult area to get to.  A taxi was our only option.

The kindly dispatcher spent 45 minutes with two cell phones and the help of various locals who wandered in and out of the office trying to hire us a taxi. Her tenacity paid off and we were all set for the morning.

When we exited the office we were met by a young woman on a bike whose home we would be staying at that night. Cubans are allowed to apply for a license to rent out rooms in their homes to tourists.  You will see  many, "Casa Particulars" signs on homes throughout Cuba.  They are an inexpensive way to stay in Cuba and offer foreigners a wonderful opportunity to meet locals.

We were brought to a tidy colorful stucco house on a street of equally tidy colorful homes. The concrete floor had a thick glossy marbleized finish that was as beautiful as it was functional. The young woman's mother greeted us with the warm Cuban smile we had encountered numerous times over the past two days. Through her broken English and my terrible Spanish, we introduced ourselves and she showed us to our two small but immaculate rooms which we soon cluttered with our bags and iDevices. I unpacked the snacks I had squirreled away from our Copa Airlines flight and the boys dined on almonds and Oreos while the Husband and I cracked open the $4 bottle of wine we had bought at a roadside restaurant we had stopped at on the bus ride.  Our money troubles didn't seem as dire and we relaxed with a rousing game of Crazy 8s.

Our accommodations cost us $40 for the night and for an additional $3/person we were treated to a breakfast feast of fresh eggs from the chickens running around the neighborhood, ham, coffee, juice, three different types of tropical fruit and fresh bread. We stuffed ourselves and after the fifth hug and kiss Scrappy received from our enamored hostess, we said our goodbyes and went out to meet the taxi.

A small Renault sedan pulled up and I wondered how the six of us and four suitcases were going to fit. The driver managed to get all of our stuff into the trunk and we piled in.

As we careened untethered down the twisty mountain road, my bad mommy guilt weighed heavy.  I clutched Scrappy Doo in my lap like that was somehow going to protect him if we crashed.  I couldn't help but think about the hours I spent researching baby seats before Prince was born and the number of times I walked 20 blocks with 2 children in the stroller and one strapped to my chest rather than getting into a cab without child safety seats let alone seat belts.

Once we got down the mountain I relaxed a bit.  It was slow going through many small villages with farmers trotting down the street in their horse drawn carts. Rice paddies and tobacco fields stretched for miles.

We reached the entrance to Cabo Corrientes and everyone was relieved; especially our driver who had to go back to Vinales and pick up a passenger headed to Havana.  The only scenery for the next half hour was dense forest.  All of a sudden, there was a break through the trees and the turquoise waters of the Caribbean sparkled in the sun.

We arrived at our destination about a half an hour later and were pleasantly surprised by the lovely water front cabin we would call home for the next few days.  After paying for our taxi, we had no idea how we were going to afford to get back to Havana, but at that point we did not care.

Our room included breakfast and dinner so for the next couple of days we would save some of our fruit, bread and cheese from breakfast.  The boys thought it great fun to smuggle out our leftovers in a napkin.  Our kindly waiter soon caught on to us and appeared at our balcony the next afternoon with three pizzas.  Here we were the, "wealthy" Americans receiving charity from this generous man who probably earns less than $1,000/ year. We were humbled and grateful.

Once word got out about the broke Americans, everyone was trying to feed us. One morning Scrappy Doo came sauntering up the walkway covered in red lipstick and munching on cookies.

"Where'd you get those?"  I asked pointing to the lipstick stains as well as the cookies.

"The maid." He nonchalantly replied.

Our bellies were fat but our wallets were still slim. We had enough to get back to Havana and to pay our airport tax but that still left one more night in Havana. With no internet or cell service we could not even call relatives in Denmark to ask them to wire us money. The husband decided to use our last few CUC to buy a phone card and call the British travel agency that had booked our beach cabins. Success! We were able to charge our taxi back to Havana as well as a hotel and taxi to the airport.

The next day a van arrived for us.  It even had seatbelts. We climbed in along with our chivalrous waiter and another employee from the resort. Since the cabins are in such a remote location, employees come stay at the resort for a week and go home for a week.  We were happy to give them a lift and repay their generosity.

We reached our hotel in a Havana suburb in the late afternoon.  The grand lobby was surrounded by balconies and lush foliage. Upon closer inspection the fountain next to the reception desk was dry and stray cats ran across the railings reminding us we were in a country that had seen more opulent days.

