It is finally a clear sunny day on the homestead.  It has been rainy, freezing and altogether dreary.  They are again calling for a wintry mix tomorrow.  However, with the last frost of the season date about a month away, I know winter is well on its way out.

The next few days brings a tough work schedule as I am working two more days this week and one day off with the next day switching to my night shift schedule for several shifts.  It has been a long week already, so I am trying to hold on to a positive attitude through these next few days.

Everyone seemed particularly bright this morning when I stepped out into the fresh air.  The sun shone brightly on the screaming goats and restless chickens throwing themselves into the coop door.  As if I wasn’t already fully aware they are not pleased being in their coop when its obviously not night time.  I brought down several treats for everyone including a leftover sweet bundt cake and raisin bagels.  The pigs thoroughly enjoyed an appetizer of coffee cake before their grain.

   

The girls scrambled to be the first to partake in the raisin bagels, it typically involves one hen snatching a bite and running for her life while others chase her down.

I love the circular beauty of taking care of animals and they in turn take care of you.

 

We sipped cold water on a hot porch as we swatted flies. Guinea hens raced through the yard shouting their protest.

“Where do they sleep?” I asked the farmer’s wife. 

“What? I can’t hear you, the guinea hens are too loud!” 

“I said WHERE DO THEY SLEEP? I DON’T SEE A COOP!” 

The noise faded as the pack passed.  

“Oh them. They sleep in the trees. Every once in a while a fox gets them, but they’re sturdy.” 

So much to learn. So much to do. 

Tom and I visited a family that raised a little bit of everything. A “whole farm,” they call it. We looked down the necks of llamas who guarded sheep. Goats nipped at our heals and cows grazed on a hill far away. 

To say that this retired cop from New York and his wife did a little of everything would be an understatement.  

Goat soap, goat milk, beef, sheep.  

I’m exhausted just thinking of it. 

Gruesome though their schedule was, they loved it. 

I think we’re gonna love it, too. 

Here’s to 2013 in North Carolina staring up at a blue sky framed with majestic poplars. 

Happy New Year! 

 As I sit at my computer on this cold winter's day, I seem to be making quite a few observations.  I thought I would share them with you! 

• We had a very merry Christmas here at Green Eggs & Goats!  We dodged a bullet last night by not being hit with the worst of the storms, and for that we are truly blessed!  We were even rewarded with a little snow this morning (a rare event indeed in Alabama!)

• Apparently, although, my goats run for the barn at the first raindrop, standing in the snow doesn't bother them!  We never got any snow last year for me to observe that!

• My ducks aren't as crazy as I thought!  Generally, although they have plenty of places to seek shelter, they prefer just to paddle around the pond at night, or at least any time we try to herd them toward the barn.  They also lay their eggs wherever they darn please.  Well, last night we had particularly stormy, nasty weather, and this morning, lo and behold, there were 2 ducks eggs in the nest boxes in the barn, exactly where they belong!  Score!  We'll see how long that lasts.

Gotta fix the fence.

  

Goats are playful animals.  If you have never spent any time around goats, I urge you to change that.  I love to interact with them and watch their antics!  If you are ignoring them when they want to play, they will sometimes just bump right into you until you start paying attention to them.  Goats also love to climb and jump.  I once witnessed one of our goats trying desperately (but unsuccessfully) to climb a tree to get to the leaves she had her eye on, and I saw our youngest goat literally jump into the crotch of a tree to get a better vantage point yesterday!

Like many goat owners, we have recognized a need for our goats to have some "specialty goat toys."  

  

The Goat Playground

  

We dug holes and "planted" tires in the ground.  The goats love to jump from tire to tire!

  

My husband brought home a wire spool from work.

  

Our kids outgrew their slide, but the goats didn't!  They seem to enjoy knocking it over!

Keeping goats busy, fed and entertained goes a long way towards keeping them contained.  Goats are notorious for breaking out of their fences, but the happier they are inside your fence, the less likely they are to try escaping!   Take a look around your yard.  I bet you can find something for your goats to climb on that won't cost you a dime!

See what else is going on at our little homestead at  www.greeneggsandgoats.com.

I had to break into my stash last night. It has been a stressful week here on the farm.  I had been so good, but I couldn’t take it anymore. But I needed something to make it through night chores and frozen chocolate bar tasted so good.

This weekend we were hit with the start of a heat wave, had a birthday party for my 6 year old, had a BBQ celebrating a friend’s new dream job, and had my normal farm chores, of course. The heat wave cost us so far 3 young rabbits, and a flock of 11 newly hatched guineas. The rabbits were a surprise since they never lacked water and were in the shade, but the heat and humidity were too much. We also had 19 kids running about which might had added to their stress. I now have put fans on the rabbits’ cages, add ice a couple times a day to their water dishes, and have created a kids free zone around the rabbits until the temperature drops. 
Today was the hottest day so far, and they did well. I cannot let my guard down yet. It’s not supposed to cool down until this weekend.

We took a couple days and went to the Midwest Renewable Energy Association Fair in Custer WI. It was an invaluable experience. I attended sessions on beekeeping, food preservation and chickens, but spent most of my time in the children’s area going to sessions with my girls on nest building, snakes, turtles, making necklaces, play dough and learning about music. My husband attended sessions on renewable energy, especially focusing on solar and wind systems.

