Author: Janet

Posted in Off the Farm

Oklahoma for Thanksgiving 2016

Posted on by Janet

Thanksgiving travel can be stressful. Years ago, I traveled on Thanksgiving through LAX to visit my brother Marty in California. I swore I’d never fly over Thanksgiving again; this is where you laugh and remind me never to say “Never”. 

In July of this year, Jim said that he’d like to visit his sister and niece in Oklahoma over Thanksgiving. I stared at him in shock. The last time we flew to Oklahoma (in 2010) he nearly had an anxiety attack watching the door close inside the plane.  Seating him near the window on the next leg of the trip seemed to help, but we ended that trip in 2010 with sentiment  of never flying again. He even flew in the Navy.  So, when he said he wanted to fly to Oklahoma, I was overjoyed! Let the planning begin. 

With tickets booked on non-stop flights, I sent emails to friends and family a week prior to our trip regarding the care of animals and the house.  To avoid nightmarish parking, we arranged for our friend Lisa to dogsit and to provide airport shuttle.  By the time I sat on the plane, my mind shut off.  Jim was just getting started.  He chatted, watched the baggage handlers, and once in the air, he actually napped. I knitted. I’d been up past midnight finishing my family’s  annual calendar, and I was beyond exhausted. 

We arrived safely at the Will Rogers Airport in Oklahoma City and were met by Jim’s niece and husband. We enjoyed a wonderful Thanksgiving meal with family. We laughed as their dog attempted turkey telekinesis and failed. 

That night, I slept for over 8 solid hours. Friday, after giving the English Butterfly Bunny a pedicure, we took a spur-of-the-moment road trip to Fort Worth, Texas to visit another niece whom Jim had not seen in 35 years. 

We stopped near Gene Autry, OK for pictures near the huge wind turbines.

 I slept most of the way back and vaguely remember stopping at McDonald’s where Jim bought an apple turnover for the first time in 25 years.  It felt more like an odd dream.

Some time after midnight, we drove through the city, already decorated with holiday lights, and we stopped at Oklahoma City National Memorial site. This national memorial stands where the Alfred P. Murrah Federal building was bombed by a domestic terrorist in 1995.  We visited the memorial in 2010 during the day, and I was moved to tears. Now, after midnight six years later, I saw the Memorial in the stillness of the cold night air, where lighted bronze chairs symbolize each life lost on that tragic day. The pool of water reflects the times of 9:01 and 9:03 marking the moments when that rental truck exploded in April 1995 and sent shock waves through our nation. I felt the chilled night air and peace. Now, in the dark, standing at the reflecting pool, I heard and felt the laughter of children dancing on the water. Looking around, I was completely alone in the physical plane…yet, I felt the presence of others. I asked our niece about my experience Saturday morning and she said, “if you felt that, then the memorial did its job. You felt the people who lost their lives. They are not forgotten.” I had been standing near the spot where the daycare had been in the federal building. It’s one experience to stand where people worked and played in the daylight; it’s a completely different experience at night. I am in awe of this tribute to our fallen fellow Americans. Infants, children, mothers and fathers, family members who never made it home from work; they are not forgotten. 

My Ubuntu sister, Susan, drove down to meet us on Saturday. We traveled to Cambodia in 2015 and will forever have that bond.

We spent a few hours shopping at small businesses around the city like the Savory Spice Shop (where they grind fresh herbs and spices) and Ingrid’s Kitchen  (a German Restaurant) where I tasted Weiner Schnitzel . ..how have I missed out on my heritage’s food all these years? 

We are now planning birthday lunches to be at local German restaurants in North Carolina!

Spending time with Jim’s family is a special gift. We arrived home on a smooth flight,  checked animals and unpacked. We’re already thinking ahead to next year and getting  more of his family together in one spot for the holiday. 

