It was an easy going weekend with Darlin-- she was a bit under the weather, so we spent a good time laying about in the sun. We took a detour on Saturday out west state for the tri-annual mega market of crap. Hundreds of junk vendors take up a couple miles of road and fields to sell old furniture and 'found' items. On our way to and from we passed through the territory smashed by the tornadoes earlier this spring-- entire forests were leveled. It's one thing to see an aftermath picture of Mount Saint Helen, then another thing to see the equivalent thirty miles from home.
Met up with Stretch and Newport behind the farm store. We lounged about a bit, then got to it. Headed for the lower fields to rearrange the irrigation lines. The foreman was in over the weekend and planted the final round of sweet corn where the peas and fava beans used to be. We ran a line between the new corn and old strawberries-- apparently the boss intends to let these berries remain until next year and squeeze another harvest out of 'em. The first round of sweet corn is looking a bit stressed from lack of water, so we moved the heavy guns along the middle travel road with 3in pipe. The foreman was out with the new tractor in the pumpkins, dragging a plow through the lanes to turn over some weeds. I replaced the artery plugs, then we hustled back to meet the boss at the store.
New orders: pick all the remaining arugula. Usually the boss sharpens up the knives, but today he sent me down to the workshop's grinding wheel. Despite my wording in the past, I've never used a grind wheel for sharpening. Fortunately, I figured how to get the damn thing started and my hazy boyscout-dropout memories were enough to finish the job-- it goes just as you'd imagine: hold the knife at a sensible angle (keeping in mind the direction the wheel spins), then slowly move the edge along. 2 minutes later I had 3 razor edges. Stretch grabbed the elastics, we passed around our knives, grabbed pick crates and hiked the hilltop. 1 hour later we had the entire arugula bed chopped and bunched. Waltzed back down, hosed the catch down and stuffed 'em in the cooler.
Over the weekend the boss acquired a new piece of machinery. As an aside: the boss has a real (talent? or) propensity for getting expensive heavy farm equipment for free/next to nothing. With the general state of small farm agriculture in a seemingly endless decline, many farms are out-of-business or closing up-- which is were the boss comes in. He knows all these farmers pretty well, so they give their old machinery to us. As the boss told me when I first started-- a farm doesn't do a farmer any good if he can't keep it. So we thrive and the others fall by the wayside. Another boss-ism: the only reason my family has managed to keep this place for 300 years is that we changed, constantly. We kept abreast of the technology and continually refined our technique. There has to be something to what he says-- as we're one of the few still buying, not selling it all away. Anyway--
As Newport and I concluded after a quick look over-- this new machinery is built to be broken. It's the strangest automated/manual weeder I've ever seen. The tractor pulls it, the power-shaft hooks up and rotates two downward facing claw arms. Some poor bum sits in a little chair in the back and moves handles controlling the claws, so they can be shifted back and forth to churn up weeds/soil while avoiding the good plants. It seems ingenious enough, but the attachment's wheels aren't even a foot in diameter-- how in hell is that thing gonna be dragged through our soft/rocky soil without killing the operator? I got a bad feeling I'm gonna be in that seat...
After oogling the new hardware we dragged bags of fertilizer out to the far side of the lower fields (on the other side of the sweet corn) to fertilize the pumpkins. We filled up our buckets and spread the Urea (49% nitrogen) with small sized ice cream cups. We finished 8 rows by lunch.
Big news after lunch-- Rosy calfed last night. It's a healthy bull-calf-- but there are complications. Rosy was bottle fed by the boss, because her mother died in the process of birthing. Apparently there isn't a maternal-cow instinct-- it's something they learn from being raised themselves. So far Rosy hasn't showed the least bit of interest in the calf, so the boss's brother has them fenced in together hoping that something will click. It'd be a shame if the bull-calf were to die of neglect, it's a beauty and we sure could use another bull. (There could be bottle feeding in the future.)
