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Hi Everyone,
What does summer mean to you? Swimming, Picnics, Berry picking, Popsicles, Reading a good book on a rainy afternoon, catching fireflies at night, or maybe hibernating from the heat? Summer here on the farm means harvesting okra, beans, Everglade tomatoes, and watermelon. Picking bouquets of pink, purple, orange, white, red, and salmon colored zinnias. Hours are spent on the lawn mower going round and round the yard and the garden. It also means going outside at 9:00 to lock up the chickens—because they will not go to bed until it gets dark. Hibernating? Nope, not around here, that is what I like to do in the winter. We are enjoying the summer heat, and you can find us milking the cows in the morning, and heading to play in the garden afterward. Another part of summer—is preparing for the winter. Finding hay for the sheep and cows, planting peas for the cows to eat come fall, and figuring out whether or not we will grow Thanksgiving Turkeys this year. I just realized this morning as I sat down beside one of my seed catalogs—that it is time to start planning the fall garden. What will we plant? When will we plant it? And where will we plant it?
Cows on the Lose
With summer heat and rains comes lots of green grass—and finally a chance to cream some extra milk. We creamed on Tuesday and Thursday. I put as much of the skim milk into containers to make curds and whey as I had containers to pour it into. The rest was put in 5 gallon buckets for Papa to spray out on the pastures as fertilizer. When we finished creaming the milk on Tuesday, Steve and I bottled the kefir. We were almost finished when I looked out the window and saw a whole herd of Holstein cows in our yard. I left Steve to finish bottling the kefir while I went outside to “greet” all the cows. It was Cow Appreciation Day at Chick-fil-A and our dear friend Emily brought her whole family over dressed up in their cow outfits. Emily’s parents and her sister Lydia were also in on all the fun. Emily’s Mom spent hours making all the cow clothes. The boys had white shirts with black patches sewed all over them. Then the girls had red gingham dresses with white aprons with black patches sewed all over them. I cannot imagine appliqueing all those patches onto the shirts and aprons. There were five cow shirts to make, and five cow aprons. For the babies apron they found some material that already looked like a Holstein cow. Once we had our “greetings” and stood around talking for a little while, Emily begged to see the garden. She had read too much in my journals about the trellises and arbors, all the flowers, and the pumpkins that she just had to see it all with her very own eyes. The best part was that her sister Lydia had helped me plant a good portion of it back in April, so it was nice for her to get to see those seeds bearing fruit.
The Handy Man Trio
You have heard the saying, “A jack of all trades is a master of none, but oftentimes better than a master of one.” Did you know that it was formerly intended as a compliment, and that the phrase means that a person is a generalist rather than a specialist, versatile and adept at many things? Well I know three young men who fit the description to a T. They have learned many skills in their life, and have learned to do them well. The best thing is that they have teachable spirits and are always eager to learn new things. Every other Wednesday they have the privilege to come and help out on the farm, and there is always a versatile amount of work to do. This week they got to help Steve move about 50 broiler chicks out to the pasture from the brooder house. Then Timothy (who loves gardening) got the chance to harvest some okra for the Jacksonville delivery. Samuel (who loves photography) was sent to the garden to take pictures to his heart’s content. I wanted some real good pictures, and he has the real good camera. Peter found himself helping Papa move animals in the field. Then they all got to meet back at the milk house and help Steve package some eggs. When that was done, it was time to bottle the milk, put the cows back out to pasture since we were done milking, clean up the milking parlor, and help pack the Jacksonville order. I place all the goodies into the ice chests, and then they carry them to the van and ice them down real good. It was time for them to leave before they got to help Steve gather the days’ supply of eggs—but that is okay, for the next time they come they will get to spend the day in Mr. Steve’s boots! Steve is needed to work at his other job that day, so all the time spent helping Steve will bear fruit in a few weeks as they get the chance to do Steve’s chores all by themselves.
