Girl Power

Today my 4-H Sheep group (two 9 year old girls at present) showed their grit. The theme of the day was Girl Power. It was pouring rain, and a bit cold to begin with. The girls toughed it out though in true farm girl fashion, complete with slickers and rainboots. The girls learned how to measure wood, hammer nails, mark wood for cutting, use of the drill, and a level, and basic safety issues. Together we built a 11ft by 6 ft sheep stall for my rams including an external hay feeder with slanted "bars" to help decrease hay wastage. Two hours later, we were done. All in all, we had fun, it came out well, they learned to use some basic tools for building, and they learned that girls can do what a guy can do if they work together. I am sure the sheep will be very happy with their new stall. High Fives all around girls!

Harvest Time

Well, the time has come, summer ends. What little of it we had. This summer was the coldest, wettest summer I have ever seen in my lifetime. Not that I am complaining about it being cold, but I am complaining about the poor output from my garden. It was a poor year for gardening. As I talk to the many local farmers and gardeners, everyone has the same complaint. It is next to impossible to grow root vegetables in saturated ground, and near impossible to get the hay and grains in this year! It is very discouraging to the farmers and gardeners alike. I am discouraged as I looked forward to the crops to get me through the long winter. I had visions of feeding the baby fresh garden vegetables. With the ever increasing prices in the grocery stores, the last thing I want to do is buy something I can grow in the grocery store. Not to mention the gas prices!!! Goodness!
How will we survive it. So half my hay is in, I picked the last squash and pumpkins today. I need to pickle my beets this week. Plant my garlic soon too. It seems that the work never ends. Then the garden needs to be tilled, and prepared for winter. I am still drying herbs though. Guess I better get that done too. I am having a hard time washing wool too. I need a few good sunny days to dry the fleece after I wash it, and can only do one at a time because of the amount of work and space required. It has been poor weather for that too. I only sheared my rams this last week because they never stayed dry long enough to get them done this year. I have been trying to get to them since spring. What a shame though, lost half their wool as I needed to leave an inch on for fall, and they matted too. I will never let that happen again. Next spring they will be put in the barn for a week if needed so they can dry out!
Well, on the positive side, soon I will have fresh meat as butchering time is coming. Also will be able to make loads of applesauce, and put apples in the freezer and root cellar. The apples are juicy this year!
Along with this time of year is the fall fair. I entered Berenger in a baby contest. He placed third, two little girls beat him, it is awfully hard to beat the girls. He was very good about it. I guess he did not want to make the little girls look bad. What a gentleman! Bear is busy learning to roll around, attempting to crawl, trying new foods, and babbling. He will be a verbacious little bugger when he gets talking. He has been helping me can, he sits in his back pack carrier on his fussier days and squaks at me to hurry up. No wasting time with him around to keep me on my toes!
The nice thing about harvest time is that the leaves are changing color and fall is my favorite time of year! The bugs are dying or disappearing into the ground, and you can enjoy a nice long hike in the woods! I miss that! Bear can sit in the back pack now, so we will start hiking, time for him to learn to appreciate the fall too! I knitted him a hunter orange hat the other day, he is so cute in it! To all of you who hate winter, my advice to you is to get outside now, hike and enjoy the smells of fall, the sounds of the crisp fall leaves underfoot, and the sights of those beautiful fall colors! The best time of year is too short, seems it's even shorter than summertime. Enjoy it while you can!

Plastic or Cloth?

