We’ve been farming …

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When a good friend from Providence, RI asked when we were going to update the farm blog again, I realized it had been a while. I went back to look …. It’s been 3months! August, September, and now half of October have been a never ending-calendar full ….. farmers market busy-moving fence again-drying off Shadow schedule-visitors touring the farm-harvesting-cheese making-egg collecting-poultry processing- farm dog training …. it’s busy busy. Sometimes it feels like we’re just maintaining – every day we have chores that stay fairly regular – but we’re also working on putting in a licensed dairy (more on that later!), mapping out the animal, vegetable, (miracle?) plan for the next year, and meeting all sorts of new friends and customers who are interested in knowing where their food comes from. Everyone who comes to see us marvels at the view and it reminds us to stop and take a deep breath … even if Libby insists on grazing right on the other side of the fence, the dogs forget that they are NOT responsible for guarding the road, or the spiders are enormous but the fly population continues to be impressive. The view is breathtaking, we’re “living the dream”, AND we know exactly where our food comes from.

Our food comes from happy animals and happy gardens growing on land that we’re able to improve with the nitrogen from our pastured chickens directly on the pasture (no clean up for us, and lush green grass appears within weeks!), rooting pigs that are ridding us of weeds and moss and encouraging broader leafed grasses and clover, mowing cows that are encouraging thick re-growth where they have grazed.

The cool thing is that our community is part of this symbiotic relationship and we’re so thankful to be a local food source for that community. Hope, Shadow, Libby, Chance, Yorkey, and Jersey (the cows) happily graze on fresh grass in the pasture; the chickens (who are too numerous to name, although about 1/4 of them are named) enthusiastically seek out cow patties to dig out the grubs; Templeton, Floppy, Toppy, Cedar, Poplar, Aspen, and the piglets are thrilled to slurp any whey left over from cheese making; the turkeys and guineas are making themselves known as they find their voice and their grubs around the farm ….. And as farmers and community members in the Woven Meadows food circle, we’re enjoying chicken, duck, pork, eggs, some vegetables … and we’re looking forward to more of the same as well as dairy and beef!

We’ve had an incredible summer and fall and we’re so thankful for all of the support we’ve had thus farm from our new community. Please continue to come by, enjoy a tour, take in that view, and let us know how we can better meet your food needs!

Dairy: Calving

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“She’s here! She’s here!” my mom said to said to us frantically. I slowly came to consciousness and lifted my heavy head up to look at what time it was. One of our regular customers had said she’d be early.

It was 4:53am.

We must have lost power, that’s why the clock was reading such an early time.

But it wasn’t blinking.
I was confused.
“Who’s here?” I asked groggily.

“The calf! Hope had her baby!!” my mom said in a loud whisper.
I sat up in bed and started donning barn clothes.

Reassured that I was committed to waking up my mom fled down the hall to go back outside.

“Are you coming?” I asked a still sleeping Josh.

“No,” he mumbled – or something like that. Having grown up on a dairy farm I guess another calving wasn’t worth waking up for. I can’t say I understood because every calving at Josh’s family’s farm is fun and I didn’t want to miss seeing Hope’s baby all wet and new!
When clothes finally cooperated about getting on my body I ran down the stairs hopping as I went trying to convince one sock onto each foot.

I slipped my boots on at the mudroom door and resisted running across the yard and into the pasture to Hope.
My mom was standing on the outside of the electric poly-wired paddock, near Hope who was inside the paddock but making some less than happy sounds.
“Where is the calf?” I asked my mom. She pointed to just outside the poly-wire – out of Hope’s reach.

“Is it a girl?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she responded, “I haven’t touched it, I just came to get you!”

I grabbed one of the calf’s back legs and lifted. The calf was tiny and wet warm and slippery. A girl!

“It’s a girl!!” I said with excitement. “I need to get her in to Hope so she can clean her off and warm her up,” I explained to my mom and noticed my dad had joined us outside.

“Should I turn off the fence?” my dad asked, nervous about this transfer where electric fence was involved.

“No,” I decided, “I don’t want Hope to go through the fence. I’ll be okay.”

