Category: Raised by a village

Posted in Raised by a village

Date Night

Posted on by Janet

Jim and I went on a date. He called it an educational field trip. Kelly chaperoned our evening drive and we dined on chicken wings and fried fish. We went to the Livestock Auction where we saw a throng of people packing the auction block, a line to the restroom, big screen televisions, and the auctioneer was on his game. 

I learned at the young age of 4 to sit on my hands, don’t point, and to pay attention. Those three rules still apply in a different way. The Cleveland County Livestock Auction was known to us as children as “Dedmon’s” or “The Sale Barn” where we took cows no longer producing milk. Now, the auction company sells cattle on Tuesdays and other livestock biweekly on Friday Nights. I do not remember ever seeing that many people packed into the auction room. 

We arrived shortly before 7 pm, much too late to get a seat, but plenty of time to get a plate of food, walk the catwalk over the animal stalls, watch animals being run in and out of the auction, and to people-watch. 

In case you’re wondering, intake of animals for sale begins around 3 pm, so arriving at 6:45 pm with a rooster in the trunk of your car will get you a nasty look, a sigh and the explanation that they have registered 400 birds and yours will be last in line to the auction….probably around midnight. That’s why Max sat in a cage in the trunk all evening…and that probably why his story to the other chickens sounds a bit like an alien abduction. 

We didn’t buy or sell anything, but Jim learned all about the Livestock Auction.

Posted in Raised by a village

Steve’s Chasing Cars

Posted on by Janet

Friday morning, while wrapping up a requirements meeting with my boss and a developer,  my phone vibrated and displayed the name of Daddy’s neighbor.  I excused myself and took the call. A million things instantly ran through my head. He said, “I hate to call you at work, but one of your dad’s goats is standing in the road, he won’t move and I think he’s chasing cars. I just don’t want him to get hit.”  This man whom I’ve known my whole life and whose wife was one of my teachers, has a calm demeanor and nothing ever seems to upset him. His genuine concern for daddy’s goat and our family immeasurable.  I asked, “is it the gray one?” When the reply was yes, I thanked him, assured him that I would take care of it and would let him know of we needed anything. 

My boss and the developer, a young graduate who just moved to the area from the Midwest, looked at me quizzically. I said, “Daddy’s goat Steve jumped the fence and is playing in traffic.” They cracked up. “How often does this happed?” I replied, “it’s not the first time. We used to get calls all the time from someone saying that the cows were out. Now, it’s goats.” 

I texted daddy, “Walt just called. Steve is in the road.”   

I texted a cousin. On her way home from a meeting in town, she checked the side-ditches looking for signs of an injured goat. I went to my next meeting and received the text from Daddy, “will take care of it.”

After that meeting, I called Walt to thank him and told him about Steve the Stud and his amorous activities. Walt said, “it sounds like he’s trying to avoid the responsibility.” I laughed and said, “he just realized how many baby-mamas he has!” 

Daddy texted with, “tied Steve to a cement block at the tool shed with hay and water. Will have to do until we get new fence. Got out one too many times.” 

My co-worker, Steve,  just shook his head at the goat’s antics. 

Now, before you say, “poor Steve” let me say that I do not like tie-outs. However, in Steve’s case, he prefers it. How can we tell? He is calm and he smiled.  He lived the first 9 months of his life with his prior owner on a leash and living in a doghouse. Steve is on the other side of the fence from his ladies and seems to love the single life of a “ball and chain”. He has shelter, food, water and is loved. 
Now, we’re prepping for a new solar-powered electric fence that will house both he and Sam in temporary-movable areas for cleanup of privet and vines. 

I’m just thankful for an employer who understands that you can take the girl out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the girl. In my line of work as a business analyst,  some say that it’s difficult to find the right mix of IT/business process design. You don’t always get this eclectic mix. When you ger me, it’s that mix plus volunteerism and farming. At a volunteer event over the weekend,  someone commented, “you’re real.” I may not be Santa Claus,  but yes, gentle readers, Janet is real. 

