From Squish to Crackle

For months--through February, March, April, May and June--I looked to the sky and said, "Stop."

Rain, after rain, after rain left the ground saturated. Walking across the yard felt like walking on a sponge. In the recently planted pasture, I slid through the mud.

Sometime toward the end of June, the rains stopped.

I watched the weather radar as green splotches went to the north and to the south of us, and I found myself looking toward the sky, asking for rain.

The earth is asking for it too.

The grass is going dormant and cracks are appearing where the vegetation doesn't quite cover the ground--the areas where the pastures are overgrazed or newly plant.

On my daily dog walk, I stop often, looking at the cracks, wondering how deep they go.

I brought a ruler with me this morning and let it fall into a crack.

For a moment, I thought the earth was going to swallow it whole.

Unless the rains come soon, I'm going to trade out the ruler for a yard stick.

Why it Pays to Look Down

The first time I spotted a killdeer's nest in the driveway. I noted its location, went to get my camera and could not find the nest again.

This spring, I've spent a considerably time looking down. In early spring, with hay supplies running low, I looked for signs of green grass. Now, that the sheep and horses are grazing pastures, I'm still looking down.

A wet spring means that many alfalfa stands were damaged, and I've yet to see a hay field cut in our area. I'm evaluating pastures, adjusting forage plans and looking down.

I still don't know how I spotted it among the clover, grass and weeds. Maybe it was the bit of brown among the lush green. But I stopped and looked closer.

And, I found a red-winged blackbird's nest and recently hatched chicks.

I crouched down for closer inspection and a photograph.

The mama flew overhead, squawking her disapproval.

Standing up and looking across the acres of grass, I told her, "Don't worry. I'll never find it again."

One Brain Cell

The ram lambs often move as a collective clump.

At four months of age, the ram lambs are separated from the flock and enter their state of bachelorhood. They live in a separate pasture, and graze, ruminate and sleep together.

The time spent on sheep care goes up.

Not only do we have to ensure the ram lambs are getting plenty of food and water, we also must deal with their erratic behavior.

For the most part, the flock of ewes and ewe lambs behave in a predictable manner. The lead ewe, often an older, wiser animal, makes the decisions about when the flock goes to pasture, when it worries about people, when it sleeps, and when it runs.

The ram lambs have no leader. Instead, they act as a collective clump that often makes bad decisions.

Sometimes they startle at the sight of a dog and go sprinting across the field. Sometimes they sprint, just because. Sometimes the group splits, and they stand in a state of wonder. How will they ever get back together?

The Border collies and I must practice lots of patience.

Tonight, when moving the ram lambs to another pasture, three lambs decided to dart into the waterway. Were they older ewes, I would have sent the dog to reunite the flock. Doing that with ram lambs may have sent the three on a suicide mission into the fence. So, I asked the dog to lie down and wait as the one-brain-celled group figured out how to reunite with the others.

Eventually they did.

But will they remember this lesson tomorrow?

I'm not counting on it.

The Border collies learn to keep their distance and to move slowly around ram lambs.

In Search of the Not-So-Wild Onion

Traveling, sheepdog trialing and training are not conducive to gardening.

The garden that I lovingly planted, weeded and tended in May is now lush with weeds.

But I am an optimist.

Surely my veggie plants would survive the chaos.

And, so tonight I went in search of the onions.

If I could find one, I reasoned, I could make out the row and follow it through the weeds.

With a little effort, a few mosquito bites and some thistle pricks, I found and rescued the sweet onions.

They will pair  nicely with the zucchini and cucumbers that seem to thrive on neglect, and go from blossom to ginormous overnight.

One person can only eat so many cucumbers and zucchini, so I've cut a deal with the chickens. I get the tender produce--and anything over 6 inches is theirs for the slurping.

It works for now, but I see them eyeing the tomatoes.

The tomatoes, peppers, potatoes and eggplant are for another night.

Reclaiming the wild garden takes time.

The Cat Days of Summer

During the Cat Days of Summer, when the temperatures climb to 90 and the insect popular explodes, the sheep, horses and chickens while away most of the day in the barn, and the cats overtake the back porch.

Trick snoozing on the back porch.

The concrete is cooler than their usual napping places in the barns.

Leslie the Cat on the back porch.

House flies, gnats and even the lumbering, buzzing horse flies seem to leave the cats alone on the back porch.

Roxie perched on the stoop.

If snoozing on the back porch, they have to exert little energy to find their next meal--cat food served on the porch.

But their is one cat who chooses a different place for his siesta. Dewey Kitty comes inside and stretches out where I, too, would like to while away the hot summer afternoons.

Dewey Kitty snoozing under the ceiling fan in my office.

The Zucchini Solution

Mama Hen and her three chicks inspect a tomato, their first of the season.

Because it is summertime, and I have a garden and a flock of chickens, I am a picky produce eater.

When I find three zucchinis that grew a foot overnight, I don't make them into bread or mix them with cheese and bread crumbs. I simply break them in two and toss them over the fence to the chickens who cluck in delight.

Is that cucumber past its prime? Over the fence to the chicken yard it goes.

Tomato have a spot on it? The mama hen and chicks will love it.

In my Before Chicken years I felt compelled to use or give away everything I grew in the garden. The 2-ft. long zucchinis and bushels of tomatoes that I had no time to process took away the joy of gardening and eating fresh produce.

But now that I have chickens, I take joy in tossing the excess and damaged produce over the fence and watching them gobble it up. And, I can savor the six-inch tender zucchini, the perfectly ripe tomato, the crunchy, snack-sized cucumber.

