American Way Farm: September 2012

Thursday, September 20, 2012

Talon

"Look everyone - it's the lunch wagon!"

This week’s mission: get a decent photo of Talon for his “for sale” ad. Easy enough, right? Just walk out there, snap a few flattering shots, post them online, and wait for the offers to roll in.

Ha.

He was standing by the fence, looking reasonably majestic… until I pulled out my phone. Then he became a statue with the personality of a cinder block. No matter what I did—clucking, chucking pebbles, kissing sounds, mooing like a cow, high-pitched whistling like some kind of demented bird caller—he wouldn’t lift his head. Not even a blink of interest. Just stood there, ears half-cocked, looking like a disinterested teenager at a family reunion.

I was one moo away from throwing in the towel when my husband rolled down the driveway with a trailer full of hay.

Suddenly, glutton gut sprang to life. Head up, ears forward, eyes bright—poof, perfect sale ad posture. Nothing like a trailer full of snacks to turn a sullen horse into a show pony.

So now Talon’s officially listed on several horse sale sites, complete with a flattering video. Fingers crossed the hay-bribed glamour shot does the trick.

Anyone want to buy a horse? He’s handsome, trained, and comes with a strong opinion about food. (Don’t we all?)

Click here to see Talon's ad.

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When my husband, Jim, and I moved from southern New Hampshire to way, way up north in the fall of 2001, we thought we were just “getting away from it all.” You know—peace, quiet, maybe a moose sighting or two. We weren’t planning a major lifestyle change. We certainly didn’t think we’d be trading paved driveways for muck boots and birthing kits. But life (and nature) had other plans. The thing about the North Country is that it’s very good at growing trees. Tall ones. Fast ones. Persistent ones. Left unchecked, they’ll take over faster than a toddler with a jar of peanut butter. We were starting to lose our view—and not just a “I think the horizon looks a little hazy” kind of loss. I mean, we were being reabsorbed by the forest. So we came up with a brilliant plan: let animals do the work! We figured a couple of pigs and sheep would chew down the underbrush, fertilize the land, and maybe keep us entertained along the way. A few goats joined the team, because apparently we thought chaos was missing. Chickens showed up next, mostly for fly control—but also because they’re hilarious, not to mention that farm eggs are the best. And then, of course, a dog. You need a dog to guard the animals from the coyotes and the goats from each other. Before long, we had an entire ecosystem going. And then the questions started rolling in. “Hey, could you raise a pig for us?” “Do you sell your lamb?” “Got any extra eggs?” “Do you actually drink the goat milk?” And just like that… we were farmers. Not the bib-overalls, pitchfork-wielding kind (well, okay, maybe on Mondays), but full-on livestock-managing, early-rising, hay-in-our-hair kind of farmers. And honestly? We’re loving every minute of it—yes, even the goat-wrangling, fence-mending, rooster-escapes-at-5AM parts. We never saw it coming. But sometimes the best things in life are the ones that sneak up on you—preferably not in the form of a loose pig, but you get the idea.