I grabbed the calf’s back legs and dragged her to Hope, ducking low as I passed below the electric line.

Hope’s anxiety immediately ebbed. She started cleaning the calf in a leisurely way. The calf’s breathing was worrying me a little. I could hear a rattle in her chest and debated lifting her by her back legs to help work the fluid down. I reminded myself that generally birth works without intervention and despite the calf ending up on the outside of the paddock, this birth had worked well so far.

“How did you know?” I asked my mom.

“Hope woke me up with her mooing!” my mom said, clearly on a birth high from all this excitement – and I felt it too! “So I looked out of our bedroom window and I saw something dark in the grass. I came outside to look and the calf was here! So I ran back inside to tell you.”

“That’s so cool!” I said. “I’m a little worried about the rattling the calf is making.” We all watched in wonder as Hope continued to clean her calf and Shadow came over to lovingly help with the cleanup. Parts of the calf were already dry!

I noticed a sack of water coming out of Hope and she was beginning to beller. I know a little about cow births and a lot about human births. I reasoned that like nursing a newborn brings on contractions to pass the placenta – cleaning a calf likely brings on contractions to pass the calf’s placenta.

“What is that dark spot?” my dad asked, pointing to a dark thick thread-looking thing inside the sack of water coming out of Hope.

“I don’t know,” I said, “maybe it’s thick blood vessels used to grow the calf?”

We watched in awe for another few seconds – mostly in awe as Hope’s beller echoed off the nearby mountains. Hope made her way to a laying down position, being sure to stay close to her calf at the end of a contraction.

As another one started my dad said: “honey, that’s not blood vessels – those are hooves!”.
Upon closer inspection I saw that he was right.
“It’s twins!” I announced in a very sad way. I knew twins was not good news. If the female calf that was already birthed shared her mom’s uterus with a male she’d likely be infertile. I explained this sad phenomenon to my parents who demanded an explanation. I had none as it was never a pressing issue in the past. Sure, Hope was e-n-o-r-m-o-u-s when pregnant – but who isn’t?

“Go get Josh,” I said to my parents, “tell him it’s twins and I’m not sure what to do. Tell him that the calf who is out has rattling in her chest.”

“I don’t want to miss it,” my mom said.

“You won’t,” I assured her, you have time.

Off she went while I hoped that Josh would come outside for this.

Hope continued to work out the new calf making tiny bits of progress. Shadow stayed nearby and continued cleaning the already-birthed calf before having enough of it all and going off to munch on some grass.

I heard the backdoor open and Josh ambled across the yard toward the pasture.
“It’s a girl!” I said, “… and it’s twins, see?”

Josh observed without responding, which is his way. We watched as the calf’s head and shoulder eased out of the birth canal. Josh pulled it out the rest of the way. I chastised him for this, again, my natural birth feelings coming forward.
He looked a little surprised, despite his ardent support of natural birth.
“As soon as the shoulders are born it’s okay to help ease the rest of the calf out,” he explained.

I stomped my foot suddenly. “My mom! She didn’t make it!!” I realized, slightly distraught.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” I asked, moving on to the next important issue of the moment. Josh lifted up the calf’s back leg and saw the tell-tale boy.

“So that means infertile girl?” my dad asked.
“Yeah,” Josh said.

“I’m gonna look it up,” I promised.

Hope was immediately up and licking her newest baby clean. Shadow sauntered over to help with the cleanup detail.

I heard the backdoor open and out came my mom with two coffee mugs in hand.

“I missed it?!?!” she said incredulous when she reached us.

“I didn’t know ‘you have time’ meant make coffee!” I replied in protest. “I’m really sorry,” I felt pretty terrible that my mom had missed the event.
We knew with a Hope and Shadow we wanted a “Chance” (after Homeward Bound characters). We joked about naming the calves Fat Chance and Slim Chance (or Fat and Slim).

Noticing that my belly was complaining for lack of breakfast I slowly moved away across the pasture, across the backyard, and into the house.

A hearty breakfast was made and the children wandered downstairs with sleepy eyes.