Posted in Raised by a village

He’s No Dud, Steve’s a Stud

Posted on by Janet

He’s no dud….Steve’s a stud. Remember back in October when Jim and I picked up Steve the Goat for Daddy? Well, we wondered whether or not Steve was going to be good sire material. Last month, Daddy admitted that he wondered if Steve was a dud. We feared that Steve had been pushed to the friend-zone of the goat-mating world. Well, the wait is over. Just over 5 months have passed, and the first new pygmy goat was born today. A sweet little nanny, mostly white with buff highlights walked alongside her long-haired mother in the pasture at Daddy’s. 

At first, we thought that maybe a few of Daddy’s nannies were pregnant. With goat gestation around 150 days, many times they do not show signs of pregnancy until around 4 months. Today, I confirmed that all of the remaining 9 goats are pregnant and due within a few weeks. 

No, Daddy doesn’t name his goats after celebrity-figures like I do.  He names them “Spot”, “Buck” or “Number 3”. His are mostly white and black angora mixed la mancha  pygmy goats. They’re smaller goats and of course I held the first of many more to arrive. 

Yes, in our pasture, Betty White is still pregnant.

Posted in Raised by a village

How’s Bert?

Posted on by Janet

“How’s Bert?” 

“He’s showing signs of being a goat each day.” 

Last month, when Bert and Ernie were born, I never imagined the weeks of daily bottle feeding. And let me clarify that I say “bottle-feeding” as a nicety. Bert never latched on to a synthetic nipple, and I tried 3 different kinds. When Jim took Bert to the vet, she taught Jim how to run  tube down his esophagus, add a syringe and slowly inject 60 ml of milk replacer into the rumen. Jim them taught me. Each morning at 0530 and at night, Jim held Bert in a laundry basket on his lap in the kitchen, I ran the feeding tube down that little goat’s throat.  I  pushed 2 syringes full of warm milk replacer into this adorable little goat’s  first stomach. I removed the tube, sanitized it and the syringes for the next feeding preparation. Bert settled for the night in the laundry basket under the table. This was the twice daily “bottle feeding” routine that we maintained for nearly 3 weeks. 

One day at the office, a coworker asked about Bert. Another coworker walked into the room as I said, “He’s doing much better, we give him a bottle, and he sleeps through the night on a blanket in a laundry basket under the kitchen table.”  The other coworker asked, “do you need an air mattress? Or do we need to take up a fund for a crib?”  

I replied, “no, I don’t think my goat would appreciate an air mattress, but thank you.” 

Each morning, we put Bert back into the pasture and his bleating brought Julie Andrews running as if to say, “my baby, you brought my baby!”  Bert now trots a little and is able to keep up with the herd as they browse the pasture. The donkeys are the kid-sitters as ZsaZsa teaches them the art of jumping onto the backs of donkeys like a circus trick. I don’t know how many kids Julie Andrews has had in her lifetime, but she seems to be tired…and Bert’s early struggles were more than she could handle until we stepped in and helped him get a second chance. 

I tell you these things to show my frailty of humanity. This week has included the unexpected death and funeral of a beloved sister-in-law, news of a cousin’s  health scare, work projects that stretch my Excel formula-writing skills, and juggling volunteer responsibilities that would make a time-management guru openly weep. Bert has been my gift of seeing a sutuation from both sides: of not giving up and understanding how easy it is to give up. We could have easily left him and then buried him at a day old. But we chose to fight for a second chance. And this time, we’ve got a goat on the mend.  

Bert is a sweet goat. He is friendlier than others and still lets me carry him for a bit. Although,  he is beginning to smell like a goat, dirt and grass, more than my sweet milk-replacer baby. 

~Janet

Posted in like-minded, Off the Farm, Uncategorized

I’m Here To Pick Up Chicks

Posted on by Janet

We farm-chics stick together, because the things that happen to us are normal to those in our world, but completely foreign to  non-farm-folk. 

We all know that the post office handles lots of odd packages…including live baby chicks.  Baby chicks are shipped overnight and 2ND-day air around the country for small and large farmers to raise as organic meat-birds, game hens and egg-layers.  Hatcheries mail baby chicks in ventilated boxes with food in the bottom. These boxes are handled with extreme care and labeled “BABY CHICKS”. It’s when farmers like Audra show up at the post office after working in an office and tells the clerk, “I’m here to pick up the chicks” that it becomes a crap-shoot.  I thought it was hysterical and appropriate at the same time.