I got the electric fence around the goat pasture Friday and my husband, Rick, moved the goats in Saturday. There is a saying in the goat world that goats spend 90% of their days planning an escape and 10% executing the plan.  I believe this is true. I didn’t have one escape until Sunday night at the last bit of light at dusk. We put her (Rose) back in. Five minutes later she was out. It was too dark to see where she was getting out so I just tied her up in the pasture in the shelter. In the morning, I untied her and she showed me in less than 3 minutes how she got out. She kept calling to the other goats to follow her.  I will need to add another electric line to
the top of the fencing, making 4 lines. Pretty soon, a garter snake won’t get through.

The garden is doing well. I finished planting potatoes last week. I think I put in 131 hills. A friend asked me what I was thinking and I confessed I am an idiot. A couple hills just kept multiplying, the grocery store gave me 30+ lbs of seed potatoes they were going to toss out, and I had room in the garden……. The corn and tomatoes look good. I didn’t have 1 carrot come up, so replanted. My fingers are crossed. I didn’t think my white beets came up so I replanted them. I later found out that I had planted them over a row. I guess I will have plenty of beets. I have quite a few volunteer pumpkins and watermelons coming up in the sweet corn. They are located where the pig pen was last year. Guess he missed a couple of seeds. It works, since I hadn’t planted any. I live in a county that is the melon capital of the state and have friends that grow melons professionally so have lots of access to acres of melons. I barter them for eggs. I still have a clunk (15 ft. by 40 ft.) of tilled area to plant. I am going to put in fodder beets for livestock feed. They are short seasoned and good filler.

The Niles’ family added another animal species to the farm. We got a puppy. I had been researching dogs for a year, and thought it would be a good time to add one. I had deer tracks through my garden which is within 100 ft. of my house. She is a Vizsla puppy. She, Sugar, has been a good addition to the family. I have been working with her so she understands the difference between farm animals and wild animals. Vizslas are hunting dogs, pointers to be exact. She hasn’t bitten a chicken , yet. I pray she continues to do so well. She has more patience than I do, The broilers are driving me nuts. I still have 19 that need to be butchered and 53 others that will be ready in a couple weeks. They are under foot, into everything and messy. There are a couple of the ready to goes that are the size of a turkey. We have been either too busy or it has been too hot. Saturday is supposed to be cooler so I hope to do them then. 

Ohh the dog days of summer. 

Well it has been a long time in between blog posts, but that has been because we have simply been so busy on the farm. Spring came early to the mountains of North Carolina, so we really didn't get much of a winter break.

We have been working on the house a bunch. Most of the light fixtures are in, but the biggest news is that we have a brand new hardwood floor now. We went with locally milled #2 Hickory in 3-, 4-, and 5-inch widths with Southern Cypress in the bathroom. Neither of us had ever put down hardwood before, so it went pretty slow. Hickory is the hardest domestically produced wood for flooring, so the cheap hardwood flooring nailer we used jammed a lot. A whole lot. Our best day we put down around 150 square feet, which is about half the rate of a professional. About as good as we could expect to do. The Southern Cypress was very easy to put down, as it is much softer. We chose it for its superior water and rot resistance.

  

 

A few weeks ago, we bought 4 jersey/holstein cross dairy calves. I know I have said before that we were not going to do that again. I wish I had heeded my own advice. We lost 3 of the 4 to E-Coli. Matt and I spent over a week tube feeding and giving large doses of antibiotics to no avail. This was one of the most heartbreaking times I have had farming. We did absolutely everything we could, but it hit so fast. A calf would be fine one day, and the next morning unable to take milk. I found it interesting that the youngest calf was the one that made it. We got him off the farm when he was hours old, while the others were at least several days old. I have a theory that the ones that were at the dairy longer simply had more time to be exposed. The scary thing is how antibiotic-resistant things like E-Coli have become. Dairies use antibiotics in almost everything they feed a calf, so when they actually need them, they simply don't work or provide little relief. So, lesson learned. Commercial dairies are never getting any calf business from me again. I took too much of a loss, and the suffering and loss of life was too much.

 

On the bright side, we sold off two of the older Jersey/Holstein steers and bought two nanny goats and their four kids, and a 5-month-old Black Baldie heifer we have named Panda. Hank the Dexter bull is very curious about the new lady in the pasture. Unfortunately, we have her put up in a pen until she is weaned. We got her from a neighbor whose fence line adjoins ours. The first time he delivered her, she ran through five fences and back home to mama. We are going to leave her in there for a few weeks with all she can eat until she is fully weaned and eating out of our hands.

 

 

Bessie the Dexter had a bull calf back in December that has grown off really well. Unfortunately, during the time we were dealing with sick dairy calves, Bessie sprained her ankle and gave us quite a scare. We put her up for awhile, and she got over it, but it was really stressful to have my boss cow hurt like that. I was relieved it wasn't broken. Dexter cattle are such happy little cows that even if they are heavily pregnant (thankfully she wasn't at the time), they will run downhill doing the happy cow dance. There isn't much you can do about it, but it scares me that they will hurt themselves to a possible fatal degree.

We are going into the pig raising business this year. Gertie is over 500 pounds now, and we will hopefully be taking her over to the neighbors to get bred really soon. I tried to sell her because I didn't think I would have the time to fool with piglet raising this year, but I have folks calling me and saying they can't find piglets anywhere and offering $75 a piece!

Back on the house front, we are ordering our solar panels next week. We are getting two panels for a total of 460 watts of solar power. Since all our light fixtures are 12 volt LEDs, even if I have every light fixture turned on, we will only be using slightly more than 100 watts. We still have a few expensive things to buy for the solar, like the battery bank and charge controller, but we are getting there. All told, counting the solar hot water set up, we will have about $1,800 in our solar set up, including some 12 volt outlets in the house. Our television is going to be 12 volt, and I will be able to use the system for my laptop and tablet as well as charging batteries and the cell phone. It will be nice to have some back up power for the chest freezer as well. In a grid down situation, it will at least give me some time to pressure can what is in the freezer. Also, we can have backup power for the electric fence and such.