“Hope had her baby!” we said, “There were two!”
“Hope and Shadow had their babies?!?!” Del said incredulous.

While breakfast cooking was happening I was researching what I learned was called “Free Martinism” – the phenomenon that happens in 90-95% of male/female twin births in cows. I learned that the female twins sexual organs are stunted because the male twin’s sexual organs develop faster in utero. As the twins share a placenta their blood is shared. Therefore hormones (namely testosterone) are shared and as the male develops more quickly his testosterone suppresses the development of her sexual organs before they have a chance to develop – in 90-95% of the cases.

Scrumptious eggs, yummy milk, delicious bacon, homemade bread, and we were back out to the pasture to check on the calves, now dry.

We decided Chance would be the male and after some deliberation decided to name the female Liberty (as in FREE Martin) and call her Libby.

Not long after we remembered that we had a farm that needed us, beyond the calves. So we milked their momma and Shadow, fed pigs and piglets, chickens and chicks and our day started to feel a little more normal with a glow of specialness that new babies bring.

Farmers Market: overheard on the cost of chicken

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An elderly woman approached our table at the farmers market and began perusing the whole frozen pastured chickens available. Thirty seconds into her perusal an elderly gentleman also began looking at the chicken and seemed to continue a conversation with her with words like “organic” peppered throughout. I debated interjecting that our meat was not in fact certified organic and presenting reasons why, but it seemed impolite to interrupt and I wasn’t certain what was being said. I reasoned that if they wanted to know, they’d ask.

At one point the gentleman picked up a bird and said: “See this? At $17 for a bird, organic seems hard to justify.”

The woman nodded numbly and pulled her hand out of the cooler and followed him halfheartedly off to the stand opposite ours, where the couple proceeded to buy a shade grown fair trade chocolate bar for $6.

Our birds at about $17 a piece were priced at $3.50/lb, the least expensive meat at the market. We were able to sell them at this low rate because we had not fed them organic grain, a decision made out of fear that higher prices (necessitated by higher feed costs) would not sell. After a year of growing food this way we had changed our minds about the importance of choosing organic grain, but this is the chicken we had to sell, and it was selling well, for the most part.

We determined $3.50/lb as the fair price after factoring in costs: initial chick cost, feed cost, shelter cost amortized over the life of the shelter, electric netting cost amortized over the life of the netting, trough and water supply costs amortized, tubing for the water system amortized, and our time. When comparing this $3.50/lb rate to what one might pay for a conventional piece of meat at a large grocery store, I understood that our pricing would need to be justified. However, to those doing their research about their food and understanding the quality in a humanely raised pastured bird versus a factory farm bird … these people understood the true cost of food and were thrilled to be purchasing meat from a farmer they trusted.

For the gentlemen scoffing at a $17 bird, it was challenging not to suggest that he begin raising his own meat birds and then consider how much he’s willing to pay to have someone else provide this service for him.

I love that we raise our own meat, but it’s not for everyone. So I also love that we can provide quality local healthy meat to our community. But that requires a community supportive of farmers who value the work they do through monetary compensation or bartering.

Dairy: sharing the milking fun

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Frequently visitors come to our farm. Mostly family in the beginning while stripping wallpaper and planting seeds and then very soon new friends started coming and we are always proud to show off our cows. When overnight guests visit we encourage them to come to a milking. Everyone is very pleased to hear that we milk between 8-9am and 8-9pm, not the expected 5am-ish of dairy farmers.

One night I came downstairs after putting the kids to bed, Josh and my dad came in from milking, something my dad had wanted to try.

“He turned the faucet off on me!” my dad said with a laugh.

“What do you mean?” I asked, not sure of the joke and also feeling rather tired.

“I tried to milk and Josh turned the faucet off on that side! I tried twice. And then he showed me that the faucet worked for him! But then he turned it off again before I had a chance to use it again!” Both men laughed and I joined in. It was reassuring to know that my milking skills could be worse and they were noticeably better from when we first brought Shadow and Hope home to Woven Meadows.