With quippy-farm-wit, we all expect our small-town postal clerk to say, “why certainly, I’ll get them from the back.” Instead, last week, Audra’s clerk asked, “do you have any identification?”  To which Audra replied, “my wallet is in the car. I didn’t really think you’d need my driver’s license to pick up my chicks. I know they’re in the back because I can hear them.” 
The clerk replied, “that package is for Ellis Farms. Did they send you?” 

Audra said, “I am Ellis Farms and the package is addressed to Rick, he’s my husband and he told me to stop and pick up the chicks on my way home.” 

The clerk countered, “We really need for you to provide your ID.” 

 Proudly, Audra did not lose her religion at this point, but asked the nice clerk, “Is there a chick-theft ring that I don’t know about in our town? How many people show up saying they’re here to pick up the chicks on the exact day and time that we received notification that OUR chicks arrived? I can hear them around that wall. Would you like to call the number listed on the parcel and speak with Rick about me picking up the chicks that he sent me to get?”

The clerk must have caved at some point. Because the clerk returned with a vented box of chicks, addressed to Ellis Farms and the clerk said, “We really need for you to bring your ID when you pick up packages.”

Oddly enough, I was in the same post office not 10 minutes later, to sign for a large envelope…and the clerk never asked me for identification. 

So my friends, remain vigilant against possible clandestine chick-theft rings. What strange things have you pick-up at the post office, and did you have to show your identification? 

Thank you Audra of Ellis Farms for sharing your story, allowing me to paraphrase when needed, and to share a glimpse into a seemingly simple pick-up that went sideways.  

Photos contribute by Audra Ellis. 

Posted in Raised by a village

Vote: Baby Girl Goat Name Suggestion

Posted on by Janet

We love to hear name suggestions for the goats.  Keep in mind that most of our goats are named after celebrities or fictional characters.  We may or may not choose the most popular.  Besides, 3 of our other goats named Betty White, Julie Andrews and Vera Wang are pregnant and due within the next few weeks, so we’ll ask for more names again 🙂

This little beautiful female was born on 2/1/2017 to our goat named Rita Rudner.  New baby girl was 3 pounds and is black and white spotted.

Here’s the link and poll to share your name suggestion for our newest addition to the herd:

Posted in goatlife, Raised by a village

Status check: It’s a Girl

Posted on by Janet

It’s a Girl!! Rita Rudner delivered a beautiful black and white spotted 3 pound kid. She is adorable. Now, we need a name for her. I walked outside to take a photo of ZsaZsa-Noel on top of a hay bale,  and I saw something near Rita at the water bucket. I ran inside yelling, “we’ve got a new baby goat!!”

Last night, Jim asked, “How are the goats?”

I replied, “Julie Andrews, Betty White, Rita Rudner and Vera Wang are all still pregnant.”

“How are the donkeys?”

“Ney’s nose is healing from where his brother Pete bit him.”

“How many barn cats showed up tonight?”

“Just Soot and Tink. I think Peter Pan found better food elsewhere.”

“How was work?”

“Good. I wrote a nested IF (AND (OR statement that made people cringe.  How was your day?”

This my friends is a typical conversation for us. 

And I answer typical questions from others like

Q: “So Janet, how many eggs does a chicken lay?”

A: Usually one per day depending on the breed and age.

“Why do you have goats?”

A: I like goats. They manage the pastures so I don’t have to mow.

“Why do you have donkeys?”

A: to protect the goats and to eat grass. They make me laugh.

“Why haven’t you put up new pictures of the baby goat?”

A: Daylight standard time.

“Do you sell pineapples? ”

A: I live closer office than I do to the equator. 

“Can you write are formula to calculate……..?”

A: probably. Let’s talk about your request 

So I don’t only talk about goats, but sometimes the conversation just returns to farm topics. 

And yes, when I display pictures of kids, they have 4 legs. 

