Meet My Grandma... Kind Of

I just finished making a traditional Canadian pork pie—Tourtière—for a ladies’ meeting tomorrow. The theme is “Meet My Grandma.” We’ve been asked to bring food, photos, and stories that remind us of our grandmothers. Things they passed down. Things we carry forward.

The truth is, I never actually met my grandmother. She was gone before I was born. I don’t know the sound of her laugh or the way she wore her hair, except from a few pictures of her I've been able to find. But I do know that in my French Canadian family, Tourtière was a staple. It graced the holiday tables, warmed the kitchen on winter nights, and quietly stitched its way into our family’s fabric.

I haven’t made one in about 15 years. Honestly, I thought it would be easier—muscle memory and all that. But let me tell you, it was a lot more work than I remember. Let’s just say I had to sit down twice and question my life choices. At one point, I found myself negotiating with the pie crust like it was a hostage situation. Maybe that’s just age talking, or maybe it’s because when you’re younger, you don’t realize how much goes into the things you take for granted. The chopping, the stirring, the seasoning, the slow patience of it all. It turns out tradition isn’t fast food.

Still, something happened as I leaned over the stove today. As much as I sweated over it, it felt good. Familiar. Like reaching back through time and grabbing hold of something solid. The smell of the meat and spices—cinnamon, cloves, allspice, a hint of nutmeg—carried me somewhere else. It brought back scenes I didn’t even know I remembered. No, I never met my grandmother. I don’t know the sound of her voice or what kind of stories she told. But I do know the scent of her kitchen—or at least the one passed down through the hands and aprons of my family. I remember my aunt's (her daughter) kitchen, the clatter of pots, a well-used wooden spoon, someone humming in the background. I could almost see the older women in my family moving around me—quietly competent, sleeves rolled up, eyes kind but focused. Women I barely knew, and yet somehow, miss deeply.

So tomorrow I’ll show up with my Tourtière, maybe a couple of old black-and-white photos, and a pie dish full of memories that aren’t exactly mine, but still belong to me somehow. I’ll bring my pie and place it on the table alongside dishes from other's grandmothers. I may not have stories from my own lips to share, but I’ll have this—warm, flaky, a little lopsided, made with love. A dish that speaks where words fall short. A small way of saying, I came from somewhere. I come from someone.

Bon appétit, Mémère. I hope I did you proud.

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The Great Fluffpocalypse

It was grooming day here at the farm—also known as “The Great Fluffpocalypse.”

Dora, a Cockapoo, is our needy child. She has that wonderful, non-shedding poodle coat and had just gone to the groomer last week for her usual shampoo, haircut, and diva treatment, so she was in zero need of a brush. But don’t tell her that. The second she saw the grooming tote, she assumed the position like a diva about to take center stage. Stump of a tail wagging, butt wiggling, eyes sparkling, vibrating with the chaotic energy of a toddler who just ate three chocolate bars—she needed this. I gave her three pity brushes, praised her like she’d won Best in Show, and sent her back inside. She strutted off like a celebrity leaving a red carpet event and resumed her nap on the couch with the satisfaction of someone who knows they’re fabulous.

Next up: Shaymus. Terrier mix of mysterious origin. Part dog, part tumbleweed with legs. When we adopted him, he didn’t shed. At all. We thought, “Wow! How lucky to find another non-shedding pooch!” Turns out, he just didn’t have an undercoat because of the poor nutrition common to stray street dogs. Fast forward to now—he’s healthy, thriving, and shedding like he’s in a competition to clone himself. I brushed him for 15 minutes and produced enough hair to stuff a futon. My porch looked like a dog exploded in slow motion. There was fur in my hair, on my teeth, inside my eyeballs, in my soul. Shaymus just sat there with the smug grin of a dog who knows he’s both the problem and the prize.

