Winter – Lowerpondfarm

Good Morning!

Morning is my favorite time. We usually wake up around five, or five-thirty if we’re sleeping in, and whoever is the most awake, usually Vanessa, paddles out to the kitchen to push the coffee button. Then, we sit in bed for about an hour, drink coffee, check the weather, read the news, and scroll through Facebook. And lately, I’ve been playing Wordle, but I won’t go into all that now.

Just before sunrise, the dogs start to get antsy. Mitt, who sleeps with us, starts stretching and yawning, and Cooper and Bobo, who sleep on various couches, starting wandering in and out of the bedroom and staring at us expectantly. They know the routine. When I close the flap on my iPad, they get real excited, so I get up and dress, and they bounce around by the laundry room door while I put on my hat, my coat, my gloves and my muck boots. When I finally open the door, they fly across the driveway like they’ve been shot out of a cannon.

They generally run down toward the pond, into the swale where there is a little grove of mostly black walnut trees, and start digging in the soft ground for mole-rats. Vanessa had never heard of mole-rats before, but then she didn’t grow up out in the sticks in Missouri. A mole-rat is any number of little creatures that live underground and make tunnels. Anything, that is, between a mole and a rat, or any combination of anything thereof.

Anyway, just before dawn every morning, three of our dogs (Bobo, Mitt, and Cooper) are Kings of the Mole-Rat Chasers. The mole-rats on our property are generally safe, being smart enough not to be where the dogs are digging. Mike tags along, but he doesn’t have the mole-rat instinct, so he stands back and watches, wondering, I suppose, what all the fuss is about.

The front yard in January. Mole-rats everywhere!

I generally take a leash and snatch Bobo by the collar about fifteen minutes into the morning mole-rat foray. That’s the signal for the other dogs to head back to the house, where Vanessa is filling their dog bowls. By they time they eat (or decide they don’t want to eat, which is Bobo’s normal routine), the sun is just rising over the hill.

So we head to the barn. If it’s really cold, like the last several mornings, we’re carrying buckets of hot water to melt the ice that froze on the water bowls overnight.

Vanessa gives all the dogs a treat, which is why they come with us. Treats aren’t as tasty as mole-rats, I guess, but the dogs know they’re a sure thing. Then, Vanessa feeds grain to the goats in the barn, lately that’s Pokey and Justine the Justinator. I feed grain to the sheep and to Buck and Mr. G. over in Buck ‘n’ Ram Palace, on the other side of the garden, and then we give them all hay, at least in the winter time. When we’re not carrying up water, the morning feed takes about fifteen minutes.

Which means we’re coming down just when the sun is a few degrees over the horizon. Those are some of the most beautiful times on the farm, especially in winter, when it’s cold and clear, and the slant of light hits the frozen limbs in a particular sort of way. If we’re coming down early enough, and I think I can capture some of it, I will run in and grab my camera to take some pictures.

A Lovely, Cold Morning

It was 12 degrees when we woke up this morning. Two cups of coffee later, it was still 12 degrees. When we went outside around 6:40am, it was still 12 degrees, and an inch of snow lay on top of half an inch of sleet, which lay on top of a quarter inch of ice.

At first, we groaned about having to go outside to feed the animals, but, as is often the case with swimming pools, hot tubs, and other sudden changes of temperature, it’s best just to jump right in because once you’re acclimated, it’s really quite lovely.

Cold, gray, quiet, a light snow still falling.

The first thing we do every morning is give all the sheep and goats grain. Then we make the rounds with hay. Vanessa generally tends to whoever is in the barn, and lately that has been females–Justine, Molly and Maude. I feed the boys–that is, the bucks and the rams.

Pokey was not all that impressed with the weather. Goats generally don’t mind the cold, but they sure don’t like being wet.

If you look closely, you can see Mr. G, on the right, giving Pokey (left) the Hairy Eyeball. Those flattened ears are goat-speak for “Back up, buddy, or I’ll kick your….” Buck (center) is oblivious to the little drama going on around him.

We have four ram lambs right now. Two are intact and two are wethers (castrated males), almost a year old, and this is one of the most fun groups we’ve had. They aren’t skittish or afraid (lots of sheep are—they are prey animals, after all), and they aren’t old enough to be aggressive yet. Rams are not generally aggressive, but they are protective, and getting hit from from behind by a two-hundred pound ram is an experience you don’t want to have often. These are about 125 pounds.

#6 and #7–Molly’s lambs from last spring.

Molly–looking for some extra grain. She’s already had her first serving, but she sees me out in the barnyard and makes her play for it.

Justine sees Molly outside angling for more grain and comes to the door, but won’t come outside. It is snowing after all.

Generally, we keep two five-gallon water containers for each group of sheep or goats, and every day I empty and refill at least one of those containers. When it’s this cold, though, everything freezes, so our goal is to keep one clean, unfrozen container for each group. When it’s really cold, we carry hot water from the house.

Robbert generally gets pellets, a handful of alfalfa, a carrot, and two minutes of undivided attention at the evening feeding. He loves to have his ears rubbed. (Who doesn’t?) This morning, I took him some warm water, but he wouldn’t come to me–he can be very fickle.

Late last summer, we had three large red oak trees cut down from the front yard. We cut the limbs into firewood and have been using it all winter.

The near-empty rack of firewood we’ve used.

The firewood we have have left. Let’s hope it warms up soon.

Mike usually sleeps outside. Mostly, he sleeps on the front porch–on a settee lined with a fleece dog bed–from where he surveys his kingdom and barks at random throughout the night. Great Pyrenees are nocturnal.

When it’s real cold, below 20, we try to get him to spend the night in the barn, which he does not like, but which has straw for bedding. I usually end up trying to coax him in with food. Last night it was the last serving of Shepard’s Pie. Tonight it will be left over chicken casserole sprinkled with raw hamburger.

Thanks for viewing. Hope you enjoyed it.

Winter–A Few Years Ago

Winter

We haven’t gotten much snow this year, at least so far, and I wanted to escape all the weirdness in the world for a while, so here are some photos from snow falls in 2015 and 2016.