Posted in Off the Farm, Raised by a village

Random Acts of Waxing

Posted on by Janet

I just wanted to wash the salt, slag, snow and road grime from my car. So, on Sunday, I drove to the nearest 4-bay do-it-yourself spray and wash where I found at least 7 other drivers feverishly scrubbing the previous week’s snow memories. Just as I finished vacuuming a month’s worth of dirt from my floorboards, a young guy in a pickup truck wheeled into the bay I faced and started spraying his truck.

I backed out and lined up behind a guy who I thought was drying his car. Nope, he was smoking a cigarette and slowly pulling dried wax from his car with the corner of a dish towel. He turned to chat with another guy leaning against the brick wall smoking a cigarette.  I had a choice. I could either be upset, sit in the car and make faces at the guys…or I could be me. 

I popped the trunk, pulled three mismatched socks from a bag intended for a donation bin and asked, “Hey, can I help you wax your car?” 

The waxing guy said, “uh if you want to, but that side is still drying.” I pulled the socks on each hand and started waxing circles, removing the dried wax from the shiny car. He asked, “What’s your name?” I replied, “Janet” as I continued my Karate Kid moves of wax-on-wax-off. By this time, I finished the driver’s door and was starting on the hood. 

He asked, “so, do you wax your car?” 

I said, “hardly ever! I’ve got farm chores and just want to get my car washed so I can go do other stuff. I’ve got work tomorrow.”  

He asked, “so you’re helping me wax my car? By the way, this is my brother.”

 I said, “great, here’s an extra sock, you wax that side and we’ll get this knocked out.” 

The other guy took the worn sock and dabbed at the mirror.  I said, “put the sock on your hand and rub in circles. Like this…”

The first guy said, “I work on bridge construction.  …I can’t believe you’re waxing my car. Some other guy just stopped here and was being a jerk about me waxing my car…but we’ve got another car in the garage at home so I can’t do it in there.” 

I asked, “wonder why he did that? You paid your quarters to wash…” 

He replied, “I don’t know. You know how guys are..always trying to see whose got a bigger hat.” 

I said, “oh I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

He said, “I feel like I should offer you a beer or something for helping me.” 

I replied, “Now you boys aren’t out here drinking and driving are you? You know that’s the quickest way to lose your ride.” 

He said, “No …no, we’re not drinking. We just live right over here.”  

By this time, I finished pulling the wax from the trunk and the hood. I peeled the socks from my hands. The brother asked, “you want your socks back?” I said, “nope, they’re trash now.” 

He exclaimed, “I thought you were taking them to Goodwill.” 

I replied, “you can’t take waxed socks to Goodwill! They’re rags now. Besides, they did good will. It’s clean.” 

Puzzled, he shook his head and extinguished his still-lit cigarette.  

I walked back to my car, and they drove out of the bay to finish detailing. I washed my car and finished my Sunday afternoon. 

Crazy? Probably. That guy will be telling a story of some older lady who helped wax his car after another guy was a jerk. 

At least now I know the reason for not dropping the bag of mismatched socks at the clothing dropbox…they worked great as wax rags. 

Posted in Off the Farm, Raised by a village

Internationally Inspired Birthday 

Posted on by Janet

Celebrating a birthday in January is always a roulette game. Growing up, I had several parties cancelled because of icy weather, like my 6th and 9th birthday parties. 

This year, I braced myself for a low key birthday lunch that would happen sometime during the month. If we had good weather, it would be on my birthday. ..if not, we would wait. Just a week prior, we had single digit temperatures, and 8 inches of snow that stuck for 3 days. At midweek, the temperatures rose to 60 and the snow disappeared. By my birthday, it was a glorious 65 degrees and blue skies. 
Birthdays are generally typical days and include animal care, errands and even work. This year, my birthday fell of Saturday so I had time for a haircut, and to pick up goat food and chicken scratch before lunch. Ah birthday lunch….

I wanted German food for my birthday celebration. Jim researched a few places and decided that we would try a Russian place. He said that it’s all on the same continent, and the food is similar. I stopped trying to understand his logic and agreed to try new food; it’s better that way. We picked up some friends and drove to the restaurant, an authentic, family-owned, no frills place. The specials were pierogies and homemade kielbasa.  Jim wanted kraut and vegetables. I could tell this was going to be interesting: they were out of kraut. We ended up ordering 4 plates of food and splitting them. Jim had cabbage, pickled vegetables, mashed potatoes and carrots. I had kielbasa, cabbage and potatoes. Kelly finished my chicken cutlet, and his own kielbasa and potatoes.  It was like a food swap, and I just laughed. 

