Kulning + Why The Name "To Sing With Goats"

  When people hear my blog name, their first reaction is always, "Well that's an interesting name. Where'd that come from??" I always struggle to explain it a little bit, since it's rather a complex reason. Or more correctly, there are multiple complex reasons. But this is today's post; a history lesson, and why I chose the online alias of "Goat Song"!

  It started out pretty innocently. I had Nubian goats. Those of you who have also owned this breed will most likely smile and nod in understanding. Those of you who haven't... Well, allow me to let you in on a not-so-secret fact: Nubians are LOUD! Very loud. They're talkative drama queens who never miss an opportunity to vocalize their opinion on a matter, no matter how big or small. This trait can either be endearing, or a nightmare, depending on your level of tolerance. For the most part, I found it endearing; my family however, considered it the latter choice and made many a complaint over the years about the noise. I couldn't do anything to make the goats be quieter, so I would usually end up simply winking and saying that the goats weren't being noisy; they were singing! I had myself a whole herd of talented, singing goats! Granted, this quirky explanation never soothed the family members' annoyance, but it started the path of a herd name...

  Along with being loud, Nubians are also dramatic. I had a first freshening, two year old named 'Ivy' who absolutely refused to settle down on the milking stand. She screamed, bucked, rolled her eyes like a wild mustang, held her milk back, kicked, and whatever else she could think of to let me know that she was most unhappy with the situation! At my wits end, I tried singing to her one day. Ivy had no idea what to do about this strange happening, and froze. Five minutes later, I finished milking her; she hadn't moved a muscle in that time, and I was hooked. Singing in the dairy parlor would now be mandatory! Ivy never did misbehave ever again after that day, as long as I sang the exact same song every time it was her turn.

  As time went on, each goat got her own song; they picked it, not me; I'd just go through the list of ones I knew until eventually I figured out which one made them let their milk down the fastest. Ivy's favorite was "Skellig", Capri liked "The Ballad of the Highwayman", Heidi refused to be sung to and had to be quoted Dr. Seuss' "Green Eggs and Ham" (she always was strange..). On and on it went. Every goat had a different song. After awhile, I referred to them as my "goat songs".

  My goat singing went up a notch upon finding an old, barely-read book at my local library. It was called, 'Sing The Cows Home; the remarkable herdswomen of Sweden'. Boom. Total game changer right there. The entire book was a historical account of the amazing Swedish women called "Valkulla" (plural form is "Valkullor"), who, every summer would take their goats and cows high up into the mountains to graze. No men were allowed to come up (except young men on Saturdays, to court the single ladies), and the women and animals stayed up there until the frost drove them back down to the villages. It was the sole job of the women to care for the dairy animals, collect enough summer grass, fall leaves, and pine boughs to sustain the animals over the winter, plus make enough cheese and butter to keep her family from starving during the cold months.

  These women were the bees knees, let me tell ya'. Every morning, after milking, they would simply let their animals loose to roam the vast hundreds and hundreds of acres of pasture and black forest. No shepherd or milk maid accompanied the animals, as the women had work to do. Come night fall, every woman would stand at the edge of her cottage and call her animals home via a high pitched song called "Kulning". A difficult talent to acquire, girls would begin training their vocal chords for this once they turned thirteen years old. By the time they were eighteen (old enough to begin caring for animals of their own), they could sing at a pitch that was 3 octaves above Middle C, and could be heard up to 6 miles away! Each woman had a different song, so that the right animals would go back to the right home. Tales are told by the men of the haunting sound of so many different songs ringing down from the mountains... Alas, the story isn't always romantic; at the time of the Valkulla, the black forest was still a dangerous threat and filled with wolves and other terrors. If a goat or cow didn't return at the sound of the valkulla's song, then she had to go into the dark forest, at night, by herself, and find her animal/s. Many a woman was either killed and eaten by wolves, or died from accidentally stepping into a quicksand swamp.

  The story of these brave women intrigued me, and I began learning to kuln. I never got very good at it, but could eventually get my voice to carry a good 1/4 to 1/2 mile, and my goats learned to come running when they heard the song. My goat song.

  If you've never heard what kulning sounds like, then here's a great starter clip! (this gal also has three other amazing sound clips on Youtube). There are never any words; just the rising and falling of the voice. Some think it strange, but I find it quite beautiful.

  The singing with my goats continued over the years. They sang to me from the pasture, I sang them home for morning and evening chores, and then sang to them again during milking. In the online world, I became known as "the girl who sings with goats", or "that goat song girl", and the names stuck. I was Goat Song. And I named my blog 'To Sing With Goats' in honor of the ancient tradition of mixing melody with milking. 

  When I sold off the goat herd and moved to Missouri, I often thought about changing the blog name. Maybe instead calling it something that didn't seem so exclusively "goat"... I considered many an idea for two solid years, but finally came to a decision: This place will always remain 'To Sing With Goats'. Not just because of a single girl who fanatically sang to her herd of caprines. But because of the broader scope of what it stood for. The blog name is in honor of the Valkullor; some of history's most determined women who farmed. And that is a key interest for me today: Women who farm.

  If they can do it, we can do it. 

  We sing our cows home. We sing our goats home.

  We carry on the legacy. May the songs never die...

A Logical Dog Lover

 The past couple of days have been a bit heavy for me as I've gotten back into the writing world and have been given the jolting reminder of what people can be like through social media. The same people who might politely hold their tongue when talking to you face to face, may be fire-and-brimstone hurlers when hiding behind a computer screen.

  Over the last month and a half, I've had an idea brewing that I wanted to try. I wanted to work with a English Shepherd breeder, and together we would raffle off a pup here on the blog. The perks to this idea were that the breeder would have a pup sold, get some free publicity, and maybe get a waiting list down for future litters. The English Shepherd breed would have gotten some much needed limelight, which was my main focus; I love this breed, and wish more people knew about them! I know of no other breed that is as intelligent, useful, or unique. The only perk I hoped for myself was maybe a few new readers. I wasn't in it for the money at all. I just wanted to make someone happy, when they found themselves the new owner of a working farm dog to help them with barn chores.

  Now, I am not stupid. I could easily see that there could be some bad outcomes of this idea. The pup might go to a bad owner, or a pet flipper, or what-have-you. But I figured with some very careful rules and guidelines, we could pretty well avoid the kind of people we didn't want.

  I got all the details written out; hours of evening work, scribbling away with pen and paper. My goal was to start the raffle at the beginning of December, and pick the raffle winner on January 1st. It took me days upon days to find the courage to put my little brainchild of an idea up on the English Shepherd Breeders Facebook page... I don't believe one knows true vulnerability until they've tried handing over their writing to the public. The public tends to have very sharp fangs. But I did it anyway. My plan was sound, the idea was fun, and someone would be blessed with a young farmhand to start their new year with.

  Three hours after posting my idea on Facebook, I deleted it. In frustrated, emotional, hurt tears, I took it down.

  The public has very sharp fangs.

  "Dog people" are an interesting breed of human. And I had forgotten just what they're like. The breeders, whom I had gotten to know over a year of being a member, were mortified and disgusted that I would even think of doing such a thing. They accused me of exploiting the breed and wanting to turn it into something as common as a Labrador. They claimed I was unfit to own an English Shepherd, if I thought we could simply give a puppy away without doing a home check first. And went on and on about how "their" breed was much too precious to share with the public. They call these dogs "the farmer's best kept secret", and couldn't understand why I would want to expose the breed to publicity.