A Late Summer Gift

Every morning this summer, I walked into the barn and found the two Haflingers standing head-to-tail in a stall. All 35 lambs and ewes, as well as the llama, were crowded into another.

During a normal summer, the sheep would be snoozing outside in the pasture or near the barn. The horses--never ones to miss an opportunity to eat--would be grazing.

But this year an overabundance of rain produced a record crop of mosquitoes. Before dusk each night, the horses and sheep sought cover in the barn.

Temperatures dipped into the 50's overnight and a light breeze stirred the air. When I walked into the barn during the pre-dawn hours this morning, I was greeted only by the kitten.

I found the sheep outside in the paddock and the horses in the pasture--and the meteors falling from the star-filled sky.

As if Chores Weren't Hard Enough...

After spending three weekends at sheepdog trials and clinics, I turned my attention to the farm.

The chore list was long: groom the dogs,

 (So glad only two of the Border collies are rough coats)

sort out the ram lambs,

clean up the horse paddock (actually a joy now that it's finally drying out),

mow (it may have stopped raining, but the grass is still looking lush)

weed and mulch the garden...

and watch the kitten.

Between four Border collies and trap/neuter efforts, we've kept stray cats to a minimum on the farm. But this one appeared while I was at a sheepdog clinic. And so far, I've found no one who wants an adorable kitten--so, for now she's staying.

She thanks me constantly by being underfoot. So, I've resorted to holding her while I'm moving ram lambs, feeding the chickens, dragging around the muck bucket.

She purrs, delighted with the arrangement.

The Last Day of Indian Summer

During my lunchtime walk, I saw more squirrels than cars.

The bushy-tailed critters scampered from yard to yard, tree to tree, a flurry of motion.

Did they know it was the last 70 degree day of the year? The last Monday before the end of Daylight Savings Time?

The farmers knew. Soothing hums of diesel and the rhythmic chunk-a-chunk-a-chunk came from the fields around our farm.

In several fields combines munched through soybeans, and in our front field, two farmers baled hay -- green, loose bales that'll smell like summer all winter long.

The husband hurried to the woods to cut wood for winters to come.

I, tired of cleaning out the garden, turned to cleaning out horse stalls and paddock, clearing manure so that doors will open easily when the ground freezes and heaves.

 When sunlight faded, my husband and I came indoors.

But the combines didn't take our cue. Their headlights came on and they rumbled through the fields into the night, gobbling up beans before the rains came.

Watering the Cracks

We haven't had much rainfall for weeks. Dust clouds follow the sheep as they trot to the faraway alfalfa field. Each evening, I check my little patch in the garden where I planted spinach seeds. The plants aren't quite an inch high. As I water them, I gaze at the cracks that snake through the garden, threatening to gobble up those tender young plants. How much water would it take to fill those cracks?

The Rotation Stops

For four months, the sheep played musical pastures. I moved them one from pasture, let them graze it some, and then moved them to the next. This kept mowing to a minimum and also kept the grass from becoming overgrazed. The rotation stopped this week. They are now stuck in a small, mostly-fescue grass pasture and are eating hay. They'll stay there until a pasture recovers and is six to ten inches high again. With the hot weather we're having, it could be for four to six weeks. When managing pastures, I don't let the grasses get grazed to below a few inches. The reason is that when grasses are grazed this low, it takes them a long time to recover. In the long run, it's better to pull the animals off of them and feed them hay. When cooler, wetter weather comes in the fall, the sheep can go back on the pastures and have grazing time into winter. The downside is that the sheep are becoming noisy when they see me. They equate me with food, and have started that incessant baaing again.

Gratitude

For the first time in weeks, I donned a sweatshirt for my morning walk. Temperatures dropped to nearly sixty degrees overnight. I walked into the richness of dawn -- the sky bathed in pink, the heavy green alfalfa fields, the golden wheat stubble, and the black and white Border collies romping in front of me.

A Three-Fan Night

Alaskans may brag about those three dog nights -- when winter temperatures plummet and three dogs are needed to keep a human warm. In Ohio this summer, we've had many three-fan nights -- when temperatures don't drop below 70 degrees and the house doesn't cool off in the evenings. So, each night before bedtime, I turn on the two fans in the windows and the ceiling fan. It moves the warm air around enough to make it bearable to sleep.

Looking Down

When Caeli goes on hikes, she looks across the horizon for deer, raccoons, sheep, and down for field mice and moles.

Tag does the same. Though he also looks up.

I call it the Rambles legacy.

When Tag was young, Rambles utility-poled a squirrel. After unsuccessfully trying to climb the pole, she decided to stare that squirrel down. When Tag saw the squirrel on top of the utility pole, it opened a whole new world to him. For days afterwards, he walked around looking up, hoping to find squirrels.

As we were walking along the driveway this week, Tag's ears perked. He'd spotted birds roosting on the electric wires.

I, though, find myself looking down these days and making some awesome discoveries.

Strawberries! Yeah, I know I planted them a few years ago and watched them bloom this spring. Yet, it's always a delight to discover that they're ripe, and even more of a delight to pluck off their caps and eat them, warm, from the garden.

Eggs! Yep, we have renegade hens who didn't care for their human accommodations and took up nesting elsewhere. I'd hoped that one would sit on the nest, but that hasn't happened yet.

Summer Siestas

I'm not a napper. Unless the temperatures rise into the high 80s. Then I'm all about bringing back afternoon naps. Our farmhouse is not air conditioned. We open the windows to let in the nighttime cool. I arise before daybreak, which comes early these days, work through the morning and into the afternoon heat. Then, somedays, I nap for an hour or two, and continue on until the sun falls below the horizon.