And then came Gus. Gus is our livestock guardian dog: massive, goofy, and under the impression that grooming is just an extreme sport version of cuddling. The moment he saw the brush, he belly-flopped like a sack of flour with fur and rolled over dramatically, ready for what he assumed was a 90-minute belly rub. Trying to brush Gus is like grooming a beached manatee that won’t stop wiggling. Every time I made a little progress, he rolled over like a furry rotisserie chicken and smiled like, “Was this the experience you were hoping for?” I had to use one hand to brush and the other to shield my face from joyful, slobbery kisses. By the end, I smelled like dog, mud, and despair.

We finished with a mountain of hair large enough to qualify for its own zip code. Dora was still napping like royalty. Shaymus was actively shedding in the breeze. And Gus was trotting toward the newly mowed pasture to roll and color himself green.

So yes, it was grooming day. I’m wearing enough fur to be mistaken for a border collie and my dignity is somewhere under the pile of fluff on the porch. But hey—it’s all in a day’s work on the farm. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got fur in my mouth, slobber on my shirt, and a giant green dog to tackle before he gets captured by a leprechaun. Let’s roll.

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June 21st: The Worst Day of the Year (Don’t @ Me)

Ah yes, June 21st. The sunniest of all sunny days. The longest stretch of daylight we get all year. Birds are chirping. People are frolicking. Instagram is ablaze with flower crowns and iced coffee.

Meanwhile, I’m over here side-eyeing the sun like it just double dipped at a potluck. Why? Because this—this bright, chipper, UV-saturated day—is the beginning of the end.

That’s right. We peaked. It’s all downhill from here. The days only get shorter now. Every evening, a few more seconds of light get snatched away like nature's version of daylight robbery. It’s a slow-motion horror film for those of us who like to finish chores without a headlamp strapped to our foreheads.

And I know what you’re thinking: “But summer is so beautiful!”

Just so we’re clear, I’m not anti-summer. I enjoy a good watermelon. I’ve been known to frolic occasionally. But what really grinds my gears is that from this point on, every morning sunrise is a little later, every evening sunset a little earlier. By the time August hits, I’m already mourning the light. Because I know what’s coming. I’m emotionally preparing for the return of seasonal depression and frozen windshields.

Yep. Come winter, I’m out in the chicken coop stringing up bulbs like it’s Studio 54. Chickens need 12 to 14 hours of light a day to keep laying eggs, and let me tell you—those divas do not perform under poor lighting conditions. So there I am, running extension cords through snowdrifts so Henrietta can keep dropping eggs like the little oviparous prima donna she is.

Which brings me to my favorite day of the year: December 21st.

The shortest, darkest, most Vitamin D-deficient day on the calendar. While the rest of the world is clutching their SAD lamps and threatening to move to Florida, I’m out here in my thermal underwear doing a victory lap around the barn. Because that day? That day means we’re on the upswing. More daylight tomorrow. Even more the day after that. Eventually—gloriously—I get to unplug the chicken light.

And it's not just any unplugging. Oh no. This is a ceremony. There’s pomp. There’s circumstance. There may or may not be a bathrobe involved. I march out there like the Queen of Daylight, extension cord in hand, chickens watching with mild confusion as I declare, “Ladies, the sun hath returned! Lay at will!”

And just like that, we’re back on track.
No more electric bills for your eggs, Henrietta.

So while the rest of you are out twirling through the summer solstice in your flip-flops, sipping sun tea and pretending not to notice the mosquitoes, I’ll be in the shade with my iced herb tea and a countdown clock to winter.

Happy First Day of Summer.
Let the shrinking begin.

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Back in the Barn Boots --- Again

Or How I Gave Up Retirement for Hay, Hens, and a Whole Lot of Fence Fixing

In 2019, Jim and I did what any sensible, slightly stir-crazy couple does after years of livestock, mud, and frozen water buckets—we sold the animals, bought a 26-foot travel trailer, and rode off into the sunset like a pair of geriatric cowboys chasing 70 degrees.

We became snowbirds. Not the kind that nest in RV parks with satellite dishes the size of dinner tables. We zigzagged through the southern states (excluding Florida—because even in winter, it feels like soup in your shoes). We swapped barn boots for sandals and mud for sand. And for a while, it was great.

But then… things changed - again.

We sold the trailer, settled back into home life, and something strange started happening. I missed it.