  Trying to maintain my politeness at their harsh condemnations, I replied with an apology at bringing the idea up, and that I would wait until I had pups of my own to hold such a raffle.

 That comment only fanned the flames instead of diffusing them. Breeders who I had been working with to reserve a spring pup banned me from their wait lists. The comments became more abusive. The core message from them all was that I am not fit to own a dog because I am willing to give one away to a person who needs one.

 I love dogs. Always have, always will. All animals are special to me, but there is something that feels particularly right about having a good dog at your side. BUT, they are also "just dogs" to me. I retain a level of logic towards them. They are dogs; not furry children to have their picture taken with Santa or wear costumes. They are not creatures to be idolized above humans. They are not family members that need a cemetery stone, or an ash urn.  And they are certainly not too precious to withhold from decent homes, which is what most animal shelters believe. Shucks, I spent my entire summer trying to adopt an amazing female Akita that desperately needed a home; but the shelter wouldn't let me adopt her because she would have been in a one-income family, and they preferred a two-income family.

They would have preferred that she stayed locked up in a kennel all day, and gotten a quick 15-minute walk in the evenings, instead of being loved and exercised all day!

 America has gone to pot in a lot of aspects, but most notably where dogs are concerned. They have become our idols. Something to violently stand up and fight for on social media. I still remember all the flack I got when I rehomed Gyp. He was an amazing dog, but my life was changing and he couldn't cope with it. I was getting married, my husband was joining the military, and we were looking at living in town, where we most likely wouldn't have had a backyard. Gyp was high energy and needed to run a minimum of 5 miles a day, and be able to work livestock on a daily basis. Anything less than that made him hyper, explosive, and unpredictable. Knowing this, I did the kindest thing I could: I gave him to a gentleman who lived nearby on a farm, and wanted a running partner. It's been a year and a half since doing that, and I still get emotional when I think about him. But I don't regret putting him in a better situation. The "dog people" were horrified that I did it. To a dog person, you're supposed to keep a dog until it dies; no matter what. This sounds quite noble, really. The loyalty and perseverance of it all is not lost on me. But their passion is skewed; and so many of them own unpredictable, unhappy dogs that would be better off with a different owner who could give them what they need. Keeping a Border Collie as an apartment pet because you refuse to rehome him to a local shepherd is not kindness. America thinks it is, but the harsh, cold truth is that it's cruelty. There is nothing noble, loyal, or honorable about keeping an animal in the wrong situation. There is nothing kind and loving about forcing a Border Collie (or any other high energy, working breed) to live in an environment that turns him into a menace due to lack of exercise and mental stimulation. It's far kinder to sell the dog (and there is no shame in getting money for an animal!) to the RIGHT owner, and look for another one that better suits your needs.

  Buying a pup is often times harder than adopting a child these days. And that saddens me. Having to fill out page upon page of forms for the breeder to look over, give at least five references, get a signed paper from your vet, AND have a home inspection before you might get a "yes" from a breeder is insane. But that's what America is now.

 I am a dog lover. But a logical one. Yes, I do hope to have litters of English Shepherds and Scotch Collies in the future, but I refuse to stoop to the disgusting level of all too many breeders these days. There will be no forms for you to fill out, stating how much money you make in a year, how many kids you have, and if you smoke or not. There will be no home inspections done. And there will be no references required. Because I TRUST YOU. And it's really none of my business. If you're willing to pay $500 for a pup, and an extra $350 to ship it, then you're obviously committed to some level in caring for this creature. It's time we put dogs back in perspective of importance. A child should not be easier to adopt than a dog. We cannot expect this nation to make any progress while we sit around and dust off the pedestals that we've placed our pooches on. In fact, I really don't think there's much hope of change until we start making humans more important again, and dogs go back to what they should be: Fun pets that have a job. Nothing more, nothing less.

  And so, I deleted the Facebook post. Getting a spring pup will most likely be quite difficult now, since most of the breeders have my name. But I still think it was a great idea. The English Shepherd is too good a breed to keep a secret. And too good a dog to not share with one of you readers who would really benefit from having a working partner around your place.

 Oh, and for the record, Gyp is doing great.

Come, Walk With Me

Yesterday evening was such a beautiful, peaceful time that I couldn't resist getting some video footage of it all, since you couldn't be here to take a walk with me. This being deer season, I couldn't stray far, or go into any of the pastures, but here's at least a clip to show you a little bit of the family farm. 

How To Make Homemade Dairy Goat Feed

  Well looky here! We've got a new tutorial! Three cheers for Caity, who never seems to do these when she intends to!! Wait, wha? Oh never mind...

 Goat food. Recipe. More specifically, dairy goat food recipe. Yep, I live an exciting life. Instead of doing what the average 21 year old does, this one writes down and tries out recipes to feed goats. What can I say? I like to live life on the edge; with lots of danger and excitement. 'Cause, um, goat food is so -- so -- risky and thrilling? Okay, I give. I plead guilty to being a farm girl. And one who likes to cut costs when possible, increase profit, and be able to customize my own feed for my stock. That's excitement enough for me. :)

 Almost seven years ago I started looking around for a way to make my own custom feed for my milking does. The feed at the store was something like $17 for a 50 lb. bag and not only did that NOT last long, but it had corn, soy, and a bunch of empty fillers in it; none of which I wanted my does to eat since I was trying to keeping things corn free/soy free for the sake of my customers. I was pretty clueless at first. What in the world did people feed their goats back in the old days? Can you really mix your own feed? *skeptical tone and look*

  Then I found a recipe that seemed easy enough to make, proved to be cost effective, and the goats did AMAZINGLY on it. I've used this recipe ever since. I've even fed it to my dairy cows (with a slight modification that is explained below). So I thought I would share my recipe with y'all; if you're looking to try making your own feed for your caprine friends, then give this one a whirl!

Homemade Dairy Goat Ration

Ingredients:

50 lbs. Rolled barley

50 lbs. oats; whole, crushed, or rolled... Doesn't matter unless you're feeding cows. Then you want it crushed/rolled to increase digestibility.

3 lbs. Linseed meal

1 lb. kelp meal

Molasses to coat everything

The barley is essential for this mix. Barley = milk. The oats can be replaced with a different grain, but take care that you look into how that changes the protein content. This mix is supposed to come out averaging 16% to 18% protein, but you may want to check that on your own since grain can vary in protein content from area to area. 

To Mix:

1. Find a big clean tarp (those blue, 10'x12' ones work great) and a clean leaf rake. These are your grain mixing tools!

2. Dump the oats and barley onto the tarp and use that rake to start mixing it all together. This can take a few minutes.

3. Once the grain is thoroughly mixed, scatter the linseed meal and kelp meal over it all and gently spread it out. Over mixing at this point will make it all sift to the bottom, which makes the next step a bit harder...

4. Pour molasses over and mix that in too until you get a slightly tacky, but still well coated mix. How much molasses does it take? I can't say for sure. I've gotten nice thick batches of molasses where it only took 12 cups to coat 100+ lbs. of feed, and I've gotten thin batches that took loads of that sticky, sweet stuff to coat everything. I would probably suggest starting with 10-12 cups worth and then working your way up from there. It takes a LOT of mixing to really coat everything. It's almost like you have to "rub" it into the grain with that rake. When you think you've gotten everything coated, pull on a tarp corner to get the bottom flipped onto the top and then get that coated. Yep, right when you think you're done, you'll find that you're not. ;)

5. Store! I kept my grain in metal trash cans meant specifically for grain. I find that this stuff stores pretty well (I think 40-50 days is the longest I've ever had this stuff hang around before it all got eaten), although since we don't get REALLY hot days here in Oregon, or humidity, I can't say what the shelf life of it would be for those of you who get real summers.