Climbing Trees
Have you ever had the privilege to climb trees? As a child I loved it! My favorite was the sweet gum tree that had a spiral staircase that lead to the top. We have a massive sycamore tree here on our farm that has the perfect spiral staircase winding up it—I am sure that it would be fun to climb. I also climbed wild cherry trees, and live oak trees whose branches ran along the ground like huge trees lying down. As a child, I only fell out of a tree once, and it didn’t deter me from climbing back up it. I just cannot remember how I got up into those trees, for the first branch was always over my head. Then again that was over thirty years ago, and how to get into a tree was not one of those things that my brain filed away for later use. Last Thursday though, Mom and I found ourselves climbing trees again. Yes, in our sixties and forties we were climbing trees. Not just any ole tree either—but a fig tree! If you know anything about a fig tree, you will know that they are not good climbing trees. Ours have lots of trunks that are anywhere from 2 inches in diameter to 6 inches in diameter. The little branches that come out from them are not much bigger than a man’s thumb. The figs are ripening and Mom, Carry and I headed out to harvest them. Gathering the low branches was easy—but the trees are a good ten feet tall at least. We pulled some of the smaller trunks over so that we could get to the figs, but some trunks were just too ridged. I told Mom that we needed a ladder, but it was at the house and she didn’t want to take the time to go get it. Therefore, Mom climbed on some of the trunks and hung on them like a sloth while Carry and I picked the figs. The middle trunk was the biggest and it was not going to bend, so I began to climb up looking for the biggest of the little side branches in hopes that they would hold me. I got half way up when the branch that my foot was on ripped off, and I came crashing down—but not all the way down. My hands managed to hold me in place; otherwise it would not have been a pretty sight as I fell into the middle of a fig tree. As it was, my shins are not too happy with me. At 43 you shouldn’t be climbing trees anyway! Not willing to give up though, and still no one wanting to go get the ladder, I climbed up the arbor that bordered the fig tree so that I could get to the top of the tree—all the time hoping that the arbor would hold me because the wood was rotting. We did accomplish our goal, and then we headed over to the other fig tree. It was not climbable, its trunks did not bend, and its arbor was real rotten—so the top figs did not get harvested. I promise you, we will take the ladder next time! Once we got back inside with the figs, we all gathered around the kitchen island and cut the figs up and put them on the dehydrator. Mom is planning on turning them into Spanish fig cakes known in Spanish as Pan de Higo. For years she has been intrigued by reading in the Bible about fig cakes. So this year she searched high and low until she finally found a recipe. The first step is to dehydrate the figs—but getting the perfect consistency is our trouble. Right before we finished putting the figs on the dehydrator two tons of chicken feed had arrived, and it began to sprinkle—so it was all hands on deck. Thankfully only a few bags got damp, and then the rains stopped until we were done. Then Mom and I took Carry home and we headed to town for a few groceries. On our way home we noticed that the ditches were full of water—but they had not been on our way to town. When we got home Papa told us that 20 minutes after we left the rains came down in a torrent, and we got over an inch of rain in about thirty minutes. They say that plants need an inch of rain a week, but here in Florida if we get an inch of rain all at one time, it will not last a whole week because it gets so hot that the soil dries out quickly. My solution is to order an inch of rain a week, delivered four times at a quarter of an inch at a time, and only to be administered after 9:00 at night—so that we can still work outside all day.
Playing in the Rain
Friday found us milking the cows, bottling the milk and kefir, and then bottling some whey. The temperatures are just right to make curds and whey, and we spent Thursday and Friday straining the cheese through a cloth so that we could separate it from the whey. Then we had lunch and yogurt to make. After lunch, Carry and I headed to the garden to harvest the okra, for we had a customer coming over from Jacksonville to buy some okra and yard long beans. She arrived around 3:30, and wouldn’t you just know that as soon as she got here it began to rain. Her children didn’t mind one bit—for doesn’t every child enjoy playing in the rain? We had a good visit on the front porch enjoying the cool summer afternoon—thanks to the rain!
Harvesting Watermelon at Midnight
Saturday is always one of those days where we either have nothing planned, or everything planned—and it never goes as planned. That is okay though, for we enjoy life as it unfolds, but it does make for some very interesting times. On the “To Do List” for the day was to:
1. Milk the cows
2. Pack the orders for the Gainesville delivery
3. Bottle the milk
4. Strain more curds and whey
5. Harvest Yard Long Beans for the delivery
6. Transport the yogurt from the warm ice chest to the cooler—we put about four inches of 120 degree water in an ice chest to act as an incubator for the yogurt to make. There it sits for 24 hours.