Not the trailer. Not the questionable campground bathrooms. But the work. The real, gritty, unglamorous kind of work that makes your muscles sore and your back say things your mouth shouldn’t repeat.

Turns out, daily walks and beach chairs don’t keep you strong. Who knew? So I did the only reasonable thing: I got a dozen chickens, a few sheep, and started reacquainting myself with the joy of hay splinters, grain bags that laugh in the face of gravity, and fencing that mysteriously breaks only when it’s raining sideways.

And you know what? I love it.

This blog is my way of getting back to the roots—sometimes literally, when I trip in the pasture. I’ll be sharing the ridiculous, heartwarming, occasionally muddy realities of life on a (very) small farm. Expect animal shenanigans, fence-related swearing (edited from what my brain may be thinking), and the occasional life lesson courtesy of a hen with no sense of personal space.

Thanks for stopping by. Kick off your boots—or leave them on if you’re chasing chickens. Either way, grab a cup of coffee or hot chocolate. It’s going to be a good ride.

P.S. – Before I came crawling back to the barn, I wrote a travel blog during our RV days. If you want to see how we fumbled our way across the country (and how many times I said, “Did you lock the trailer?”), check out crosscountrycruzin.blogspot.com. It’s got sunsets, scenic views, and at least one emergency involving a black tank.

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Sprouting Sprouts

I recently read an article on feeding sprouted grains to livestock. The theory is that whole grains contain an enzyme inhibitor and it takes a lot of the animal's energy to digest them. However, sprouted grains no longer have the inhibitors but now contain the proper digestive enzymes so the animal can utilize the nutrition. Sprouting also increases the nutritional content of each grain. 

I used to raise sprouts years ago when I had rabbits. The goats and chickens ate what the rabbits didn't finish but I really didn't pay attention to any benefits realized from the sprouts, mostly because I wasn't looking for any.

This time I wanted to see just what difference sprouts would make in milk production. All but one of my does are nursing kids so it's impossible to tell if their milk production has increased, but the one gal who isn't nursing has almost doubled in production. I didn't test the milk before the addition of the sprouts but it now has a yellowish color and my customers have commented that the milk is a lot creamier. An added benefit is that the picky eaters in the group are no longer picky eaters. They all devour the sprouts, which I have replaced about 1/2 their grain ration with, and the picky ones have increased appetite for even their dairy goat sweet feed.

Here's my experience with different types of sprouted gains so far:

Corn seemed like the easiest to try but I found it takes a long time to sprout and the goats didn't really like it. So I fed it to the chickens and they took a long time to eat it as well.

Oats sprout easily. I soak them covered in water for several hours, rinse out the dirt and put them in a tray, rinsing them several times a day. They are ready in about 3 days. I don't wait for green shoots because by that time the roots would be a jumbled mass. The protein content of oats goes from about 13% for the raw berries to between 15 to 28% sprouted. I'm not sure why the big range in %. Perhaps someone reading this will know and share their knowledge with me. (Edit: I found an article that states sprouts are at about 18% protein when the white shoots are about 1/8" long. The highest protein would be from oat grass but you would only harvest the green fodder, not the roots. That's way too much trouble for my setup.)

Rye seeds sprout very quickly, ready in a day or 2. The goats absolutely love them when they just break through the seed hull but not so much when they get beyond that to the point where their roots get tangled. While the 15% protein is not as high as oats, the benefit is that they are ready quicker if you should be delayed in the oat sprout production.

I haven't tried any other sprouts as here in the north country that's about all that's economically available.

Here's the sprouting process I used. First I filled a 3 qt grain scoop with the berries. 

Then I soaked those for about 12 hours in a bucket of water. I added a few handfuls of sunflower seeds as those sprout at about the same rate as the oat berries.

After rinsing, I put them in a tray that I had drilled small drain holes in the bottom and larger drain holes in the cover so they drained from one through the next when stacked. (Edit: You can also put them in a bucket with holes. That might save some space but I found the tray is easier to scoop a measured portion from. Whatever you use you'll have to periodically disinfect it, and the ones below it, because the tray begins to grow mold after several uses.)