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Jake’s Gotcha Day

Posted on by Janet

A few weeks ago, a neighbor stopped by and asked, “is this your dog? He was chasing cars!” She held out this wriggling brown scruffy dog who wagged his tail.  “No, Scooby is right here” I replied.  She said, “well, I can’t take him home, I have two dogs there who would attack him.”

We took photos of him, each posted them on Facebook, checked missing dog sites, and asked the neighbors. Earlier that morning, I noticed a strange car driving out of a pasture.  Most likely, someone dumped the dog. It happens in the country. It infuriates me when people get puppies, only to dump them as adolescents or older dogs.

The next day, no one claimed a missing dog, and the local vet did not recognize him. He didn’t have a micochip. The vet tech expressed an interest in him, then suddenly, 5 people expressed interest in adopting little Jake with others telling me that we should keep him. My years of volunteering with the Col. Potter Cairn Terrier Rescue kicked-in…I began assessing him and the best possible home for him. He marked, so, I put a belly band on him.

He had no manners, so we worked on commands of “Sit” and “Come”. He and Scooby played, but he was rougher than my senior boy could really handle.

He failed the “cat-scan” and thought Mia the cat was great to chase. But he was shaping up to be a decent farm dog. The donkeys were fascinated by him and the goats just ran in the opposite direction.

Jim started to like the little guy, but also expressed concern about Scooby really preferring to be an only dog.

How to choose the right home? The vet tech decided it was not the right time to get a dog. Another lady was in the middle of selling her home. The next family in line had been looking for a dog for over a year. They drove an hour to meet Jake, and he loved on them immediately. His spiffy new haircut made him look like a new dog.

Details worked-out, plans made, and Jake went home with his new family. Yes, we were a little sad to see him leave the farm. I informed the 5th family that Jake was adopted, and they were saddened and even a little upset that they were not Jake’s new family. Jim and I made the best decision for Jake’s new home, and he will be a good dog for this loving family.

My best animals have been strays…those unloved 2nd hand animals who missed-out on the right home the first time. Mia showed up in our recycling bin on Halloween night as an 8 week old kitten 4 years ago. Scooby appeared matted an dehydrated in the garden 6 years ago. BiBi died in March of kidney failure at the age of 14 and lived her whole life with us. Dogs are integral in our lives. The right dog comes along for each of us at the right time. Jake reminded me to be careful running through the yard lest I trip and sprain my thumb; I tripped while chasing him as he was chasing a chicken in the back yard and landed on my thumb. We don’t know Jake’s history, but we were able to give him a home for a few weeks where he could be loved on his way to his fur-ever home.

Since Jake’s adoption, he’s been visited by their extended family, featured in snapchats, social media and is learning to LOVE car rides.  He is loved beyond words by his new mom, sister and brother.  He sleeps through the night and has discovered a love of squeaky toys. He is smart and learning to obey his pack leader.  Hearing about the joy he gives brings tears to my eyes.

To find local animals available for adoption in your area, search Petfinder.com, contact your local animal shelter, humane society, or breed specific rescue.

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Animal Compactors

Posted on by Janet

Compost bins, who needs compost bins when you have chickens and goats? Our chickens love watermelon and cucumbers so much that they leave nothing more than skins. By the time they’re through,  the watermelon rind looks like a flimsy green paper bowl.

After Halloween, a coworker gave me her leftover jack-o-lantern that her son named “JulioBulio”. In case you missed it, here’s a video of the goats sampling the leftover pumpkin. https://youtu.be/EME__-TlxrM

Now, if the chickens learn to sculpt those leftovers into shapes, they’ll demand their own YouTube channel. 

Posted in farmlife, goatlife

It Was Fun Until I Stepped on the Yellow Jackets’ Nest

Posted on by Janet

When the vet came out for a herd check in September, I took a day off from work so that I could catch animals and give the goats their CDT shots. This annual vaccine prevents against tetanus and an overeating disease (enterotoxemia). At that point  the vet told me to give a booster after  4 weeks, then plan to revaccinate annually. Each month, we also check their famacha score, monitor for intestinal worms, and give deworming medicine quarterly. That’s our “worming protocol”. 

