Daisy catches some rays on a cool February afternoon

February 11, 2012

We’re two-thirds of the way through winter at Sun and Wind Farm but cold weather only found its way here for the first time this morning. The mild weather we’ve been enjoying has been a welcome respite from the hellfire of last summer, when Texas had the hottest three-month streak of temperatures in recorded U.S. history.

Along came January with some blessed relief. We recorded 19 days above 60 degrees in the month, including six days higher than 70. February started off on the right foot with three more days over the 70-degree mark. But this morning the temps snuck down just below 30 at dawn, with a wind-chill factor of 12 degrees. Diego, the larger of our two Great Pyr livestock guardian dogs, pre-emptively voted not to get out of bed, instead burrowing under a recently opened bale of straw after he wolfed down his breakfast.

Lambing jug at the ready

Most of our focus is on getting ready for the new lambs. Zorro and the four Shetland ewes arrived the first week of November. The ewes never came into heat on our farm, so we believe he had already had his way with them by then. Zorro then efficiently worked his way through the rest of the ewes on the farm — two more Shetlands, two Islandics and two Suffolks. What a guy! In any case, we have a circle drawn around the first week of April as a likely arrival time for the first of the lambs. Given the inclination of many sheep breeds to bear twins (or more), we are expecting as many as 20 new lambs come spring.

Our run-in shed is already organized in a way conducive to segregating moms and lambs for their all-important first 48 hours, so they can get a chance to bond without other ewes swooping in to claim the lambs as their own. Just to be sure, we picked up a lambing jug (ok, it’s a dog kennel, but we’re not planning to tell the sheep) to make it easier should any of the lambs need extra protection or attention.

Meanwhile in the house, Frances has started planting herb seeds to sit on the sill under the mid-day sun. They will be heading to an open nook of garden just outside the kitchen door and, from there, to their final destination as savory additions to our meals over the next year.

New at the farm and just in time for the cold weather: a beautiful chicken coop we purchased from http://www.greenchickencoop.com/. The coop arrived mostly built. All we had to do was attach the legs and wheels, which of course — given the severely challenged state of our handyman skills — took days.

But it’s up and out in the shed area. The intended residents, our five hearty Rhode Island Red hens, are a little suspicious about their big new home. As these photos attest, they are taking their good sweet time investigating first before jumping in.

STEP ONE: We set the trap for the unsuspecting chickens.

STEP TWO: The marks approach, feigning indifference and yet compelled to investigate.

STEP THREE: Unable to contain their curiosity any longer, the marks approach the trap coop.

Regrettably, that’s as close as they dared to get on first pass. Having survived their first scouting pass, the chickens retired to their camp to plan a final assault on the coop. Stay tuned.

Shetlands relax after their journey from Tucson. That's Zorro bleating and facing the left.

November 10, 2011

“A man has to get a fox, a chicken, and a sack of corn across a river. He has a rowboat, and it can only carry him and one other thing…” Remember that old brain twister? We lived it the other night! But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Our spinners’ flock of 10 sheep — six ewes and four wethers (look it up) — has provided us with a nice diversity of breeds, fleeces and dispositions. After last month’s shearing, it became obvious that the Shetland ewes were producing especially gorgeous wool. This was wool that Frances preferred to use in her projects and that could be sold to eager buyers via our eBay store. So the idea took root: Must get more of the Shetland fleeces’ rich earth tones. There are only two ways to get more: bring in a ram to do what comes naturally, or buy some Shetland sheep from outside. We did both and now five Shetlands — a ram named Zorro and four ewes — were on their way.

Al Ziegler, livestock transporter extraordinaire, had left Tucson a day earlier with the sheep and a 12-year-old horse who was hitching a ride to Missouri. He called at 7 p.m. with the news that he was just 10 miles away. We cheered as Al slowed to make the turn into the driveway. We frowned as he stopped short because his long trailer just could not make the tight turn. Our house is set back about a quarter-mile from the road, so we jumped into our faithful Honda SUV to investigate. One thought loomed in our mind as we navigated the long driveway: Let’s hope Buddy, the over-zealous escape artist of a Great Pyrenees dog who lives next door, doesn’t get loose again and come visit.