When my dad said he wanted to help the next night and my mom were helping the kids to bed, I was excited to be part of my dad learning. He donned coveralls and came out in the chill night air to the barn. “My side” of the udder being more manageable it made sense to offer him my milk crate and a brief tutorial on how to milk.I watched as a tiny stream of milk hit the bucket.
“That’s great!” I encouraged, “milk came out!” I watched another stream come out and noticed my dad’s concentration in his face. “Just take your time, and don’t pay attention to how fast Josh is going. Remember that we’ve been doing this for three weeks now and there was definitely a learning curve for us.”
I took my dad’s minimal response as understanding and concentrating on the task at hand. I wandered away to complete other barn chores. I threw down bedding hay, increasing our bedded pack (hay being less than ideal for bedded pack but what we had on hand); putting older hay in the feeder for Hope and Shadow; adding yummy second cut hay to Shadows feeder; topping off both of their watering troughs.

Not wanting to rush my dad I picked up stray baler twine that was on the barn floor and added it to an impressive pile left by the previous farm owners. I casually walked past my dad and saw that for every three streams Josh was putting into the bucket, my dad was concentrating seriously on his one trickle of milk.

“Dad, do you want me to take over for a little while?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said immediately, “sure,” he tacked on with a more casual tone.

The streams of milk flowed from both quarters on my side and the foam doubled on top of the milk. My dad went off to finish up chores he thought still needed to be done and we filled the bucket.

Josh put the lid on the bucket and we stood up moving our seats aside to make room for Shadow’s return to her pen. I asked my dad if he wanted to put her away, knowing from our experience that morning how this would likely go. My dad, who was not present at morning milking, was up for anything. He boldly unlatched Shadow and grabbed onto her neck chain. Shadow then proceeded to take my dad on a tour of the barn, the scenic route before returning to her stall. We watched, and definitely laughed, as he held on for dear life and was pulled this way and that until she was happily munching hay in her stall. Out of breath, he joined us in our laughter.

recipe: Happy Butter

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Separate cream from milk by allowing milk to stand in container overnight and then pouring off the cream or using a turkey baster or small scoop (if the container holding your milk has a wide enough neck) to pull out the cream.

Cream churns to butter better when it is aged a few days and when it is at room temperature. So it’s best at this point to let the cream rest refrigerated for up to four days, or whenever you have enough cream to churn.

On butter making day put the cream out on the counter to warm to room temperature. This will take several hours.

Once the cream is at room temperature pour the thick cream into a blender and blend. You’ll know the butter is done when you see grains of yellow butter forming and they start joining to make bigger and bigger piece of butter. At this point the noise the blender is making will change and your butter will be done. Pour the buttermilk and butter into a colander, reserving the buttermilk if you desire. You can then rinse and massage the ball of butter to work the last of the buttermilk out. Salt, if desired.

We then measure out 8oz portions, wrap, and freeze our butter for future use.

Eggs: Broody Hen

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In the last weeks before our move from Northern Vermont to “The North Country” in New York we noticed a buff orpington hen was broody. During every egg collection she really wanted to stay on “her” nest of eggs. Other hens would sidle up next to her, squishing themselves in the box – up to three other hens (I promise there were enough nest boxes, but this was the most popular) and lay their eggs. She’d patiently wait and then scoop the new egg under her gently with her beak, turning and twisting the egg to clean it.

She was not very excited about us disturbing her zoned broody state to retrieve the eggs. We wanted her to be able to hatch eggs, how cool would that be? But eggs incubate in three weeks and we were moving in about three weeks. We knew the move would potentially be stressful for the birds and the idea of a coop on wheels rolling down the road with stressed birds and 6-10 chicks seemed unsafe for the tiny chicks. So we faithfully relieved the hen of her egg sitting duty daily and the following day she’d be sitting again, on a new clutch of eggs.

The move did not upset the hens desire to brood.

After a week of settling in somewhat (for us) we decided to set up a corner of a horse stall in our barn for the broody hen. We didn’t need chicks but we were very curious to see how this would turn out.