We planned the October booster for  weeks. We added a new catch chute, strategized and successfully completed a walk through the chute without issue. Goat vaccine day arrived and my friend Cynthia came by with her teenage daughters to help round up the goats. 

My rule to the girls, “don’t get hurt” was said too late.  The eldest backed into the electric fence and shocked herself.The youngest got stuck in he woods in between the long briars. And the middle, she followed me into the woods and got stung twice by yellow jackets. 

During the goat roundup first pass, Faith Hill followed me through the chute and stood for her shot. Vera Wang and Rita Rudner were fairly cooperative. Betty  White escaped and vomited in a panic. Julie Andrews gave chase. Sam, Queen Lillian and Mary Poppins were decent, but Connie Francis made the afternoon into a full scale goat-hunt. We followed them into the woods, and  I stepped off he trail into a yellow-jackets’ nest.  The first 3 stings on my elbow felt like razor blades. Then, I screamed, C screamed and ran from the woods. A sting on my chest left me saying a bad word and a quest to find the  gas can. 

Those goats could wait long enough for Kelly and I to kill the nest. We retraced our steps. Kelly found the small opening in the ground where foraging yellow jackets flew in and out. I poured gasoline on the hole. Kelly received a sting on the arm. He poked the ground. I slapped at my knee and felt more stings on my arm and leg.  

We left the nest and tried once more to capture Betty White and Connie Francis. Successfully, Connie Francis came through the chute, and I managed to give her a shot with two people holding her.  At that moment, Betty White escaped a second time and I called the event to an end. I said, “well, if she dies, I’ll dig a hole” knowing fully that if she can be held for 5 minutes I can vaccinate her. She escaped twice that week and I did not feel like adding to her anxiety by continuing the chase. 

My forearm throbbed. Four stings on my already sore arm (tennis elbow from goat wrestling  the previous month), one sting on my chest and one on my leg made me the winner with 6 total stings. At the end of the day, the girls said that they had a good time…minus the shocking, getting lost in the briar patch, and enduring stings by yellow jackets.

The next night, Kelly and I checked the nest. It was dead and quiet.He dug out the bottom layer full of eggs. We refilled the cantelope-sized hole it dirt so that we wouldn’t break an ankle accidentally stepping into it. 

Goat ownership, with its scheduling and pasture management, is like tinker toys …limited only by imagination and financing. It’s all fun and games until a goat fails to cooperate or somebody steps on the yellow jackets’ nest. 

Posted in farmlife

Raccoon Games 

Posted on by Janet

Did you know that raccoons can open the airtight, fire-ant-proof  Gamma2 “Outback Vittles Vault 15” container with a screw-top lid? It’s true. Those bandit-striped opposable-thumbed varmints figured out how to open the cat food container so that they could enjoy Purina Cat Chow Complete (the blue bag) at 3 a.m. It’s now a game of outsmarting the raccoons.

I walked out to the barn to find a pile of cat food on the ground and bite marks on the container. It can be a little disturbing to walk out to the barn and find three items tossed about the barn like a crime scene. I tried questioning possible witnesses, but the goats, donkeys and barn cats refused to speak.

It’s now a nightly competition to see whether or not the raccoon wins a meal.

Interestingly enough, the Vittles container fits perfectly in a plastic milk crate upside-down. I have discovered that the raccoon can lift a milk crate and a 10-pound spool of wire off the container in order to enjoy a buffet. The raccoons can knock over the spool of wire, but they cannot get their little paws around the container when it is upside-down, and lift it from the crate. 

Yesterday, we found the Vittles Vault at the entrance of the barn where it had been tossed, end-over-end, yet still snug inside the milk crate. 

Today, the farmer went outside and found the Vittles Vault lid at the back steps of the house; at least a 100 yards from the barn.  Just the lid…as statement that the vault was empty, and proof that they mastered the obstacle course. The discovery of the lid in the backyard, 100 yads from its origin was a bit creepy.

