Looking both ways

Things are looking good here at the Farm. The recent 1in plus rain was needed. Last night and again today, there was and will be a mad scramble of picking and planting before the predicted stormy season arrives. The garden is already in early production phase. Strawberries, rhubarb, snap peas, new potatoes, radishes, lettuce, spinach, and the new experiment in Swiss Chard have passed into harvest mode.

Out to the north, the  Sheep are now grazing the first patch of oats. Full sheep are happy sheep. and it didn't take long to train them to the fence.  By day 3, none of them were even coming close.

So - on to days subject.

I am a 'fan' of Harvest Public Media on Facebook, and had taken an interest in their special with NET about Hispanic farmers in Nebraska. It aired last Friday night. It came on before I got out the door, and I found I couldn't leave the couch. It was interesting  -as expected.  But the thoughts and feelings it aroused in me were not.

I had watched some of the video clips linked to those posted on FB, so I had an idea of the story. More Nebraskans need to hear and see what has quietly been happening happening out-state. I was aware, but not to the extent the local culture has shifted. And no, its not what some believe. Change has always been hard. And for both sides. But thats not for today.

As I watched and listened, particularly to one story more local - outside Lincoln, they said - about a farmer on 2 acres, with a calf, some goats, and a few chickens, I felt a strange sense growing inside. I couldn't identify it at first, but it was growing. The show ended (I was disappointed there was nothing about the horse trainers I had seen in the video clips - they were amazing), and I went outside to attend to my chores. but the feeling was still there.

I watched the sheep race through the 'woodland gap' (the windbreak) in from the pasture. I filled the water tanks. And I thought.  And somewhere in there, it occurred to me - the feeling was resentment. I felt bad, feeling hostility toward those hard working emigrants, who I full knew were pursuing dreams I understood so well.  Aha! There it was.

Through the night, and into the next day, it became clear. But not until I looked back.

In 1975, Don and I were newly married, farm raised kids, with 2 college degrees in agriculture, and eager to stake our claim - as farmers. We found 40 acres of gently sloping farmland, made a plan to raise sheep and vegetables, and went to the only likely source of financing  - then called Farm Home Administration. Granted, sheep were little recognized as financially viable, and vegetables? They would have to be marketed to restaurants and smaller grocery stores. Farmers markets were yet unknown.  We filled out papers, and made our plea.  A few weeks later, a letter came. Rejection. They didn't think it would work. Discouraged, but not defeated, we modified our plan, and 3 years later planted our now little family on 5 acres.

Fast forward 35 years to today. Where we own a small farm where we raise sheep and vegetables. So why the resentment? - other than the obvious time and much work?  And the struggle to be recognized as 'farmers' on so many levels.  As female. With sheep. And vegetables. On only 5 acres. The struggle with neighbors, the public, and County, State, and national government to establish ourselves as 'real'. It took a long time, a lifetime almost, but we did it. Without help.

And the resentment?  Well,  now days there are all these programs. Community Crops, Beginning Farmers, grants, and now an focus on loans to Minorities and women? Hmmmfp.

Wait....... Could it be that things are changing?  Maybe. I hope so. I hope the changes will be of benefit, and not just more red tape and regulation. I hope the help gets to those who need it.

Maybe, just maybe, (I may be thinking this as self consolation), we have helped in some small way. Like our ancestors, we have been pioneers, unknowingly. Re-claiming a homestead. Breaking ground for a new way of farming and farmers.

I do not resent the individuals. Empathize more like it. I saw my own reflection in those dark eyes. 

Thanks HPM. Keep telling the stories.

They may be differed, delayed, detoured, and discouraged, but dreams should never die.

Farm on.

Stuck in the Middle -Again

The backdrop of thoughts for this post began last week. I took a day to drive out to Grand Island to deliver entries to the Prairie Wind Art Center for the Miniature show, so once again I had a good 3 hours for some think time. Always productive, this time I found the images and resulting pondering confusing and irritating. As a result, I put off putting anything down in letters, fearing my impulse would likely offend someone. Likely still will, but a post on Facebook by Harvest Public Media has sparked the urge once more. So, I will start with a disclaimer - This blog is only my opinion, which I have formed around my observations and personal experience. It is not intended to be critical of any individuals or groups, or of their respective opinions or stances.