Oh, and other good news includes a hatch of baby ducks and three or four more ducks sitting!

  

The previous post left off with me sleeping on a basement couch.  Human baby on one side and newborn goat kid in an old playpen on the other.  Through all of this, and for the previous week or so, the wallflower character in the barn was my favorite goat, Micah.  She was a placid old girl, getting on in years and the last remaining doe from our original “starter herd.”  She’s a whole story in and of herself, maybe for a different time.  At the present, however, she was a concern.  She was bred to kid in about a week, but had started to lose condition a bit towards the end.  I’ll save you from all the veterinary details, but suffice it to say that the previous day she slipped severely downhill (figuratively anyway).
 

We doctored her and pampered her the night before, when we were out in the barn working with Ruth and her babies, but nevertheless it was looking grim.  So, it was disheartening but not surprising the next morning when Matt came in from doing chores to deliver the news that she was slipping away.  However, he said he could also see movement inside.  Clearly, at least one kid was still alive - which presented a dilemma in regards to the dying mother.

And then Matt left for his day job.

(Grudgingly of course, he knew he was going to miss a big day on the farm!)

My mind scrambled quickly.  We are experiencing the same plight of all rural animal producers - a severe shortage of food and farm animal vets.  Even if our vet was in his truck and able to start towards our farm as soon as he received our call, it would still be an hour.  And Micah didn’t have that kind of time.  Or more specifically - her kids did not.  

I picked up the phone to call my cousin - a local cattle producer who I knew had veterinary experience in the matter at hand.  It was time for drastic measures.  Unfortunately, I was suffering from a nasty cold and had lost my voice the day before, so I felt the need to identify and explain myself as soon as he I heard him say “Hello?” (You know, so he wasn’t wondering why this scary, raspy voiced creep was calling him very early in the morning!)

“Hey, this is Alex, I just have a cold.  I’m sorry to call so early, but I have a huge favor to ask.”  (I probably allowed a few more jumbled and frantic sentences to spill out before allowing him a reply.)

“Umm, ma’am, I think you have the wrong number.”

*Gulp*  Sure did.  I apologized profusely before hanging up, although the stranger on the other end was probably just wishing I would hang up so that he could go back to sleep.  Or at least so he didn’t have to hear any more from this voice that sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard.

I re-gathered my wits and called the right number.  It was time for a c-section.

Micah was 99.9% gone when we met out in the barn a short time later, and fading quickly.  There was no doubt it was time.  We carried her out into sun for better light, spread old t-shirts on the frosty hay scattered on the ground and began.  I silently said “goodbye” to my old friend and, in an incredible illustration of the cycle of life, one body took its last breath, and we worked to get new bodies to take their first.  

One at a time we pulled them out, bulky twins for being a bit premature, and once they were out a third was found!  They seemed apparently dead, but within minutes all three were breathing and emitting hopeful sounds of life.  We dried them and carried them into the house to warm up, placing them into the same old human-intended playpen that already held one goat kid.  Our very own caprine newborn intensive care unit.  Why did I not take pictures of the process?  I don't know, I'm terrible at remembering to get pictures of important things, I get too caught up in the moment.  Oh, and my hands were a bit busy.

One of the triplets didn’t make it - he lasted about 24 hours but just never gained the strength.   The other two were strong enough to take a bottle after only about a day of tube feeding.  They were laying up on their chests within 24 hours and standing within 48.  A short time after that they were strong enough to move out to the barn with the rest of the herd - an incredible testimony to the resiliency of life!

They came into the world dramatically and have added the “normal” chaos to our farm that only bottle babies bring.  You know - kids who refuse to stay in the barn, pop right through the squares in cattle panels long after they should not be able to, are found grazing in the backyard, get out of the pasture to play with the dogs (and in fact, get out to sleep with the dogs at night instead of with the other goats...)  You get the idea.  Luckily, now that they are 3 months old, well weaned and too big to slip through cattle panels, they are now staying in and behaving more like goats.

They were born right before Christmas so we named the smaller kid Tiny Tim:
 
Traditional markings for a Boer goat are, in short, white body with colored head.  The other kid’s color is not restricted to his head/neck but also goes down his right foreleg.  Therefore, he is considered “non-tradional”.  So we named him Elton John.
 

 
The playpen 

Since my last post 29 kids have been born to 13 does...it is definitely the year of the white goat! Dairy goats are very prolific animals; most of the does have at least two kids, many have had triplets and two have had singles.

It's interesting to compare kidding this year to lambing at Flying Mule Farm last year. Here with the goats at Toluma we usually kid in a barn, then move the moms and babies into their own freshen pens for 24 to 48 hours so they can bond, eat and not get trampled, stressed or mixed up. It is labor and capital intensive. 

 
Some of our freshen pens, kind of like my cubicle in a past life. 

When I helped with lambing last February, it was out in a leased field with no structures around. The ewes were expected to make sure their lambs were cleaned off, nursing and ready to go within 20 minutes of hitting the ground. If an ewe wasn't a good mother and her lamb died or had to be bottle raised, she usually didn't get to stay in the flock.

The goats I am working with now have not had selection pressure to be good mothers. We keep replacement does based on the amount of milk their mothers produce as well as the length of the mothers lactation cycle; a good udder, general good health and mild temperament (i.e., no kicking in the milking parlor) are also important factors.

Two thirds of the kids born this season have been male...we are still hoping for the female tally to catch up!

