31 Days to Green Acres - Day 26

Welcome! This post if part of a 31 Day Series. To read other entries, please click here. 

If I had a beard, I would have stroked it smooth in the wrestling, wrangling, and writing of this post.  Do you ever have something you want to say and because of an awareness of the possible sensitivity of the topic you tweak a script in your head?  So reader, take care, I'm going to try and carefully, respectfully, and diligently wrestle with one of the more difficult roles of raising animals.

You know, don't you, that I am selective about the images and ideas I post here.  You can come see how we really live anytime - the water is almost always ready to refresh your tea cup, or if a cuppa smoky Joe is for you, come on in.  Dive into our rich, messy, relational, adventuresome life and share it to the full.  But, I've spoken of this before.  Homesteading, farming, redeeming a lost house and property is hard core.  I try to not overwhelm with pictures of the mess, the lengthy weeks of unfinished projects cluttering up useful spaces, or the baser elements of working with animals.

 But, it must be done.  I cannot share this life, or your dream of country life, raising your own food, being more self sufficient, (if that is what you long for), and fail to include the eyes forced open, jaw set, heart racing moments when you look into the eyes of the animal, give thanks for its life and how it will sustain yours, and then pull the trigger or draw the knife.

I've recently shared with you the defining moment when in our down time, following one of our major projects, we responsively and somewhat impulsively decided to bring animals to the farm.  Our initial ambition  was to personally reject the feedlot model of bringing beef to our family table.  We were horrified and grossed out at our ignorant participation in what we have come to believe is an unsustainable and unsuitable industrial production paradigm.

(An important aside here...there is a lot of passion for a lot of folks surrounding these topics.  I hope I'm able to avoid a sanctimonious or righteous tone. I believe their, our, passion is appropriate   But sometimes, our passion acts as a roadblock to kindness, respect, and civil discourse.  My experience is that passionate people have much to agree on, but are strangely prone to focus on disagreements. Although that focus is not wrong, it can lead to wounding words and blind assumptions that do harm.  I pray we are spared.)

Mercifully, our first year was easy.  Grass grew abundantly.  We experienced zero predator problems.  Water flowed freely and it was neither too hot nor too cold.  And, our cows were particularly amenable, cute, and powerhouses of feed conversion.  A good season assisted us in our first slaughter since our yield had come easily.  That is, we worked hard, but were easily rewarded.  And, oh, there was a delightful increase of satisfaction, variety, and flavor at the family table.

You saw it, didn't you.  The word jumps out at me.  Slaughter.  It must be done to complete a season's cycle and to fulfill the purpose for which the animal was brought on the farm.  But no matter how many times I swallow hard, set my resolve, and do what must be done, I find that each time I grow more sensitive and appreciative of life's rythyms, rituals, and sacrifices.

On on small scale, we are accomplishing what we set out to do.  That is rewarding.  But it comes at a cost.  Yes, we make up front financial commitments each season hoping for a return, but that is only a part.  We invest time, sweat, hours, muscles, space, free time, and freedom to actively enact and advocate change in food supply practices.  We do it for ourselves.  We do it for our customers.  And we do it for our animals.

Humane practices have become so important to us.  And, we are such rookies.  With only two seasons under our farm belts we barely know what we're talking about.  But, the quality of the animal's life matters to us, and not just because of the product yielded, but because of a reverence and respect for the design and dignity of the animal.

This year was hard.  Extremes of weather and personal circumstances tested our limits.  In hindsight, we took on more than we should have, but who could know that so many variables would converge with such intensity?  The animals required much of us, and there were times when in exhaustion or defeat we would find ourselves guilty of the very practices we critique.  We'd fail to get fresh water in the most timely manner, or we wouldn't move animals to fresh pasture soon enough, and the balance would quickly tip into a redirect of energy and attention so that the animals were better served.  That all required more effort.  And with greater effort the yield is more hard fought, and in our case, emotions more fragile.  Near the surface.

Alternately, because of greater emotional exposure, we find ourselves more grateful and more broken at the end of the season.  Grateful that we were able to finish the animals and the butcher says the product looks great.  He says, "You guys nailed it."  That's no small praise and we trust our customers will concur.

Broken because when we bedded the cows down one last time in a confined pasture we knew we'd greet them at the fence in the morning with a rifle.  I can see the place they last lay from my bed.  Their imprint is still fresh in the grass, and even though our laying hens make short work of cleaning up the nasty business left behind, there are sections of green carpet that are still slick red.

Yesterday we killed our cows.  How else do you say it?  Quickly, steadily, without wavering the trigger pulled back and the barrel released it's bullets in quick succession, and cows bent low, yielding their lives to us.

Friend, come to your table with thanks for the life sacrifice an animal made to sustain you.  Remember the farmer who serves both you and the animal.  Join me in gratitude for eyes to see this beautiful broken life we share.  And, please, if you still long for a little piece of this grand journey, be resolved to do hard things.

A Mooooo-ving Weekend Away- Part I

I suggested it in the post just before this one...you know, the "would you like to hear more about that?" question I shamelessly inserted.  And with the general lack of response to that portion of the post, (y'all were gracious, encouraging, and faith building to the most important news and thoughts - so you shouldn't hear me complaining, ok?), I decided whether or not you want to hear the story, I need to capture it to try and cement it in a more factual rather than "you should see the size of the fish I caught" manner.

So, all the information included in this little story of mine is true - although I might venture to use some hyperbolic adjectives, ok?

Lest I shock my face to face friends and family by departing from my usual verboseness, I do manage to use an abundance of words.  So, this is for fun, for learning, and for preserving the story of Liberty Farm.  You might want to grab a mug of steaming coffee or tea (if you're in the chilly midwest), or a tall iced tea and settle in for a bit - ready?