The next day as we waited for our taxi to the airport, James Dean and Scrappy informed us of their plans to move to Cuba after college.  The husband and I smiled at this affirmation of a successful vacation despite some monetary set backs. Who knows what Cuba will be like by then.  I am hopeful for the opportunities the Cuban people will be afforded once the sanctions are lifted but I am fearful of what the influx of American businesses could do to this magical island. I am however sure the people will remain some of the kindest souls I have ever met and I will forever cherish my memories of Cuba.

We All Need the Glamorous Life


It's time for me to tell the truth.  I know you all think I am living the glamourous life. And while traipsing around in Muck boots knee deep in dung is pretty sexy, sometimes living on the farmette kinda sucks.

There are the gardening frustrations:
"The caterpillars are eating my kale. It's too cool for my peppers. It's too hot for my arugula.  No rain in the forecast this week. I'd better drag 1000 feet of hose up the hill.  Rain again?  Bring on the Blight."

There are the animal frustrations:

"Is that a deer in the backyard staring into the window?  Shit, Noelle has escaped again!"  

"Mom, the cat's left another squirrel tail and heart in the mudroom!"
"Come on Rooster.  I dare you to try to spur me.  I WILL hit you with this shovel."

"Where did those two sticks of butter go that I just left on the counter?"

There are the combination animal and gardening frustrations:

"Get out of the garden Noelle!"

eggsicle

There is the bone chilling cold:
"The water in the barn is frozen again.  At least it is easy to clean out the stall.  We can just throw the poopsicles into the garden."

And then there are the Predators:
A few months back when the grass was still green and the pond free of ice, we were getting ready to bring our meat birds to the butcher, I brought up the uncomfortable subject of... the ducks, at the breakfast table.

"Maybe we should bring the ducks in as well?"

Spoons froze midway to open mouths and a rare silence settled over the room.

"I will never forgive you if you kill the ducks," replied James Dean. The subject was dropped.

"No one will let me eat the ducks," I complained to a friend at school.  She gave me the same look of revulsion my family had and proceeded to silently flick through the photos on her phone until she came across an adorable shot of her daughter holding one of our fluffy yellow ducklings.

The ducklings were very cute and I had hoped to include duck eggs in my ovum empire, but alas all of my ducks were drakes and my dreams were dashed.  Still, they were pretty and they kept the pond clean, but as winter approached, I dreaded what was going to happen to them once the pond froze.  My fear was that some predator was going to be enjoying the confit I had been forbidden.

The drakes did an impressive job of keeping the ice off the pond well past Christmas, but one week- long arctic blast was too much and the pond froze.

We wanted to bring them into the barn, but they eluded our attempts to corral them. We brought a chicken tractor down to the pond but they would not enter.  The husband built a crazy shelter he titled, "Dada Duckhouse."  They shunned this shelter as well, preferring to huddle together in the tall grass that poked out through the snow.

About a week later the husband went down to the pond to feed them and they were gone without a trace. I wanted to believe that they had flown south or that they ventured into the woods to live out their days with Itty Bitty Kitty and her husband JFK (that's an earlier post), but I knew something much more sinister must have happened.

We noticed some specks of frozen blood on the snow and we all took solace in the fact that some poor hungry wild animal had found some food to sustain itself for a little while longer.  I was slightly relieved.  Though I had wanted to eat them myself, I can't stand the idea of animals suffering and I worried about them every night out in the cold.

Just as we had made peace with the fact that we were now duckless, the Husband came in the house holding Quackers.  I actually don't know if it was Quackers, because they all looked exactly alike, but Quackers was my favorite of the names the boys had given the ducklings.  Quackers was covered in blood and in shock.   We drew him a warm bath and were glad to discover the blood was not his.  We found out from our neighbor that the brave little guy had come down the hill out of his woods and crossed the street into our yard. I can't imagine the carnage this boy must have witnessed.

We washed him and cooed over him and gave him something to eat.  It has been two weeks.  I still have a drake in my bathtub and probably will until Spring. Anyone want a pet duck?

Baby Bump Watch

It has been a few months since we brought Noelle down the hill for her weekend tryst. Ever since her walk of shame back up the hill, we have been playing the, "Is She or Isn't She" game. The wait and see approach is not working anymore.  We just ordered our hopefully Mom-to-be some special organic (expensive) prenatal grain from Vermont.  It would not be good if we end up spending close to $500 on fancy feed for a non-existent calf.

The husband wanted me to get her to pee on a stick, but there is nothing on the EPT box that says it works with Bovine hormones and I am not sticking my arm into that deluge.

Today I went out and performed a non-invasive prenatal check up.  I rubbed and pressed on her underside in the hopes of feeling a little leg or a butt. All I felt was a very large, very hard belly, but she did seem to like the attention.