 

Come, sip your morning coffee and join us for our morning chores.

 

Today I'm going to share with you what this mornings chores were like here on Dream Come True Farm. This is what I love about having a family farm. I have shown you what we do here now its time to meet some of the critters that help our farm be a success.

  

And meet my two favorite farm hands. 

 

With camera in hand I followed my husband Mike and Grandson Luke out into the barn yard this morning to do chores. Luke spends 2 days a week with us here on the farm and when Mike is not working his phone company job he enjoys doing chores with Luke.

  

So we start with clean up from the night before. We clean each morning and each night here. Then we wash out and freshen all water buckets making sure there is plenty of clean fresh water for everyone, especially in the heat. While we clean up we have a chance to visit with all the animals which is my favorite part.

  

They stand patiently watching us clean, some coming over for a pat or scratch. Its always quiet in the mornings here so chores are relaxing.

  

 

Luke finds repairs that he thinks need tending to, so he tackles whatever it is that needs his attention!

  

 

After clean up we feed hay to everyone!  They all settle into their spot and begin munching on the hay, eating for around 3 hours or so. Then its a drink a water, find a shaded spot and nap. Napping goes on all day on and off, on and off. You can see who else is going in for a nap. Luke worked hard all morning, now I guess he'll find a shaded spot and catch a few zzzz's himself.

 

I love having him join us out on the farm for chores.  Evening comes and we repeat the chores around 6:00-7:00 pm. Not so bad right? I find it very enjoyable and relaxing.

I'm not sure what I'd do without at least a few animals on our farm. I think about that as I age, but I imagine I'll always have something here, even if it's just a few.

I hope you enjoyed your morning with us on the farm. Now its off to the fiber room for some wool work!      Pam

 

Just remember to be kind.
 

 

Always look the person straight in the eye when talking to each other.

 

  

And don't get "uppity" when things don't go your way.
 

 

Just remember...nice begets nice.

 

 

In other words...The Golden Rule 

 

Our new little goat, Rachael, is fitting right in.

Upon bringing her home, both Rustic Russ and I began "talking" to her as her mother would.

Low, reassuring Baaaaa.

Being a surrogate goat Mama and Papa comes in handy. 

We call and she comes a runnin’.

She wants that “motherly” reassurance. 

And that “fatherly” approval.

The only time she isn't responding back, is when her little mouth is full.

Thank goodness she likes leaves, and not berries. 

Not yet anyway.

At the end of the day, she must return to the company of other ruminants. 

It’s only right. 

Until tomorrow ~ gotta love those goats ~ God willing,

Woodswoman

 

 

Last night, our modest quest for self-sufficiency took a drastic turn.

I mean, gardening – fine. Making bread from whole grain? Great. I’ve even got my own recipe for homemade dog treats. I almost have to. When you have a pack of dogs and you care as much about what goes into their body as you do about what goes into your own, that can get real expensive, real quick. And OK, I’ll admit it; awhile back I was telling my husband that I thought we should get some chickens for eggs. I was extolling the virtues of chickens. Our neighbor behind us, Mr. F, keeps chickens, I told him. They don’t smell if you take care of them. Mr. F showed me his chickens, and they don’t smell! I’m talking about just three or four chickens!

Repeatedly, he laughed at me, and told me there was no WAY that we were getting chickens. He drew the line at chickens.

And yet, I cannot PRY the Northern Tool and Equipment Catalogue out of his hands. What does that have to do with anything, you wonder? Well, nothing actually, but when you still have one foot in suburbia, and homesteading is something new to you, a mere couple of chickens don’t seem to be such a tremendous leap from wanting to buy a tractor.

That Mom might want chickens (and a goat for milk) has become something of a family joke. When I ordered six chickens from a local farmer, I can’t tell you how many times my husband said, “These chickens will be dead, right? These are dead chickens that you’re getting, right?” Honestly, I wanted to thump him on the head with one of those dead chickens by the time I got them home.

The farmer offered to bring me over a few in a cage in the bed of his pickup truck just to mess with him.

But I declined.

I mean, I wanted to convert my husband. Not antagonize him.

And then last night, he threw the gauntlet down.

He said, and I quote, “If you want to get chickens, that’s O.K. Go ahead and order them.”

Gulp.

The last time my husband came to me with this kind of life-altering pronouncement, eleven months later we were bringing home a baby.

Um…WHAT?

I mean, I’ve thought about it. I’ve talked about it. It seems perfect IN THE ABSTRACT. Philosophically speaking. But to actually do it?

Okay. It’s confession time. It may be – I’m not positive, but it MAY be – that that one foot of mine that’s still in suburbia is stuck fast in some recently poured concrete.

Still. Suddenly chickens are on the table (no pun intended).

So I pulled out my copy of The Backyard Homestead, a book that I love, and turned to the section on raising chickens; a section that I had given only a cursory reading up till now. And I know I have a GRIT issue around here somewhere that talks about chicken coops or raising chickens, or something about chickens … and I’m going to read every blog post about raising chickens because I know there’s a wealth of demystifying information right here at my fingertips and because quite frankly – I’m a little bit scared.

But I’m also kind of excited.

It seems that on the ladder of self-sufficiency, “Can you feed yourself?” may be the first rung. I mean, I’m sure it’s cheaper to poke seeds in the dirt and raise chickens than it is to install windmills or solar panels or to build your own home from the lumber on your property (if you even have any).

So. What the heck. I’m game.

I shared with him what little I did know about raising chickens for eggs – and the part that most concerns me about the prospect. It’s not the poop. Are you kidding me? We’ll have our own fertilizer! It’s not that I might occasionally get my hand pecked. It’s not that having chickens requires a twice a day commitment between the cleaning, the feeding and the gathering of eggs. It’s that they really only lay well for a year and two, and that after that, apparently, the best place for them is in the stew pot.

