My husband's take on our homestead

The farmstead is multipurpose but is also a manifestation of my hermit tendencies, a desire to reclude, to be at least somewhat self-sufficient, to build my fortress of solitude from the savage garden, to control my surroundings, to provide for my long-term happiness, a home, a place to be creative, a place which we will create and change, to provide a place for my family to live and enjoy life and provide a place for me to work. I'm also keeping the following in mind (though the amount of influence on the implementation is ad hoc): positioning for an agricultural tax exemption, better control over our food's origins and processing, sustainability in the event of war or economic, government or society collapse, occasionally sleeping under the stars or reading a book leaning back against an old warped oak tree, watching in horror as our son makes it to the top limbs of that oak tree, and devising a plan to remove fireants from his sand box (to be created).

As a child, I loved the idea of animals, but animals often did not cooperate with ideas. I repaired a lot of fencing. Fed and watered a lot of animals. Got a few beatings when I didn't. I did a lot of leading our small heard of cows across town with a lead rope and a feed bucket between the lot in town, and the ranch. Yes, across town. I enjoyed horseback riding but did not get to do it as often as I'd like. I loved the process, the paraphenalia, the gear. I was decent at it. I remember one of my teachers, Monic Brant, a schoolmate, was both beautiful and mysterious. She and my other trainer complimented me on my abilities. I never competed or won any awards, though. I never learned to rope a calf, which I think would be fun.

When I and my sister left my parents' household, the horses, and probaly most of the animals, got neglected. I went back after years to find my favorite horse, Jameel, an Arabian stallion, suffering from some sort of skin cancer which produced barby or prickly spine-like growths, like very thick sharp hairs, on his lips, nose, genitals and around his eyes. It tore me up. Such a proud horse, and now, sitting on his rear to get a good enough angle to contort to nuzzle his groin, the same position a cat might. My parents had spent years hammering "responsible care of the animals" into us as kids while we were the labor on their projects. Confirmation of the sentiment that we were the majority of the labor and that things would fall apart when we left the household had no joy. I collaborated with my sister to bring an ultimatum on the care of Jameel. My mother had the vet put him down. I remember crying on the phone to a friend, bawling like a big baby. I drove down that night, with my sister. It was misty, slightly cool. When we hit the speed limit change outside of our hometown, I stepped in the clutch and rolled down the windows. The effect reminded me of lowering landing gear and cold wet wind whipped through the cab as we decended into the valley. When we got out to the ranch, the gate was locked so we walked to the back with flashlights in the fog, like Scully and Molder, and found the grave in the dark by spotting the back-hoe tracks. I still have some of the clay dirt in the garage. I've been meaning to sculpt a little horse out of it, put it next to Kimmy [Marina: my cat, who died in 2004] and let the rain wash it away. I do not wish to put our son through something like this.

Without the labor provided by their children, my parents, specificly my mother, was/were not willing to put in the labor to maintain a farm/ranch. She still has some of her collection of birds. Usually my dad feeds and waters them. It comes up in discussion with my sister. We come back to the fact that we cannot live our parents' lives for them. We hope my father will enjoy his retirement at some point. We just have to let it go. We can't control.

I enjoyed visiting my grandfather's farm as a child, and somehow chores there were not as 'choresome' as taking care of my mother's managerie. The chicken butchering incident was frustrating and macbre, but is one of my favorite stories, now that it's over. "GranD" (my mother's father) was very proud of his birds and his chickens, ducks, geese won the occasional award at the county fair. He also had a few cows, some of which he would milk. He and Grandma R even churned cream to butter. One cow kicked him good when he was milking and he hit it over the head with a 2x4 and fell over. Never kicked him again. Even though he got old, he put a lot of work into the little farmstead until he got cancer. It is similar in size to ours, but had better soil. One of my most cherished memories is him looking out the sliding glass door as his sons helped steady him, at his grandkids who had collected pears from his orchard, and were ramming them into the potato cannon with the long handle of an edger, loading the breech with hair spray, and firing the pears over his poultry and barn, all with slightly more efficiency and less argument (slightly, mind you) than a committee. I think he died the next day or so.

I'm hesistant to just start grabbing animals. I try to look to being able to maintain whatever we bring on board. It's hard because I'm only able to apply a few hours per week day max, and often not that much, and I don't want to sign the wife up for more work. I am also undisciplined and lazy.