  You may have noticed that I didn't include any salt in the mix; that's because I offer salt free choice at all times to my goats/cows. The kelp meal is a nutritional powerhouse that is packed with vitamins, minerals, and other such goodies, but not all of my goats would eat it free choice. Hiding it in the molasses coated feed got it in them no problem.

  So there you have it! It's easy to make, relatively cheap, and you are able to choose what is - or isn't - in your feed. :)

Take My Pride

I have a bit of a pride issue. It sneaks in most of the time and settles itself so softly on my heart that I don't realize it's there until I get hit over the head by the fact that -- I'm not always right. Hmm. Not always right? Turns out it's true.

This fault is most apparent when it comes to medical treatments for livestock. I love using natural treatments; herbs and that sort. Once upon a time I was 100% for the drugs at the feed store... I was a 4-H'er; 15 years old and dreaming of a degree as a veterinarian. I could quote you the names, dosages, and dosing methods of almost every drug on the Wilco shelves. Learning about what was in those dark brown, glass bottles fascinated me. Using needles on stock was even more fun. I could argue the merits and pitfalls of the different deworming pastes, and knew what vaccinations to give and when. When I was 17, I broke my wrist and was stuck inside for the next three months; I was useless outside, so I buried myself in books and began finding a new world... One that used plants right outside my door to treat animals instead of strange sounding ingredients inside plastic tubes that cost a lot of money. Herbs were completely foreign to me at that time, but my curiosity led me further and further down that path and I slowly peeled back the truth on just what the long term effects can be when using those drugs. I felt betrayed almost; I loved those glass bottles... Those needles, those long words, the long shelves with so many choices of treatments. And now I was learning that there was a gentler way to treat animals. Was I wrong all along in using those drugs?

Then the pride snuck in. Oooh yes, I was going to be all High and Mighty now with my herbs. I threw out my drugs. Threw out the injectable iron and B12. Threw out the propylene glycol. Threw out the needles and syringes. In their place came garlic, slippery elm, raspberry, kelp, and other plants.

In the summer of 2010, I faced the hardest summer I've seen yet. It was wet that year... So wet. And my goats were dying off left and right for no apparent reason. I treated them with garlic and cayenne, I increased their kelp, I wormed them with my herbal dewormer... Nothing worked. They kept dying. I was burying carcasses every week. Four feet down in the dirt. The vets didn't know what was going on either; the fecal samples were testing clean, there were no definitive symptoms to fit anything. Then one vet finally figured the mystery out: my herd had liver fluke worms, but they had been missing the eggs in the samples up until now. Turns out that the liver fluke was rampant that year and a lot of people lost stock. Knowing that I was dealing with worms, I started deworming my goats again, using the strongest concoction I could muster. It still didn't work. The fluke had too good of a hold. I broke down and bought a powerful dewormer called Valbazen. The changes in the herd were dramatic, and almost overnight. I went from a herd that looked ready to drop dead, to normal, perky animals that were gaining weight almost scarily fast. Pride goes before a fall... 

When I first noticed that Mattie was getting sick, I pulled out my herbs and began treating her as best as I knew how. I didn't want to resort to drugs unless I had to. My pride and stubbornness quite possibly cost me my cow. The herbs weren't strong enough to take down the pneumonia that took such a powerful hold of her, and the time wasted there was critical. The night that the vet came out to pull her calf, he left me with an antibiotic to try and treat her with. His words were that if this didn't work, then nothing would. It was the most powerful drug on the market, and not even meant for dairy cattle. At that point I didn't care; I wanted my cow to live, so by Jove give me everything you've got Doc! Y'all know the end of that story. Mattie died two days later. And I was left wondering if she would have lived if I had been smart enough to use antibiotics right at the beginning. Pride, thou art mortally wounded. 

After that, I realized that I needed to make some changes. I still knew the power of herbs, but I was learning that the worlds of herbs and drugs are not something to argue between. There should instead be a balance here, in which there is a time and place for each one. We need to mesh these worlds. 

My feelings are the same where Big Ag is concerned. It is so easy for me to get pious and look down at the CAFO's and the mono-crop farms that grow nothing but GMO corn and soy. And then a year ago I came to the decision that I was done judging these things when I didn't know the full story. And folks, when you strip away the judgmental feelings, there is instead a feeling of curiosity. I began asking sincere questions about this large style of farming. Why do people do it? What are the people behind these practices really like? Human nature has a tendency to discard what doesn't work, so there must be logic somewhere in the fabric weave of these farms, that they should still be here and that people should still be building confinement barns. One conclusion that I've come to is that there is still a need for these large farms. Yes, yes, I see your hackles raising. Bear with me here. Not everyone can pay $10 for a gallon of milk, or $4 for a pound of ground beef, or $25 for a single chicken. Something needs to happen here: Either the population suddenly needs to become wealthier so as to afford food from small farms, or the government needs to start subsidizing us small farmers. And at present, I don't see either happening. The Big Ag farms may be causing harm with their GMO's, manure lagoons, and e.coli bouts, but at this point in time, they are our middle man. In the end, we need to find a balance between these two worlds of the Big Farmer and the Small Farmer. One is dirt cheap and flawed, but the other is expensive and not always possible for low income families. I've had the privilege to get to know some big ag farmers and hearing their stories is always amazing. Many times these people love what they do just as much as we small farmers. Many of them truly feel that planting GMO corn and spraying everything with Roundup Ready is the right thing to do. I'm still working on finding the balance here; still eagerly seeking answers to my questions and desiring to get to know this unknown world of confinement operations and monocrops. I'm not saying I'm for it, but I refuse to say I'm 100% against it until I know all the sides to this. I don't want to judge a matter until I can see it from the other person's point of view. 

This afternoon, Ellie went down. That's bovine jargon for "fallen and can't get up"; and it's a serious thing when a cow CAN'T get up. We had been through this once before already, so I treated her the same way: I gave her a quart of blackstrap molasses and about a 1/2 cup of kelp meal. I was basically trying to rev her engine and get some energy in her. An hour later, she looked no better. I gave her an injection of Vitamin B Complex and wondered what else I could do. Then a friend asked if I had dosed her with the propylene glycol that she had given me just a couple weeks earlier. Duh... I had forgotten about that stuff. As I pulled out the plastic jug of clear, sticky syrup, I thought about how even just a few months ago I totally would have balked at this idea. Have you ever done the research on propylene glycol? Don't do it unless you're adamant that you'll never, ever use it on livestock. But I was now at the point where I didn't care. I would do what I needed to for this cow, and I would hit her hard with antibiotics if it came to that. I had tried my molasses and kelp, and now I was willingly trying the next step. And wouldn't you know it? The glycol worked like a charm. Ellie got up all by herself in about 40 minutes. 