And around here, we tend to get attached to things. How else would I have ended up with four dogs? Quite frankly, having had a few litters of puppies around here over the years, it’s a wonder we don’t have twenty.

But the fact remains that we do eat meat; that the chickens we bought from the local farmer lived for about six or seven weeks before their trip to the butcher; and that they almost certainly had a better six or seven weeks of life than anything I might pick up out of most grocery store coolers.

And then my husband said something both surprising and interesting to me, something along the lines of how having to raise and care for and eventually eat our chickens was likely to reawaken our spiritual sides.

I couldn’t agree more.

I began gardening with gusto because of a perpetual concern about what I’m putting in my family’s bodies, and because of a distrust of the gargantuan pharma-medica-food monster that otherwise runs every aspect of our modern lives. What I didn’t expect from the experience was to be thinking about faith; about what it means to believe in something that you cannot see – like that little seed unfolding some fraction of an inch below the soil line – and upon which you are dependent. I didn’t expect that I would feel so closely dependent both on the earth and on my own efforts, and that this dependency would become tinged with reverence. I didn’t expect to feel a responsibility for every seedling I started, and for every transplant I purchased. And I sure didn’t expect to feel guilt and shame over all of the ones that I allowed – through neglect, or ignorance, and sometimes I suspect through no fault of my own – to die. That is, the ones that died for no good reason; the ones that were not able to fulfill their natural life cycle and end up on my table. I didn’t expect to have an increased awareness of and respect for nature; or a heightened awareness of the cycle of life, and the fact that we, too, are in that cycle, and that life doesn’t last forever, and isn’t supposed to.

So if we do this chicken thing, we’re not going to do it in ignorance. Because one day we’re going to have to look a living creature in the eye, and say, “Thank you” for an upcoming meal. And when we do have that last conversation, I’d like to think that they might also be thinking, “Thank you” to me.

That is both a radical and a sobering thought.

And one we ought to be having more often, I suspect.

So, chickens are on the table, and we have a lot of learning to do. We also have a lot of other, more pressing things to do in the meantime, like solve my compost problem that I just keep putting off, and reading the Root Cellaring book that arrived yesterday, and finding the right storage place for my eight million sweet potatoes. Oh, and finishing the addition we’re putting on the house. Hopefully by Christmas. So, if we can do all of that, and educate ourselves, and my husband builds the coop (no problem there), we may try a few hens this coming spring. So stay tuned.

Oh, and by the way. He’s also on board about the goat. But we’re going to have to work our way up to that.

I love watching our horses.

They are so ... in the moment.

Always vigilant about their surroundings.

Even if it's just to check out the new "kid" on the block.

Until tomorrow – Enjoying life today – God willing,

Woodswoman

I can't believe how the summer has flown by! Earlier this summer, as the days turned warmer, we planted our garden. We broke brand-new ground this year, utilizing the rich soil close to the goats' dry lot. Kate was facinated by the whole process and was a big help! She was quite thrilled at having her very own new garden tools (a stellar garage sale buy, I might add!!), and put them right to work!

She helped me plant our cucumbers. We are enjoying them at this time and are worth all the hard work!

As I look back on how busy our summer has already been, I am thankful for my hard-working goats! I have been on the lawn mower only twice this year. Granted, our yard is a far cry from "manicured," but it is passable, especially when we live way out where we do!

Our goats appreciate the delicate lawn forage, leaves from over-grown young trees, and scrubby bushes. The last two years we have only used our lawn mower a handful of times. The goats are most happy to help with the yard work. Goats have lots of uses for those of us trying to "Go Green" by saving some money in these hard times, as well as the additional benefit of doing something good for the environment by not using our lawnmower, among other things. Here is a quick list of how goats can help anyone GO GREEN!!

1. Lawn mowers. We utilize a portable electric fence and move our goats around the property, rotating them from place to place as the grass and other brush is consumed. A solar charger provides portable (and inexpensive) electricity.

2. Free fertilizer. We have never fertilized our lawns or the pastures the goats are on. They do it for us with their wonderful little natural fertilizer pellets! During kidding season, we keep the goats in a lot and feed them hay. The hay and manure that piles up in the area can then be scooped up at leisure and spread on gardens, flowerbeds, given to friends, or sold at the Farmers' Market.

3. Herbicide-free noxious weed control. We have lots of nasty weeds around, including seresia lespedisia, poison ivy, cockelburrs, and ragweed. Goats will eat these and eventually can kill them out by keeping them eaten down to where they will not be able to reproduce. Seresia lespedisia needs a little more management, as the weed can be spread through feces. It is recommended that goats be placed on a dry lot after consuming the plant during its seeding phase. An additional plus to using goats to help control seresia lespedisia is that this plant appears to help control internal parasites (think all-natural wormer).

4. Pasture "clean-up." Goats prefer weeds and brush to grass, so they are ideal for improving pastures. They are easy on the turf as well, so a large number of goats can be put on an area to clean it up quickly if that is the need. A pasture rotation system where goats are rotated in and out with other livestock such as cattle or horses is a great way to balance out your pasture and get rid of weeds without having to use herbicides.

5. Control ticks. Since goats clean up tall weeds, brush, and other scrub greenery, they can greatly reduce the tick population. We generally do not see ticks on our goats, so they seem to have a natural resistance to them. And, since utilizing the goats in our yard, we have noticed the tick population dwindle to next to nothing. However, a trek across areas where we do not allow the goats at this time almost always ends with the ritual "tick burning." The most entertaining way to kill a tick is to hold a flame to it and watch it explode!