It was a pleasant sunny day, and the interstate traffic was slowed into single file a good bit of the time by the dreaded orange cones. The need of men and machinery was apparent, and no one seemed to mind much. And of course the wind was blowing. I have been reminded of treks down this same stretch of road from 35 years ago, when the turn off at GI marked the half way mark home. That much hasn't changed. Neither of these was the source of my irritation. Rather, it was political.

The seasonal ads had planted the seed. Its primary season, and the vitreous messages pouring from every media outlet are as nauseous as ever. I never have taken to the black/white love/hate all or nothing tone of politics, but I have learned some selective hearing skills, and usually can deal with them. Until the Mommy Wars.  One quote, and the monster was released.

It bothered me. Memory serves me well from 35 years ago when it was fresh - for my generation at least. And in the past 3 years I have watched as my offspring discuss and adjust to find balance in the arena of finance and parenting, the difficulty the same, though decisions different. That alone was unsettling, but there was more.

I was thinking of the pieces I had just left at the Gallery. A picture of prairie. A ewe with twins. Stately Hereford bull. And a girl touching heads with a dark bay horse. How as a group, they make a statement about not just who I am, but where I came from. And not just me, but agriculture.

The panorama of the Platte was impressive that day. Flatland. Horizon broken only with the outlines of tree lines of villages. The grayish band hovering between  earth and sky was dust. An occasional plume of that dust could be traced back to a dot of red or green. Planting. Tractors as big as small houses for the most part, but a few 'small' farmers, the planters small enough you could easily count the rows.  Giant dust devils: larger and more numerous than I have seen in years, were frequent, and recent headlines swirled around in my mind.

Then, this morning, one line caught my eye. "or are you in the Middle"  And it all made sense. I'm back in the Middle again.  Only this time, its Ag War. Does anyone else see it coming? I really hope its just me.

An explanation is probably in order here.  I will use the Mommy Wars as an analogy. There, is issue comes down to Work and Daycare vs Stay at home Moms. Add on all of the associated issues of cloth or disposables, store bought or home made, and quality vs quantity, and you have enough ammunition for a major battle. Of course, both sides have valid points as well as the same claim of the over all well being of the child as the long term objective.  But experience and time has shown me that neither 'side' is entirely right nor wrong.

So, on to the Ag Wars. It has come to my attention,( possibly amplified by media - social and conventional,) that a divide is occurring. You can almost divide the news articles by title. Pink slime, grass fed, Organic, GMO, animal welfare, cage free, and on and on. And I won't mention the government here. The problem I sense that is coming is not that people are taking sides according to their personal beliefs, as that is to be expected: rather, that there are flags being planted, and ground claimed. (Pun intended.)  But just like Mommies, there is no one best position.

I find it troubling. Words and names are being ostracized and often vilified. Chemical, Monsanto, pesticide and the like on one side, but so are Organic, green, and humane from the other. I'm not sure if either side gets it.

I could back up my apprehensions, but I'm not sure if anyone will even buy it. Meanwhile, I am, as they say, riding the fence. I am taking the stand, much as I did in the Mommy wars, that both sides are right. It comes down to choice. What sacrifices you and your kin are willing to make. But you do what you have to do to make it work. Most will fall in the middle. Financial and economic factors must be considered, and perhaps even drives the issues. But even that coin has two sides.

Politically, I get confused trying to assign red and blue to individual issues. Maybe because each side of the coin is either red or blue. Then when you toss them into the air, and they spin around together, the vision becomes purple.  Yeah. I think I like that.  Only I don't like being red on one side blue on the other.  I'm a painter. I'd rather just mix them up inside, they already are, and be purple.

It is my personal opinion that the Ag industry and its people can not afford to take side against each other. If, like all the Mommies out there, we must keep the over all well being of the land as our objective. I think thats a given. Name calling leads to bullying, and we can all agreed that's not good.

I'm in the middle all right. I see valid arguments from both sides. But wars are a waste of resources of both sides. Resources both sides claim a need to conserve.  I don't think its the same 'Middle' that was meant, but thanks for the use of the word.

Thanks also for the focus to rant. Next time, I hope my post is more positive. After all, its growing season. Guess some thoughts could use some cultivating now and again too.