At the end of the driveway, we were greeted by Al and, of course, Buddy. After sizing up the situation for a few minutes, we realized that we would have to shuttle back and forth to get the sheep from the street to the pasture out back. In our Honda SUV. With Buddy dancing around us. In the dark.

Given the size of the car, we could carry no more than two sheep at a time. On the theory that Zorro would be the friskiest, we opted for two trips of two girls each and then one last trip fror Zorro. We (and by we, I mean I) would physically carry each sheep from the livestock trailer into the car, on the theory that no good could come from allowing any of the flighty Shetlands on the ground, particularly with Buddy on hand to scare the bejesus out of them.

Improbably, our little plan worked just fine. Buddy was neutralized when his horrified owner rushed over to escort him away. The sheep were light and easily carried through mid-air. Zorro was a bit miffed, which he let us know by indignantly snorting as he was lifted. But after 20 minutes all five were safely in a segregated section of the run-in shed. The 10 original sheep watched the operation with great interest and attempted to establish communication through the fence that separated them. Not sure exactly what was being said, but it sounded something like “Bah-ram-ewe!”

The next morning, we let the five newbies out to meet the oldtimers. Clearly, we had not completely thought through just how a new, smaller ram would be greeted. Each of the wethers took turns making a run at him, no doubt taking out their deep feelings of inadequacy on their fully functioning new friend. Quickly, we rounded up the new sheep and deposited them inside the run-in shed, where they are now enjoying rest after their long journey.

So what was originally six ewes and four boys shooting blanks now becomes 10 ewes, four wethers and a ram. We anticipate a party in the days and weeks to come as the ewes go into heat, followed by as many as 20 lambs in the spring, depending on how inventive and energetic young Zorro turns out to be.

Trapped! Note the critter's beady little eyes.

November 3, 2011

The skunks have always been around, just part of the passing circus here at Sun and Wind Farm. Last summer, we would catch the occasional glimpse of a lone skunk in the back pasture, as we walked our range and he walked his. Earlier this spring, a female set up house with her four kits out by the front pond. As the weather turned hotter and drier, the whole troop could occasionally be observed at first light, digging holes in search of worms or other taste treats. In the dead of summer, we would be awakened by nighttime scratching at bags left on the back deck. When we turned on the light, we would be startled to see one uninhibited skunk completely inside the tipped-over bag, accompanied by Babar the Wonder Cat [tm] sitting calmly two feet away. A month ago, as we sat outside in the dark watching a powerful thunderstorm barreling south toward us from Dallas, one skunk — throwing all caution to the wind due to the impending storm — raced for cover in front of us, barely 10 feet away. Of much greater concern, freshly dug holes had started to materialize at strategic locations adjacent to the house. Cute they may be, but skunks are well-known carriers of rabies and we needed to take action before someone (meow) was bitten.

Pest removal companies draw a great big line in the sand between the kinds of nuisances that make their way into your house (these would be your termites, ants, mice, etc.) and larger outside critters (including your skunks, ferrets, weasels and beavers). The attentive young lady who took our call listened carefully and confidently pronounced, “Oh, you don’t want us, you want the critter guy.” A quick call and a few hours later we heard the sound of dueling banjos playing Deliverance out in our driveway. Bud (not his real name) and his faithful sidekick dog Pepsi (not its real name) had arrived.

Bud is as earthy a man as you’ll meet. He moves to the beat of an internal clock that is clearly out of sync with the one the rest of us hear. He patrols a huge region, removing unwanted critters. On his days off from crittering, he hunts feral hogs with his bow. Animals are always around him. We walked over to his pickup to gather some Have-a-Heart Traps and he asked nonchalantly, “Wanna see a beaver?” Sure enough, there was a huge beaver lying in the back, umm, sleeping. Bud and Pepsi are a team. As Bud carefully questioned us about our “problem,” Pepsi sniffed the foundation of the house in case his own specialty — the discovery of snakes — would be required that day.