7. Make the Receipts for the Gainesville delivery, and log in the farm receipts for the week.
8. Send out PayPal emails to the customers who still haven’t paid.
9. Iron—I have over an hour worth of ironing to somehow accomplish.
10. Harvest a watermelon—I grew the Golden Midget kind. It turns yellow when ripe, and one is turning yellow.
11. Bottle the last batch and make a new batch of kombucha
12. Practice my Piano
13. Cook Dinner
In and of itself, the list was really impossible, but if you do not plan—nothing will get done. There was one thing that changed everything. Saturday is one of the days where the locals come to the farm to buy their milk, eggs, and meat for the week. Some customers come and leave, but some we get the joy of standing around talking to. This is one of the highlights of farming—getting to know your customers. While many people are encouraged to get to know their farmer, we enjoy getting to know our customers. Around 1:00, just as we were finishing up in the milk house (bottling, packing, and straining), a customer arrived—and he stayed until another customer arrived, and she stayed until another customer arrived. It was 3:30 when we headed inside to eat lunch, take a quick break before we started making kombucha. I did manage to get two shirts ironed for Papa, and then the phone rang—it was my sister. Then it was going on 4:30, and we were finally starting on the kombucha, and the phone rang again—it was a dear friend of mine. She asked how my day was going and I could only laugh. It was now time to cook dinner, but we must get the kombucha done. It was 6:45 when we finished the kombucha, and I was able to start cooking. I was so hungry that I really couldn’t think very clearly. I really had no idea what I was going to make—except for the fact that it must contain cabbage and chicken breasts. I cut up the chicken breast into chunks. Then I salt and peppered them and dredged them in flour, and placed them in a pot that had a layer of hot olive oil in it. I had two problems though—my heat was not hot enough to brown them quickly, and there was too much for my little pot. Therefore, crisp browning did not occur. O, well! Once the meat was cooked, I took it out and added a chopped up onion. The bottom of the pot was real brown with stuck on flour and chicken, and I needed to deglaze it. So I grabbed the gallon jar of homemade chicken broth and added about half a cup on top of the onions—perfection! Then I cut up the cabbage and added it to the pot on top of the onions. By now, the broth was all gone, so I added some butter, and some salt, pepper, and celery seed. I let that cook a little, and then I added the chicken back to the pot. I topped it all off with a cut up apple, and some more chicken broth. Then I let it cook until I had my mess cleaned up, and I declared it time to eat! It was 7:20, and I was starved. After dinner there were dishes to do, a calf to bottle feed, and I had to practice my piano. Just about everything on the list had been accomplished—to some degree (for only two shirts out of about twelve were ironed). Needless to say though, I still have unpaid PayPal’s and the watermelon is still hanging on the trellis in the garden. I never could find the time to run out to the garden and harvest it. From our kitchen window I could see its yellow ball hanging on the trellis. I seriously thought of harvesting it after all my work was done—like dark thirty, but the bed was calling me, and therefore harvesting the watermelon would not happen at midnight. Have you ever harvested a watermelon at midnight?
O where, O where, has my little Cow Gone, O where, O where, Can She Be
Sunday morning always dawns dark and early—like 5:00 early! Our goal is to get to church (which is 80 minutes south of us), by 10:00. Surely in five hours we can get dressed, set up to milk, milk the cows, pour up the milk to make kefir and yogurt, bottle feed a calf, feed and water 100 laying hen chicks, move all the chickens in the pastures, let out the chickens, move the sheep and cows to new pastures, fix and eat breakfast, and drive to church. When everything goes smoothly—we can do it! Most mornings do not go smoothly though, and this morning was no exception. I brought Abby in to be milked in one of my stalls, and then I called for Rosepetal to come into the other stall—but she didn’t come. I thought she was lying down, but it was Gracy and Carolina. She wasn’t where I could see her, so I thought that she was behind Mom’s milking parlor. So I went around to the back of it—and she wasn’t there either. So, I milked Abby. Then I headed down to the middle of our 65 acres to where the cows had spent the night, and there on the top of the hill was Rosepetal nursing her calf. I called her, and she began to come—but not little Rosy. Rosepetal would stop and moo for her calf, then walk my way a little. Rosy was more interested in playing in a bull hole than coming up with her mommy, but her mommy was not going without her. The sheep and the cows roam the fields together, and by now, the sheep thought that I was calling them to move to a new pasture. I was glad when Papa finished feeding the chickens and saw that Rosepetal was still in the field—so he came to help. It was dark when he brought the cows in, and since all the rest of them were congregating at the fence when he got there to bring them in for milking, he had no idea that one was up over the hill. Once we got Rosepetal to the holding area, then we had to go round and round to get her into the milking parlor. When we finally got her in the stall, she quickly backed out and ran off again. We had run out of our sunflower meal feed, and had been feeding the cows alfalfa. We have found out that the cows like the alfalfa better than they do the sunflower meal. On Friday we got more sunflower meal back in stock, and so that is what we fed them—but Rosepetal doesn’t like it, so we had to put a scoop of alfalfa on top so that her nose would smell alfalfa instead of sunflower. Talk about being picky! We then grabbed a bucket of alfalfa and were able to lure Rosepetal back to the milking parlor—and this time she stayed around for me to milk her, but by now, we were running late.
Yes, farming keeps us busy, but we love it. I hope that you are enjoying your summer, for I know that we are.
Serving you with Gladness,
Tiare