When Breakfast becomes the Bed

After raking hay from the barn floor, I place it in a tub. It'll be breakfast for Lily, the pony who believes no blade of grass should be wasted.

The barn cats, though, have another idea.

Trick and Roxie snoozing in the tub.

The tub makes a perfectly warm nest when overnight temperatures drop below freezing.

So, I let sleeping cats lie and feed Lily other hay.

Barn cats find many spots to snooze. They settle on top of the hay stack where they can overlook the horse and sheep stalls. Sometimes, they nestle in a crevice between the bales. But their favorite spot is the tub filled with hay. 

As days turn to weeks, their spots in the tub begin to resemble nests. They become deeper and deeper, and now their bodies are level with the hay.

 I no longer consider turning their bed into Lily's breakfast.

In the dead of winter, when days are short, and when pandemic and rioting fill the daily news, I take great comfort in seeing the barn cats curled up and warm in their nests, like two yolks in an egg shell.

I tell the cats they can nest there until mid-March. That's when I'll need that tub to be both bed and breakfast.

Muscle Memory

Seeing the world through golden ears.

When the neighbor girl wanted to learn about horses, I said yes.

Horses have always been a part of my life. My first pony, Rocky, took 8-year-old me across creeks, on trails, and under branches. Many rides ended with walks home where my pony was waiting at the barn. As a teen, horses meant horse camp, 4-H and freedom.

During my college years, I loved working from sunrise to sundown in the horse barns at a summer camp. My days were filled with caring for horses, giving lessons and leading trail rides, and on my days were spent riding horses.

After college, I met a woman who introduced me to competitive and endurance riding. We covered hundreds of miles and went where few people ever walked. During those hours in the saddle, we also became great friends and had so many laughs together.

After moving to the farm, I still kept horses, took riding lessons and learned about dressage. I love looking out the window and seeing the horses, touching their soft noses and burying my hands under their manes on cold winter days.

But, until recently, I hadn't ridden a horse for two years.

As life got busy, and I took up herding with the Border collies, I spent less and less time in the saddle, and then, none at all. 

If I was going to give lessons, I'd have to get on my horse. So, I tacked up Lily, led her to the mounting block and got on. My legs settled into position; my feet found the stirrups; and fingers held the reins. With a little exhale of breath, Lily stepped into a walk. And, thanks to two years of practicing yoga, I felt stronger, more in balance and straighter than I ever had.

While I haven't ridden much in the past several years, I've spent hundreds of hours in the saddle with Lily, and muscle memory takes over. I use my legs and seat aids as we practice circles and leg yields. And, she responds, as if it's been two days instead of two years since I last rode.

When I dismount, my hand reaches into my pocket for her treat, which she takes as I rub her blaze and run my fingers over her soft muzzle. 

A Plan B for Winter

I'm not sure if the local post master has a good poker face--or if shipping baggies of grass is an everyday thing.

For me, it's a new thing.

It all started when I read this article by the Ohio State University Sheep Team. In it, the OSU professors discussed the poor-quality hay crop.  A wet spring and early summer meant cutting was delayed a month for many farmers. The resulting hay is past maturity, not that digestible and not that high in calories.

The hay in their example provided so few calories that a non-pregnant ewe would have to eat 9 lbs. of it to meet her daily calorie requirement. A ewe can't eat that much in a day. It's a like a human trying to get their daily calorie intake by eating only celery.

We celebrated finally getting hay in the barn.

Our hay was baled on the same day as the hay in their example. Because of a dry summer, it's the only hay we have.

While I'm an optimist, I'm also a realist. If I can't get second-cutting (more calorie dense) hay, what's my Plan B? First, I had to find out how much protein and calories my hay has. (On the good news front, it's very pretty and smells fresh. The Haflinger ponies gobble it down).

For the first time ever, I sent hay samples to a laboratory for testing.

Okay, for me, that sounded like a scary, complicated process. It's not. I took samples from three bales, put them in plastic bags and took them to the post office.

It's a rural post office. Maybe they ship lots of forage, soil and other crop samples.

Five days after shipping the samples, my test results arrived in my inbox. I had 3 pages of numbers, percentages and abbreviations--and no idea how to interpret them.

Luckily, the local OSU extension agent did.

The verdict: while the hay's not great, it'll keep the ponies and dry (non-pregnant) ewes well-fed through winter. In late pregnancy, the pregnant ewes are going to need another source of calories (something more dense). I can either supplement with better quality hay or grain. I can also consider changing my breeding dates to take full advantage of green grass.

