Happy Hog Habitat

After a crazy lot of effort (on Dan's part) and kibbitzing (on my part) the pigs are finally out on the range.

Pigs are still pretty new to us-- new, but cool. Really cool. We are enjoying our swine venture tremendously. These guys are so friendly and personable. A whole lot easier to keep than sheep-- though not half as elegant. It is a challenge to keep the food aspect in the foreground. But we are working on that...

"The Daves" (as we call them) started out as smallish piglets in a seemingly ample sheep stall. The idea was that they would churn the stall into compost, saving us a lot of time and effort. I'd seen this in action at West Elm Farm a few years back-- when pigs were just a sparkle in this shepherd's eye-- so I knew it was possible. But after a couple of weeks, the pigs were still trotting around on a foot an a half of used hay.

Then we met an old-time pig farmer on the loading bay of a local grocery store (As "pig farmers", ourselves, we've discovered the joys of raiding the unwanted food--with permission of course. The Daves have feasted on everything chocolate milk to organic spinach, tubs of potato salad to fancy Greek yogurt... but that's another story.) Anyway, this old time farmer, told us to bury kernels of corn in the hay and this did the trick. The Daves spent countless hours bulldozing out kernels with their crazy-accurate noses.

In a few weeks our pigs were twice as big and the "more than ample" stall was small, stinky and mucky as all get-out. I doubt the Daves lost any sleep over this, but I did. We'd started this pig thing to supply ourselves with ethically raised, well-treated meat and the pen, while palatial by factory farm standards, started to feel pretty lousy to me.

The new pasture was taking a loooong time-- owing to our busy work schedules and a slew of baseball games, social events and kids birthday parties. And while the postholes were dug and fenceposts set in concrete, while Dan strung woven wire and I detangled our (terribly annoying) electric tape and ran it along the bottom of the pig enclosure-- all in a month of constant, drenching rain punctuated by moments of sun(shower) and cataclysmic storm-- I fretted.

But yesterday, the Daves had an Independence Day of their own. We'd created an alley of fences and plastic bins and eased them out of "old stinky". Dan and I expected they'd trot along in a group, ending up in their new area.

And yes, this is the way it would have happened... if they were sheep. But they were not sheep; they were pigs. And they didn't much care to hurry anywhere. Our drove split up and snuffled along in whatever direction their noses led them. No amount of pushing or shouting deterred them. They had grass under their trotters and they were not going to be hurried. This incensed little Luka (super herding dog, extraodinaire) who set about barking and pushing at the fence. If Dan and I were going to be the "good Cops", she was fine and dandy with the bad cop role. But the Daves paid no attention to psycho herding dog either. (Again, we are all used to SHEEP. Sheep pretty much flow together and run away from humans and maniacal herding dogs.)

Pointy and Stubby Dave eventually strolled into the new pen-- mostly because they wanted to go in that direction anyway. But Scratchy Dave thought the inside of the barn looked pretty interesting, and he did NOT like it when I tackled him around the middle to keep him from busting out into the open. (Note to self: Pigs are really, REALLY loud when you tackle them.) Dan hurried over as I lay on the ground with my arms around Scratchy's back legs and Luka barked and Dave screamed bloody murder, and finally we got him turned around and eased into the new pen. An adventure and a half it was.

Luka thinks this pig thing is crazy...

Once inside, the Daves were more than happy to lend a helping snout in the construction of their new hang out.

The end result is a great place. I keep wanting to call it a "habitat" as if we are some sort of farm animal zoo. It has wallows and high points, weeds and brush. And we are hoping the Daves will set to work turning the place upside down so that we can ready it for the sheep next spring, a sort of "pig tractor". Another amazing thing about pigs (or at least our pigs) is that they took to the wide open, leafy space as if it was exactly what they expected.

The Daves are happy as pigs in a brand new, cool and fun pig habitat.

(Yes, that's genuine Icelandic wool-- part of their cool new bedding material-- they are snuffling in the picture.)

This Year's Crew

At long last, we've got reasonable pictures of MOST of this year's lambs. Now that they are on the big pasture next door, they're not much interested in us. Oh, the little families trot down to the barn now and then for a lick of minerals, but the siren call of fresh grass howls in their furry ears, and mostly, we see the tail ends of these little guys and gals.