Yes, my 3-month-old Vittles Vault 15 looks a little like the luggage on the Samsonite commercial where a bear tosses it in the air. It is covered with bite-marks and scratches. Yet it still maintains its airtight seal and is a well-made container. I highly recommend it. 

Now to figure out what they want. We must brush up on our “raccoon whispering”.

Posted in Uncategorized

Where there’s smoke

Posted on by Janet

Today, I traveled to Lake Junaluska, NC for a meeting. Less than an hour from home, wildfires are burning on 2,0000 acres of South Mountain State Park. First, I worried that smoke would block my route. Then I worried about my cousin, one of the many forest rangers, firefighters, and volunteers desperately working to contain and extinguish one of the many fires burning in the Appalachian mountains. 

First, I dropped off 2 cases of water at the church that will be delivered to the relief workers. Then, I headed up the mountain. In the early morning light, smoke rose from the mountain like clouds.Stopping at the Glen Alpine exit, I could see smoke billowing over the mountain I just passed. 

Further west, I saw a sign indicating road closures to Bat Cave, a small town south of my direction. 

Arriving at Lake Junaluska, I checked in at the meeting and we could see the smoke settling over the lake. At a break, I stepped outside, and smelled and tasted the smoke-filled air. The usual mountain vista obscured by wafting smoke from a nearby wildfire. 

We were safe, and being outside for short times could lead to coughing fits.
We adjourned the afternoon session and I took the opportunity to head home with the fading daylight. I dislike driving down Black Mountain at night and feared it would be worse with the smoke. 

As I left the beautiful mountains, the sky was eerily hazy and the sun appeared orangish-red. I could smell the smoke in the car. 

The moon rose and was obscured by smoke.

I spoke with a friend who told me of evacuations and of the teams of firefighters from around the nation. Those brave men and women who mobilize, await orders and stay in tent cities while fighting Mother Nature. When I asked my cousin what he wanted in particular (and I meant snacks), he responded with one word, “Rain”.
Never did he nor any of us think that the fires would be in our state, in counties where we have family and friends. 

To the men and women fighting the fires, thank you and be safe. 


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You Alright Back There Steve?

Posted on by Janet

After several months of searching, I located a pygmy goat for Daddy. His old buck (named Buck), became too old to provide sire services. Thus began the search for a new, young buckling. Ironically, I searched “pygmy goat for sale” on Craigslist,  Facebook and several other sites. I found Steve.  

A 9 month old pygmy purchased and named by a little boy boy who loved Steve more than most goats are ever loved. Yet, as bucklings will do, Steve began to grow into his adolescence and started to display male-goat behavior. He frightened his best friend by ramming his horns and giving chase; typical goat and herd behavior. Goats like to be in a herd.  They need the companionship of other like-horned creatures, and a single goat is a lonely goat. 

We drove 25 miles to fetch Steve on a windy Saturday morning. 

After tearful goodbyes, we covered the wire-cage on the back of the truck with a tarp to cut down on the cold wind for the 25 mile drive. Five miles later, we stopped at a convenience store so that I could check the tarp, and secure the flaps. I jumped out of the truck, walked around and asked, “you alright back there Steve?” As I turned to get back in the truck, I saw the horrified looks on customers’ faces as I told Jim, “Steve’s fine in the cage.  Let’s go.” I burst into a fit of laughter as I caught a glimpse in the sideview mirror of a stunned person in pumping gas watching us drive down the road.

Steve arrived to Daddy’s farm where my brother Kelly hugged Steve, and I checked his Famacha score. Eyes are the windows to our souls and an accurate test for barber-pole intestinal worms in goats; those blood-sucking parasites can a use anemia and death in goats.  He’s healthy. 