But I can at least develop a plan--and know it'll probably change.

Groundhog Day--and Hay

I've never put much stock in the groundhog.

Though he's right sometimes. The furry rodent saw his shadow last year and predicted six more weeks of winter. It was more like 10 weeks. I vividly remember wondering if spring would ever come.

I also remember counting bales of hay, and realizing that we were going to run out before the spring grass emerged.

My mother always says that you should have half your hay supply left on Groundhog Day.

Because even if spring is arriving in six weeks, that doesn't mean that lush pastures arrive then. It takes weeks for the grass to turn green and start growing. Grazing time usually begins in earnest around mid-April, about 10-11 weeks after Groundhog Day.

On this Groundhog Day, I am counting hay bales, and noting that we have about 65 percent of our hay supply left.

And, this morning the groundhog predicted an early spring.

News around the farm: Freezing fog and snow cover make for a beautiful morning. It'll be melting some today and a lot tomorrow, bringing mud. But for now, I'm enjoying the scenery.

While Others Buy Bread and Milk...

The weather forecast predicted single digit temperatures, up to 10 inches of snow and 45 mph wind gusts later in the day.

So, I took an extra long dog walk in the morning. The dogs didn't seem to mind the freezing rain and ice pellets piling up on their backs.

Emma was too busy hunting rabbits to notice the freezing rain.

Caeli, now 13+ years old, loves the daily walks.

Jack says working sheep would be more fun.

If the weather forecast is correct, they'll be spending a few days hanging out in the house.

I let the horses out into the pasture. The Haflingers are designed for the cold, and only come to the barn for feeding.

Emma and I then drove the sheep out to the hay feeders in the pasture.

I then went to work preparing for the storm. I moved hay feeders under the barn's overhang and set up a wind block for the sheep.

I brought in armload after armload of firewood.

And, then I grabbed a book and made popcorn.

Who eats break and milk during a snowstorm?

Starting Spring with Creative Stall Building

Lambs and ewes hang out under the lean-to after the storm.

Usually I don't worry about sub-freezing weather or a little snow and rain.

But when the winds blow from the east at 30 mph, and right into the sheep's lean-to, and promise to deliver 5 inches of snow, I take action.

Lambs are pretty hardy creatures, but dampness, wind and freezing temperatures will chill them. So, I had to find some way to bring them into the barn and out of the wind and snow.

Our barn was originally designed for horses. When the sheep came along, we built a lean-to on the east end. It provides shade in the summer, and protection from the west wind. It was offering them no protection on Monday night.

So I spent the evening looking at the horse/sheep barn and tryng to figure out where I could fit the sheep. I didn't want to sort and divide the flock and place different groups in different horse stalls. The odds of getting the wrong ewe with the wrong lamb were pretty high.

So, I did some creative stall building. And in 30 minutes I had a labyrinth in the barn that allowed the sheep to get inside and out of the wind.

Of course, it left me with no aisle ways--and I'm getting better at climbing over gates.

But it seemed to work.

New friends were made overnight.

The winds are supposed to die down tonight--so the sheep can return to the lean-to, and I can reclaim the barn.

Sidenote: I bought the smaller sheep pipe panels last year, and have added them to my While-Didn't-I-Do-it-Sooner List. They're easy to move and configure into all kinds of pens and corrals.

Preparing for Act 2

The snow gave way to mud today, and I prepared for Winter: Act 2.

The only certainty about Ohio winters is that just when you think you can't stand another day of mud, or snow, or freezing temperatures, it gives you something else.

So, after a few weeks of below freezing temperatures, it gave overcast skies, 53-degree temperatures, and mud.

I spent the day cleaning up from The Freeze and preparing for The Snowstorm.

That involved moving more hay from the storage barn to the sheep and horse barn.

And removing 2+ weeks of manure from the horse stalls and loafing shed.

And musing at the chickens. The Buckeyes ventured out and about during The Freeze. The Silver Laced Wyandottes opted to hang out in the hen house until the snow melted.

I moved more firewood indoors and cleaned out the wood-burning stove. And, of course, I worked the Border  collies, who think The Freeze or The Snowstorm is a silly excuse to spend time indoors.

The Problem Child

With dogs, sheep, horses, chickens, a llama and cats, finding a house sitter can be a challenge.