That said, we have managed a few recent photos. All these lambs are for sale-- Ewe lambs $325 and ram lambs $275. We'll make you a good deal (Offer ya can't refuse....?) if you are interested in a breeding other type of group. Please call us for details (413-624-3070) or to plan a farm visit.

The picture is a bit fuzzy, but this is Acorn with her huge ram lamb, Dodge. Sired by Charlie, Dodge is moorit gray and horned (Acorn is polled but with a tendency to throw scurred lambs, so we thought we'd try her with a strongly horned ram this year.) Dodge was 12 pounds at birth (giganto!) He has continued his stunning growth as you can see in this picture. He is chunky, with a beautiful fleece. Dodge has a very bold personality with the other lambs, and we have not handled him much because Acorn and her offspring are our friendliest sheep and we don't want to encourage this little ram. Dodge would make a wonderful breeding ram. He is over 1/4 AI (Rektor, Heli and Pettir) with a very nice meaty structure and a good (great!) size. He has a lot of color in his background-- solid moorit and black gray. If you are interested in breeding sheep for meat and/or colorful fleece, Dodge may be your ram.

Dracula. Dracula comes from our best fleece lines. His dam, Leela, has a consistently soft and luxurious fleece-- even as a mature, nursing ewe. He is sired by Charlie and is a moorit gray with an interesting (if slightly diabolical) badgerfaced pattern. He really looks his name these days :) Dracula was another big single (10 pounds!) He is 3/16th AI (Rektor, Pettir, Prestur). We'd hope this pairing would produce lambs with the best qualities of Leela and Charlie. Dracula has his sire's big, broad frame and his dam's beautiful fleece. He should carry black or black gray as well as the badgerfaced pattern. Leela and Charlie are both cautious, sensible sheep and this ram should have a similar personality as an adult. (Dracula is the only lamb we were unable to snap a decent picure of... we'll put one up soon!)

Data is a line bred white twin. His sire is Charlie and dam is Daisy. These two are among our most parasite resistant and healthy sheep. Both have great structure as well. Daisy's progeny may be of particular interest to felters as her fleece felts very well-- sometimes too well :) Data is almost an exact replica of his full siblings (Coraline and Caroline) from last year's pairing. He has phaeomelanin spots (a trait from Grandma Copper's line) and is very growing well. This line carries on the best traits of Jager's Solee-- hardy, easy keepers, competent lambers and great mothers. Data will likely resemble his sire as an adult ram. He is over 1/4th AI (Rektor, Bambi, and Pettir). Data likely carries the moorit and/or black gray pattern. Daisy is a friendly and talkative (read: loud) ewe. Charlie is a little more subdued, a nice thing in a ram. We'll see how this guy develops.

Daffodil is Data's twin, a beautiful moorit gray ewe. Much of what was said about Data will be true of Daffodil. Plus she is a real cutie.

Here are the twins out and about. This picture gives you a sense of their chunky builds.

Dots and Duncan. This breeding combined our broadest, most meaty animals, and Penny's twins have structure in spades. They are sired by Rahm and are a whopping 10/16th AI (Langidalur, Heli, Flekkur, Solon, and Dalur). Both are long bodied and wide with a capital W. They carry their sire's meaty (to the max) build. Both boys do have scurs. If you are interested in meat production, these boys might be just the ticket. both are shaping up to have nice thick fleeces as well. (Another trait of their sire, Rahm). Dots definitely carries spotting (a recessive trait) and possibly moorit or black gray as well. Duncan may carry spotting, and moorit or black gray. Their scurs are small at present and we are keeping an eye on the situation.

Dots:

Diamond IS a diamond. Sired by the chunky Rahm-- and with quite a similar look to half-brother Duncan-- Copper's ewe lamb has all the best traits of her dam (good structure, good growth, parasite resistance and health) and her sire (meaty, long bodied build and thick fleece). She is 1/2 AI (Langidalur, Pettir and Dalur). Diamond has her mother's calm and good sense. (Copper is our flock leader and matriarch.) She may carry spotting or black. At present, Diamond is still polled (!) Time will tell whether this is a fluke-- due to Rahm's scurs-- or just slow to develop horns.