I walked Steve on a rope to the house, and Steve munched on a few fallen leaves. Herd introductions happen slowly at Daddy’s so that the new goat learns the pasture layout and the new heirarchy can be established. Within hours, Steve met the herd and was eating with them in the pasture as if he had been there all along. Hopefully, by June, we’ll see new baby Steves in the pasture. If not, the search will resume.  

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Goat Broker

Posted on by Janet

“Hey Janet, do you want a goat?” 

This is not the most unusual question I’ve received from friends, so I asked, “Is it male or female?” 

“I don’t know. A man just stopped by here and asked if we wanted a goat. But we don’t do goats. I told him that I knew a goat lady though.”

I laughed and asked, “is it a pygmy or dwarf? Daddy’s looking for a new billy, but it needs to be miniature.”

“No, but the man’s name is Billy.”

At that moment I lost it and burst out laughing. She texted me the phone number for “Billy the Goat Man” and I left a message, “Hi, this is Janet, a friend gave me your number about a goat. Please give me a call.” 

A few hours later, Billy returned my call, “This is Billy, you called about my goat?” 

I replied, “Yes sir, is it a male or a female? And is it a pygmy?”

He said, “well, it’s a medium-sized brown ram goat.”  

At this moment, I stopped myself from explaining that rams are sheep. Instead, I said, “well, if it comes to our place, he will be neutered and live a nice long life.”

He asked, “you gonna eat him?”

Shocked, I replied, “no sir, we don’t eat goats, they’re livestock and pasture control.” 

“Oh, well, ain’t that what you do? You raise goats, sell them, kill them and eat them? I ain’t never tasted goat before, and I wanted to see what it tasted like.” 

I said, “that’s what some people do, but I don’t eat goat. Are you looking to sell your goat for meat?” 

He said, “I ain’t wanting to sell him. He ain’t much trouble. I wanted to see if you were gonna eat him.”

At this point, I stood looking at the phone in my hand, on the steps of the church, and I replied,  “tell ya what, I’ll ask a few folks and see if I can find someone looking to eat a goat. And I’ll get back with you.”

He thanked me and hung up. I shook my head in disbelief.  I actually had a discussion about a goat, with someone not concerned about making sure that their little precious horned-animal would go to a nice farm and live out its days in a pasture. 

I finished at the meeting and headed home to cut cane for the goats and to finish chores. Sure enough,  I found someone interested in a goat-roast. 

I called her that night, “Sobrina, do you a goat?” She replied, “A goat? Well, we were talking the other day about a goat roast.” 

I said, “well, Billy wants to know how it tastes, so will you promise me that you’ll share your goat with him?” 

She replied,  “His name is Billy?!” 

“Yes. Promise me.”

 Apparently, this type of wheeling and dealing is not as common as it used to be. But the way that I see it, if I can help Billy to find a short-term home for his goat and it gives him an opportunity to share a meal of goat meat that he raised, then that’s the way it is. She’s calling him tomorrow. Billy may get his wish.

On Saturday, we picked up a pygmy goat named Steve; a small male who can grow into buckhood and live out his days as a stud in a pasture full of nanny goats at Daddy’s. 

I guess this makes me a goat broker. Bringing people together, one gruff at a time.

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Betty White Escapes

Posted on by Janet

Breaking News: 

Famed goat, Betty White, escaped from the pasture today. Standing just on the other side of the electric fence, in the dark, Betty White was located where her 8 goat friends and two donkeys pondered how she made it across three strands of electrified fencing. 

Three feral barn cats, Soot, Tink and Peter Pan, watched from the barn as the farmer and #farmher tried multiple attempts to lure Betty White to the gate so she could join her 4-legged companions.

She was so quick. She jumped over a rope used as a fake fence, ate a bowl of grain and 3 apple treats. Betty White, a 9 month old alpine boer mix goat, weighing roughly 60 pounds and proudly flicking her pointy horns, finally fell to capture as Jim, the farmer, grabbed her trying to

flee once again. Holding tightly to her horns, the farmher fashioned a harness around her neck and nose only to discover that the dog collars were too large for Betty White’s demur neck. Jim held tightly to the screaming goat in the dark, hoisted her and gently walked her through the gate where she was greeted by her herd. Ten minutes passed before Betty White acknowledged the capture claiming she didn’t know how she ended up on the other side of the fence. Dazed, she refused to join the others in a midnight snack of grass and water. Just wait til Sunday,  it’s time for another round of shots. She’s going to be really ticked!!