6. Tree trimming. Goats LOVE trees. That being said, they are great tree trimmers, but be sure to keep them away from young trees you actually want to keep around because they WILL eat them. We keep cattle panels around to fence off small areas we don’t want our goats into like flower beds and small trees. Goats will also skirt (eat the bark of) a larger tree, leading to it's demise, so put fence around the trunk and they will just eat the branches and leaves that they can reach. As you can see in this picture, the low-hanging branches of this tree have been stripped clean, making it much easier to trim.

7. Inexpensive entertainment. I always love to watch the goats work. Especially when they are trying to reach that elusive leafy morsel waaaaay up high! They stand on their hind legs and pirouette like a clumsy ballerina, waving their front legs in front of them as if trying to use the air itself to climb higher. And, a word of caution … if you are standing under the tree of which they are so trying to get to, they WILL use YOU to get to their target! Think "human ladder." Try explaining THOSE bruises to your spouse.  For even more entertainment, put out old kids' playsets, slipper-slides, swings, etc.

Young goat kids especially find these irresistable, but I find the biggest laughs come on those unexpected cool snaps in the fall when the older does feel compelled to catapult off the toys!

So, as you can see, goats are a great way to "Go Green" and save some green! And you don't need a whole herd! A couple will do the trick for most yards! Let them do the hard work, and you can sit back with your glass of iced lemonade in your lounge chair under a shade tree. Ahhhhh….summer!

I believe I have discovered where I truly reside! Our dreams of hundreds and hundreds of acres, barns and rolling pastures filled with livestock are just that a dream. We would love to someday have all that, but for now we have about three acres and I think that is a good place to start. I call it farm-urbia!

We live in a quiet little town that still has a few large farms and quite a few open fields, but we are not primarily "farm country." I had to change my way of looking at where we are. I was becoming angry because we didn't have enough land, not enough barns and definitely not enough area to put all the animals we wanted; but we do have plenty of all of those things to get started! We have our little flock of chickens, we are getting two little goats, we have a medium size barn, a small barn and plenty of ambition. In our lives right now that is just what we need.

I want to be ready when we get the opportunity to have bigger, but I have reconciled with myself that if we "bit off more than we could chew" we would end up hating everything we had worked towards and and wanted for so long. We are as you would say "Green-horns" at our life’s little venture. I grew up on a beautiful little farm but have spent the bulk of my adult life enjoying the easy or, as I like to call it, lazy way of life.

I am tired of living lazy, I want to be a participant in every single aspect of my existence, and I want my children to see the rewards that can be had from making your own life, not just living along with everyone else. I want to be part of that group of amazing human beings that can tell you how, who and where every item they have comes from. I want to feel proud when I sit down with my family and enjoy a meal that "we" farmed, raised and made with our own two hands and hard work. I believe that we can get our feet off the ground and get our start right here in our little piece of "farm-urbia" for now; at least until bigger and better comes our way!

My day ended with the quip from my husband: "Looks like Kate got some placenta on her shoe." It was true. I looked over the side of the bathtub where I was trying to soak away the day's latest misadventures and saw what he was talking about…a bright red blotch of blood smeared across Kate's little white tennis shoe. Kate, at 15 months, is frequently part of our farming activities and today's crazy day was no exception. So, here's what happened:

I spent the majority of the day working at my parttime job as a home health nurse. I came home, tired and ready to sit down for a while. Doug and his Dad were outside working on our old tractor, which had recently decided to go on strike after a particularly hard day of hauling hay.

"Have you checked the goats?" I asked, knowing we had three left to kid, and one of them was a first-timer.

"No we've been stuck here since early afternoon," came the reply. I handed Kate off to her grandpa and headed toward the doe pen. I fulled expected to return shortly, so didn't even bother to change out of my scrubs. However, when I approached the pen, I could clearly see one of the does was ready to kid … NOW.

My heart did a little leap (as it does every time I see a new baby!), and I gently entered the pen, so as not to scare the new momma. It was our last first-timer left, a fullblood Boer doe named Polly. She had afterbirth visible from her backside. But I didn't see any babies. Maybe she hadn't had them yet, and what I thought was afterbirth was really waterbag? As I approached Polly, who was nonchalantly munching on hay, I noticed a small white thing at the far corner of the pen. Yikes!!! She already had a baby, and she was nowhere NEAR mom! I jogged to the baby, who looked remarkably good considering she was dry, meaning she was at least a couple of hours old. She was bright-eyed and sitting up. Then another spot of white caught my eye, nearly buried in the deep hay. Another one! I scooped up both babies, healthy adorable does, and took them into the barn. I put them, squirming and squalling, into a kidding stall and went out to grab Polly. She wanted nothing to do with the babies. She scampered away, trailing afterbirth after her as she expelled the remains of her birthing process. About that time, Doug came into the barn with Kate in his arms.

"Polly had her babies and doesn't want them," I said.

"Great," came the reply.

"Well, let's get your dad to take Kate and …" Doug interrupted me.

"He's already left."

Now the situation was a little trickier. I needed Doug to help me wrangle this doe. But our own little kid needed supervision, I noted as she slid around the barn floor on the recently dropped afterbirth.

"Oh, gross!" I picked her up and moved her out of the mess. I took a minute to evaluate the situation.

"Ok, well, put Kate in that kidding stall," I said, indicating the one right next to us, "and put Annabelle in with her…maybe they will keep each other happy."