When  leaving for vacation, I write detailed instructions for the house sitter, noting which dogs are snarky with each other and which horse is the master escape artist.

I worry about Raven, the Border collie, not coming when called; and about Lily, the Haflinger, being pushy.

The care list for the sheep, llama, horses, chickens, dogs and cats goes on for two pages.

But when we left on vacation, I never anticipated Dewey Kitty being the problem child.

On the second day of vacation, we received a text about Dewey Kitty opening the bedroom door and pouncing on the house sitter in the night. She reported she was putting a chair by the door so that he couldn't come in. Instead, he threw himself against the closed door at  night.

The next message reported Dewey Kitty darting outside in the middle of the night and not coming when called.

And then of him ringing the bell by the back door, asking to be let out. When the house sitter opened the door, he looked outside and then walked to the dining room.

In just days, Dewey Kitty had gone from being a sweet, smart cat to a royal pain. When we returned home, the house sitter was giving Dewey Kitty the evil eye. Dewey was plotting how he'd steal her lunch.

With us home, Dewey settled into his routine.

And the house sitter sought revenge. I received this cat video from her.

It's not a good thing...

For more than a week now, I've listened to television newscasters' gleeful reports about the weather.

It's been above freezing for so long that dandelions are blooming and the grass is greening. The paddocks and gate areas are muddy.

I'm not a fan of mud. It's something I am willing to endure in March when the promise of spring is weeks, not months away.

For the horses, the wet, muddy weather means they spend most days in the paddock rather than going out to the pastures.

Horses are designed to graze, but their feet will turn the soft pastures into mud.

The sheep, who weigh considerably less and have cloven hooves, go out to the pastures to nibble grass. The warm weather will mean more parasites for them.

The prolonged warm doesn't just alter farm life. It also puts nature in a state of confusion. Yesterday, I spotted two bluebirds flying into their box. Were they planning their spring nest? A few crocuses peeked from the grass. Were they thinking it was time to bloom? Will the freezing weather predicted for later this week come in time to remind us all that it is still January in Ohio?





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But I worry about the impacts of warm winters. I count on prolonged freezes to kill parasites in the pasture.

Zero Degrees in the Barnyard

When temperatures dip below 20 degrees, people ask how the barnyard animals are handling the cold.

The horses, sheep and even the chickens handle the cold weather better than the hot weather. For, with winter coats and a wind break, they only need extra hay to warm up.

And they love extra hay.

Last night temperatures dipped below zero degrees Fahrenheit, but the winds were calm. So the horses spent the night in the pastures, pawing through snow for grass, rolling and snoozing.

For the dogs, temperatures below zero mean shortened walks. Old paws feel the cold in sub-zero weather and after five minutes or so, I few of the dogs begin tiptoeing.

The sheep have hooves instead of paws, so after eating their hay they mosey to the pasture. Their thick coats and low stature handle the cold just fine.

The chickens venture outside, but not as much as when it's warmer.

The Buckeye chickens were developed to handle Ohio winters. They have short combs and heavy bodies. They don't let a little snow keep them from roaming.

After lunch, when temperatures finally reached double digits, I took the dogs on their daily walk around the hay fields.

Jack came back with icicles, and Niki, with a dirty nose.

Both seemed disappointed that herding training wasn't on the afternoon agenda.

But 20 degrees is when the human works the dogs on sheep.

The One New Year's Day Regret

I spend part of New Year's Day doing activities that I'd like to do throughout the year. Lucky for me, the sun came out and the temperatures climbed to the 40s, so I could spend hours outdoors.

 Pictured from left are Tag, Raven, Niki, Jack and Caeli. This was taken right before I released them so they could run in the fields.

I started the day like I do most, with the dog walk. But on this day, because the sun was shining and because I had time, I extended the walk to the far hay field and lingered as the Border collies hunted for mice, rolled in the grass and chased each other.

I followed that up with several rounds of herding training--a treat when the weather is warm, the ground is soft, but not muddy.

I took time to admire the horses, soaking in the afternoon sunshine.

Lily, like always, is front and center. Jet is behind her.

Noticing their bushy bridle paths, I took them in the barn for hair cuts, grooming and lots of peppermint treats. Is there anything more soothing than listening to the barn radio and the swish of scissors while standing over a horse? 

And, while being lulled by the horses, I made my New Year's Day mistake.