It was at that moment, seeing my cow walking around the pasture, that I could only shake my head at myself and quietly say, "God, take my pride away!" There is a reason that there are still drugs, antibiotics, and vaccinations in feed stores. They work. I am still aware that these can still be quite harmful to an animal, but I think when used in tandem with safer, gentler treatments such as herbs, we really find that beautiful balance to all this. Yes, God made herbs and made them perfectly. But I think God also gave enough genius to man to figure out how to make those drugs. Human tendency is to choose a side and passionately defend it. What if we're really supposed to find the middle ground? 

I think my pride level is pretty much in the dust. Next time I'm at the library I'm going to check out the copy of Merck's Veterinary Manual and start reading through that again, right along with my Herbal Handbook for Farm and Stable. There is a time for everything... For herbs and for drugs. For big farm and for little ones.

I'm excited to learn the stories behind them all...

Can't Have It Quiet

I've always been more of a livestock type of person. Plants typically don't like me. But the microgreens have been a breakthrough into the quiet, quiet world of dirt farming (such as it is), and have been the first successful thing I've done where plants are concerned. It's taking some getting used to though, all this messing around in dirt with seeds and stuff. And it's taking some getting used to as to how quiet this job is. Plants don't moo at you, or snort in frustration because you're late, or push on fences because they're feeling impatient. Everything is quiet. And still. I ain't used to that. I may be a quiet person, but I talk a LOT when I'm around the livestock. More often then not it's just mindless chatter to keep them alert as to my location (more than once I've spooked an animal because I was too quiet), but it also helps new animals get used to having a human as a part of their life. And plus, I like to talk to them. I can say whatever I want without wondering what they're thinking, and I have an easier time processing ideas when I say it out loud. I think the reason I'm quiet around people is because I've already said what I wanted to say around the animals.

But then we switch over to the micros. I'm sorry, but I'm not going to talk to my vegetables. Nope, not this girl. Talking to a cow is one thing, and is slightly understandable. Talking to a radish shoot just doesn't have the same appeal... I didn't last very long with all that quiet while tending the plants. In fear of going insane, I finally pulled out my MP3 and flicked on some music. And now it's habit. If I'm planting or harvesting the micros, I always reach for my music. Lately I've been thinking how much I would love to have an iPod; then I could tuck that little gizmo into my back pocket and sing along with whatever's playing. That's the one thing I don't like about my MP3: I can't sing with it. You can't hear yourself with ear buds in. LOL. An iPod would be fun to have in the barn too, or when moving the sheep to a new paddock. Instead of chattering ceaselessly, I could sing. :) The animals might rebel against that idea what with all the sudden warbling, but oh well; I never asked them anyway. 

Some might say I have an -- addiction, to my music and when confronted with such an accusation I always grin and say, "Maybe. Maybe not!" It's true; I don't really know if I've fallen that far yet. But I do love my music, and all kinds of it. Music bridges the gap between the emotions I feel and the words I don't know how to say; a lot of times I sing songs simply because I don't know how else to say what I'm thinking. It takes my mind off of mundane tasks (washing dishes, mopping the floor, mixing soil, seeding microgreens...), and makes the job more enjoyable. I can do without a lot of things in life, but I don't think I'd get far without my music. I think I might would go without books before I went without music (and that's saying something; the librarians don't even blink when I check out 40+ books in one fell swoop).

Flipping between chores with livestock and plants always takes a moment to adjust to; with the stock I'm busy talking, keeping an eye on Gyp, observing the stock, doing routine tasks, and then there's the occasional escapee to deal with, or perhaps an animal needs some quick vetting. With the plants, there's a sudden and drastic loss of stimulation. I feel like everything just went into freeze mode. It takes me awhile to settle down enough to enjoy the peace that the plants offer; one certainly doesn't have to worry about them running off or overeating some grain. But I think it's going to take some time before this fireball of a farm girl can tame herself down enough to truly enjoy this work. And until that happens, at least I have my music to keep me company. 

With and Without A Dog

Maybe this is just me, or maybe it's the same for everyone, but lately I've been thinking a lot about how I view livestock with a dog, and without a dog. And I wonder which I like better.

To explain a bit more: For years I've raised animals without a stock dog to help me (and currently still raise animals this way, since Gyp can't really "help" for at least a year), and my method has always been the same: Earn the animals trust, make them realize that you're not a threat, that they usually get good things when they cooperate (i.e. food, a rub on their favorite spot), and learn the perks and quirks of each individual animal (except chickens. Hehe.). Moving the goats required knowing who was the herd queen so that I could start the group off my leading her away; but I also have to know which ones will need verbal encouragement, which ones I'll have to go back for, and which ones require some eye contact to get my point across. It's a very, very personal, close relationship that is absolutely mandatory if you want things to go as smoothly as possible.

Now let's swing over to using a dog. I find that with a dog around, I suddenly view my animals differently. They become a unit; one mass that gets treated and worked in the exact same manner. I no longer have to know personalities of each one; don't need to know that Trigun likes to go before Jupiter. It's now the dog's job to get everyone where they're supposed to be in a calm and efficient manner, and I no longer have to worry about sweet-talking any of the hoofstock into behaving. 

Without a dog, I view my herd like this: 11 goats, 15 sheep, 2 cows. The goat's names are Tamarack, Jupiter, Trigun, Summer, Lyric, Catherine, Rosemary, Shilling, and Sombrita, Ezekiel and then there's Sombrita's doeling (who doesn't have a name just yet). The cows are Ellie and Ruby Tuesday (I did not intentionally tack on that "Tuesday" part... It just - happened. *grin*) The sheep are Darcy, Brown Sheep, and then all the rest are numbered, save for the senior ewe who I randomly started calling Big Mama. Rosemary's the herd queen in the goat world, and tends to keep her distance from humans; Summer is last year's bottle brat who won't leave you alone. If you want Jupiter to move, tap her twice, right behind the shoulder blade and tell her to "head out". Sombrita will do anything for food. Shilling's shy and needs a lot of verbal as well as physical encouragement. Catherine's stubborn, but a fast learner.

With a dog, I now view my herd like this: 28 animals. All look healthy. The black and white spotted goat needs to be a bit more dog broke... Need to work on that this week. The dog and I moved them to a new paddock this morning and one goat tried to escape; got it back where it belongs though.

See the difference? We suddenly went from names and temperaments to impersonal terms of "it", "they", and "them", and viewing them as one single group.

Without a dog, I am completely dependent on using my own physical strength, my wits (what little I have.), and using the bridge of trust between me and my stock to get things accomplished. I find I have to keep my numbers small with this method, since I can't possibly give enough attention to each animal in a large setup to keep things running smoothly. It's exhausting.

With a dog, I now rely on him/her to help me get things done. If a cow/heifer decides it doesn't want me to lead it, then all I have to do is call the dog around and if necessary, have him give the cow a quick nip (usually the presence of a canine is enough to get a cow moving). Without the dog, I would have been attempting to lure the cow along with grain, which works only half the time. I can have larger numbers now, with a four-legged working partner around. Since I don't have to be paying so much attention to individuals, I can easily ramp up numbers to what the dog and I can physically handle. Yes, I've lost that personal feeling around the place, but I think that's okay... I want a working farm; not a petting zoo. In the end, I would rather have numbered animals, than named ones. It's easier for me, and these days I'm loving it that I can talk about the sheep by simply referring to their numbers (Out of the 13 new ones here, I get to keep #33 and #45!) rather than stressing about thinking up a name for them. It's already stressing me out that Sombrita's doeling doesn't have a name yet, and I have to think of something. My only exception would be the milk cow/s. Those ladies are allowed to have names of their own. :)

When all is said and done, I think I like my view on livestock when there is a dog around. I feel like it's much easier for me to focus on just one relationship with my dog, than trying to juggle a whole bunch with the hoofstock.