I rinsed them with water several times a day. The top tray drains down through the 2nd, through the 3rd or 4th and into the bottom tray which doesn't have drain holes in the bottom so it acts as a catch basin for the water draining down through. I put a small piece of 2x4 under one end so the water drained better. Each day I start a new tray after I use one so the trays were started on consecutive days. (Edit: I gave the drain water to the chickens as I imagine it has a lot of nutrients in it. Being chickens, they love it!)

I used these trays from amazon.com

https://smile.amazon.com/gp/product/B06ZZDC235/ref=ppx_yo_dt_b_asin_title_o03_s00?ie=UTF8&psc=1 and they are just the right size for a full scoop of berries.

So far I'm thrilled with the sprouting project. The goats love them, milk production has increased, milk seems to have higher butterfat, and I'm feeding 1/2 the amount of grain. If you try this process please comment to let me know how you're doing with it.

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Stitches? I don't need no stinkin' stitches!

Charlie went to the vet's Tuesday to be neutered. He's a little over a year old now. It's time. He jumped into the truck eagerly awaiting whatever adventure we were bringing him on. He walked into the vet's office like he owned the place, sniffing all around, happy to meet new friends.

"Wait, you're leaving me here?" he asked with a hint of panic. "Yes," I replied. "I'll pick you up later. You'll be fine".

The dog we got back at the end of the day thought there was a bee stinging his behind! And out came the "collar of shame".

Even with that collar, by Wednesday he'd managed to pull all of his stitches out. And he broke the cone and ripped it off his head. "Charlie, what did you do?" I asked. "Stitches? I don't need no stinkin' stitches!" he grumbled. OK, so that's paraphrased from Blazing Saddles, but it certainly fits his mood!

His regular vet was on vacation. Of course! And we couldn't find another vet that had any time to see him. So Wednesday evening he was paying a visit to the emergency clinic. They gave him a bigger collar and quite a few staples to close the incision, and a round of antibiotics.

By Thursday he'd managed to again break the collar (note the gorilla tape in the photo) and pull the staples out. Called his regular vet's office again and they said that since he was so determined to pull them out it was sort of pointless to put more staples in and that the wound would eventually granulate and close on its own. They did suggest a "pillow" around his neck that sort of looks like a blow up inner tube. It prevents the cone from flattening and further prevents him from reaching the incision.

So poor Charlie! He has the blow up collar, then the cone. We have to keep him inside so he doesn't get fly strike. He's miserable! What would have been only a few days till he could resume his livestock guarding duties has turned into weeks of house confinement with a cone on his head.

Please send Charlie your love and prayers for what he has had to endure at the hands of these humans who not only took his masculinity but now his freedom!

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Best Laid Plans!

Had quite the day here on the farm. A friend brought her 2 goat kids over for disbudding. She had her adult Downs son with her in the passenger seat, the 2 goat kids and their mama in the back seat which she had lined with a big towel to catch the poops. They are Nigerian Dwarf goats so they didn't take up much room, and the big towel idea would have worked if the next thing that happened didn't happen. You know what they say about best laid plans!

She parked in our parking area, turned the car off, got out of the car and closed the door, intending to go right back after she told us she was here. Are you starting to follow this and see where she went wrong? Can you guess what step she neglected in her best laid plans? Yeah, she left her keys in the car thinking she'd be right back to get them and the goat kids. Meanwhile, her son, who is deathly afraid of dogs (he wasn't too happy about the goats in the back seat either) heard our dogs bark and locked the doors. She tried everything to get him to unlock them. He wasn't having any of that. I'm sure he was thinking if he unlocked the doors she'd try to make him get out. He's nonverbal but does understand some sign. She signed for him to unlock his door and he pointed to her door as if to say, "No, you go open your door". Then she signed to him that her door was broken and needed him to open his door. Nope, he wasn't falling for that trick. He just turned his head and ignored her.