One day, while I was pregnant, my environmentalist daughter and I were discussing the merits of using cloth versus plastic diapers (meaning pampers etc). We figured out that if the average baby wore diapers and then pull ups for two years - it would cost $20,000+ dollars. Yikes! When you think that this equals one year of university including books and meals, and housing... that's alot of dough! So if you use commercial diapers for two years you are basically flushing your child's first year of university tuition down the drain so to speak. That is staggering! I don't even want to think about the cost to the environment. Ever been to a landfill and actually seen the piles of diapers and the plastic bags they travel there in? If we had to personally bring our own garbage into the dump, I think we would be more aware of what we are doing to our poor earth. If you don't believe me, go to your local dump, take a good look around! It is pretty sad when you really think that that stuff will mostly still be there hidden under the soil for thousands of years. Don't believe me - what are all the items the archeologists are digging up. Someone's trash from 1200 bc. So what am I doing about this? Well, as much as I hate doing all the wash and playing with poopie diapers, I am using cloth diapers. I had a problem with all the ones you can buy in the stores (if you can find any), and the hand me down ones from god knows when just were not cutting it (leaking something awful), I decided to design my own. What's more is that the linings are made from recycled materials! Yup, cool eh? The best thing is that if you find plastic diaper covers (from gerber or other company) - they don't leak (unless you put them on wrong or the plastic pants are too loose. I love them. So I thought I would share them. Feel free to call me if you want me to make some for you!

Lonely for Lucy

It is with great saddness that my family announces the passing of Lucy. Lucy was our granny goat, of Angora breeding. She has lived with us for 7 years. Not only did she provide us with mohair fiber to keep us warm, but she also provided us with joy and laughter. Lucy had a great personality. Loads of it! Lucy came to us when we called her name, she had a unique bleeting noise that she greeted me with in the morning. Lucy smiled, really she smiled - we have the picture to prove it, especially after giving birth to Murphy. Lucy was quite the trooper then. She had lived on a farm where she was very neglected, and came to us so thin, that you could not tell she was pregnant. Actually she was 4 months pregnant at the time. I was very surprised when she popped out a baby one cold March morning. Lucy struggled to regain her weight, while nursing Murphy, but she slowly came around. Last winter was very hard on Lucy, and again she had trouble keeping weight on. Upon examination we discovered that she had no teeth, and nearly died during the snow storms of 2008. My daughter, Andrea, made it her mission to keep Lucy alive at least until spring so that we would be able to bury her. She "designed" a mash that succeeded in bringing Lucy around, and in fact she did very well with this mash. But as this summer has progressed, Lucy digressed. And so it is with great saddness that we decided that Lucy should be put down before it gets much colder. She was surrounded by her loving human family as she took her last nibbles of tender green grass, and an always appreciated scratch under the chin. Lucy will be missed. We loved you Lucy! Thank you for giving us Malachy and all your grandkids who will remind us of your smiles and sweet antics. Rest in peace old girl.

"WASH YOUR HANDS!"

In the recent days with the listeriosis scares, I feel compelled to speak out. As a nurse, as a mother, as a consumer, I think that people need to take a deep breath, and do a little more research, and wash their hands!!! I repeat; Wash your Hands!! How many times does your mother, your teachers, your employers have to say it before it sinks in? Why do we need signs in our public bathrooms telling us to do something as basic as washing our hands after sneezing on our hands, or doing the bathroom ritual.... Haven't our mothers been yelling at us since a very young age to wash our hands, perhaps there is a very good reason for it?
Do you know that there are more than 250 foodborne diseases in existance? Are you aware that most of these, like listeriosis, are not new? Everyone knows Salmonella, and E.Coli, but the others are less known. Listeria, Camphylobacter, Calicivirus (Like Norwalk), Shigella, Hepatitis A, Giardia, Cryptociridia, and Clostridium Botulinum (Botulism). These are just a small number of foodborne diseases that we know of, and almost all of them can be prevented from making us ill simply by washing our hands, fully cooking our meat, and properly cleaning our kitchens and utensils including cutting boards. Now there is also documentation that states that you should not eat and drink unpasturized dairy products, like raw milk, and cheeses made from raw milk, but many people do, myself included. The only problem I myself have suffered due to drinking raw milk is Listeria infection which contributed to miscarriages. After I stopped drinking the raw milk, I was able to carry a healthy baby to term. So I fully support pregnant women NOT drinking raw milk.
Now they are talking about Irradiating our food to change the DNA of bacteri to inhibit them from reproducing and growing on our food. How can exposing our food to radiation improve our health risks? I fully oppose this!
Now here is a thought - how is it that people who smoke and take illicit drugs are hysterically concerned about listeria infections... do they not realize that what they are doing is killing them with 100% certainty. It may take years longer, but their habits are most definately killing them, this makes me shake my head.
And another thought - is it possible that our new hand cleaners have deceased our resistance to bacteria and viruses? Perhaps we need to return to good ole soap and water?
This brings me to a statement so many older people have quoted after hearing all this frantic, sensationalism about listeria and salmonella - "We all gotta die of sumthin" and of course, as my 98 year old patient says, "What ever happened to good ole hand washing!" She reminds me that in her day there were no refrigeraters, or food inspectors, or freezers. " We all survived, if you washed your hands and cooked your food properly, you didn't get sick". Do you think that we have too much technology, and too much science nowadays? Perhaps we should think simple logic. Handwashing worked in 1866, why wouldn't the technique work today? So the mother in me will remind you all to calm down, cook your food properly and WASH YOUR HANDS BEFORE YOU PUT ANYTHING IN YOUR MOUTH OR HANDLE ANYTHING YOU PUT INTO YOUR MOUTH!