Dusk and Dawn black baderfaced twins from Carmen, a black badgerfaced one-winter ewe. Carmen has done a fantastic job mothering these two; she required no help birthing or nursing. Carmen hails from West Elm Farm-- she arrived as a bred ewe, adding to our gene pool here at Maggie's Farm. She has great fleece genetics and a calm nature. She herself was a fast growing, fleecy lamb just a year ago! Her twins carry the badgerfaced pattern and also possible black gray and spots. They are hardy (and adorable) and, from very fleecy lines, they should have great fleeces.

Here's Dusk:

Everything But the Chicken Sink

You gotta love those chickens.

This one in particular-- the hen previously known as "Soapy Two" but recently renamed "Mighty Hera" by my eldest who is on a Greek god kick of sorts-- spent the better part of a month huddled in the a non-functioning utility sink willing the hatch of her 6 eggs. And she managed it too. A few days ago we found four little fuzzies hanging out in the sink with her. So far, so good. It was refreshing, we thought, to have babies around without the need for added vigilance or care. "Mighty Hera" would do the rest, right?

Ah, but we overestimated the chicken mind. After four more days of sink sitting, Hera gave up on the last two eggs and leapt down to the barn floor. One of the chicks leapt after her, landing in a plastic tub of sheep minerals, and the others remained in the sink, all of them shrieking high-pitched little chick shrieks. Hera also started up clucking and calling, but without opposable thumbs (or thumbs at all... or hands for that matter) there wasn't much she could do. That's how we found them yesterday. All in a tizzy.

We scooped the chicks out of the sink and mineral tub and set them on the floor by their mama and all was well, right? Not exactly. Mighty Hera is a young hen, a Partridge Rock from last summer's mail order batch. And she was clearly as stressed out and clueless as any other new mother. I felt some sympathy for the girl, remembering the days when a trip to the store with my squalling newborn seemed to involve more energy and knowhow than a hike up Mount Everest. I swear Hera had that same glazed look in her eye as she anxiously strode the barn scratching up tidbits for her chicks in the deep sheepy bedding. She led them to the waterer and to the piles of chick starter I put out, all with one wing raised to shield them. We left the little family to their own devices. Happy ending, right?

Well. Not exactly. After dusk, Dan went down to the barn to close up the duck brooder, top off the pigs and check on the new family. He found Mighty Hera squatting in her sink, fluffed as in the manner of hens when warming a batch of chicks. It seemed a little strange, he thought. That the babies made it the 4 vertical feet into the sink but such was the miracle of mothering. (Have I mentioned that my guy is the family optimist, the one who can look at a strung together, herky-jerky fence with a foot wide gap at the bottom and declare that oh, the sheep won't break loose, where would they want to go?) He returned to report that Hera and her babies were safe and sound in the sink.

I am a lot more cynical than my better half. I was sure there was no way those babies made it back into the sink. However, this is a FAMILY farm-- emphasis on FAMILY-- and it was past 8 and I was desperately trying to get dinner on the table... (Yep, we're more than a little disorganized over here this time of year...). Dan went back to check out the situation more thoroughly. He was gone a long time, a very long time.

When he returned, he told us (We were all seated around the dinner table by then) that the chicks were NOT under Mighty Hera at all and that he had searched every corner of the barn for the chicks. (Here I got that sinking feeling in my gut. Yes, death is part of "life on the farm" but it is never an easy part-- even when you are talking a batch on unanticipated and not really needed sink chickens)

But all was not lost. Dan said he'd found the chicks under "Brave Sara", our other barn broody. More sensibly, Sara-- a mothering veteran-- had chosen to brood her batch of eggs on the floor of the barn.

So, best we can figure it, after a day spent on red alert guarding and guiding her chicks about the barn, Mighty Hera spaced it and tucked herself in for the night just as the temperatures started to dip into the serious chick danger zone. (Feel free to start humming that old 70's song about here: "Yoooouu left me, just when I needed you most..." We did.) I can imagine the ruckus those four chilled chicks put up (Chicks can holler when they need to) before they found comfort under Brave Sara's bosom. Either that, or the chicks tucked under Brave Sara first and Hera, abandoned by her brood, decided to call it a night.

At any rate. All is fine on Maggie's Farm. Morning found the little family happily reunited. This is the second time we've encountered co-parenting in our poultry. I wonder if this is typical of chickens everywhere. Anybody?