The holes that had been dug were tiny, perhap four or five inches in diameter. It was hard to imagine a skunk (let alone a family of skunks) squeezing in there. But that’s only because skunks look much larger than they actually are. Their distinctive fluffy black and white-striped fur and long tail disguise the fact that most skunks weigh less than two pounds, stretched over a long body.

Skunks spend their days in burrows or in man-made items like PVC pipe, depending on what’s available. They usually emerge at night to scrounge around for food, eating almost anything they can put their sharp little hole-digging claws on. Given the oppressively hot and dry weather we had here this summer, it’s not a surprise at all that the skunks were burrowing in near the house, where the prospects for water and food were better.

After 20 minutes of diagnosis, Bud and Pepsi took action, setting four traps around the perimeter of the house. The enticement? A freshly opened can of sardines. I happen to like sardines, so this seemed like a waste of a good meal to me. But then, I don’t know the critter guy’s business, do I. By next morning, for sure, the skunks would be captured, chauffeured away and released in some verdant wonderland where they could live out the days and nights with those of their own kind.

Next morning, no skunks. Not a problem, said Bud. We’ll get ‘em.

Following morning, two skunks!

They really looked all cute and cozy in the cages (see photo of trapped beady-eyed skunk at top of blog for evidence that I am not making this all up). Bud eventually arrived (lots of work for critter guys this time of year, apparently) and triumphantly removed the two cages from the property. A day later, a third skunk was caught. Then a fourth. And yet there is still fresh digging taking place each night.

Eventually, they’ll all be caught. Perhaps not on our timetable or even Bud’s more expansive definition of a timetable. But it’ll happen. The critter guy guarantees it.

Sheep graze peacefully, oblivious to the plume of smoke from nearby chemical plant fire.

October 3, 2011

We moved to the farm three summers back in search of peace and quiet, a place to live life at a more contemplative pace. By and large, we’ve found exactly that. But you can’t hide forever!

This morning, while we were out on a seven-mile bike ride, fire broke out at a chemical manufacturing plant several miles away. As we drove home, we could catch glimpses of the fast-growing fire and the threatening plume of thick black smoke that rose above it. By the time we arrived at the farm, the chemical plant was fully involved. It spread so quickly that it surrounded a nearby fire truck and burned it to a crisp, sending the four firefighters scurrying for safety.

We took some photos from the pasture, including the one below, which the local newspaper published on its website home page.

The fire is contained now and the early reports are that the thick black smoke may not have been as hazardous as first feared. It’s a good reminder though that you’re never so far away from civilization that it can’t come calling on you.

Ominous plume of smoke rises from fire

Downy under the weather; neighbors to the rescue!

September 25, 2011

It’s been obvious for a few weeks that Downy, the older of our two Southdown wethers, was working on a cough. Frankly, given the record-setting heat and drought that’s afflicted North Texas this year, we’re surprised the whole flock wasn’t hacking away.

We mucked around on the web and found that a wide range of diseases could express themselves in a dry cough.  These ranged from bacterial like pneumonia, which is life-threatening but can be treated with antibiotics, to viruses like OPP, a common wasting disease for which there is no treatment.

We called our neighbor Mary to brainstorm. An energetic woman of indeterminate age, Mary is a helpful resource on many issues, a one-woman Rolodex of useful contacts and phone numbers. She is sweet and spry and down to earth, particularly for her age, whatever the heck that is. Her calm savvy bespeaks a lifetime of experiences far more interesting than any that you or I may have had.

Not surprisingly, Mary had some ideas. After a quick consult with a vet, she produced a potent supply of recent-issue penicillin. Since Mary herself is allergic to the stuff, we still needed a hypodermic and, more importantly, someone to pull the trigger. Enter Midge, yet another self-sufficient Texas woman and a former nurse who boards horses on her nearby ranch. Mary brokered a meeting. Her son Mark would load Mary and Midge in his pickup and the whole group would descend upon Sun and Wind Farm for a needle party.