Think green, and put down some new roots.

Showers welcome

It's spring planting time. So with new acres, we got in line, and managed to get the no-till planter to plant grass and temporary pasture. Don was already home on 'lambing vacation', and the weather was good, so there was a whole lot of seeding going on.

By planting into the corn stalks, the soil surface was undisturbed, and the stalks act as mulch. Just because we aren't organic, doesn't mean we don't aim to be sustainable.



I got to be the 'seed tender'. (Which means I drove the truck to the field).

After a good deal of research, we selected a mix of grasses and legumes for a well rounded pasture that can be hayed or grazed depending on the growth and season.

We couldn't help but note that there is very little information about sheep. Everything is based on cattle or horse forage needs and preferences. But I guess we expected that.



It may have been March 27th, but it was 80 degrees and sunny. Plums in full bloom, and the trees showing a hint of green.

In this patch, we sowed oats for temporary pasture. And then began the wait for rain.

The first chances didn't happen. Only a sprinkle.

The round green spots of the legumes began to show. Then the faint hair thin blades of grass began to emerge. Germination was good, but the hot dry days were making us nervous.


But maybe today, the spell is breaking. Only a nice shower so far, but anything is welcome, and the chance for rain is on the board for 3 more days. I think maybe this is why farmers turn gray.

Meanwhile, back at the barn, the lambs continue. The first run of twins ended abruptly, and mostly singles has become the norm.

I'm impressed every year by how the color markings on the lambs so closely resemble those on horses. This is 'Blaze'. At least for the time being.

As the next generation of lambs emerge, its always a surprise. This year is no exception. With the addition of a new bloodline into the flock this year, we thought we had the basic genetic pattern figured out. Wrong. Of course a black lamb born to a white mother is not new. In fact, it has happened about 50 % of the time if the sire is black. So we had thought it was a simple recessive gene at work, even though we have been told it is not. Some times the 'book' is right. This year, we have had black lambs that should have been white, and white ones that should have been black - 2 black parents. Ah, well, that's farm life.

More rain, please.

Happy grazing to ya.

Teacher day

Spring brings the new lambs, which in turn bring visitors to the farm. Yesterday a flock of them came. Allyn and Braydon, and a group of her fellow teachers and their kids came for an outing.

Of course, the newborn lambs were a big hit. There is no age limit on the grins and soft 'ahhhs' produced by a baby lamb.








Of course, when the crowd is here, (especially when they are teachers) the educational process doesn't stop in the barn.

The group got a brief wooly experience too.






Followed by mandatory hand washing before a picnic lunch.





















Which was followed by an Easter Egg hunt in the back yard. Already 85 degrees, fresh mowed grass, and apple trees, spirea, and phlox in full bloom on March 30. Appropriate, yes. Unusual, definitely. A little unsettling actually. No one knows what the season to come will bring.








Everyone had a great time. Especially the Coopworth ewe, who was successful in begging for tidbits of countless small handfuls of fresh plucked grass.

Later in the afternoon, I had 3 teachers from Bellevue come looking for some wool to use in a science project. Of course they had to have the lamb tour too - since they were here.


The lambs continue to arrive. There were 2 more new pens this morning that Don picked up early. The barn is now at capacity, as I penned a set of twins and a single by 10:00. If there is more, I may have to leave them be, or put them in the alley if I have to. Don will be moving some out, even though its a little soon.





Later today I'll be off to Grand Island to the closing reception of the art show, and to bring home the cranes - unless they are sold. Company would have been nice, but Don is at work, and someone needs to be home to pick up lambs. Everyone else is otherwise occupied. But thats okay. Some alone time to think is never wasted on me. There is always another project to be thought out.

And a Happy April Fools.

Season to grow

I have to admit I have held myself back, purposely not blogging for the last few weeks. There was big things happening, and I didn't want to jinx it. And of course, big things never happen on time. But with the first day of Spring, it finally happened. Ewe And Us just got 4 times bigger!

We have always had in mind that some day we would like to own more ground. Especially that to the north of us, where our well is. And now we do. An additional 17.2 acres brings our 'holdings' to 22.2, making us a 'real' farm (by zoning standards) for the first time. But more on that in a moment. Meanwhile, the flock has begun its seasonal growth in numbers.


