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Hi Everyone,
As I sit here working at the computer I can hear a sharp chirping that is coming from three little mockingbird chicks just outside our living room window where their parents have built a nest in our Myers lemon tree. I can always tell when the mama or papa mockingbird has arrived with a new beak full of the latest delicacy of worms, crickets or grasshoppers. Now I just hope that the cats will mind their manners and leave them alone.
As I look back over last week I feel like the week was a month long. When I think back to Monday I am surprised to be reminded that the things I did that day was only six days ago. Was it really just last Monday that we found ourselves covered in dirt in the garden with no water to clean up for lunch? We had arranged our schedule so that Papa and Mom would have all day Monday to work on assembling the second garden tunnel in the new Market Garden area. Well, not exactly all day for the morning was busy with milking cows and moving all the animals to new pastures. Then Papa had to do some mowing around the Poultry Barn so that we could move the 180 new laying hen chicks out there from the brooder house. While Papa mowed, Mom and I headed to the garden to weed. I had lots of places to weed (for weeds multiply so fast with the summer heat and rains), and Mom wanted to weed around the mulberry tree. Could someone please tell me why the monkey chased the weasel all the way around the mulberry bush? Anyway, while we were busy weeding the sky turned dark and moisture began to fall upon us. It was not heavy enough to soak us, just enough to get us damp—so we kept on weeding. Now the dirt was wet and the weeds were wet and our clothes were wet—and when you play in the dirt wet you get extra dirty. After about an hour Mom saw Papa driving around in the truck so she thought that he was done and was ready to start on the tunnel—but she soon returned with the sad news that the lawn mower had caught a water pipe and broke it. Papa spent the next two and a half hours fixing the water pipes. Since he couldn’t find all the parts necessary to fix the problem in our PVC pipe stash he had to go to town to buy the supplies he needed. Steve couldn’t wash the milking equipment—well he could wash them because he had them soaking in a sink of hot soapy water, but there was no way to rinse them. So Steve took his lunch break before he came outside to help us. Mom and I couldn’t take lunch because we were too filthy—and there was no water to rinse ourselves off with. So we weeded, and weeded, and weeded! The sun would come out and the humidity would rise, then a cloud would blow over and cool it and drop some rain—back and forth from heat to clouds the next few hours went. Thankfully Steve was clean enough to go in the house to get us some more water to drink. I weeded the zinnia bed in “Martha’s Vineyard” and then I headed over to the okra row—but I didn’t finish that row because about two-thirds of the way down it I laid my arm in an ant bed. Brushing off the ants made me even dirtier. I decided to go weed in the Cottage Garden—but first I made a stop at the fig tree and the tomatoes. Thankfully when I took my garden gloves off my fingers were clean “enough” to pick some fruit. I then started weeding the Echinacea bed. It was a little after 2:00 by now and our bodies were waning in strength and energy. Mom came over in the golf-cart to sit under the oak tree and asked me if I was ready to go inside. Truth be told I was more than ready—but I asked her if we had water yet, and she said no, so I kept working. By 2:30 Papa had the water flowing again and Steve was able to go back to washing the milking equipment and Mom and I were able to hose off all the dirt on our clothes and head for a shower before we could fix lunch. It was 3:30 by the time we served lunch, and since it was raining outside we decided to crash for the rest of the day. We had done our share of weeding and sweating and we were done in!
Tuesday rolled around and once again rain was in the forecast—but I had a customer coming over to “play” in the garden with me. She got here at 11:00, and so did the rain, but before we could go to the garden I had to get the kefir bottled. With her help it didn’t take very long and by that time the rain had stopped. We grabbed our tools and headed for the garden—but we didn’t go to the garden by ourselves for the rain came too! So I guess you can say that we spent the next two hours playing in the garden and playing in the rain. It was not a heavy rain, and it made the temperature cooler to work in, so we did not complain. My goal was to weed the herb beds in the middle of the Cottage Garden. First we tackled the plantain and marjoram bed. Then we pulled a lot of overgrown Spanish needle out of the crinum lily bed—of which to my dismay I realized that the weeds caused me to miss their flowering. Next came the lemongrass bed, and I was able to finish weeding the Echinacea bed which was perfect timing because it is fixing to be in full bloom. It was then lunch time and Cecilia headed home. Once I was clean and my stomach was full it was time for the weekly egg party. When that was over I had to finish making the yogurt. Mom and Papa did manage to work on the garden tunnel some.