The hour arrived and the makeshift medical team entered the shed where Downy has been isolated. We nudged and cajoled him for a few minutes, bribing him with the promise of a Fig Newton. Soon he was in place for the ceremonial pinch of the needle, and Midge quickly did her work. No muss, no fuss.

Later in the day, we repeated the process. Next day, same thing. We still have a few days to go, but Downy is already more energetic and clear-eyed than he’s been in weeks. Win, lose or draw, we are enormously grateful for the selfless actions of these folks we don’t really know very well. We tried to thank Midge, but she would have none of it. She looked at us matter-of-factly and said, “That’s what neighbors do!”

Sophie, in her Pennsylvania backyard: A mischievous personality and reassuring bark

September 13, 2011

She had more than her share of endearing quirks. Walks with Sophie were punctuated by her pointing at every rustle of wildlife in nearby underbrush. Her diet would horrify an animal nutritionist, composed as it was of whatever tasty treats her beloved person – Frances’s mother,  Frankie – happened to have on her own plate each meal. And God help you if Sophie got loose outdoors because there was no catching her. She flew faster than any wind, despite having suffered multiple fractures of her back right leg as a puppy.

Sophie came to central Pennsylvania in May of 2005, an English setter whose fear of gunshots and thunder exempted her from her breed’s traditional fate as a hunting companion. For a dignified woman like Frankie, Sophie’s mischievous personality and reassuring warning bark made her a perfect late-life companion and foil.

When Frankie closed her eyes for the last time in July, it was natural to bring Sophie to our farm in Texas, which was large enough that she could never run out of room to roam, and full of a variety of animals – sheep, chickens, cats and dogs — every bit as quirky as she was. She fit in quickly, full of curiosity about the cats, distracted by those chickens, possessed of a healthy respect for the lead female bitch Freckles, and content to keep us company inside the house each night.

When our good friend Karen, who farm-sits for us when we are out of town, reported that Sophie suddenly had immensely swollen glands and lethargy  two weeks ago, we wondered, “Snake bite? Bee sting?” We were shocked upon our return by the puffiness in her neck. In a matter of days, Sophie had become a different dog. It was no surprise yesterday when the results from the lab indicated that she was suffering from late-stage
lymphosarcoma. Two vets confirmed that she had less than 30 days to live. She had stopped eating and drinking and was ready to leave us. And so, she did, this morning.

Sister Esme said it best when she reminded us of longtime family friend Jay’s vision of Frankie flying across the sky in a fancy red sports car. Now we can add to this picture Miss Sophie in the back seat, with ears flapping and joy in her heart. May the two of them enjoy peaceful roads and good times, together always.

"Baa-Ram-Ewe": Welcoming Committee interviews Sophie.

July 24, 2011

About six years ago, Sophie joined our extended family as a companion for Frances’ Mom. A slim, energetic young English setter, Sophie understood her duties well: To provide an instant injection of good-natured enthusiasm whenever called upon, and to gulp down everything her owner secretly slipped her way at the dinner table. She was very good at her job.

Sadly, after a good long life, Mom passed away last week up north. We were called upon to fulfill our solemn promise to care for Sophie. So we all piled into a rental car and hit the road, bound for Texas. This represented a homecoming for Sophie, as she was raised by breeders outside of Houston. Her original mission in life was to be a hunting dog. But her advanced startle reflex had the unfortunate effect of causing her to shy from loud noises (like shots from hunting rifles). Unsuited for her genetic role of calling attention to birds hiding from hunters, Sophie ended up half a country away gobbling down table scraps.

