Westmill Farm

Becoming a blogger is not easy. Holy crap is there a lot of behind the scenes stuff to figure out. I’ve been working on this for months and I still have more setup and figuring out to do. 

As I make new blog posts, videos, etc. I will upload them here. If you want to cut out the middle man here are the many links to all the social media pages.

Website

YouTube

Facebook

Instagram

Pinterest

As a person who is not huge on social media, having to make all these damn pages has been a real pain. Truthfully I’m not looking forward to maintaining them, but according to just about everyone, this is what it takes to make your blog fly and generate even a modest income.

Please like pages and subscribe (especially on YouTube) if you’d be so kind. The next big step is to get set up as an Amazon affiliate and I need proof that I actually have people reading and watching my stuff to do so. If you like what you see, please share it. Every little bit helps!

Tumblr is still my first social media love. “You’ll always be my best girl!” so I’ll still be on here plenty.

Our baby girl is still not sleeping well through the night. Matter of fact she sleeps in bed with us so I can get at least some shuteye but even then it’s not the best. Hence why I have scarcely if at all updated.

Let’s do a quick and dirty update of what’s up...

1) I quit my full time job and am now only one day a week. Could we afford this? Not really, but we did it anyway. Once my student loans are paid off in two years we’ll have more wiggle room but until then we are really tightening the ol’ purse strings.

2) I am now mostly full time at home doing the mom thing as well as being primarily responsible for making our farm and my wee botanical business profitable. This means a focus on bookkeeping, marketing, etc. 

3) Most importantly to any readers out there, I am going to give blogging some real effort. This means the blog will be moving to a new platform, I’m going to get a youtube channel up and running, and I’m even going to learn the ropes of instagram. Quite the undertaking for a 30-year-old who still insists on using a flip phone.

All that is in the works and I’ll keep you updated as it progresses. I’ll certainly keep this blog around as more of an archive. It has years and years of my time as an apprentice on various farms and I’d hate to lose it, especially if is helpful to other farmers out there. 

Her name is Jane. She is the most perfect little thing in the world.

I’m exhausted. My nipples are in pain. I haven’t slept through the night in two weeks. I’m second guessing my decisions to breed animals once a year because holy crap is natural labor unbelievably painful.

I am amazingly on maternity leave until January so I imagine at some point I can post some more farm updates. But, until this little cheeky girl is sleeping more soundly through the night, continue to expect patchy updates at best.

Ben: Your jars are doing something bad. Did you hear that noise? Are they breaking?

Me: That little ‘plink’ sound? That’s the sound of the lids sealing. It’s a good thing.

Jars: PLINK

Ben:

I’ve been clinging to the warmth of summer like a mad woman this year. Not a day goes by I don’t revel in the greenness surrounding the lake country. If I could actually absorb the green of the tree leaves and grasses into my skin I would.

This is a result I think of what was one of the longest winters of my life. Newly married, new farm, new home, newly pregnant and sick for months, a pile of plumbing and heating issues, and what was on record one of the coldest and snowiest winters we’ve ever had.

I’ve been reluctant to embrace the coming of fall, which is usually my favorite season. Still, reluctant or not, what was just a few orange leaves here and there are now full trees making the change. The house was only 59 degrees the other morning and I had to pull out my slippers and hoodie.

I’m trying to be better about “living in the now”, not wishing for time gone by or dreading what is to come. So I’ve been sighing into the welcome cool temperatures, admiring the leaves more fiercely, and trying to appreciate this transition time that I love so much.

Trampled by Turtles is one of my favorite bands and one of their best songs “Alone”, has the lyrics, “ The summer breezes blow, so tall | And the winter nights are cold, and so long | But in between, the falling leaves, ooh”

Tomorrow is my last day of work before maternity leave starts. This little girl is due to arrive on September 22nd but at this point may come any time between now and October 5th. I have canning to do, lard to render, and some farm projects I’d like to have further along before she comes.

Pleased as punch to announce both Juneberry and Beatrix are officially registered Jerseys! 

Does registering really mean anything? I suppose not. Just like with a dog or any other animal, a mutt can be just as valuable and just as loved as a registered critter.

It does make a difference in terms of sale price. When we finally get established enough to actually sell heifers, we’ll be able to get a higher amount for registered than non. It’s also cool to see their genealogy and know I could trace their lineage back decades if I wanted to. 

Ultimately, I hope to sell one or two heifers each year as family milk cows or to grass based systems. It’s hard to know what kind of market I’ll find for such a thing. I wouldn’t even know where or how to do a market analysis. Still, Westmill Farm, Registered Jerseys Raised & Sold has a nice ring to it. Here’s hoping this is the start of a happy, healthy lineage of Jerseys on our wee farm.

We’ve been extending our grazing out beyond our primary fencing using step-in posts and move-able poly wire that we roll up on a reel. Ben hates it, as every few days we need to reset it.

It isn’t too bad and goes fairly quickly. However, the areas we are fencing have grass almost as tall as me. This is not good in terms of electric fencing. Each piece of grass that touches the wire will ground it out, take away some of the electric charge. A whole field worth of grass touching the wire is enough to make it useless.