Listeriosis Lessons

In a time when food is becoming a huge issue in the news, I am grateful that I grow my own. Since I was a teenager, I have memories of "food scares". The first I ever heard of and was old enough to understand was the razors in the halloween apples issue. It seems that 30 years ago I was just old enough to understand that some crazy person was putting razor blades in apples that were being handed out to children as halloween treats. I can remember my mother cutting my apples open to be sure they were safe. In the mid 80's the water was unsafe to drink, legionaires disease was the culprit then. Red food dye was suddenly cancer causing, and the color of candy changed. When my children were small in the early 1990's, the hospitals were x-raying the candy because pins were showing up in the food. With the dawn of 9-11 anthrax threats increased suspicions. With rising gas prices people are becoming more aware of where their food comes from. Suddenly everyone is concerned with the distance our food travels and it's freshness. Now, today, listeriosis is a major issue, and again I am hearing people say - "buy local".
Maybe this is sounding like a rant, well, I continue to rant. Our goverment had been doing absolutely nothing to encourage local farmers to continue farming, there is no assistance or compensation for farmers when things go wrong, when taxes rise, and cost of feed rises. In recent years the government is starting to regulate farmers, and has increased our taxes and have instituted all sorts of fees for farmers. They want us to belong to associations and registries all at a heafty price, not to mention, most farmers do not want the governments hands into the running of their farms. One older farmer told me that when the government has a hand in on your farm through incentive programs for instance, and if your farm fails, they will take your farm, they do not care that the property belonged to your family for the past 200 years and that you had planned on handing it down to your child. The government offers significant funding to foriegners to come from other countries to move here and farm on a large scale, they pay them to move here, pay to set them up with large farm properties and modern state of the art equipment, but refuse to help farmers whose families have farmed New Brunswick soil for over a hundred years. New Brunswick farmers are discouraged, angry, and feel helpless. In their hearts they know that local customers are going to be crying out for local produce and meats, but they will not be able to continue farming.
What will happen when we can no longer get our food from across the borders, when costs to ship food are so high that the only place you will be able to shop is from local producers, and there are none - thanks in part to the powers that be (Harper for one)?
I know were my food comes from, I know what the animals were fed, that they were humanely slaughtered, what conditions they were butchered under, and stored in. I know that my food is fresh, and safe. Hormone free, antibiotic and chemical free. My only concern now is how will I keep people from sneaking out from the city and stealing my food from under my nose? Yes, it happens. This winter a chicken-napper was loose. Stealing three of my birds in one day, and five from another farmer who lives nearby. They even took his crate that was stored beside his coop. I anticipate the day will come when people who can not afford the food in the stores (wait, this is already happening), and feel they have no other way to feed their children (the food banks are already running dry), will turn to thievery to feed their children. I know it is coming. I planned this years garden just for that purpose, with the cost of heating and fuel this winter, I expect the chicken theif to return. So when planting my garden this spring, I planted extra food, twice what I normally plant. If I catch someone stealing my food this year, perhaps I will invite them to have something from my garden. How could I turn my back on them when obviously they must be feeling pretty desperate, enough so to sneak into a chicken coop in daylight, and steal my hens. If they had asked I would have given them some beef, pork, lamb, and vegetables too. Honesty would have paid higher dividends.

