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.