It's All About Your Perspective

I find that farming is often about perspective. I was sad to take down my Christmas tree this year. Many of my ornaments were gifts from a relative who was too ill to exchange gifts this year and I was aware of my sorrow when I put the ornaments away. Dragging the tree outside and sweeping up the very dry needles was Dave's work, not much relished either. Eating the Christmas tree, however, was considered delightful work by the goats. They haven't actually started to eat our tree (it is in the lineup) but I have given them three others since New Year's. When I was tree hunting, one man seemed at first abashed and then thrilled to stuff the tree he had been dragging to the curb into the back of my van.

Jackson and I disagree about the tone of another winter farm experience. Once every couple of weeks, I find a drowned mouse in the goat's water bucket. I always feel sad for the mouse and concerned about how long my goats have been without clean water. Jackson however loves m-icicles. Jackson is an English Shepherd, a breed of dog that developed on small farmsteads in the United States back when small meant 10 acres. They were expected to guard the farm, herd animals of many varieties, and to hunt down farm pests like raccoons, rats and possums. Thus Jackson's interest in mice.

Recently Jackson was given a lesson in the evolutionary value of the possum's ability to play dead. I was sitting here at my desk and heard Jackson barking with high excitement. When I looked out the window I saw that he was barking and circling what appeared to be a lump of dirty snow or maybe part of something fuzzy the dogs had found and chewed up. After squinting and becoming less certain of the nature of the fuzzy object, I put on my coat and boots and walked out into the backyard. Although it was the middle of the day the dogs had found a possum. By the time I heard Jackson barking the possum was playing dead. This was baffling to Jackson. I have seen him chase and kill small prey before, but he did not know what to think of a live possum that didn't move. He would circle and bark and then lunge in to poke at it. The possum stayed completely limp, but the motion caused by a poke with Jackson's paw would frighten the dog and he'd back away swiftly. Apparently an animal that does not fit in either the living or the dead category is not to be messed with. When I first heard Jackson, Mocha was sitting nearby watching Jackson circle the possum. She eventually lost interest and came inside with me. Jackson didn't even notice that Mocha was INSIDE with TRACEY. After over an hour of circling, Jackson was distracted by one of the boys coming home, when I returned to my window to check on the status of the possum, it had disappeared.

Playing dead is a very valuable skill. I can't seem to find a use for it in my own life, but I am thinking about it. I am fairly certain that if I play dead on a really cold winter morning, Dave will not be fooled into doing my farm chores for me. Maybe the boys would be fooled but they would be more concerned with who was going to feed them than who was going to feed the animals.

January is for Organizing

For the past two years I have been planning to turn one of our basement rooms into a soap room. I make handcrafted milk-based soap in my kitchen and have wanted to create a more organized space for storing my ingredients, drying soaps, packaging materials etc. This past weekend, I finally did it! I have been sorting boxes of toys scooped up during some hasty house cleaning, moving boxes of Alex and Ian's childhood mementos into another storage space, and stacking photos for Dave to digitize. This time the toy sorting feels much different than ever before. Zachary is nine and really done with the beautiful wooden toys that we have collected for the boys over the years. I donated many sweet toys but created my first grandmother box and stored some of our favorites for future grandbabies.

I ended up having plenty of space in the soap room and will use half of it for starting seedlings this spring. The seed catalogs have been arriving and have reached critical mass in my seed catalog bin. I have promised myself hours of reading when I return from my upcoming trip to see family in Houston.

I am even feeling hopeful that I will have time in February for the Barn cleaning and organizing that I penciled in for next month.