It’s a short story: a week after setting on her nest in the horse stall we found the nest empty. The hen had decided enough was enough, the chicks weren’t coming, and had run off with the backyard chickens that had been left by the previous owners. We scooped up the motherly hen (this makes it sound much easier than it was, of course) and returned her to her original flock.

Dairy: First Milkings

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When milking a flow emerges, a rhythm. You start from the top of the teat with your thumb and index finger squeezing and then you tighten your middle finger until you’ve squeezed your smallest finger, encouraging the milk down its path and into your bucket. We realized early on that one side took longer to empty. It was unclear if it was because this side actually produced more milk or because the teat on the back quarter of that side was so short you couldn’t get a long stream out of it because it only held so much milk before you’d have to start the process of pushing the milk through the teat and out again.

This is how we figured it out: “I think we should switch sides regularly,” I said to Josh speaking of our routine to each take a side of the udder to milk. “I’m worried that I’m not doing it right and if I’m hurting her. I think I should be giving each side a break from me milking it.”

Josh agreed and that night, at approximately our third milking I got comfortable on a milk crate (more traditionally there would be a three -legged milking stool, but a deeper farming tradition is to use what you have on hand – and there were a half dozen milk crates or so in the barn). Still fairly new and insecure in my milking skills I discovered the very short teat. I decided to focus on the front quarter first and then work on the back quarter when the other three quarters were less full, and therefore giving me more room to work. I was pleased with the strong swoosh of the milk stream I was creating hitting the bottom of the bucket and before long making an even more satisfying sound as it hit the liquid. I rested my head against Shadow’s warm side, a welcome heater against the chill in the barn. Wanting to investigate the milk stream I was creating more carefully I lowered my head. Like the milkings before, I realized that strong milk stream sound was not my own, but Josh’s. I concentrated on the rhythm of the milk stream coming out of the quarter I was working and could hear a faint pft…pffft…pfft. Disappointed but determined I kept milking. Minutes later the strong milk-hits-milk-in-bucket sounds ceased.

“Are you done?!?” I asked incredulous.

“Yes,” was the simple reply.

“It feels like I haven’t even started!” I said, feeling Shadow’s firm udder and panicking slightly. Josh took hold of the back quarter that I’d neglected and the strong swoosh sound of milk hitting milk and foamy froth forming started up again. Reminding myself that Josh had grown up on a dairy farm, machine milked of course, but still with more experience, I was able to console myself with the thought that if I could just get one quarter done by myself, that would be something. That night I proudly finished that quarter.

Okay, I didn’t. But I would have, we realized, if I had been on “my side”.
That side was not producing milk as heavily as “Josh’s side”. From then on I chose to believe that I was milking Shadow quite well, thank you very much, or at least well enough, to stick to my side of the udder.

Pastured Eggs :: The Real Deal

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What is a “pastured egg”? It’s an egg from a chicken raised outdoors on green pastures, able to forage for bugs, worms, grass, legumes, and any other greens and seeds it can find. There’s a world of difference between eggs from pastured hens and those from commercial, cage-free, “free-range,” and even certified organic (factory) farms. Here are a few of the major benefits:

 

 

 