Wednesday afternoon is most always a relaxing afternoon, but after playing in the rain for two days, the heat and some late nights listening to the RNC—last Wednesday was a really slow afternoon. When Thursday rolled around I had high hopes of returning to the garden, but the rains returned and they were too heavy to play in. So we did “Administrative work—who has paid, who hasn’t paid, order this, check on that” and I worked on the laundry and cleaned my bathroom. It wasn’t until 4:00 that Mom and Papa were finally able to go outside to work on the tunnel and I started dinner.
Friday morning while I was setting up the milking equipment an elderly man (84) stopped by to see how we milk cows. He has owned three dairies in his life and he has never seen our type of set up. He started milking cows when he was 13, and at one time he had 56 cows that he milked. This was all up in Connecticut and New York. He was used to big holding tanks, a co-op that picks up the milk in a tanker, cows with numbers, milking equipment that never comes apart to be washed, and using a tractor to feed his cows their hay and grain mix. Here at Shepherd’s Hill Farm we milk right into little bucket milkers. We have four of them and each holds no more than 7 gallons. The milk goes straight from the milk can into gallon jugs and then we sell it straight to the consumer. Our milking equipment is also 100% taken apart every day and every inch of it is cleaned inside and outside. As to feeding our cows—the only time we need a tractor is in the winter went Papa puts out big rolls of hay. We do not feed grain at all. When the cows come in to be milked we scoop out a few quarts of alfalfa pellets by hand and dump it in the cows trough. Our cows also have names and they come when called—but last Friday they decided to make liars out of us. We would call a cow and they would lift up their head and look at us—but they would refuse to come in to be milked. So I would try a different cow—and it would do the same thing. Just like a toddler when the parent joyfully announces that he is potty trained—and then they wet themselves when there is company.
I was once again hoping to make it to the garden on Friday—but when our delayed Azure order finally arrived some of the produce was perishing so I spent the day in the kitchen. Mom and Papa did get to work outside—but not on the tunnels. The animals had been moved to new pastures and the eaten fields needed to be mowed down evenly for proper new growth, so they spent until 2:30 mowing. I juiced oranges, tangerines, and grapefruit and I sliced up a five pound block of cheese. After lunch the rain arrived and Papa ran errands while Mom and I tended to a case of cherries that were perishing quickly. It was late by the time Mom and I finished sorting all the good cherries from the bad cherries and it was time to fix dinner and we had no time or energy left to pit the cherries and can them. Therefore, we put them in the fridge until Saturday.
After so many late nights watching the RNC speeches my body was not ready to climb out of bed at 6:00 Saturday morning—and I gladly took advantage of the 7:00 sleep in rules for Saturdays. For months I have woke up at 6:00 on a Saturday and quietly headed over to the milk house to set up the milking equipment and bottle the kefir before breakfast. Some mornings I have even taken strolls out to the garden to turn on the sprinklers—but that was not the case yesterday. I did manage to get up around 6:40, but I only managed to get half of the milking equipment assembled before breakfast. I didn’t get a chance to bottle the kefir until after milking. Then I had to help pack the Gainesville order. While Mom packed the meats, I headed inside to make a batch of kombucha. I was glad to get it done and out of the way, because the rest of the afternoon was spent pitting cherries. We spent hours on the cherries between Friday and Saturday, and in the end we had eight pints of canned cherries to show for all our work. We started out with ten pints—but to our dismay two jars busted in the water bath. Those eight pints will come in grand handy one day (or should I say 8 days) when we get a craving for a cherry cobbler. We had a bowl full of cherries that were not garbage worthy or canning worthy—so I happily turned them into a fresh cherry cobbler last night. If you wanted a piece of cobbler I am sorry, we finished it off this afternoon.
Serving you with Gladness,
Tiare