Which type of farm do you prefer? One with the personal relationships with all the animals? Or one that's more distanced and uses numbers instead of names? 

Girl vs. Sheep

You know those bad dreams where you feel like you're trying to run towards something, but you're stuck in mud? And no matter how hard you try, you just can't seem to get anywhere? Well, if you've ever wanted to experience that feeling in real life, then I would recommend running after 13 escaped sheep through vetch/cleaver infested fields. It's uncannily like those bad dreams...

Yes, you guessed it. That's how my morning went. This was supposed to be easy. The sheep knew the routine in moving to a new paddock, but #70 has been a twerp lately and little rebel that she is, she bolted past me and all the others followed! Sigh... Where's my trained sheepdog when I need him? Oh right, he's still a puppy who would probably only chase them into the deep forest right about now. Seems I'm on my own. So up the hill I went running! I got half of them down and in the paddock, then ran back up the hill for the other half. Right before I got the second half in the paddock, the first half bolted through my small opening, and guess where they went. Back up the hill. -_- 

The second half joined them, and I was now back at the bottom of the hill, watching thirteen sheep bottoms getting farther and farther from me.

I sprinted after them, praying out loud and asking God to pleeeeeeze don't let them go into the forest! 

I was rather outnumbered right then and there, and those sheep had four wheel drive on 'em, which really left me at a disadvantage. The only thing I had going for me was that I knew a few deer trails at the top of the hill which allowed me to keep an even pace with the sheep on our way down.

If I hadn't been so paranoid about getting the sheep back in their paddock, I think I would have enjoyed myself with all that running. Gyp and I took last week off of running and I've missed it. Granted, running through the vetch and cleaver plants was a bear of a problem, and I accidentally crashed right through a blackberry plant that was hiding amidst the tall grasses, which has left me some pretty scratches up and down my arms. Honorable war wounds, those are.

I finally managed to get half of them in the paddock by distracting them with grain, but then the second group took a new tack and headed East, towards the creek. I sighed in frustration, and then grinned at the challenge; they were in familiar territory now where I knew all the deer trails. For the first time, I was the faster opponent. It didn't take long enough before I had them up against a fence line and was able to funnel them ALL into the paddock. I closed the fence line up with the speed and ferocity usually only seen from competitors in sheep dog trials. It had taken me an hour and a half of running up and down to get those sheep where they belonged!! 

When I finished with the sheep at last, I took a moment to pull out all the bramble thorns that were still embedded in my arms. I hadn't even noticed the pain while I was running, but I was sure feeling it now. Darn that blackberry plant... Did it really have to be RIGHT there??? Oh well. More than anything, I wanted to crash on the couch inside with a book and not think for awhile, but instead I had to package up some microgreens that I had harvested earlier. While weighing out sugar pea shoots and putting them in plastic clamshells, I flicked some music on and was generous with the volume. My favorite artist, Jai McDowall, just released one of his newest songs and I've been pleased to find that it's every bit as good as his others he's done. :) The catchy tune to Got To Let Go made the time fly with the packaging, and I finished shortly.  

Now that I seem to have done everything that needs to be done right now, I think I'm going to go crash on that couch like I wanted... Just twenty minutes with the book, and then I'll get back to work.

 Cross my heart. ;) 

The New Lady

For the record, it's really hard to get decent pictures of an animal when they're in a barn. I'll have to post better pictures in a few days when this girlie gets let outside!

But this is Ruby. :) My new heifer calf. Four weeks old, 75% Dutch Belted, and 25% Milking Shorthorn.

Growth Spurts

Do y'all remember that little video I posted awhile back about the artisan butcher shop that's opening in my neck of the woods? Well, if you don't (or if you do, and want to see the video again), you can click HERE and time warp your way back real quick to see it.

Now, why am I asking you if you remember it? 

*Cough, cough* As of this morning, guess who is now a supplier for that shop? 

Yep, yours truly! Starting in July (hopefully; if not then, then August!), Goat Song Farm will begin supplying MEAT with pastured pork and pastured broilers!!! The broilers will be seasonal, but the pork will hopefully be year around. One nice thing about Oregon is that since we don't get snow here, or super cold temps (this year's coldest day was I think around 23 degrees?), we can pretty much just keep trucking along with the larger livestock outdoors. The owners of MEAT have also asked if I would be interested in supplying lamb, goat, or even duck, and while I like the idea of supplying lamb (very muchly so!), I'm not sure about the other two suggestions. I'd have to think about it, and do some math. 

Kyle and Amanda (owners of MEAT) came out to my stomping grounds today and we talked about my favorite subjects: animals, farming, and meat. We discussed heritage breeds, pricing, monthly numbers of animals, and all sorts of different topics while Gyp mischievously tugged and chewed at the end of his lead at my feet; looking more like some furry delinquent than a trusty farmhand. When our visit was over, we shook hands on the deal and verbally agreed on one thing: I'm in. GSF is experiencing a growth spurt, and I am beyond excited about this. The numbers are very doable, and I'll be able to slowly ease my way into it all. The hogs will be used to begin combating the ridiculously numerous blackberry stands, using Joel Salatin's methods for pastured pork. The broilers will follow along behind the ruminants in their traditional chicken tractors. The lamb may have to wait until next year... We'll see.

So that's my big piece of news for today. :) Growth spurts are a good thing. And something tells me I'm going to have a lot of stories to tell as Summer begins.

The Gang's All Here

I had a dilemma: the grass in the 98 acres was getting taller and taller, and Ellie couldn't handle it all by herself. I wanted most of the front pasture to get grazed down soon so that it would begin growing again before the summer slump came. Then a FB friend offered a solution: she had thirteen sheep that needed some pasture; she even sweetened the deal by saying she'd bring all the fencing materials and I could keep two ewe lambs for my troubles. 

Now really, how on earth could one possibly say 'no' to such a slick offer?? I don't see how one could, so therefore I said 'yes'. We struck a deal on when to bring my summer flock and today was that day.

The sheep have landed. Thirteen of 'em. The gang's all here, folks.

So without further ado... Here are the new faces here at GSF. 

I'm rather pleased with them. :)

All Before 9 a.m.

It wasn't even 9am yet and already my day was crazy.

I always milk Ellie first thing in the morning. No other barn chores are done until she is cared for. My usual routine is to get things ready inside (jars at the ready, ice in the cooler to chill the milk, water in the kettle for sterilizing equipment...), and then go outside and do the last prep work (get Ellie's feed, hook up the machine, grab her halter...) before letting the cow walk herself to the parlor. Except today she didn't want to get up. This wasn't like her. Normally she's out grazing at this time of the morning, or she's standing at the gate, mooing softly to be milked. Today she was just -- lying down. Looking funny. I walked in the pen to see about convincing her to get up when I noticed something odd. Four feet away from my cow, and next to the goats who were also still dozing, was what looked like a small pile of birthing tissue. Like raw flesh, misplaced in an incredibly wrong spot. It looked almost like a placenta. There were strings of blood scattered around the strange object, and the bedding was damp. I nudged the "thing" with my boot and as I looked closer, I realized that it had a head... And four little legs. It was an aborted fetus, and I had no earthly idea where it came from or who it belonged to. My first suspicion was Rosemary, one of the goats I'm boarding here for a friend. She was supposed to be the last pregnant animal here and the fetus would be about the right size to come from her. She looked fine however; although I wouldn't have put it past her to do something like that and still look normal, just to bamboozle me (goats seem to enjoy doing that.). 