Growing Up

Growing up is hard to do. The crooner missed out when he named his song breaking up is hard to do, but personally I think growing up is even harder. With a break up, you just shrug it off and move on. With growing up, sometimes you can not shrug it off and move on. Sometimes the things you have learned along the way cling like a burdock in wool. You just can't shake the memory. Everyone has had an experience in their childhood that would qualify as traumatic, or unforgettable, some people make it to adulthood without bad experiences, but most don't. I think I got every one's bad experiences for them. I will not sit here and recall them all, but I will say that out of just about every bad experience I have had, a good one resulted. Huh? Yes, I did say that. Haven't you ever had something bad happen to you, and you thought it was the worst thing ever, then many years down the road you were able to help someone through the same exact problem? That has happened to me time and again. So I was able to turn the bad experience into a salvageable good experience in a manner of speaking. We learn from our mistakes, we learn to live from the bad experiences, and we learn to be survivors after the really horrible traumas. I am a survivor. Ever wonder how your friend can repeatedly pick herself up after every horrible experience in her life and think that if it were you, you could not possibly survive it? Ever have a counselor say to you, "Any other woman would have killed herself already". I am a survivor. Now my teen daughter is growing up, moving out on her own into the world, and all I can think is that I do not want her to learn to be a survivor - I don't want her to go through the traumas I went through at that age. I want to protect her. I trust her, I just don't trust the mean, cruel, sick world we live in. I pray that she has a chance to become street smart without the traumas that thrust us into becoming street smart the hard way. Growing up for some is easy, uncomplicated, fun and trauma free, but for most of us, it is not. Don't let that fool you though, even the easy road is hard. It is just that the hard road is treacherous. My advise to my daughter is simply this, be alert to trouble, don't be so trusting, and don't do obviously stupid things that can potentially result in a traumatic experience. You are a very naive and trusting girl, but it is time to become a smart and strong woman now. Remember the lessons I taught you, and heed all the warnings you have heard in your lifetime. I lived the traumas, I want to spare you everyone of them. Learn from my experiences and mistakes. I love you. Mom

Insomnia then and now

Consider Insomnia as it relates to the time period in your life in which you experience it. When we have children, everything is experienced in a different way, even Insomnia. When I was single, and had a day off from work coming up, Insomnia was not such a big deal. Back then, before children, I could read a novel or watch late night tv all night long, and sleep the entire next day. After children, I can still read the novel, watch late night tv, or sit at my computer all night long, but the next day, I will pay for it. Dearly. When I was younger, I could eat ice cream in bed, or even potatoe chips and chocolate bars, and not worry about the consequences - sleeplessness due to the caffeine hit. After children, I don't dare eat chocolate after 6 pm for fear that I will have Insomnia and pay for it the next day. So I sit here at 3 am, watching the olympics, hanging out on face book, searching the net out of boredom, doing sudoku puzzles, and writing emails to everyone I know and don't know - waiting for my eyes to get tired and heavy, waiting.... and waiting.... I never should have eaten those chocolate chips. I know I craved them all day, but I should have controlled myself. The temptation was too great. So now, I anticipate, and plan for tomorrow, or should I say, later today... for the penalty of Insomnia, for eating chocolate in the evening. I am sure the baby will be very irritable, and wide awake very early, and the sheep will break out of their pens, and the goats will get their horns stuck in the fence. Lucy, the goat, who is elderly and ailing may even be found deceased and I may need to dig a hole to bury her. The cow might get out and run down the highway. The phone will ring just as the baby and I lay down for a late morning nap, and today will be the day that everyone I know will decide to stop by and visit, all because I at chocolate, and suffered from Insomnia. Back then, I could have slept all day long, but this is now,surely I will suffer the consequences - of Insomnia.