After three days and two nights on the road, we pulled into our dry dusty driveway yesterday afternoon and commenced the difficult task of explaining to the 20 other animals on the property just why we needed to bring in a 21st. The reactions, breed-by-breed, were predictable:

• Sheep: The sheep collective quickly applied their trademarked empty-headed curiosity to the situation, bravely massing on one side of a reliable fence in order to inspect the new arrival (see photo above). Each time Sophie moved, the sheep scattered. No surprises there.
• Dogs: The two Great Pyrs instinctively knew something was up, having sniffed out a billion Sophie smells on our shoes and pants upon our arrival. We cut to the chase and introduced Sophie. Tentative nose-touchings led to a few wagging tails last night, but this morning the female, Freckles, emitted a few sub-sonic throat growls almost too soft to be heard. This probably was related more to the fact that she was eating breakfast than anything else. But we’ll have to watch.
  

  "Bird... must... die."

• Chickens: The foolhardy chickens immediately approached for an inspection. From deep inside the recesses of Sophie’s little brain an ancient instinct awakened. “Bird… must… die…” Sophie flung her body through the air at the chickens, who quickly realized the error of their approach and flapped out of the way. (See photo at right.)
• Cats: As expected, the felines are treating this as an event on a par with Pearl Harbor in terms of its catastrophic impact. Babar the Wonder Cat — the only male — was immediately spooked, but once he ascertained that this dog would not affect his incoming supply of snacks, he greeted Sophie neutrally, if not warmly. Missy, the senior citizen, is doing her best to glare menacingly at Sophie. If Sophie wanders too closely nearby, Missy will take a half-hearted swing at her. But it’s poor Moonie who has gone off the deep end. Even before we entered the house she seemed to know there was a d-o-g in tow. She immediately took to the top shelf of the bedroom closet, where she stayed for a few hours until I pried her loose from the old sweaters. I brought her out to the kitchen but this completely unhinged her. She jumped onto the counter and then straight up in the air to the top of the cabinets, as if she had Flubber on the pads of her feet. (See photo below.) We will keep an eye on her, but she may need a long recuperative holiday after this is all over.

Moonie heeds the lessons of Sun-Tzu and assumes the higher ground.

Tabula rasa: A canvas awaits the artist's deft touch.

July 2, 2011

We have always admired well-conceived landscaping. Admired from afar, because truth is our thumbs are green only when we paint, never when we garden.

To date, our efforts have spawned disappointment. Blueberry plants were picked clean by crickets. An orchard of spindly pecan trees bend feebly to the winds and have yet to produce actual pecans. And the tree that once seemed so charming at the side of the vegetable garden now looms darkly over the plot with the efficiency of a rainforest canopy.

Hope springs eternal though and inspiration is never far away. It can be found in the informative newsletters and soothing radio broadcasts of the patron saint of Texas gardening. It’s also apparent in the natural beauty of a sister’s gardens half a continent away in Virginia  (see photo at right). Similarly, our next door neighbor has clearly tamed the vegetation around his house, creating the allusion of a lush habitat around his pool, as the rest of North Texas withers from one of the worst droughts in a century. Even the welcoming garden (see photo at left) at an unassuming local restaurant provides inspiration. Perhaps too much inspiration. It intrigues on many levels even as it mocks our futile efforts a mile away in the same micro-climate.

No more excuses. We have the time and the willpower and the intellect to prevail and so we shall. Over the  coming weeks we will research the characteristics of the warm earth and extreme temperatures of our region. We will learn which plants work best under what conditions. We will master the fine art of nurturing plants despite the sun and the wind. And we will add color and depth and texture to the barren canvas that awaits our touch.

Two of the Icelandics are fascinated by the new arrival.

February 19, 2011

Welcome to Alfred, our newest lamb. Alfred is a Southdown wether, just like Downy before him. In fact, we obtained Alfred from the same group of friends who provided us with both Milo and Downy. Each of the lambs were raised as part of school FFA projects. Now that show season is finished, the lambs have retired to Sun and Wind Farm. (It seemed better than the alternative.)

For his first night, we’re penning him separately, under careful scrutiny by our two livestock guardian dogs and five chickens in the adjacent suite.

Alfred is not too sure yet about those chickens.

Checking out the chickens: Alfred stomps his little hoof to try to scare the hens, but they just ignore him.