They started last Friday. 4 sets of twins in a row, (and some of them black ewe lambs). Then 2 singles. The Coopworth gave us a very nice ewe lamb. I was very impressed with her full sisters fleeces (yeah, we sheared, and I missed blogging it), and welcome another into the flock.

Monday morning I had some errands in town. I checked the ewes before I left, and the two sets of twins born that morning were doing well. I returned just 2 hours later, and took the groceries in the house, checked the messages (someone had called about wanting bottle lambs), and thought about lunch, but had a sudden feeling that I needed to check the ewes first. Nothing was happening outside. I took a quick look at the new twins again, who were up and nursing. The ewes had gotten up and filed out the door. All but one. My heart sank. The remaining ewe was scrunched in a heap, and a VERY large glistening black pool behind her on the straw. We lost a nice black ewe lamb last year when the amniotic sac still covered her nose, and I feared the same fate for this lamb. My maternal instinct kicked in. Gentle prodding produced to response, but it was warm. I quickly cleared her nose, and thumped her side. There was a heartbeat, so I continued to thump and squeeze her ribs and rub her side. Finally, she took a breath. And as I continued to rough her up, I swear she looked up at me and smiled. The ewe was weak, her hind quarters trembling. I pulled the lamb, which I now knew was a ewe, over to where she could lick her off, and mother and daughter began the bonding.

I checked on them several times, as the ewe was still having trouble standing (Large lambs sometimes pinch nerves) but they both continued to improve.

Here is the little 'Whopper' later in the day.


The lambs just keep coming, as they should. we have had more twins, many black, and one more single. So far, even though the singles have been large, we haven't had problems like many have reported this year. Supposedly the mild winter has resulted in larger lambs this year.


So the older lambs have already been put out together in their family groups.

Now, back to the bigger addition, where our thoughts and dreams are beginning to manifest.

The flock numbers have been increasing over the last year. Feed cost has been a concern, but now the girls should have little to fear.

Plans are already coming together.

The machine shed in the top picture is soon to become a shed for ewes and lambs.

The foreground will be temporary pasture for early summer. The hill to the northwest will be planted to a grass and legume mix for hay and grazing.

We only had 3 acres of pasture. An additional 17 means a lot of potential.









We also squared off the building site on the west side, so the bucks will have an additional paddock as soon as it gets fenced.

The line runs from the pink stake to just right of the little white grain bin.








Okay, so we realize we just bought ourselves work for the rest of our lives. Much of the ground is cut through by creek, both running and dry. Fifty years or so of neglect means down trees everywhere. At least we won't have to go to the neighbors for wood to burn next winter.

Other plans are already in motion too. The garden plot will double in size, and with it produce for the Farmers Market, including corn for the first time. The potatoes, onions, peas and more are already in the old plot, and the new ground has been plowed in time to soak up the gentle rain falling today.

It will take some time, but the vision is clear. Our intentions are becoming reality. I am already spending more time at home with the wool business, and Don hopes to retire next year. Our new/old careers already await.

I found this tree clinging to the creek bank, and I identify. Graphic image of how I have been feeling the last few weeks. But now its time to move on. I am consoled by the knowledge that this is not a recent development; this half naked rooting. Most likely the tree is merely growing where it was planted. Notice that the roots turn into the bank as they have grown, not exposed at all. In a precarious position for life to be sure. But then, aren't we all. But our roots run deep.

Stay tuned for more spring news to come.

Success and Epiphany

So the new year is off to a roaring start. So much is happening all at the same time, I have given up trying to stay ahead - I'll settle for barely keeping up.

My first success of the year is the Wings Over the Platte Art show at Stuhr Museum. I entered 2 pieces, and they both won 'Merit Awards' in their respective categories. This is a needle felted picture on hand dyed wool fabric. It was quite impressive in the gallery with the lighting - although a bit deceiving, as it looked like it was back lit. (Pardon the picture, my mate was kind of in a hurry to get the picture, as we thought the batteries were dying in the camera).



This is the 3-D piece - a 12" sculpture of Sandhill cranes.

The opening reception was fun also - chocolate fountain, flvored hot chocolate, and cousin Carla too.

That over, I'm now back at work. Three paint jobs lined up. Income taxes waiting for Kansas papers to arrive. Classes for girl scouts and 4-Hers lined up for March. One special order filled, another on the slate.