We returned to the pumpkin fields and finished the 9 remaining rows. The corn was looking very good-- ears are bulking up quickly. Only another week and some to go before first harvest (right around tomato time). Last year we had corn and tomatoes at this point-- the cold in May really slowed this season. During a run to grab more fertilizer bags Newport brought his car over-- so after finishing the pumpkins he drove us back to the farm. Apparently he's an Al Greene fan.
The boss was out, so we hung around out back. Jockey, Mouse and Rhode Island came by to chat. Rhode Island must have been on the meds-- he was a zombie. Jockey was back from a couple week vacation. The wholesaler truck came by for a pick up-- we let Jockey handle it. The boss returned and we were sent off again, this time to pick a few buckets of string beans to tide over the store until the CSA days.
String beans are a slow pick. The bucket never seems as full as it should be. We finally finished up and carried the load back to the store. New orders and good ones: we packed up some trays with pint containers, grabbed a stack of pick-buckets and hiked across the street to the blueberry fields on the other side of the cow pasture.
The blueberries we picked were from the first field the boss planted when he took over the farm-- they'd grown enormous over the decades. Newport, surprisingly, had never picked berries before-- so he and Stretch ground along at a slow pace. I got into a rhythm and we filled the trays just as the rain started. The foreman came with the tractor and loaded up the berries, but we were stayed picking through the rain until close.
---Chicken Time---
I've been going chicken crazy. Talked to some more owners and been doing a lot of research. Not sure if I'm in the position yet-- I want some acres before taking the big step. Residential-world isn't exactly the sort of place where neighbors mind there own business, letting me and my chickens be. So until land, it's just a dream (then again maybe...). There are a few farmers that write out on the internet that I respect and read regularly-- one in particular, is very dedicated to some interesting farm models. Reading his articles introduced me to Barred Rock Chickens.
From all I've read-- they're exactly the workhorse fowl I'm looking for. The general 'breed' is called Plymouth Rock, but I'm a bit taken by the Barred sub-species (named for their narrow black and white 'barred' feathers). They're a dual-purpose chicken-- good/regular egg-layers and good meat for the pot. They're known to be docile, none of the aggression and aloofness in other breeds-- a well socialized hen doesn't have a problem being picked up, so great around kids. The Barred Rocks are hearty enough to withstand the cold and coincidentally the breed was first established/recognized in the town just over from me. In the 1800s you couldn't find a farm in the country without one of these guys pecking around (so my historical impulses are satisfied), but their popularity has diminished with the rise of big-agro.
But, to quote Hank Hill-- anything worth doing is worth doing right. The Barred Rock breed used to be superbly managed-- with populations specially raised for their task (meat/eggs/dual). Now it's a hodgepodge, but I want them as that solid dual option. These chickens go broody without too much of a hassle-- which means they'll usually incubate their eggs and mother their chicks if you leave the eggs. Some breeds are notoriously difficult to coax broody-- sometimes other breeds are specifically needed to mother difficult chickens' eggs. Not the case with Barred Rocks (or so it seems). What I'm getting at-- 1 chicken quickly becomes 2, then 20. If you already have a few, why not a few more right? No matter how I look at it, I'll end up with a full coop. So I'm digging into the fundamentals of chicken breeding. The last thing I want to do is, after finding a type of bird I like, contribute to the breed's decline through mismanagement. That means, among many other things, selective chicken breeding. But we'll see all that is a long way off.
Oh yeah, here's a picture of 'em.
Basic management: You keep the hens as egg layers, and one good rooster (for a small sized set up). Females are encouraged, but more than one male can lead to some violent scuffles for dominance. So you eat the extra roosters.
My compromise (i.e. a work in progress): Darlin can name all the hens whatever she pleases and they have safe status. However, the roosters bound for the oven will be named for reality-tv people to make killing 'em less traumatic. I even planned a little ritual. (I won't get into the details of actual slaughter processes, but I have been looking at many methods and their rationales. There may not be a 'right' way, but there are 'easier' ones.)
I think this can work. I would love to have the Situation for dinner.
Take it easy, the heat is coming.
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