Ellie hauled herself up at that point and I had the first answer to my bewilderment as I noticed that she had a stringy, bloody discharge, and her vulva was grossly swollen. This fetus had come from her.

But WHY was my cow suddenly aborting!? For goodness sake, she wasn't even pregnant!! I was thoroughly wigged out, but knew I couldn't ponder such a puzzle for long. There were animals to milk and feed. I scooped up the teeny tiny 7" long calf body and looked closely at it before setting it aside. It was barely formed; the eye sockets were just beginning to appear on the skull, and the two inch long legs had what looked to be the start of tiny hooves. I know this one doesn't really count, but this makes the 2nd dead calf I've had to haul away... Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever get to experience a normal, live birth with bovines.

After cleaning myself up, I got Ellie and began milking chores. Her appetite seemed a little less than usual, but that was somewhat understandable, what with how her night and morning had gone thus far. Her production was also less; I should have gotten about 1.5 to 2 gallons. Instead I got 1 gallon + 1 quart. 

Gyp came along with me when I went out for the second round of barn chores, which consists of feeding the goat kids, throwing hay, filling water buckets, and milking the goats. Er, that's how it's supposed to go anyway.

Gyp got to herd goats for the very first time today. 

Yesterday, Catherine refused to go forward which meant I had to have Gyp help me get her motor going. Today though, I couldn't get her to stop!! Normally I hold the goats by the collar while I tie the gate, and then I lead them to the milking parlor. Well, I held Catherine by the collar alright... And she fairly dragged me to the parlor, which left me no time whatsoever to tie the gate closed! Then Catherine pulled her next stunt: She wouldn't get on the stand. -_- She would stick her head through the catch and would eat her food, but she refused to put her back end up on that stand! I was just about to lift her all the way up when Jupiter came trotting into the milking parlor. Oh no... Right behind her was Trigun, Sombrita, and Rosemary. Great. I had Catherine who wouldn't get on the stand and allow me to secure her, four goats on the loose, and a quick look at the pen showed the the sheep, cow, and other goats were about to follow suit and make a dash for freedom. 

My hands were tied. I had no idea what to do. So I did the most logical thing I could think of right in that moment: I called my dog.

"Gyp! Get it! Get the goats!" I held on to Catherine so that she wouldn't bolt, and shouted at my pup to do what he's never been taught to do. I could only point at the goats and hope to get him excited enough to make a run at the escapees. 

It worked! Gyp has *always* wanted to be in the same area as the goats; what else would one expect from a herding dog? He knew the words "get it" enough to know that he needed to go after what I was pointing at (hurray for playing endless hours of "catch the pine cone"! I throw it, shout "get it" and he has to run and get it!), so he barreled his way right into the throng of stubborn goat bodies; tail wagging, tongue lolling, and he was having the greatest time. It didn't take much for the four miscreants to turn tail and run, and Gyp put them right back in the pen where they belonged. Whew. But I still had Catherine who wouldn't get on the stand. So after zooming to tie the gate closed, I called my dog in and he helped convince that ornery animal to get all the way up on that stand.

As I sat down to breakfast later (oh glorious breakfast!), I was still trying to figure out what was going on with Ellie, and if I should share the story with the public. With you. It's oftentimes a battle inside me trying to figure out what to share here and what to keep private. My excuse for keeping some of my life private goes by the name of "tact" and "consideration". Not everyone likes these stories, not everyone can handle these stories, and most people seem to prefer to read about the "perfect farms" where nothing ever goes wrong and the weather always seems to be 72F and sunny. 

Then I read a thought-provoking article that someone had shared on FB. You can read it by clicking HERE. It's a small article about the side of farming that you won't see on Facebook. Or on a blog. It's the bloody side, the ugly side, the muddy side, the smelly side, the heart wrenching side, the frustrating side, the embarrassing side, it's all the behind-the-scenes that writing farmers don't want the public to see. Why? First off because we don't like it ourselves. Second, because a lot of times we fear you guys. I know I do. Want to talk fear? Let's talk about what my readers will think if I share X story, or if I share X pictures. Walk into Walmart and ask a random person how they envision a "farm". Chances are that they'll describe something that looks like this:

This is what most people think of when they envision a farm (and by the way, I can't resist explaining... These images came from my personal Pinterest page! Yes, I'm a hypocrite!). Their mind usually doesn't imagine the spilled milk, the dead babies that had to  be pulled from an animal who isn't dilated all the way, the roosters who tried to kill each other early in the morning and are now barely alive, the reek of hoof rot, the mastitis, the raccoon attack on the chickens at midnight... Oh it goes on and on. I can only speak for myself here, but I know I have a hard time sharing tough stuff on here. I know that anyone in the world can find this blog and read it, and they may not be of the same mind as I am (hello PETA member!). If you're not used to the agriculture world, some of this stuff can be down right shocking and/or horrifying. It's so much easier to show the pretty pictures that have been photoshopped, and the amusing stories that make you smile. But that gives the illusion that this is a perfect farm. And it's not. 

Reading that article hit home and convicted me of my writing. Folks, I haven't been completely honest with you, and now I'm thinking that I need to make some changes. I need to start showing all the sides to this farming life; although it may take time to learn how to do this tactfully all the while (such as warnings before sharing graphic images). I don't want to share the more gruesome side of this life as a way to glorify myself, "Aren't I amazing!? I handled this all by myself and saved the day!", or to glean pity from folks, "Woe is me, the farmer... Do you realize how hard I slave each day so you can eat??" . I want to share this because people need to see this. This is a learning experience for everyone. Nothing is perfect, things go wrong (especially on a farm), and people need to see that a farm usually doesn't look like something from a Hollywood set.

So with all that in mind, I decided to share Ellie's story today. After asking advice from some experienced cow people, it's been decided that the fetus was a mummified calf that she wasn't able to pass until now. She calved two months ago and had a healthy 45 lb. bull calf. The twin died early in the pregnancy for some reason though, and it's taken her all this time to get it out of her system. I'll be watching her closely to make sure that she doesn't get an infection of sorts, but hopefully that will be a one-time fluke and not something that will happen again. 

It wasn't even 9am yet, and already my day was crazy... I had dealt with a mummified calf, sorted through the chaos of escaped goats, did the usual barn chores, and got convicted of my writing... Time to make some changes here on the blog. Time to be more honest about things.

It's time to take the writing up a notch.

Onward and Forward

There is a time for everything. Everything. I'm sometimes the type who wants to push the boundaries on that; want to do or have things when the time isn't right. I'd like to think that I've gotten a little better about that over the last year or so, but I could be wrong. As of this week though, I've come to realize that it is time for a major change. It is time.

By this point, you're probably wondering what's up. Dear readers, I hope you're sitting down. Because I've got an explosive announcement to make...

I'm selling off my goat herd. Completely. One hundred percent. This girl is done.