I addressed the chicken issue.

For months now, I've been squabbling with the hens who insist on sleeping in the horse barn, rather than the chicken coop. Carrying hens from the horse barn to the chicken coop has become a nightly chore.

I decided to put a stop to that and move them to the other chicken house, the chicken house that has a fenced yard and no direct access to the sheep and horse barn.

I spent New Year's Day preparing the chicken's new home. I cleaned it out, spread fresh straw on the floor and stapled plastic over an opening to cut down on drafts. That evening, I carried 2 roosters and 16 hens to their new home.

This morning, they roamed their new yard and gobbled up butternut squash seeds and apple cores.

They seemed happy, they seemed content.I was happy, I was content.

But as dusk approached, one hen flew over the fence and into the yard. Another flew over the fence and marched to the horse barn.

And so this evening, I did what I'd done on New Year's Day: I moved a chicken from the horse barn to the chicken coop.

The Chicken Wars

Getting chickens to accept a new home is easy.
Just move them to the coop at night.
When they awake, they'll know it's their new home,
and they'll return to roost in the evening.

Unless they don't.

For the past few weeks, I've battled the chicken wars.

We have two chicken coops on the farm. With winter approaching, I thought it best to move them to the larger, more weather-tight hen house. On a moonlit night, I carried each hen to her new home. A few murmured as I placed them on their roosts in the coop, but most dozed through the process.

In the morning, I let the chickens of their new coop, and they foraged, wandered and found the horse and sheep barn to their liking.

That night three returned to the hen house.
Two perched on the horse stall doors.
Seven took up residence in the ram pen.
Five huddled in the horse's stall.
Two nested in the sheep stall.

By moonlight, I moved them to their coop.The following morning, I fed them in the hen house and waited until mid-morning to let them out. That evening, I again found the chickens nesting in the sheep/horse barn.

Maybe I need to make the chicken house more inviting.
Maybe they need more time to acclimate to the coop.

After cleaning out the coop. I spread new wood shavings on the floor, and then gave them an extra bag of shavings for good measure. I left the chickens in the coop for three days. Before letting them out, I closed the doors to the ram stall and the sheep stall.

That night, 13 chickens returned to the chicken coop. Five found the open door to the horse stall. My husband and I gathered the five and returned them to the chicken house.

Last evening, before dusk, my husband closed all the doors to the barn, so the sheep, horses and chickens could not enter.

All hens are now sleeping in the hen house. The sheep and horses are sleeping outside, under the stars.

I am certain the chicken wars are not over.

A Sunny Day in December

Christmas comes every year, but not so sunny days in December.

When those warm days come on a weekend, I say the Christmas stuff can wait.

The horses' ears perked up when I brought the saddle into the barn; and they watched with interest as I left the barn to retrieve a second saddle with a longer girth.

Roxie, the barn cat, joined in the action. Winters get boring for the barn cats who find great amusement in harassing their humans.

After working the horses, I headed to the sheep pasture where Raven and I continue to work on shedding, or splitting, the flock of sheep. No photos were taken because I have yet to master watching the dog, watching the sheep and taking a photo.

Then it was off to the garden, where I cleaned up the asparagus bed--and marveled at the weeds that never give up. The garden's fall chores aren't quite done, but I still have another week until winter officially begins.

And I studied the radish cover crop that I planted in the garden in late spring. Some of the radishes are rotting--and some may still be growing. I have yet to decide if this was a success or not.

Before the sun sets, I'll take the Border collies on a walk through a few fields that we seldom walk. Then I'll turn my thoughts toward Christmas gifts--and wonder if others consider a sunny day in December a fine gift indeed.

That Sweet Spot

Walking into the barnyard in the morning light, I hear bleating--softer and higher pitched than the demanding ewes.

Lambs! Four of them, scattered around the barnyard.

But that can't be, I argued with myself.

October, September, August, July, June...

Counting the months backwards finally rouses me awake. But it took me a few more minutes to settle from the nightmare.

I love lambing season--but I also am reveling in these carefree November days.

We are in that sweet spot of the year when our livestock numbers are down--and I'm carrying very little hay and water.

The lambs went to market last month, and we sold the two rams earlier this month. No longer do we deliver water to the lamb pasture, the breeding ewe pasture, the ram pen, the dry ewe pasture.

The 15 remaining ewes and the llama all hang out together. With pasture still available and a warmer-than-usual fall, that means I deliver one five-gallon bucket of water to the sheep daily.