Fecundity Central

Spring is all about new life and lots of it. This makes for an overdose of cute ....and a lot of extra care down on the farm.

For one thing, there are the 10 ducklings. These were to be the kids' project, but evidently, they are mine as well. I end up doing quite a lot of feeding and watering and de-duckifying their forever damp and splashy lair. And the cute little guys are not living up to their reputation for tameness. They are MORE afraid of us than the two batches of mail-order chicks we've known. They huddle at the far side of the brooder when we look at them funny (or just look at them period) We are working in this. Slowly...

Then there's the "sink chicken". This smart broody decided to make her home in the nonfunctional utility sink in the barn, in Puff's old spot, as a matter of fact. She showed the necessary patience, grit and determination, and this weekend-- Viola!-- she's got four little fuzzies under her, the largest hatch our hens have ever managed. The new family is living in the sink for now. I think this mama hen (Okay, I'll admit it. Her name is "Soapy Two". Long story.) is waiting on a few more eggs.

And the lambs. We have nine this year: 6 rams (!) and 3 ewes. They are roaming the lush pasture next door and hard to see in all that spring growth. We'll be posting a bit more about these little guys and gals very soon. But for now, I'll just say: Cute. Very cute. (And for sale too.)

Then there are the wild babies: A small toad (Named "Toady" of course) befriended by Joe.

And this ginormous green moth on the porch. (Not a baby, technically, but a male bent on making a few babies...)

And nests everywhere, stuffed with cheeping baby sparrows and robins and thrushes. This one is in our "down barn" with the pigs.

And the pigs? You ask. Well... "The Daves" are not quite as cute now. They're growing like spring weeds-- about doubled their size already. Yesterday they were tossing stalks of broccoli around like batons!

Not to be outdone by all this burgeoning animal life, the apple trees blossomed and have begun to form the small green apples that will, by autumn, make for many pies and crumbles and sauces. Serious "spring" around here.

A Drove of Daves

We took the plunge last weekend. And a serious plunge it was at that. On Saturday, Dan and I took a rare-- very rare-- kidless morning and drove our minivan up to Vermont to pick up three piglets. We'd thought long and hard about the "pig thing", more than we usually manage for all the impromptu livestock and plantings around here. We understand that this particular "pig thing" is irrevocable. These piglets are barrows (castrated males) and there is no other end point here. They are to feed us, and our extended family and friends. I'm sure I will write a lot more about this-- the hard parts, the better-than-factory-farm parts, but today, I'm going for light, a sort of "I went to Vermont and all I got was these lousy pigs" sort of thing.

So.... it was a beautiful spring day. We took off (kidless!) with high hopes and dog crate full of old hay and not much else. We were giddy and expectant. Our children were elsewhere. We'd had a lot of coffee and not much sleep. It was like a skewed farmy version of a date.

We found and picked up the piglets, warned by the woman who raised them that the "pig stink" will stay in our van for a really long time and on our hands and clothes too, no matter how often or well we wash. We saw several humongous pigs at the pig place. (Dan hadn't really had a chance to see a full grown pig before. He was pretty astounded. And not in an entirely good way. They are, after all, really REALLY big animals...and the pigs, I should note, were my crazy idea.)

Anyway, the little guys fit in the dog crate. They were quiet on the drive back. So quiet, we had lots of time to think about the new animals we'd taken into in our lives and all the complications that might go with them. By the time we unloaded the crate in our newly created "pig area", we were feeling a bit of trepidation. The piglets were too. They stayed in the crate.

By then we were late for our kid pick up and took off for an evening little league baseball game.

Not an auspicious start to the Maggie's Farm pig enterprise.

But it was like Christmas morning around here on Sunday. We all got up and tiptoed out to the barn in our pajamas to check out the piglets in the cool clear (rainy) light of day. They were out, and terrified of us... for about two seconds! Once the little guys figured out we came with offerings of yogurt, french toast and banana, they were all over us, nuzzling boots and sampling flannel pajama sleeves. Then they romped a bit (Yes, pigs romp!) and chowed down some more and then romped and the kids (and Dan and I too) fell in love with them.