We called the police to see if they could send someone over with one of those tools. They don't cover my town but gave me the state police number. Called them and they don't do that anymore so would send a wrecker if we wanted. Called my neighbor up the road who has a towing company but he's in SC visiting family. This is why God invented AAA - the first thing they did was thank me for my 21 years of membership. While I appreciated their appreciation, I was more happy when they took my information and agreed to send someone to unlock the car. The company they were sending was about 45 min away, but I guess we couldn't be too picky.

So we waited. She went out every once in a while to try to get her son to respond to her desperate pleas to unlock the doors. The goats in the back seat were getting restless and scuffing up that towel so it no longer covered the seat. Meanwhile, we sent out for pizza and waited for the AAA guy, and watched the goat poops begin to get into places they weren't intended. When he arrived he was a little confused because he saw someone sitting in the front seat and thought we had resolved the problem without canceling our service request. She explained the situation so he wouldn't think he'd driven 45 minutes on icy roads for nothing. It took him less than 10 seconds to get a back door unlocked. When he opened that door he was face to face with 3 goats and looked even more confused. I can only imagine what was going through his mind at that moment, but it probably had something to do with unkind comments about backwoods rednecks!

And here's the real irony - She had left one of the back door windows open about an inch. My husband tried to stick a long pole in to reach the front door lock, but couldn't reach it. The reason it took AAA guy such a short time is that he put his tool in straight down to reach the lock on the back door! When it was pointed out that it could have been unlocked from there, hubby admitted he didn't see that one! In his defense, maybe he couldn't see past the goat heads that were trying to nibble on the pole. Guess that's why we have AAA.

We gave AAA guy a tip for getting here so quickly in a freezing rain storm, my friend gave him a big hug of gratitude, we finished our pizza and accomplished our original goal of disbudding the goats. My friend drove home, arriving safely even though the roads had gotten worse in the time she was here. The rest of the day was fairly uneventful and seemed almost blah by comparison. But I'll bet she'll be finding goat berries all over that back seat for months to come!

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No Kidding? Yes, Kidding!

The 2019 kidding season has begun with the arrival of triplets on Monday, April 1. They are mini-Nubians, mom being Nubian and dad being Nigerian Dwarf. It's cuteness overload with 2 females and 1 male. These pictures were taken when they were only hours old. I'll update with more pics in a few days, if I can get them to hold still! Mom and kids doing well. And how am I, you ask? After a day crawling around the floor of the milk room helping them get born, drying them off, and getting them nursing, I'm exhausted. Only 5 more does to go before this kidding season is over. I can do this!

Stanley - male

Mona - female

Melody - female

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It's Been A While!

Wow, I can see it's been a while since I've blogged! My intention is to get back into it. A lot has changed, such as - I have more goats, I don't have sheep anymore, we had to send our old Pyr over the rainbow bridge, our older gal is now retired, and we have 2 Pyr pups to replace them. Life does go on.

And I just created a farm website! Yeah, OK, so that's a long time overdue. Being technologically challenged, things like the internet strike fear into my very being. With the help of an awesome friend who went to school for 3 years to learn how to design websites, and some really cool free software she found, I was able to do it with minimal help. Well, I thought it was minimal but maybe awesome friend thought I was a pest with all the questions of how to do this or that. Anyway, it's up and running, although still a work in progress. Check it out at americanwayfarm.com.

Of ongoing interest will be sales of mini-Saanens and mini-Nubians toward late spring and during the summer. So if either of these areas interest you check the "For Sale" page often.

If purchasing goats doesn't interest you, then maybe you should consider getting one or two. After all, maybe your life needs more of a challenge just keeping these critters fenced! Have you ever wondered why, when something aggravates you, you say that really got your goat? Never that it got your dog, or cat, or even cow. No, always a goat! There's a reason for that. If you need more aggravation in your life, then definitely get a few goats. Of course, they're also fun, personable, intelligent, and affectionate, not to mention the cuteness factor of the kids.

I hope to reconnect with friends I've lost touch with. Please re-subscribe to my blog if you've unsubscribed or, if you're still a loyal follower who thought I had dropped off the face of the earth, leave a comment and say howdy!

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Look what I've got!

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