The winter flock. No, the one playing the wheelbarrow game is not a ram; she's a ewe. I checked--multiple times.

The horses, too, are able to graze the pasture at night. During the day, they receive only one flake of hay each.

Earlier this fall, we sent the young roosters to the butcher and merged the young chicken flock with the old chicken flock. We're only delivering food and water to one group.

That means chores take 15 minutes, morning and night. And most of that time is spent playing with the barn kitty.

These carefree days will end soon, when freezing temperatures arrive and I become the ice breaker. Eventually pastures will be grazed down and I'll become the hay hauler. And the 15 minutes will become 20, then 25 and 30.

For now, though, I'll enjoy it--and try to avoid those sheep dreams.

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.

The Great Spring Shed

My arms and shoulders are sore this morning.

Yesterday, temperatures reached into the 60s, and I went to the barn and groomed the horses.

I usually trim bridle paths, legs and tails in late February.

But snow was on the ground and temperatures were still dipping into the single digits. They needed that hair.

Last evening, as the birds sang and the sky was pink in the east and orange in the west, I curried and curried, loosening and removing winter coat.

I cut fistfuls of hair from their manes, tufts from their ears, long cheek hairs, and the five-inch feathers from Lily's legs. And, I picked at their chestnuts and ergots.

 When Lily nuzzled my pockets, looking for her peppermint treats, I laughed.

I'm not riding much these days, as I spend more time with work and Border collies.

"Why do you do all the work of caring for the horses without getting the pleasure of riding?" some ask.

They do not understand that riding is just a bit of the joy of horses.

Signs of Spring

I spent the last day of February cross country skiing and moving more hay into the livestock barn.

Though the ground is snow-covered and more snow is on its way, it felt like spring.

The birds are singing, and I saw a Great Blue Heron flying overhead. The house wrens are scouting out the Christmas wreath hanging on the front door.

And, in the hen house, the chickens are back to laying eggs, not lots yet, but more than an occasional one.

You'll have to trust me on the eggs. This determined hen did not want to get up and show off the eggs.

Loose hairs cover the shedding horses.

They need haircuts and a good grooming, but with below-normal temperatures forecast this week, I leave the hair be.

The sheep, too, are showing the tell-tale sign of spring on our farm -- fibers on the fence.

The Critter Thermometer

I expect cold snaps in winter, but when they come early and late in the season, they seem especially cruel.

When cold hit in November, it seemed to catch us by surprise. We didn't have the water heaters in place, the gloves dug out from storage, the body used to the cold. And when it hit this past week, I was already photographing dandelions and looking for shades of green in the grass.

I don't keep an outdoor thermometer. The critters tell me when temperatures have dropped below zero.

That happened yesterday when:

Dewey Kitty went outside and was crying to come back in after four minutes.

The horses, usually hanging out in the pastures at night, were standing in their stalls in the morning.

Llambert the Llama had icicles hanging from his eyelashes.

The Border collies dashed outside for their morning walk, but 300 yards into it, three of the four were lifting their paws in that ouchy way.

The sheep ate their first-cutting hay without complaint. (The girls get first cutting to nibble on throughout the day and get the third-cutting alfalfa in the evenings).

And, it's even colder this morning. How do I know?

Dewey Kitty didn't even ask to go outside. He's lounging on his polar fleece blanket, content in watching me.

January Respite

When the sun shines and temperatures reach into the 40s in January, it's time to celebrate--even if that celebration involves moving manure and hay.

Several days ago, freezing rain created slicks spots and rough going throughout the farm.

The horse paddock turned into an ice rink, and the horses picked their way carefully around the slick spots.

Because of the ice patches in the pastures, the sheep stayed close to the barn.

And, because we were at the in-between stage of not-enough snow and too much ice, I had some rough treks on foot with the dogs.

Mother Nature must have known we needed to erase the ice and snow and start over with winter. So,, she gave us warm temps and sun. It gave us a chance to restock the livestock barn with hay -- and move the manure that had been piling up. I raked up the loose hay and dumped it in piles in the pasture for the horses.

And laughed at the dogs as they played in the sunshine.

And by day's end, we didn't have a completely fresh palette. Some ice remained, but the buckets were clean and free from ice, the stalls were neat and tidy, and a month's supply of hay was stacked in the barn.

And now I anxiously await a fresh coat of snow.