Annabelle was one of the first kids born and Kate really liked her and her sister, Angel. They were particularly gentle baby goats. Kate was already happily "feeding" hay to Annabelle in the stall, so we just closed the door.

Doug entered the stall I was in, dragging Polly along. Doug cornered Polly against a wall. I picked up a baby and tried to get the little goat to nurse. Polly wanted nothing to do with this invasion. She bucked, ducked, kicked, snorted, and did anything possible to rid herself of the humans trying to hold onto her and the strange little sucking beasts trying to attach themselves to her. Clearly, this was not going to work.

I decided to run to the house and get a bottle and container so I could milk Polly then give the babies her milk via the bottle. Should be easier, right?

I reentered the stall and positioned myself to start milking. Now to help you envision this, we are in a dark stall, about 4 foot by 6 foot, Doug wrestling with Polly to hold her still and me, practically standing on my head, trying to milk her. My first several attempts ended with the container being kicked out of my hand. Luckily, no milk was in it yet to waste. I finally was able to get a stream shooting out about 8 inches away, far from the reach of her flailing hooves, into the awaiting vessel. I was constantly pushing hungry babies aside and dodging well-aimed kicks by Polly.

Then, when I had gotten about 1/2 inch of milk in the container, Annabelle's mother figured out she was missing and started calling for her. Annabelle, still in the adjoining stall with Kate, begain to cry out in reply. Startled by this loud call, Kate also began to cry. The whole scene had to be out of a sitcom: momma goat, baby goat, human baby all wailing while my husband and I wrestled, grunted, huffed and puffed, and swore quietly at a very disgusted new mother goat. Doug had to give up his role as goat wrangler to comfort Kate and Annabelle. I still needed more milk.

Well, when times are hard you buck up and give it your best, right? I decided to go at the reluctant mother myself. I shoved her into a corner, up against the stall wall, planted my knee in her chest and my body against her torso. I proceeded to milk her, jabbing her in the ribs whenever she tried to bolt away. I was able to dodge kicks and she horned me several times and managed a good bite or two, but I succeeded in getting about 6 ounces of life-giving colostrum from her for her two hungry babies. They readily accepted the bottle and drained it dry in seconds. Still huffing and puffing, I glared at Polly.

"Shame on you," I told her. She snorted at me and tossed her horns my way. We let her out of the stall, fearing she would harm the babies.  "Guess we have bottle babies," I said with a sigh.

Later that night, after a good soak in the tub (Kate got a good scrubdown, too!), we watched the news as the weatherman tracked a thunderstorm bearing down on our area. The day's weather (VERY windy) and impending storms may have contributed to our new mother goat's fear and rejection of her babies.

As a topping to the night, we lost electricity for a while. However, we dodged the worst of the storm and gained some much-needed rain. And Kate now has two little bottle babies to grow up with … their names are Hope and Faith.

We’ve got goat troubles … and it’s the chickens’ fault. Maybe it’s a bit unfair to blame the chickens but if it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t be here trying to figure out what to do with an ornery, head-butting pygmy goat named Oscar. So in my angst-ridden state I’m holding them responsible. Okay, partially responsible.

It all started back last October when we finally got around to cleaning years of previous owners’ junk out of the barn. We had a great set-up – a few goat pens, a large horse stall and two areas to keep poultry – but no livestock.

So like many new country folk, we decided to get us some chickens. Because it was fall already, it was too late to place a chick order so I went online to look for some laying hens.

Not long afterwards, I found a lady willing to sell us 10 mature barred rocks, Rhode Island reds and black rock hens.

We brought them home and within days we were collecting tasty, rich and gorgeous eggs from our girls.

(Editor Hank Will and fellow blogger Paul Gardener have both recently written about raising your own chickens here and here. If you’re still thinking about it, I suggest you get off the fence and contact your local hatchery!)

About a week later, the lady who sold us the chickens emailed me to ask I’d be interested in buying a six-month-old male pygmy goat. Although Billy was still intact (as in, a fully capable male goat) she said he was very friendly and not at all aggressive.

I admit it – I’ve always loved goats, especially the little ones. Yes, my only exposure to them before moving to the farm was in petting zoos (there’s my disclaimer, right there), but I’ve always loved their personality. But that’s not a good enough reason to buy one, I reasoned, as we are not ourselves a petting zoo. So I decided to do some research.

I discovered that although pygmy goats are only 16 to 23 inches tall at the withers and does weigh approximately 55 pounds, pygmies can produce as much as four pounds of milk a day (equal to half a gallon) or 600 to 700 pounds a year, quite enough for a homesteading family of four.

Since one of the reasons we moved to the farm was to become more self-reliant, raising goats seemed like a good way to ensure a steady supply of goat milk and cheese. While purebred dairy goats such as Nubians and Saanens produce a much greater quantity of milk (averaging 1600 pounds annually), they are larger, require more space and more feed. Plus, registered proven producers (milkers) would be significantly more expensive.

Because we had absolutely no experience raising goats, we decided to try the economy version first.

But the question remained, should we buy Billy? I know there’s a lot more to selecting an animal for breeding than upbringing – pedigree and conformation are key but again, we’re just getting started here. The sticking point was, did we really want a buck?

While intact male goats start out as lovely little creatures, they quickly mature into bucks with somewhat objectionable habits, smell being the least of them. I mean, once you learn that a buck likes to spray his own beard and forelegs with urine, you may think twice about owning one. I know I did.

Finally, we decided to go ahead with it. We’d buy Billy now and get a doe in the spring and we’d go through one breeding cycle and see how things went.

We weren’t able to get Billy right away so in the meantime, I found another pygmy goat for sale: this one a three-year-old wether, or a castrated male.