Jim said, “it’s good, but I really wanted the saurkraut.” Lisa replied, “if you wanted kraut we could’ve gone to the German place 2 miles south of here.” Jim looked astonished that such a place existed, and I just rolled my eyes. 

This is where you just shake your head and all agree that next time, Lisa is picking the restaurant. It’s never a dull moment. My birthday was filled with good food, good fellowship, great laughs and family. I can’t ask for more than that. As for cake, I had tres leches from the Cuban bakery where we skipped the candles in order to avoid calling the local fire department. I really did not want to have to get a burning permit just to light candles on the cake and explain to the forest rangers that it was just a birthday cake. 

Posted in Raised by a village

January 2017 – Wear Fun Socks

Posted on by Janet

Happy January 2017! The New Year is upon us. The trees from Christmas have gone dark. Lights from neighborhoods shine only from living room windows, street lamps and front porches. Stores offer cheerful red and green clearance items and make way for Valentine’s Day, Saint Patrick’s Day and Easter decor. Gym memberships, health clubs, and nutritional clubs offer half price and lowered fees for the next few weeks.
For me, the holidays are filled with family gatherings, reunions, Christmas plays, year-end reports, month-end processes, goat deworming protocols and bonfires. There are speaking engagements, piñatas, compiling family calendars and knitting. And fun socks…did you expect any less?

Now in my 10th year of making a calendar, I track over 90 birthdays and anniversaries. Thanks to Shutterfly.com, this calendar will continue (as long as my cousins submit photos before November, I’ll keep doing the calendars). 

I didn’t make this year’s piñata. I cheated and bought a ready-made one that looked like a cupcake. Between work and the above list, I ran out of time (see the above list plus add-in travel to Oklahoma for Thanksgiving). I think it was alright. That cupcake would not break! The youngest child always gets to hit the piñata first,  then others get to swing at it based on their ages. This year, both baby M and her mother had opportunities to swing blindfolded at the blasted toy-and-candy-filled-cardboard vault-on-a-rope.  Who knew that this piñata tradition, started by my late Aunt Allene in the 1960s would continue now? She handed the piñata bat to me a decade ago, and I continue it with pride  (even if I did have to buy one). 

After helping to clean-up the fellowship hall, Jim, Kelly and I burned more brush from the  goat pasture. We provided pyrotechnics for a group nearby and then, I was up until after midnight polishing a sermon for New Year’s Day service. 

Over the past few years, my resolution has been, “I resolve to make no resolutions.” I was quite successful at keeping it too. Yet this year, I realized that a resolution resolving to do nothing leaves me vulnerable to accepting the decisions made by someone else. So, I challenged others to be bold and courageous in their 2017 resolutions, make them SMART (Specific, Measurable, Attainable, Realistic, Time-bound). Use the buddy system and  have someone hold you accountable for your resolution. My resolution for 2017 is to read at least 4 books on positive mental health (like “The Happiness Advantage”) so that I can share with others and connect with them during times of their loneliness. Connecting with others in our communities helps to nourish the soul by providing love and understanding. 

To many, 2016 was filled with hate, violence, loss, despair, and division.  There’s no doubt that life is full of challenges. Jim and I often face disappointments that we simply do not share on social media because they are not social. We strive to be the best people we can be for each other and for our family and friends. Sure, we fall short and are far from perfect, but we keep striving. In graduate school, I had a professor who taught that we strive to overcome obstacles 80% of the time so that we can thrive 20% of the time. Those 20% “YAY” moments mean so much more when the obstacles we overcome are seemingly insurmountable.  

I challenge each of you to find joy, peace and love in 2017. Make SMART resolutions…start small and do your part. If you make promissory notes, pay your bills. If you agree to be part of an organization, show up and be present. If you join a health club, be active.

Live up to your obligations, be good to your families and friends… And wear fun socks.