I thought about selling out two months ago, when I was having so much trouble with them all. But instead decided I should perhaps try a last ditch attempt at righting the situation by simply switching breeds. I'm terrified of regret in life. I didn't want to completely sell out at that time, because I was afraid I would regret my decision. But I can't avoid the glaring fact anymore that goats are not working for me. I'm in the wrong area for this. My time with goats needs to end for a spell and I need a rest. No matter what I do, or how I plan, the goats are always a monkey wrench in things. This land, this area, is not meant for goats; it's meant for cattle, sheep, and hogs. I've tried for six years to force goats into this; force them into a mold that they don't fit, and I can't do it any longer. It's too wet here to raise goats on pasture. Everyone around here struggles with hoof rot, pneumonia, and liver fluke worms. It just comes with the territory of getting 45 to 50 inches of rain each year.

Then there's also the fact that one really shouldn't "pasture" goats... They can digest the early, green spring grasses, but once that grass turns brown it's over. The goats can't digest that lignin and they get very little, if any, nutrition after that. It's the same for grass hay; it's why goats have to have legume hay. In my case, for the pasture, all I have is open land. Oh I've got stands of blackerries, sure, but I sure ain't letting my dairy goats in those stands to scratch their udders up and make their milk strong tasting! Nope. Not doing it. Shelter is also a factor. When you're pasturing sheep or cows, you can pretty much leave them out in all but the worst of weather (in bad weather you'll want to provide something) and they do just fine. They'll keep grazing away in the drizzling rain or what-have-you. With goats, you're suddenly looking at needing a portable shelter to lug around. -_- There goes all simplicity to life... Do we even want to mention the type of fencing and the electric charge needed to keep goats in?? I got really spoiled with my cows; one strand will do 'em. The sheep are content/dumb enough that I can get by with 2-3 strands.

Marketing wise, I lost all my goat milk customers. Gone. They all found suppliers closer to their homes, or cheaper alternatives. Meanwhile my cow milk customers have staunchly refused to leave, even though I've told them I don't know when I'll be getting another cow. I'm still getting more requests for cow milk, too.

Feeding the goats is getting downright ridiculous too. Prices are inching up to $17 and $19 for a bale of dairy goat-quality hay, and the goats waste 40% to 60% percent of that!! World's most expensive bedding!! Gaah!

I'm also having a tough time keeping their mineral levels up. :-/ Of all livestock, goats are the hardest to maintain where minerals are concerned. And when you live in a damp area like this, natural minerals are usually leached deep into an unobtainable level in the ground. This isn't so bad when you're dealing with cattle, sheep, or hogs since they don't require as much, but for goats it's frustrating! I'm feeding them free choice minerals but it's still just barely enough!

I'm frustrated and tired... I need a break. I've already begun getting the word out that my last five goats (yes, even Lyric) are up for sale/trade (hoping maybe someone will want a good starter herd and will trade a dairy cow for them). I don't know how permanent of a decision this is, but I need some time. Maybe when the dust settles, and the farm is in a more stable position I will look into getting goats again. But right now I need to focus on what WILL work on this land, which is cattle, sheep, and hogs.

But lest you worry about all goat stories coming to an end, let me put your mind at ease. ;) For while I'm selling off my own goats, I'm still boarding a friend's four for the whole of 2013. I know one of those goats is pregnant, but I'm not sure about two of the others... We'll see. You might say I'm easing my way into a "no-goats" lifestyle. Sell off my five right now, then when my friend's four goats leave we'll see how I feel and where I stand on the matter. Maybe by the time they leave things will be settled here, or I'll have decided to try one more time? Who knows. In the end though, I feels it's best to let my goats go. They deserve to be somewhere better, where it's a bit drier, and they have the right kind of forage available.

And you know something else? I'm surprisingly happy about this new twist of events. I've been doing goats for six years, and the idea of taking a break is an invigorating relief. There can only be new adventures ahead. New stories, new ideas, and the fun of watching it all come together.

Onward and forward.

An Awesome Hog

Over the last year, I've been slowly learning about the rare breed hog known as the Mangalitsa... And quite frankly, I'm intrigued. I think these wooly pigs are awesome. :)

Which Is Better?

Which do you think is better: Livestock of rare and heritage origin, or livestock of nativised genetics? This is a question I ask myself all the time, and I am still trying to decide on an answer.

For example: Let's suppose you're looking for a really hardy breed of cow that will give you 4-5 gallons of milk a day, needs minimal grain, isn't prone to health problems like mastitis or milk fever, and does well in your climate (whether that's really wet like mine, or really dry like down South). How are you going to start looking for said cow? I'll pipe up here and say that my *first* idea would be to look for a heritage breed that fits the bill. I like the idea of preserving gene pools and working with rare breeds; so off I hop to the ALBC (American Livestock Breeds Conservancy) website and look at what they have in the way of heritage dairy cattle breeds. A few breeds that might work would be the Canadienne, the Dutch Belted, the Milking Shorthorn, or perhaps even the Milking Devon (I suppose I had better not forget to mention the Randall Linebacks, which are my favorite breed!!). All these cows are old, old breeds that would fit the bill where hardiness is concerned. But what about climate? What about parasite resistance? The Randall Lineback was created and kept up in the New England states and is noted for it's ability to withstand damp and cold weather. It's a breed not as likely to end up with hoof rot. But what would happen if we put that Randall down in the deep South? How will it acclimate in hot and dry Texas? Or what if we were looking at a breed that came from one of those hot states? How well would it adapt to suddenly dealing with damp winters and lots of mud? 

I think everyone can find a heritage breed that suits their needs, but I don't think it's any secret that these rare breeds are pricey. Not everyone can afford to be on a 2-5 year wait list for a $3,000 calf. Or pay $350 to $400 for a 8 week old weaner pig. Or what if we can't find exactly what we're looking for? What if we wanted a hardy breed of dairy goat that did well in a warm climate, but all there is was the San Clemente which is currently a pathetic milker? 

Is there some middle road between the expensive heirlooms and the bred-up, delicate hot rod breeds of today, like the Holstein cow, Pietrain pig, or Suffolk sheep?

Personally, I think there is. It's called nativised genetics. Which means you have a carefully crossbred animal who's genetics are specifically adapted to its immediate locality. Problem is, you have to create it yourself. I learned about the beauty of nativised genetics when I went to Joel Salatin's farm. His cattle are his own cross that he's been working on for -- 20 years I think? Don't quote me on that, but I believe it's pretty close to that number. I know he's got some Shorthorn blood in there, and some Brahman, and I believe the third breed was Hereford... In any case, Joel's been breeding these crossbreds so long that they have become a breed of their own, and they are 100% adapted to Joel's farm. Those cows would probably be terrible on my farm here on Oregon. The same thing was done with Daniel Salatin's rabbits. He started with a trio of three different breeds; not because he wanted to, but because that's what was available. Today they are the most beautiful rabbits I've ever seen (and I've got almost 12 years of rabbit experience behind me). They are cookie cutter consistent, large in size, and very, very adapted to hot weather, AND the youngsters do extremely well on grass, whereas most breeds can't have grass until they're mature since they might bloat and die. They've created their own breeds, using what was available, and aggressively culling until they had an animal that they wanted and needed. Good producers, parasite resistant, good foraging ability... It took time to create those breeds, but it was cheaper than buying a rare breed, and now they have an animal that will excel in their locality.