Pigs (So far....) are awesome. They are a lot more easygoing than sheep, that's for sure, with simple, predictable needs (pretty much just food and sleep) and it is truly a joy to watch them eat. (I can't explain this. You'll just have to get a couple of pigs and see for yourself.)




Beforehand, we'd talked a lot about NOT naming the piglets. We'd been told-- several times-- that this makes the slaughter part easier and planned on a simple "Pig 1", "Pig 2" and "Pig 3" system. That was chucked pretty much immediately. Joe, a certain Dr. Suess story about Mrs. McGraves who named all her sons Dave" fresh in his mind, suggested Dave, and we all thought that could work. We'd name the piglets all "Dave"! Of course, they quickly distinguished themselves. And now we have "Scratchy Dave", "Pointy Dave" and "Stubby Dave". A drove (The term for a group of pigs) of Daves, as it were.

For all you readers who want a little farming information with your effusive piglet descriptions, the Daves are all Tamworth/Glouchester Old Spot crosses. We are feeding them a mix of grain, cafeteria leavings, vegetables and dairy products from a local store. They are not as hard to keep in as we'd been led to believe (So far) and they are very, very cool.

Cast and Call

I learned about trusting my instincts this week. Unfortunately, it took a near-tragedy to do it.

It all started the night before last, about 20 minutes after midnight. I'd woken up suddenly with "check-the-sheep-check-the sheep" circling in my brain. We have a baby-monitor out in the barn in case the three lagging (huge) ewes left to lamb finally decide to get it over with. But there were no lambing sounds. It was cold. I had to wake up in 3 1/2 hours to go to work and I didn't want to trudge out there, find the sheep fine and dandy, and lie awake for my last three hours of precious-before-an-extra-hectic-day sleep. So I ignored my gut feeling, rolled over and went to back to sleep.

I got up at 4 (My usual workday routine) and went down to check on the sheep (Not part of the usual routine). At first it seemed things were fine. I easily spotted all three pregnant ewes grazing in the new pasture we'd just opened for them. And there were the lambs, as usual, clustered in their little "gang of four". I was about to head back up to the house when I heard this awful, continuous wheezing.

It was then that I found Acorn (Our lovely, friendly, favorite ewe Acorn) about 50 yards away. Upside down with all four feet and a full udder in the air. This, in sheep lingo, is called "cast". Acorn was a "cast ewe", which means she somehow got stuck that way. Now, it may seem silly (and certainly non adaptive!) that a sheep could lie down for a nap, roll the wrong direction and due to a dip in the Earth beneath her, or a fence beside her or whatever, find herself stuck like a turtle. But it is not a laughing matter. Acorn's lungs were being squashed by the weight of her prodigious belly for however long she'd been like this and, perhaps even worse, she'd eaten a meal of fresh grass, the digestion of which was stopped by the sudden "turn" of events and had gagged green foam and aspirated it into her squashed lungs.

I did one of those "Mother lifts Volkswagen to save baby" maneuvers, jumped through the fence and hauled her right side up before I thought about it. Poor Acorn was wheezing and choking, shaky and bloated. I thought for sure she was a goner.

I ran back to the house to wake Dan and then did some quick research on what to do. (It is an unfortunate aspect of shepherding that however much you read beforehand, you only truly "know" what to do when you've been through the wringer on one emergency or another. I'd read about "cast sheep" before, but I needed to review. On the bright side-- I will know what to do for cast ewes from here on out. The information is IN there for good now-- indelibly so.)

Anyway, we rubbed her rumen to get it working again-- she had bloat from being cast (Our first bout of bloat in 3 1/2 years of sheep!) and that was about all we could do. After a few hours, Acorn was back out with her woolly brethren. Today, she seems fine.

We are not out of the woods yet. There is a chance that she will get secondary pneumonia from all that extra fluid in her lungs, or some sort of infection due to her weakened state. But if I had gone to work without the barn check the way I usually do, she'd likely have been dead by the time Dan made it out at 7.

Then again, If I had honored the call of my subconscious, that little "check the sheep" nudge, we might all have been spared a horrific morning and a lot of wait-and-see worry. I have to trust myself a little more, I guess.

Egg-cident

Rainy Day. Armful of eggs. Dog underfoot. Muddy slope.

Sad but predictable....