Dear Mystery Bruise on My Knee,
First of all, I have no idea why you're here. I didn't invite you, and I sure as Shinola don't remember doing anything to deserve you. Okay, so maybe all the crashing around I've been doing on the farm lately may have encouraged you to show up, but it's time for you to go away. You've taken up residence on my knee for the past TWO WEEKS, not getting any worse, not getting any better ... just hanging out, and it's maddening, honestly. You can take your weird greens, your signature bluish-black, and your vericose purples, pack 'em up and head 'em out. I would like to wear a skirt to work at least once this week. Thank you.
Signed,
Me.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Monday, October 15, 2007
... and man, are my arms tired.
Outcome of this particular weekend on the farm: a brand spankin’ new fence. And a couple-a scratches and cuts from ill-tempered barbed wire. But, I'm not worried about that, they will heal. This FENCE is FOREVER. :)
This process started a few weeks ago, when we had a bulldozer in to clear out the fence line. Essentially what this means is the dozer takes out all the brush and big trees out of a fence that’s falling down. We do this when we've patched and patched, and simply can’t repair the fence any more – we just need to start over (kinda like Michael Jackson’s plastic surgery). Our grandfather’s grandfather’s father used to clear land like this with one of those two-handed saws and a couple of draft horses. I’d never make it as a settler.
Anywho. When the way is clear, you don’t just slap a new fence in. You have to decide if you’re going to put the fence back in the same place, how you’re going to rotate pastures, how you’re going to get cattle in, where they’re going to get water, and various other strategeries. We decided to put the fence back in the same place, but a watering tank was a good idea for the bottom of the hill. (I wish I could describe the installation process here. All I can say, though, is that it’s a BIG deal.) That was Thursday. Friday: The Corner Posts. Gigantic, Heavy, Massive, Awesome hedge tree trunks that were cut out of the old fence get put back into the fence as the anchors. They’re sunk 6-8 feet in the ground, surrounded with concrete and dirt … these will most likely still be there, holding the fence, when they put ME 6-8 feet in the ground, surrounded by concrete and dirt.
Saturday: After a brief debate with my dad over just exactly how long the fence is (very specific measurement words like ‘yonder’ and ‘betcha’ and ‘s’pect’ were used), we decided it’s about an eighth of a mile long. Then, when we came to terms with the fact that the fence wasn’t going to build itself, we got to work. First, more wooden posts. We put 8 or 10 of those in the fence line – carrying, digging, shoveling, tamping – voila! Next, steel posts. Steel posts are about 6 ½ feet tall, and to put these in the ground we use heavy tools and elbow grease. Over one end of the post, we put a ‘driver’ – a 3-foot-long, steel, tube-looking thing with one solid end. Then, essentially, picking the driver up and slamming it down on the top of the post with as much force as you can muster, several times per post. That’ll get your heart rate up. Whew.
Sunday: This, is the ‘easy’ part. ‘All’ we had to do on Sunday was string/stretch the wires and attach them to the wooden and steel posts. Five barbed wires, 1/8-mile, two hills, oh and did I mention it had rained all weekend? Add 25-pound, muddy boots too. But! No pain, no gain, right?! So, we pulled, stretched, measured, clipped, wired and steepled the barbed wire to the posts, and we have what I definitely consider to be the best damned fence on the farm. (Course, I may be a little biased.) And I have sore shoulders ... but if you ask me in public, I'll totally deny it.
This process started a few weeks ago, when we had a bulldozer in to clear out the fence line. Essentially what this means is the dozer takes out all the brush and big trees out of a fence that’s falling down. We do this when we've patched and patched, and simply can’t repair the fence any more – we just need to start over (kinda like Michael Jackson’s plastic surgery). Our grandfather’s grandfather’s father used to clear land like this with one of those two-handed saws and a couple of draft horses. I’d never make it as a settler.
Anywho. When the way is clear, you don’t just slap a new fence in. You have to decide if you’re going to put the fence back in the same place, how you’re going to rotate pastures, how you’re going to get cattle in, where they’re going to get water, and various other strategeries. We decided to put the fence back in the same place, but a watering tank was a good idea for the bottom of the hill. (I wish I could describe the installation process here. All I can say, though, is that it’s a BIG deal.) That was Thursday. Friday: The Corner Posts. Gigantic, Heavy, Massive, Awesome hedge tree trunks that were cut out of the old fence get put back into the fence as the anchors. They’re sunk 6-8 feet in the ground, surrounded with concrete and dirt … these will most likely still be there, holding the fence, when they put ME 6-8 feet in the ground, surrounded by concrete and dirt.
Saturday: After a brief debate with my dad over just exactly how long the fence is (very specific measurement words like ‘yonder’ and ‘betcha’ and ‘s’pect’ were used), we decided it’s about an eighth of a mile long. Then, when we came to terms with the fact that the fence wasn’t going to build itself, we got to work. First, more wooden posts. We put 8 or 10 of those in the fence line – carrying, digging, shoveling, tamping – voila! Next, steel posts. Steel posts are about 6 ½ feet tall, and to put these in the ground we use heavy tools and elbow grease. Over one end of the post, we put a ‘driver’ – a 3-foot-long, steel, tube-looking thing with one solid end. Then, essentially, picking the driver up and slamming it down on the top of the post with as much force as you can muster, several times per post. That’ll get your heart rate up. Whew.