The area we are fencing is pretty rough and swampy at times. It is filled with stumps and other things that won’t allow for easy weed whipping. So I set out my posts and go about the business of stomping down the grass where the the fence line will soon run.

As I work my way along the line I always think about Grass Dancers. We live within close driving distance of several native nations. I’ve been lucky enough to attend a few powwows over the years and of all the styles of dancing my favorite is always the grass dancers. They move so fluidly and their regalia always bend and flow like grass in the wind. 

Today resetting the fence was a little more of a chore. It rained all morning. It was hot and muggy. Lots of mosquitoes. To keep dry through all the grass I suited up in my water proof Frogg Toggs, which I had to wear sagging at the crotch as they wouldn’t fit over my big belly. The coat barely zipped.  Hair down to protect my neck from mosquitoes, and wide brimmed hat on for the same. The only skin I had exposed was on my hands and face.  

Long story short, I was so hot and sweaty by the time I got done that I stripped down to my underwear in the barn and stood in front of the giant livestock fan. 

Sunny absolutely loves when we go out to do fencing. Half the time you can’t even see her, just the grass move as she rockets around undergrowth. 

Didn’t have to wait long!

Got home and this little fella was already dry and wobbling around. Took him a little coaxing to get him to eat but he finally go ta good latch. He and mom are doing fine. 

If he was a girl, in my head I had determined to call him Bluebell. Turns out that was supposed to be his name regardless as he was born with two bright blue eyes. 

I wish I could say he’ll grow up to be a handsome bull on a farm somewhere but it is much more likely in a little less than two years he will be for food. It’s rough for boys in the livestock world.

Spent half the weekend down south at Ben’s cousin’s wedding. It was nice to get away for an evening, do some swimming with the nephews, and visit with his family that traveled from far and wide to visit.

Ben’s family is huge and ever growing. My family is much smaller. Hannah, born last October to my cousin Lis, is the newest addition to my side of the family. Prior to her birth there hadn’t been a new baby is 24ish years. It’s nice to have my cousin to ask questions about baby and newborn things. In Ben’s family there were four babies born in the last year alone so his cousins are a wealth of knowledge too.

Babies are on the brain not just because mine is kicking me all the time and starting to make my belly button protrude (so gross), but because June should have hers any day now.

So far we have been blessed with smooth calving. June herself was born with no incident. Beatrix joined the world peacefully and only needed a little bit of a rub down to get up and moving. 

With all this good fortune I am nervous  that my time to battle milk fever or a stuck calf could be this spring. My sister says this inclination towards worry is my Norse sense of foreboding. Perhaps that’s true. My Norwegian ancestors were farmers. Their name before crossing the ocean was Ranum. Literally means “farmer” or “farmstead”. So perhaps if it is my Norwegian blood calling to me I ought to listen to it.

I’ve done what I can to prepare. I’ve read and reread the calving section of Keeping a Family Milk Cow. I bought several tubes of CMPK and cal-gel, (calcium and mineral supplements) and the pricey gun to shoot it into her mouth. I bought ten hefty bales of alfalfa to add to her feed ration (high in protein and calcium). I checked over my milking equipment (not hard, it consists of buckets), bought new brushes for sanitizing, and cleaned up the barn. I am also trying to sleep in as much as possible before my alarm starts going off at 5:00 instead of 6:00 each day.

Photo credit to my sister badwulf. My darling girl Juneberry should freshen (have her baby) sometime next week.

Bugs are terrible at our farm. We have a big ol’ swamp off the north end of our property and what we might generously call a pond across the road to the south. More like a slightly watery-ier swamp. 

I had mused earlier this spring how it would be so nice if we had dragonflies around to eat up mosquitoes and black biting flies that torment my poor cows. I figured we didn’t have enough water near by.

Two days ago I don’t know if there was a big hatch and the wind blew just right or what, but our farm was inundated by hundreds of dragonflies. I honestly almost cried with joy seeing them zip in and around the hay shed, helicoptering around the cows and other livestock as they grazed.

We do what we can to keep flies down for our herd. I try to move manure out. The barn has a giant fan in it. I purchased “fly predators” that are supposed to attack black fly larvae. I spray them in the mornings and afternoons with spray) We hang fly catchers.

A few weeks ago the weather was fine and my mom came to visit. My in-laws have given me piles of baby clothes and I needed some help sorting through everything. 

Ben had heard from some coworkers about an Amish auction taking place about an hour away. We decided to head out in the morning and see what it was all about.

It.was.amazing.

I know a lot of people complain about auctions in that you sit around all day waiting for your one item to go up for bid. There was so much to see at this auction I didn’t even mind waiting around to bid on a few items.

There were buggies and carts, saddles, harnesses, canned goods, baked goods, quilts, random crap people had consigned, and farm animals.

Ben and I got a shared number and my mom even got a number too. They had a huge shop with what was basically a donut factory spitting out amazing glazed donuts & other baked goods. Burgers, hot dogs, chili for lunch. 

Before we went to the auction I told my friend DuWayne about it and he said I should be wary of auctions. “Why?” I asked. “Because of your temperament.”  