I thought that it would be a good idea to get a wether as a companion for Billy. Goats are herd creatures and don’t do great on their own and once Billy matured, he’d be off limits to our future girls.

So on a cold, sunny day in November, my daughter and I brought home Oscar.

I liked Oscar immediately. He was inquisitive and friendly and took to following me around the barnyard like a puppy. While it was endearing at the time, that was probably a sign of things to come. I hadn’t bought livestock – I’d brought home a pet and a pet isn’t what I bargained for.

A few days after arriving at the farm, we tried introducing Oscar to the donkeys (they came after the chickens.)

Already we’d heard the coyotes circling the farm and we wanted to have predator protection in place before adding anyone else to the barnyard. Let’s just say it didn’t go well.

Cinder, the older and more sensible of the two, didn’t much mind Oscar. Lee, the younger and more insecure donkey, laid into Oscar like a fury, sending him cart-wheeling across the barnyard. It was unexpected and truly dreadful. We put the donkeys in the back paddock and tended to Oscar’s bruised ego.

Worried about what we were getting into, we were relieved when the chicken lady decided to keep Billy. That was fine with us because breeding was farthest from our mind at that moment.

But then a few weeks later, along came Lucy and Sam.

We purchased Lucy, another three-year-old pygmy goat, and her two-month-old baby that we named Sam, from a less than scrupulous owner. The idea was that Oscar would now have a companion (he was starting to show signs of stress and anxiety that we assumed was because he was an only goat), and we could keep Sam intact and have our own buck.

While we hoped the addition of Lucy and Sam would reduce Oscar’s growing agitation, it seemed only to heighten it. Although we kept them in adjoining pens for the first few weeks (we’d now moved everyone into the barn, out of the harsh winter weather) he became even more aggressive, not less.

Then the aggression turned on us. All my sources say that wethers were supposed to be docile and friendly but whenever we went into Oscar’s pen to collect his water bowl, he’d growl, head-butt and even once tried to down me. It left me with a nasty bruise and a growing worry that something was wrong. But what should we do about it?

The vet told us to take him to the sales barn. My dad offered to eat him. I even tried to sell him privately. But none of these options seemed to assuage my guilt that we’d failed. If only we’d done something more or differently, if only we weren’t so inexperienced, he wouldn’t have turned on us. (Looking back, he did seem pretty high-strung and codependent for a goat, right from the very beginning.)

So here I am today, learning my first lesson in animal husbandry – what to do with an animal you no longer want. I’m finding it a hard decision to make (now’s probably a good time to disclose that I’m a vegetarian – I’m something of an oddity around here), but it’s the first of many if we decide to continue raising goats or any animal.

If 50 percent of goats born are male, our options are: castrate every one of them and open a petting zoo (not an option), sell them privately (which may be harder to do with animals that are neither registered nor proven), butcher them or sell them to a sale barn (where someone else in turn will probably butcher them.)

It’s not like I didn’t know we’d have to dispose of excess animals even before we got into this goat business. I’m all about paying your own way around here and if you’re not contributing then you’re taking away from making this farm sustainable. I’ve even said it myself that once our chickens are done laying, they’re headed for the soup pot.

It’s just there’s this disconnect: the self-reliant side of me that knows full well that livestock are not pets (repeat after me: livestock are not pets) and that I can’t keep every single one of them; and the other side of me that has a soft-spot for four-legged creatures.

Maybe it’s time to get out of goats, but the barn would sure be empty without them. We’d miss out on our own milk and cheese too. Seems like a pretty high price to pay for my squeamishness.

So if anyone has any perspective or advice to share with this greenhorn, I’d love to hear it. Should I stick to growing vegetables or does culling animals, even the cute furry ones, get easier?

Read more about our early adventures in homesteading at Rowangarth Farm.

I’m trying to figure out when it hit me that by golly, we were country folk. Was it the very first day on the farm when we found ourselves alone, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by acres of woods, hay fields and a trillion crickets? Or perhaps it was upon tasting that first egg from our new brood of hens. Then again, maybe it was the arrival of the donkeys… or the goats… or the horse.

Yep, I’m thinking it was then.

For years my husband and I yearned to kiss the city life goodbye and move to greener pastures. We'd spend hours talking about living in the country and the ways we'd simplify our lives: we’d raise animals, grow food and reduce our dependency on cheap oil.

As we both worked from home – me as a freelance writer and my husband as an IT consultant – we were free to live almost anywhere, or so we hoped.

Then we found it: our 71-acres of rural happiness.

When we told people we were moving four hours east to a little village in the country, most asked about our farming experience.

None, we replied. "You're brave," said some. "Are you nuts?" the rest asked.

Perhaps. But we also knew we'd regret it if we didn't try. We decided to dive into country living head first and learn to swim along the way.

So, last summer we said goodbye to our 150-year-old semi-detached home in the burbs and traded our minivan for a pick-up truck.

There are times that I think we’re in over our heads. Like when we’re faced with an ornery head-butting goat, when our wood is disappearing faster than expected and the forecast says, “long cold snap ahead” or when our bank account is as low as our wood pile.

Yet I already know how a mid-morning walk through our woods soothes the soul, how incredible a home-grown tomato tastes and that nothing could replace the looks of sheer joy on my kids' faces as they explore the four corners of our farm.

I’m the first to admit we've still got a lot to learn. But already things that were once extraordinary -- felling trees, collecting eggs, tending a woodstove -- are now part of our ordinary. We've fallen into a comfortable routine of rural existence. As busy and full as this life is, it's the only one that makes sense to us now.

Read more about our early adventures in homesteading at Rowangarth Farm.