Sunday: This, is the ‘easy’ part. ‘All’ we had to do on Sunday was string/stretch the wires and attach them to the wooden and steel posts. Five barbed wires, 1/8-mile, two hills, oh and did I mention it had rained all weekend? Add 25-pound, muddy boots too. But! No pain, no gain, right?! So, we pulled, stretched, measured, clipped, wired and steepled the barbed wire to the posts, and we have what I definitely consider to be the best damned fence on the farm. (Course, I may be a little biased.) And I have sore shoulders ... but if you ask me in public, I'll totally deny it.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
The Cattle Call
There are several reasons a farmer would want to call up his/her cattle. He or she might be moving them to a different field, or just calling them together so he can make sure they're all still present and accounted for, or he could be getting them in to 'work' them ... and for as many reasons WHY a cattleman would call his herd, there are as many ways HOW he does it.
Farming is a family tradition. A farmer's methods, secrets, and tricks of the trade are built solidly on how his grandfather's father's father did it back in the day. And I bet you if there was a way to hear each family's cattle call now, you could trace it back down through the generations just as accurately as a family tree. I'll do my best to describe some calls I've heard over the years ...
My family: sic-caaaayaah! C'mere girls! (or, c'mere bulls! You don't want to offend the boys.)
Others I've heard:
WOOOoo! (yep. A farmer will just stand on the top of the hill and woo! at his cows)
heEEEY cows!
some just drive out to the field and honk their truck horn
SIC-heifER! Come on!
You know, I don't know what would happen if a new person showed up and wanted to call up somebody else's cows. (Honestly, unless somebody was stealing somebody else's cows, I can't think of a reason why that would happen in the first place.) But whether they'd come or not is a good question. Maybe I oughtta try calling ours differently next time I'm calling them up. I'll let you know how it goes. :)
Farming is a family tradition. A farmer's methods, secrets, and tricks of the trade are built solidly on how his grandfather's father's father did it back in the day. And I bet you if there was a way to hear each family's cattle call now, you could trace it back down through the generations just as accurately as a family tree. I'll do my best to describe some calls I've heard over the years ...
My family: sic-caaaayaah! C'mere girls! (or, c'mere bulls! You don't want to offend the boys.)
Others I've heard:
WOOOoo! (yep. A farmer will just stand on the top of the hill and woo! at his cows)
heEEEY cows!
some just drive out to the field and honk their truck horn
SIC-heifER! Come on!
You know, I don't know what would happen if a new person showed up and wanted to call up somebody else's cows. (Honestly, unless somebody was stealing somebody else's cows, I can't think of a reason why that would happen in the first place.) But whether they'd come or not is a good question. Maybe I oughtta try calling ours differently next time I'm calling them up. I'll let you know how it goes. :)
Monday, October 1, 2007
A Tale of Grass and Ivy
It all started with rotational grazing. This is a technical term that means: turning your cows out into one field of grass at a time, while letting another field lie dormant so the grass there can grow again. Savvy?
This past weekend it was time to turn some cows out into a new field. But before you do that, you have to go around and check the fences in the new field to make sure everything's still up and will keep the cows and calves in. I took off in the four-wheeler with my wire pliers and fencing materials, and drove along a particularly brushy perimeter. It was hot out, so I was only wearing a tank top. (and jeans, too, of course. ONLY wearing a tank top just wouldn't be smart. Plus I shudder to think of the fashion statement a tank top and roper boots would make. Yikes.) Along the way, I dove into the weeds a couple of times to fix the fence (go me), and had the four-wheeler roll down the hill without me on it (boo, me). It didn't do any damage, though, it just decided it didn't like the view from the top of the hill, I guess. So it rolled to the bottom and waited there for me.
Fence fixed, cue the cows. Then, I called the cows and turned them into the new field. (I wish this blog had audio. You'd get a kick outta how we call our cows. Every farmer does it differently.) They were ecstatic - it's like when you go to a Chinese buffet and they're out of crab rangoon. When they put more rangoon out, everybody in the restaurant kinda looks around like, 'What? There's more rangoon? I hadn't noticed.' Then SPRINTS to the buffet to get some. Cows are like, 'WHEE! New grass!' And they trot very excitedly out to the new field.
So the cows had food, and all was well. Until I got up to go to the gym this morning. AAAACCCCKKK!!! MY ARM!!! IT'S ITCHING, AND I THINK IT'S ON FIRE. Nope, no fire. Just The Ivy. Damnitall. I hope those stupid cows are happy. They certainly got the better deal this weekend.
This past weekend it was time to turn some cows out into a new field. But before you do that, you have to go around and check the fences in the new field to make sure everything's still up and will keep the cows and calves in. I took off in the four-wheeler with my wire pliers and fencing materials, and drove along a particularly brushy perimeter. It was hot out, so I was only wearing a tank top. (and jeans, too, of course. ONLY wearing a tank top just wouldn't be smart. Plus I shudder to think of the fashion statement a tank top and roper boots would make. Yikes.) Along the way, I dove into the weeds a couple of times to fix the fence (go me), and had the four-wheeler roll down the hill without me on it (boo, me). It didn't do any damage, though, it just decided it didn't like the view from the top of the hill, I guess. So it rolled to the bottom and waited there for me.
Fence fixed, cue the cows. Then, I called the cows and turned them into the new field. (I wish this blog had audio. You'd get a kick outta how we call our cows. Every farmer does it differently.) They were ecstatic - it's like when you go to a Chinese buffet and they're out of crab rangoon. When they put more rangoon out, everybody in the restaurant kinda looks around like, 'What? There's more rangoon? I hadn't noticed.' Then SPRINTS to the buffet to get some. Cows are like, 'WHEE! New grass!' And they trot very excitedly out to the new field.
So the cows had food, and all was well. Until I got up to go to the gym this morning. AAAACCCCKKK!!! MY ARM!!! IT'S ITCHING, AND I THINK IT'S ON FIRE. Nope, no fire. Just The Ivy. Damnitall. I hope those stupid cows are happy. They certainly got the better deal this weekend.
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