  • Eggs from hens raised on pasture are healthier. Over multiple studies, pastured-eggs have been found to contain 1/3 less cholesterol, 1/4 less saturated fat, 2/3 more vitamin A, at least 3 times more omega-3 fatty acids (and in a better ratio to omega-6s), 3 times more vitamin E, and 7 times more beta carotene than their conventional, commercial counterparts. The eggs are healthier because the hens’ diet, including greens and other natural foods, is healthier.
  • Pastured eggs taste better. Richer and more flavorful, people readily pick up on the difference in taste. They look better too, with their bright golden yolks—a result of the healthful compounds like beta carotene.
  • Hens on pasture produce eggs that are better for cooking. The yolks are firmer, and stand up higher and hold up better when frying. Whites are less runny, and whip up beautifully. Baked-goods and souffles have more volume, and omelets and poached eggs hold together well. Shells are often harder too.
  • Raising hens outdoors on pasture is more humane and natural. These chickens have fresh air and sunshine (along with shelter from the elements), and have ample room to roam and run and stretch and scratch. They have a natural varied diet, being able to graze and forage on whatever nutritious plants they like and protein-packed bugs and worms they can find.
  • Pastured eggs are honest and ethical eggs. Other industrial, supermarket-variety eggs often leave much to be desired. Standard commercial laying hens are raised in cages and fed a standardized conventional diet with low-level antibiotics. Contaminants likes salmonella are unfortunately not uncommon. “Cage-free” or “free-range” eggs may be a step above, but the meaning may be misleading. “Free-range” hens merely need to have “access to the outdoors,” which may be only a dirt or concrete yard affixed to factory-housing, “outdoors” which hens may not actually use. While certified-organic eggs do come from cage-free chickens not fed hormones, antibiotics, or GMO feeds (and their feed is raised without chemical fertilizers or pesticides), their diet is still only a standardized grain-and-soy mix, and doesn’t confer the same health and taste benefits as a true pastured egg.
  • Buying pastured-eggs from local farms and farmers supports them and their sustainable practices. More money stays in the community, rather than funding industrial factory farming. Sustainable farms are better for the environment and keep the landscape picturesque and pastoral.

 

 

 

At Woven Meadows farm, we strive to produce healthy, delicious food that nourishes bodies, minds, communities, and the environment. Our healthy eggs come from laying hens raised outdoors on pasture, joined by the cows, pigs, turkeys, and any other animals we raise. We feed certified-organic grains and feeds in order to better support sustainable farming practices, reduce the use of harmful and polluting chemical fertilizers and pesticides, and avoid GMOs. We aim to farm sustainably, ethically, and humanely, weaving together farm, family, community, and land.

Recipe :: Rhubarb Chutney

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Rhubarb season is here! One of our favorite rhubarb recipes is from on of our favorite preserving books, “Put ‘Em Up!” (side note: there are two other Put ‘Em Up! books coming out Put ‘em Up! Fruit in 2013 and The Put ‘em Up! Answer Book the following year.). Our “Put ‘Em Up!” book has a broken spine … it’s used A TON!

I contacted Sherri Brooks Vinton, the books author to ask if I could share this recipe and she responded within a couple of hours. Sherri Brooks Vinton, you know, who wrote “Put ‘Em Up!” emailed me!

So on with the delicious recipe and pictures from my latest putting up of rhubarb chutney.

Farmers Market: overheard on what qualifies as free range

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Through our first year of officially farming we were committed to humanely raising our animals, but not committed to organic feed that was priced at twice the rate as conventional feed (that opinion has evolved). This meant that when we brought our meat to a city farmers market 40 minutes from our farm we were asked challenging questions that had never been a concern for the community closer to our farm (where most had not read Omnivore’s Dilemma, Animal, Vegetablem Miracle, and similar).

We were increasingly uncomfortable with our decision to use conventional grain but also confident that our animals were humanely raised on pasture.

During one such (brief) questioning at the farmers market a gentlemen asked us what our hens diet was.

“Kitchen scraps, whatever they find in the pasture, and grain”, I replied.
“And you say they are free range?” he asked shaking his head.

“Yes?” I asked uncertain.

“But they get grain?” he asked, still shaking his head disappointingly.

“Yes,” I answered, still uncertain what the problem was.
The gentlemen walked away sadly.

Josh reasoned that the man may believe that if the chickens are receiving a grain ration then they aren’t truly free range because they aren’t foraging for themselves 100%. Interestingly we had four chickens that we’d inherited from the previous owners of our farm. These birds were truly free range. They covered about 3 acres of ground a day and we fed them no grain. I’m wondering what farmer could sustain this rate of return: .75acres/bird. Sadly, a few days after this particular market a fox took out three of these four chickens, solidifying our decision to have our chickens in a 4k square foot area of pasture surrounded by electric netting that we move every couple of weeks. Without livestock guard dogs (which we haven’t managed to incorporate into our farm yet, but we’d like to) electric netting is essential for the protection of the birds. And to be anywhere near profitable, grain is also vital for our birds.