And he wasn’t wrong! It would have been so easy to spend oodles of money and outbid people in a fit of competitive zeal. I managed to keep it reigned in though.

I have to say overall it was a very empowering experience. There was one large field in particular full of random and various piles of crap, interlaced with some nice little farm gems you could pick up. I was one of the few women out there and had my big pregnant belly to boot. It was fun and exhilarating to do some quick math on a pile of rusty t-posts and figure what we’d pay at the store new. I found myself bidding against old Amish dudes with long gray beards and other farmers who looked much rougher than me. 

My biggest win of the day was a bucket full of random insulators and other bits of electric fence gear. I wasn’t going to bid on what looked like a bucket of junk when the auctioneer’s assistant said, “looks like some insulators in there” and the auctioneer said, “who’ll give me a buck??” “YUP!” Just one handle is worth $3 so I ended up with a good $20 worth of useful items for only a buck. Had to take home a broken maul and some garbage too but I think it was well worth the price.

Ben got a nice solid toboggan, a bag of birdseed, and a bird feeder for $20. He also wanted to bid on some chicken wire in a pile and asked me how much he should spend. As he was up bidding on it and the price went to $5, he glanced back at me and we had a moment that, while much less dramatic, reminded me of this.

Here’s a shot of all the chickens, ducks, guineas, rabbits, and other various small animals. Rabbits were going for 2 bucks! I gave Ben the go ahead to bid on ducks (despite my better judgement) and thankfully they went over the $40 we had decided was our maximum. I made sure we skedaddled before the particularly soft and friendly donkey went up for bid.

Here are just a few of the buggies that were for sale. One big beautiful 3 bencher went for only $300. $300! I almost bid on the damn thing just because.

They both sat there mooing for a good five minutes because they could see me on the couch.

Last Sunday Ben and I expected to have a somewhat leisurely day.  

I had busted my butt on Saturday and needed a more low-key day, so I had determined to putz with a small farm project, do some reading, finish up a batch of soap, and plan out meals for the week.

I settled in to make last week’s blog post, blanket and cup of tea.  Ben, who would normally be at church, wasn’t feeling well so he was bumming on the couch, bringing up the live stream of his church conference to watch.

Fifteen minutes later I get a text from our friend Andy.  “Pig is loaded. Heading out soon.”

I had planned with Andy over facebook for him to bring out a pig for us and also butcher our yearling whether lambs the same day.  We had said “next weekend”, so I was thinking Mother’s Day weekend. Andy was thinking THIS weekend. My husband was not at all pleased with my organization skills.

The next hour was a blur of hauling crap out of our predetermined pig paddock area, pounding in fence posts, stringing hot wire, setting up electric fence chargers, and scurrying about to gather things necessary for processing a lamb.

Andy arrived with his lovely fiancé and his son around 12:30. I’ve been friends with Andy for eight years. He is a good natured guy with a wealth of knowledge. I think he could make friends with a polecat. 

We got Iris (name might change) unloaded in a snap and she is already making herself at home.

She is not quite a year old. In December we’ll breed her for piglets in early spring. Those we’ll sell as feeder pigs, maybe keep one or two to raise up for meat as well.

I love this photo of her. She looks like a classic old heritage breed.

Warning! Details of processing an animal to follow. Reader discretion advised.

Then it was time for processing the lambs.   Andy doesn’t make a business of processing animals but he does do it for friends in the area. 

After some effort we wrangled each of them up.  Andy flipped them up on their butts one at a time as if to shear them. This, for reasons I don’t understand, calms the sheep and almost puts them in a trance. I thanked each of them and gave them an affectionate rub. Andy gently laid them on their side and in a smooth motion with a very sharp knife, sliced across their neck. There was no struggle, no crying out, and the animals were gone within moments. I said a silent prayer of gratitude to them as they left.

I was surprised that I didn’t cry. Though now as I type this I am welling up a little. 

Raising animals for food is a tough business and I’ve talked about it before. Death is a natural part of the cycle of life. These sheep were born on this farm, lived a happy life with their mom, aunt, and cousins. Ate well, slept and played in the sunshine. The parts of them we can’t use will be buried in the pasture in the exact spot where they were born, fertilizing the ground and growing grass for the next generations. Ben and I will have plenty of lamb to last us through the year, enough to share with friends and family too. 

Andy was careful removing their hides, which I salted and put in the freezer until this weekend when I’ll start the tanning process and make rugs. 

As omnivores, the best we can can do is raise them with kindness and respect and treat them that way to the end. 

End of death talk.

In the midst of processing, we were scheduled to get a load of hay with the pickup. Ben had to venture off and do that on his own.

It was fun to have company over and cook for more than just me and Ben. We had chicken pesto pasta, kale salad, and Ben’s homemade bread. Elise brought some leftover birthday cake with canned strawberry sauce that was divine. 

I had to leave before we wrapped up as I had an evening work meeting. 

It was a busy, somewhat crazy day. Still, as the sun went down it was deeply satisfying. Pig nestled comfortably in her new paddock, freezer full of meat, animals contentedly chewing hay, and a few hours spent among friends.