Meanwhile, in the sheep fold, Don is hoping to start shearing tomorrow. That is, if they are dry. The recent snow, mud, and more rain has made us postpone a couple of days already. Time to get with it, as lambing is fast approaching. Of course I'm anxious to get a look at this years larger crop of covered fleeces and get some on the market.

So today I finished up a special order for 12 pairs of sock yarns. Customer specified what color combinations she wanted, and I had no qualms about being about to produce them. So yesterday, while I began the first round, I was a little surprised to realize I was unusually irritated with the process I normally find much pleasure in. On the third batch, I stood there in the shop with turkey baster in purple gloved hands, and had an epiphany. I am an artist - not a chemist!

I realized that the tedious process of keeping 'recipies' of the dyes I was using, trying to keep careful records of it all so I could 'match' it again if desired, was pushing all my buttons. The wrong ones. I realized it had to be the artist in me. If I am not free to 'paint' as I choose, and feel in the moment, its just no fun. And call me selfish if you like, but I have worked too long not to claim my fought for freedom of expression. I shall not be held captive by a color code!

Life is too short not to live it vibrantly. Paint your own reality. Gray is the color of fog. I prefer to surround myself with the colors of life. Saint Teresa of Avila had it right. Let me live green.

And green life soon will be again. The receding snow on brown grass is already showing hints of green. The other day, I heard birds sing. And even by the calendar, Spring is only a few weeks away.

But first, we must shear sheep. And I will live to dye again.

January - Where did it go?

So its January 29, 2012. But you would never know it here. It's a little hard to comprehend on several levels.

The most obvious would be the weather. It's been crazy here in the midwest. Today its supposed to top out in the 40's. The talk is about January thaws, and whether the lack of snow is indication of the drought moving northward in the coming year. For me its a little unsettling. Not because its extreme - I've seen it like this before. And while it could be a harbinger of global warming, my more immediate fear is that winter will get real about 2 weeks from now. That after our bodies have almost adjusted to average winter temperatures of a more southern state, one day we will wake up to a more normal winter clime. That day, indicated by past experience, would most likely be the annual chosen day to shear.

No, I'm not wringing hands over the potential shivers from the newly naked flock. They have managed fine before, and with a roof overhead and a bed of straw below, will so again. No, it's me. I long ago accepted the fact that the stars align along with the jet stream, the highs and lows of atmospheric pressure, Don's work schedule, and whatever other factors may enter in, and the coldest day of the year will fall along with the mercury on shearing day.

There is cold, and then there is barn cold. That same cutting cold of an unoccupied house, that feels colder than it really is. The kind of cold that numbs toes and fingers despite the added insulating layers - wool of course. Of course, the shearer soon sheds his outerwear, and offers no consolation to one who appears to be merely standing by. Which of course, I am not. For with the toss of the first fleece onto the sorting table, there is skirting and weighing and tagging and bagging. But none of that warms toes. Although, I learned years ago of the magical feeling of thrusting icy cold fingers into a freshly sheared fleece still warm and alive. It may be a part of the true appreciation for wool. An experience I still look forward to, as it serves as a reminder of another of the essential links in this cycle we call the shepherds life.

So regardless of the weather, the shearing will take place. Hopefully (for me) a little slower this year. With so many more wooly bodies, there will likely be more than one shearing day. Several perhaps, for the sake of both shearer and skirter. Sorting later on the garage floor is not any more fun.

Other seasonal subjects have been in discussion. The seed catalogs have arrived. Plots of melons and sweet corn already dance in our heads. And there is talk of new fields for all.

And as a personal achievement, I finished little Harper's nursery quilt. In keeping with the meadow theme of the nursery, (see previous blog for pictures) the back of the quilt is 'strip farmed'. See above picure - they are not cooperating today.



Another bird showed up at Christmas. Attached to a slinky, if you pull the cord it 'flies'!












And the quilt top. A variation of an uneven block pattern, I named it "Harper's Field."

So now its almost February. And the calendar is already filling. Conventions and presentation, art projects to finish (and start), planning and hopes for a productive year ahead.

I'll get at that. And try to keep you posted as it develops.

And of course, we will be shearing, regardless the weather.