So, I have decided to photograph her every week to see if there really is a growing baby bump or if it is just wishful thinking on my part.

While I was photographing her today, I did notice that her teats are getting slightly bigger which makes me a little more confident in my assumption that she is with child. Yes, I did just post pictures of cow boobs.

Joyeux Noël

 Today we are celebrating two birthdays on the Farmette.   The first birthday is one I think you are all familiar with.  The other is the birthday of a very special 2 year old girl.  (Who thinks she looks pregnant?)

After opening presents and filling our bellies with bagels smothered in cream cheese and caviar, we headed out to sing happy birthday to Noëlle.  She very much enjoyed the attention, though she was a little suspect of the birthday apple offering.

Happy Birthday Noëlle!

Snow Day on the Farmette

All of the critters were a little flummoxed by the ice and snow that stormed into town yesterday.  What I thought was going to be a relaxing half day off from work was spent coaxing and cajoling Noelle and Cody Bear across an icy patch in the pasture to the relative warmth of the barn. After about a half hour, I finally spread hay across the ice and lured them in with treats along the way.

This morning we awoke to a farmette decorated in winter white.  While I much prefer the warm summer months, there is something magical about newly fallen snow.

Mirror Mirror on the Wall, Who's the Tastiest Chicken of Them All?

Here's a riddle: How many chickens does it take to lay three eggs/day?  You guessed it, 42.  Just as the nights become a touch longer than the days, my girls molt enough feathers to fill a mattress. (Yes, the thought did cross my mind but no, I am not going to attempt it. I learned a lesson from the whole saving dog hair to spin into yarn debacle.) The hens also stop laying eggs. No more homemade ice cream. No more breakfast for dinner. I really should have put some quiche in the freezer last August.

I refuse to buy eggs so I have taken to rationing my three eggs like a WWII war bride: "No Prince, we may not make cookies because I need the last egg for waffles in the morning."

A light in the hen house is a simple way to get the ladies laying again, but we have had another group of chickens keeping warm under the heat lamps for the past nine weeks.

A few months ago I took the last of our Faverolle carcasses out of the freezer to make soup.  I have made broth out of a lot of different chickens in my day but nothing compares to the flavor you get from some Faverolle  bones.  While the boys seem slightly ambivalent about eating our own roast chicken, they are downright giddy when I serve up some Farmette Chicken Soup.

The thought of going back to the broth of supermarket chickens was disheartening, but the fact that it was already late August meant we probably didn't have enough time to raise free range  Faverolles, before it got too cold to keep the birds outside and I was loathe to have them sitting in a chicken tractor eating GMO feed for a month or more.

The quickest way to raise meat birds to 4 + lbs  is to raise Cornish Cross, but they horrify me.  Cornish Cross are the poulet de rigeur of the poultry industry.  They are ready to eat in eight weeks or less, compared to twelve weeks or more for most other breeds. They grow so big so fast that many of them suffer leg fractures and become immobilized due to their size.  Imagine the movie, "Wall E" but with chickens.

I did some research to find a faster growing chicken that could still free range and decided on the Red Broiler.  They are slightly smaller than the Cornish Cross, take a little longer to reach a respectable size for slaughter (10 weeks), but they are good foragers which means a more natural diet and less money spent on feed.

From the moment the chicks arrived, I could tell this was a hardy stock.  We didn't lose any birds during transport and only one developed splayed leg.  They were curious and not shy to explore and dine on all of the creepy crawlies and weed seeds in the garden.

Butchering and bagging chickens by hand is a stinky tedious process.  With both the husband and I working full-time plus after school activities for the kids, we knew we would not have time to process the birds ourselves.  Fortunately, we found a small family owned processing facility nearby. They had our chickens cleaned and bagged in a few hours.  The added cost of processing made the chickens much more expensive than if I bought some Perdue Broilers at BJ's, but the taste, quality and humane treatment of the chickens made it a much greater value.

The true test of our Red Broiler experiment came the other night when I roasted the first one. The result was a tender succulent bird with lots of breast meat.  The broth made the next day was gorgeous. Though not quite as silky and rich as the Faverolle, there was not a drop left in anyone's bowl.

I am hoping to hatch our own meat birds next time around with the help of a new rooster.  Money will be saved and genetics known, but most importantly putting a meal on the table that is comprised solely from food you grew and nurtured: Beautiful red carrots and pale yellow onions that grew from the carrot seeds and onion sets you saved from the previous year, tiny garlic cloves from last Fall that turned into giant garlic heads this September and a chicken you raised naturally, with kindness and care from the day it hatched, is a magical experience and one of the greatest gifts you can give to the people you love.