Reporting live from the pasture after a full day at the office and commuting home in traffic, Janet (aka the farmher of the story). This post pre-empted the previously scheduled post “Goat Broker” which has now been rescheduled to next week. 

Posted in farmlife

Did you always….

Posted on by Janet

Recently, someone asked me, “Did you always want to be a farmer?”

I almost spewed my coffee and said, “Lawd, no! As a teenager, I wanted to get off the farm as quickly as I could!  I despised smelling like iodine and cow manure; no air conditioning and working every other weekend. I didn’t want to be tied to a bunch of smelly animals. Besides, Daddy told me not to be a dairy farmer where it’s like you’re beating your head against a brick wall…and Mama didn’t want me to go into nursing where people are sick all the time.”

“What made you come back?”

“My husband became interested in beekeeping. We loved our suburban neighborhood, but it didn’t welcome the idea of a few hives. So, when a place close to my old home became available, we jumped at an opportunity to move. It means a longer commute for work, but the location is worth it.”

Farming takes on many forms; our current state is a small-scale family farm of donkeys, goats, chickens and bees.  It’s not the large operation of twice-daily milking dairy cows, but it’s still a passion. I don’t always jump out of bed on a freezing-cold morning so that I can break ice from water buckets. Sure, it would be easier if I didn’t have to mow grass for 2 hours each week…and my back would not be sore from lifting 50 pound chicken feed sacks, but there’s something about new life with goats, donkeys and chickens. I love the fact that entire meals that we eat often come from the garden. I love to make soap with milk from our goats (even though she thinks that it’s torture).

Sure the house is old and seems to constantly need repairs and updates. It will never be a shiny McMansion with all the creature comforts, but it’s home. When we open the windows at night, we hear coyotes, cicadas, crickets and owls. The donkeys munch grass beneath the security light in the pasture next to the house.  Fire ants find their way into feed bags, the car, and even the house. We question when strangers drive down our road; those we call “looky-loos”.

We welcome friends and family for visits and revel at the sunrises and sunsets. I scare myself with creaking noises in the barn. I laugh when my brother stands in the pasture and calls,  “Here Kitty Kitty” so that the goats come running toward me! I take vacation time from work so that I can be at home when the vet visits for a herd-check.  Our farm is an outreach to the community.

Our community is larger and smaller because of our connections through social media and through extended family. Everyone is our neighbor. Events around the world impact us, just like they impact you: gas shortages, riots, maternal health, education, wildfires, and politics. Yet, sometimes, amid the daily milking chores, gathering eggs, checking fences, committee meetings, requirements gathering, SQL statements, and commuting…goat antics are the things that make the most sense to me; and that includes goats in hot-pink tutus and neon-green halters.  These are the things that bring us joy and what we want you to see. We find it difficult to share when we lose a hive, when the goats need to be treated for intestinal parasites, or when the chickens are sent to the retirement-home-in-the-sky. These things, you will not see.

What you won’t see, is me crying in solitude for the losses of our hurting friends while the pine trees whisper in the wind. What you don’t see is me making phone calls and writing letters to those who have experienced loss of loved ones. What you can’t see is my fear of uncertain times, and my outstretched arms in faith and prayers for peace and love.

Did I always want to be a farmer? I wanted to make an impact.  And it happens to be that my experiences make me who I am, just as your experiences shape who you are. If being a farmer lets me be part of the greater good, to see beyond the exterior, and to own part of the hurting world, then I will be a farmer.  Find your outreach.

“Faith is the reality of what we hope for, the proof of what we don’t see.” Hebrews 11:1