It started like any other day, early.  Which if you know me at all already puts my ability to have clear thoughts or make good judgements in jeopardy.  But, as I stretched and snuggled up to the midnight sneak who had found her way into my bed sometime in the wee morning hours, I felt compelled to get out of bed and rejoice in the glorious morning we'd been given.

Our house is very tall and we have lots of windows, so I have a habit of walking round from view to view to drink in the new light of the day, look for birds, check if Weekend Farmer Husband has already let the chickens out, and if they are mooooving about for the morning, I do an automatic head count and check on the cows - from the second story that is.

Having been interrupted from sleeping well, I didn't trust my perception when I noticed four cows happily munching on the green grass of the horizon.  Are they a little far?  Huh- I wonder if my depth of field is skewed without my glasses - which by the way I need for reading and seeing up close, but without my morning addiction delight of murky, dark, smoky coffee I didn't really think about that.

I did notice my heartbeat quicken though, something certainly didn't seem right.  So, I lurch back into my room to clutch for my glasses and the phone rings.  This part confuses me, but I ignored it.  I figured that whoever was calling me well before 7am could just call back, after all, I needed to see what my lady friends were up to. Should it have occurred to me that a phone call unusually early might have been to alert me that like Miss Clavel encountering distress in the Madeline books, "All is not well" ? Nope, can't say I'm smart like that.

Glasses on, I reappear at the window, and wow, those girls are messing with my depth of field.  They're right along the back fence line.  So, I figure if I see the fence post disappear as the lovelies walk past they're inside the fence, but if not...

Cardiac Arrest.  And, the phone rings again.

This time I'm pretty sure I know who's calling -
 "Laura, did you know your cows are eating my garden? You better do something about that..."

Long frizzy hair flying out behind me, boots barely on my feet, granny jammies hitched up, I catapult out the door to alert Weekend Farmer Husband.

"Get the kids.  I'll need their help."
 Well now, that's a sensible suggestion.

Hollering, I rush into the house, haul the kids outdoors and tell them game on, the cows are loose.

Poor things don't even get to use the bathroom, have a drink of water, or get dressed.  Good thing a couple of them practically sleep with their boots on, and they consider PJ's an unnecessary piece of laundry since they're gonna wash their clothes anyway why would you introduce a new outfit?

A small diversion here - for those of you (us) old enough to remember a popular TV sitcom Newhart this next little bit will make sense.  For the rest of you, allow us older folks a chuckle, ok?  Our cows have an established and evident social order.  One cow is the leader, two follow closely, and the last is rather independent.  We don't really name our cows per se, but it's helpful to have a means of identifying who's who.  So, the lead cow is Larry...ah ha, you're catching on.  I know, I know they're girls, but just for fun-
"Hi. I'm Larry.  This is my brother Daryl, and this is my other brother Daryl."

This is Larry:

Behind her is Daryl.

And here's her other brother, (sister) Daryl:

And, if you think we cannot give names that are a better fit, here's "Black Cow".

Seems like now is the right time to introduce you to the other main characters in this epic.


(I tremble ever so slightly in the telling of their names as I'm aware of a currently influential woman, home educating mom to six kids, farming, blogging, best selling gal, and she speaks so highly of her husband who bears one of these names.  No, silly, not black cow.  No association, ok?)


Back to my gripping tail tale - These girlz are skittish to the max.  So anything that's ever worked before in getting the cows to where we want/need them to go isn't working.  We encircle them and try to use their natural instincts to turn them towards home.  Treats come out far earlier in the day than they are accustomed to, and let me tell ya', we'll fill their buckets to overflowing trying to lure them into the pasture we've just opened up.

And then, the neighbors dogs start barking like crazy, and those cows turn tail and bust into the woods just behind our property line.

Weekend Farmer Husband and three kids follow them into the woods.  We've never gone in there before and remember,we're relocated suburbanites who are learning this country life as we go.  So, off into the woods with no idea of why or what now.  But, there are school buses whizzing up and down the street, farm equipment lumbering by on the way to fields, commuters pulling out of driveways - and have I mentioned we live on a fairly busy road and our cows are loose?

It's been an hour, a few of the kids have had the sense to come back and get a couple of radios, cell phones, and a bicycle since we're suddenly trying to cover better than 100 acres on foot.  None of them have seen their dad or the cows.  And I don't know what to do.  So I make a really rookie decision.

I decide to alert "the authorities".  My stress level is though the roof, not so much for the cows, but for all the traffic, and those are big animals, and what if they get on the road, and what if... And, we live in a rural agricultural county so animal control must have had a call like this before, right?  Oh- they're not open.  So, I feel like it's in the public's best interest to alert another layer of authority and after some time a serious looking public servant pulls up in a pretty impressive vehicle.

 And he's not pleased that I called because they don't deal with this sort of thing, and he needs to know why I alerted them, and could he please have my name and birth date (exit to fancy vehicle to run background check...), and my simple answer of trying to exhibit diligence in alerting the community at large of the beasts careening in the woods was insufficient.

Thankfully, an interested, pleasant, and kind county deputy with Animal Control had made himself present and was willing to relieve the other stern public servant of this distasteful responsibility of dealing with a caffeine deprived, granny jammied, rookie country girl. For several hours he helped, was unceasingly courteous, and continuously encouraging.

The deputy suggested I call some friends for help, and do we know anybody who knows anything about cows?  Huh.  We figured we'd learn on the job so we clearly didn't know enough about cows, and being still pretty new to the area sure didn't know folks who know about cows.

But, one dear friend took my call, heard the desperation in my voice, and shortly thereafter her husband and son arrived to help.