So which is better in the end? Which should we do? Conserve a rare breed and just be extremely careful that we use an animal that is best suited for our area (which is challenging if you live in a damp place like I do that gets a little over 45 inches of rain each year! If you scoot over a couple counties, then you'll be in places that get over 60 inches of rain a year!)? Or do we start responsibly breeding our own livestock that are carefully crossed to create a hardy animal specifically for our needs? I need an animal that will keep foraging even in the rain. I need one that won't get hoof rot from all the dampness, or keel over from pneumonia during an unseasonably damp autumn. I need one that has a high resistance to parasites, since my location struggles with liver fluke worm due to all the dampness. And I still need that animal to pay its way in meat, milk, or fiber. Talk about a tall order.

So which is better? Put myself on that wait list for that expensive Randall Lineback calf that I'm dying to have? It would do incredibly well in my situation, and I'd be helping to conserve an incredibly rare breed; but I'd have to have it hauled from Vermont or Connecticut, and I'd have to be saving my pennies for it! Or do I  start crossing local breeds to create what I need? Maybe Jersey for size, a little bit of Angus for feed efficiency and calf size, and perhaps a bit of shorthorn for ruggedness? Actually, I think a Jersey/Murray Gray/Normande cross might be neat for my area. :) That'd be the cheaper route, but it would take a LOT longer!

This isn't exactly a question about what *I* should do. I'm throwing this out as food for thought for us all. I want your opinions on which YOU think is better. Heritage? Or nativised?

Bring It On

It didn't take long before I noticed a numbing sensation in my fingertips...

It was the beginning of December, and I was at work. I didn't know the exact temperatures outside, but I knew we were below mid-30's. It was cold. I was wearing three pairs of socks, leggings, pants, rain pants to go over the regular pants, two shirts, a lime green colored fleece sweater, my carhartt coat, and a hideous looking purple, knitted hat. But I had nothing for my hands. Could not wear anything on my hands...

In front of me, lying on a metal table that was slap-dashed together, was the carcass of a small goat. It had been butchered three days hence. Had been aging in a walk-in cooler since then. The meat was colder than the temperatures outside. And with the help of a co-worker (the only other female there at the time; bless her...) we had to turn this small carcass into forty cuts of meat. 

We had never done this before.

Watched videos, read books, and talked to others, we had done... But actually used a knife on a carcass? No. This was it. 

And frankly, I was excited about it. I had been looking forward to this for a few days now; had been anticipating getting to work with knives. And now we were doing it.

My fingers lightly traced the pattern made through the rib cage... Feeling the cold meat beneath each tip. The carcass looked like it should feel clammy and slimy. Instead it felt like satin fresh off the bolt... Smooth, sleek, and glossy. It reminded me of the first time I ever touched a snake. I expected it to feel slimy, like a frog, but instead found its reptilian skin to feel like silk. Such was the case with this goat. The muscle was a brilliant scarlet in color, but with a silver cast hovering over it; lending an iridescent sheen that at some parts whispered a shade of blue. Just faintly. The contrast between meat and bone was startling; blood red clashing with ivory white. 

Our first step was to break down the carcass into what's called the "primals". The big parts that get cut smaller and smaller into "sub-primals". The primals are split into three parts. From the shoulders upwards is the first one. The rib cage to the loin makes the second one. And the third is the back legs/rump. From these three you create the more recognizable cuts that you see in a store, or in your freezer. 

It didn't take long before my fingers went numb. They were cold. I worried that I would get clumsy with my knife and cause damage somewhere. But I sure wasn't giving up on this. I was enjoying myself. My knife was scarily sharp and I found immense pleasure in the feeling of sliding my blade down through the rib cage; meeting the spine, where I would switch to a meat saw and separate this primal. It was like that grand feeling where your scissors glide through wrapping paper; you get your knife just right and the meat falls away at your light touch. Don't saw. Don't hack. Go easy on it; slice it. Long, smooth strokes. That's right. Like that. Feel the move reaching from your shoulder to your fingers. Yes, I know they're cold. Mine are too.

Why was I finding such pleasure in this? In this gruesome task? I couldn't answer. I'm not into gory movies. I don't like seeing people hurt; I want to take their pain and bear it for them. I don't like violence and bloodshed. I'm a wimp when it comes to needles and pain. And yet, despite these contradictions, I was smiling while cutting the carcass of a goat up. I bet I would make a psychiatrist cry, trying to figure me out. 

My questions about this were only intensified as my friend walked up, and averted his eyes from the growing pile of meat cuts in front of me and my co-worker. He had just finished with harvesting vegetables in a field farther on the property and was about to take his lunch break. I grinned at him not wanting to see the carcass. Grinned that I was enjoying this, and he was not. I mischievously offered him my knife as he passed me. "Wanna try?" He did not. And then proceeded to leave me with my co-worker as we finished up. Was I wrong to enjoy this so much? I felt a touch of guilt that I had even wanted to do this. Felt a touch of envy that my gentle friend did not feel a desire to do this, and here was I was, up to my elbows in it. 

I got to the fun part in butchering: filleting the ribs, leaving a boneless cut of meat that looked good enough to eat. (Oh wait.) It took a couple tries before I found a rhythm. Slip my knife beneath a rib and slide it down to the spine... Use my finger tips and ease the rib out before giving it a boisterous CRACK! with a downward move that cleanly tore the rib right off the spine and away from the meat. Oh boy... I grew to love hearing that crack. Loved it that I was the only one here who could do it. Loved that I could so neatly get all the meat off each rib and not leave a single splinter on the spine. Fine. I plead guilty to being gory and gruesome. This was awesome. 

I am an omnivore that relies heavily on meat in her diet. I love my fruits, veggies, and grains, but nothing can compete with animal protein. I am an individual who can't seem to keep her iron levels up on her own. My energy levels flag easily. I rely on meat to keep my motor going. Rely on that powerhouse of protein, iron, and energy found in muscle and fat. As we cut that meat up, I started craving it... Somebody fire up the propane stove in the break area, I wanted meat. Medium rare, if you please. 

When we finished cutting, we both began wrapping the cuts in butcher paper. We had gotten 43 cuts of meat. Many of them we had invented off the tops of our heads and creatively named there and then. We used to word "roast" a lot. ;) I used a fat permanent marker to write the name of each cut onto the paper. My cold fingers causing only slight problems when I needed to write an 'O' or an 'S'.

I loved this. I loved that we had just created 43 cuts of high quality food for people. This was meat that had a name, a face, a story. I had done it justice. I had used it wisely. The goat had died quickly and humanely, and every part of it had been used. I feel a mix of anger and indignation when I think about the animals slaughtered at the huge slaughterhouses (the ones you can't take your personal animals to.).Often killed inhumanely, the meat is terrible, there's so much waste, artificial dyes are added to make the meat look red... This is not what meat is supposed to be. And it irks me. I love meat. But I want it to be good meat. I have a hard time explaining this. Have a hard time putting this into words. But I can feel it. And I know that to me, butchering feels "right" to me. I love this because I am taking the quality into my own hands. Who knows, maybe butchering is in my blood and I don't know it yet.

We finished. And were told that we would do a lamb next week that would be twice the size of this goat. I snuck a glance at my friend and smiled at his grimace. He finds pleasure in pulling weeds and harvesting vegetables, whereas I find such a thing tedious and patience-testing. It seems I'm comfier with a cleaver in my hand after all...

A lamb next week? Bring it on. Dibs on filleting the ribs.