Marina found these sheep on the internet for free to a good home as long as we don't eat them, so I don't get to eat these. However, lamb is tasty. The grass has recovered here enough for the sheep, but we'll have to manage their grazing so they don't kill it back bare. The sheep will be raised for wool (at least these particular sheep). I doubt we'll do any of the spinning ourselves, though we'll probably clean and card the wool. As a child, I used to have a loom and I still have the recorder cover that my mother made from the first piece of cloth I wove. These sheep make very strong wool, but a little coarse for sweaters. I am told the wool is expensive and is typically used for rugs. This breed has a bulbous tail that serves the same function as a camel hump, storing nutrients and water. They are very hardy. They appear to me to be smarter and sneakier than other breeds of sheep.

The land prices and sprawl outpace my income. There have been some significant lost opportunities for me, things I didn't know or realize. Had I known my world was small enough if I had put the clues together I could be where I only dream about being now. The loss of some of the old ranches and lost communities out here makes me sad when I stop to think about it. I occasionally will round a turn in life, and run into someone or some information, and find out there was an opportunity missed due to serendipity's cruel doppleganger. I don't like to talk about that part much; I am not pretty and the topic is not convenient.

I know I am doing better than most. Rather than dwell, I try to fill my days with progress on the dream, and keep watch for opportunity.

Why we're here--an unfocused melody

Well, my friend has asked me to be her guest blogger for Sunday. Why she thinks I've made as much progress on my farm as she has with hers, I don't know. I don't feel like I've mastered anything, except maybe research. In my blog introduction, I state: "I'm not a farm girl, but I'll be playing one for the forseeable future." I've had two careers (teacher and library assistant), both of which became too soul-killing to continue professionally. So, here I am, on 11+ acres, with chickens, sheep, and a small raised bed, trying to figure out how to:

-turn the rest of this place into a working farm
-remodel our house to be efficient and comfortable
-care for, house, and utilize the animals we have
-find the best way to add animals to the fold
-keeping up with changes in relevant laws that govern our homestead and our lifestyle
et cetera, ad nauseum, yadda yadda blah blah

So, how am I making the transition from small-town Material Girl to rural Mistress of my Domain? It seems like a slow and painful process at times, but some aspects are easier than others. I've been familiar with, and have practiced Voluntary Simplicity. That paradigm has enabled me to find ways of stretching our dollars and prioritizing our efforts. My love of books has me seeking out resources old and new regarding country skills, food preservation, organic practices, animal husbandry, and building design. Although I am not a people person, I am pushing myself to build relationships and find mentors whom I can consult when books and my computer fail me. I am still challenged by the physical aspects of this new career. I have issues with several of my lumbar discs, so I have to be careful about how hard I push myself. I am also, unfortunately, a bit too girly when it comes to mucking around in dirt (aside from basic gardening) and crawling through brush. Don't even get me started about spider webs. [whole-body shudder]

My husband and I started this (ad)venture with an abundance of dreams (some of them conflicting), but without much of a plan. We were simply focused on getting out of the big city and onto the biggest piece of workable land we could afford. This place had the greatest potential, even with all of its flaws (the overabundance of juniper, the contaminated well, the painful dance we've had with internet access, the wallpaper). We realize that we need a timeline, a budget, and some details on the grand vision, but we can't seem to find/make the time to get off the treadmill of mundane maintenance and hammer those things out. Right now, we are just working off of lists and dealing with whatever situation is screaming loudest for attention. I know that this strategy is good only for creating stress and stretching out the realization of our goals, but, as I said before, that treadmill is a hard one to negotiate. We're also trying to find the balance between the high-tech reality (what we have to work with) and saving the old, tested wisdom.

In a sense, we are getting back to our roots (original for my husband, ancestral for me). DH grew up on a farm outside of San Antonio, while I merely remember stories about my mother going mushroom-hunting and battling her mother's rooster. Mom didn't stay on the farm, and I didn't get to grow up learning how to work with the land (although I do remember visiting my nonni during chicken slaughtering time--the large bowl of chicken hearts was pretty cool-looking). We want very much to make this work, to do our part in stewardship for this tract for which we've taken legal responsibility. We want to provide opportunities for our friends to enjoy farm-fresh produce and meat. We want to teach the children in our circle how to work with and respect the energies of the land and the products that come from it.