Living Room Antics - Does this sound familiar?

It is friday evening. The laundry has been piling up all week and has been washed and tossed on the couch. Enter five people all of laundry folding age. The first in the room quickly plants herself in the most comfortable chair in the room after being certain that she will not have to leave her seat again for the remainder of the evening. Mentally she goes through her mental check list. Popcorn, pop, craft project, book, pen, paper, candy, snuggle blanket, clicker. All present. Time to mind meld with the tele. The second child enters the room, happy to claim the last laundry free furniture that is comfortable in the room. He also quickly runs down his check list. Chips, pop, ipod, snuggle blanket, shoot - she got the clicker, now I have to watch what she wants to (which isn't much, it is either CTV, or Global... that's all we get out here, but after a few years with no tv, they happily take it). The third child and one adult walks into the room, both look peeved that they were too late to get the good chairs. The stubborn teen girl takes the stiff leather seated kitchen chair that resides in the corner in the event that I actually can find time to spin wool. Of course, I get the couch or the floor. Being too "old" and stiff to sit on the floor, I shove the laundry to one end of the couch and beg for help folding the laundry. No takers. In comes the man of the house. Self appointed bully of the best furniture in the house. He stands in front of the most comfy chair, his snack in one hand, pop in the other. He waits while giving his quiet stare, which has no effect on my youngest. Then he grunts. Still she is too stubborn to move. He knows one thing that will make her move. He turns his tush to her and starts to sit. Weighing 250 pounds she really only has one option. She gets angry at being bullied from her seat and flops herself across the pile of laundry on the couch, knocking down the small pile of freshly folded clothing. I snap her on the tush and ask her to move it. She gives that teen sigh, and crosses her arms and plops down at the end of the couch after shoving the clothes toward me. She's not going to help fold laundry. Okay, I will do it myself. What mother has not said that. After the third basket of laundry, I get tired and start throwing the clothing belonging to each person in the room at them, "here, fold your clothes or you will wear them wrinkled". My son balls his up and says that is good enough for him. My man shoves his onto the floor and vows he will do it later, and my youngest just holds hers on her lap, I know they will end up in the pile again. My oldest daughter folds hers only to take them upstairs and put them on her bedroom floor. "Why do I bother?" I mumble to myself. I should just throw their dirty clothes back on the floors of their rooms and tell them to just pick their clothes off the floor to wear. Silently I crab to myself about them, and fold all the clothes. I love friday night! Wo - hoo! Don't you?
"

While You Sleep

While You Sleep came to me at 3 am in the morning while watching my infant son sleep.

While you sleep I quietly watch you in awe,
at your perfection, at your beauty,
realizing what a gift you are.
Fluttering eyelids and crooked smiles,
fleeting that they are.
Puckered lips - are you kissing me goodnight?
Tiny fingers clenched in a tiny little fist,
thumb tucked in.
Sometimes you clasp your hands together
under your chin - Are you praying to God?
Knees drawn up and tiny feet tucked under,
wrapped one around another -
Will you rub your feet together like I do while falling asleep?
I marvel at how small you are,
but how fast you are growing.
I feel blessed to have you,
grateful for the second chance,
committed to do my best
and to love you forever - unconditionally.
So I pray to God to keep you safe
and thank Him for the gift that is you.
I watch you and love you
while you sleep.

Not my best writing, but first draft in the middle of the night written by the light of a television while lying in bed. I just could not sleep until I put these thoughts on paper.
I am very grateful to have this sweet child. Everyone thinks that I am crazy having another child when I have one off to university, and two more fast approaching university age. Apparently I am not alone in trying parenthood all over again. I have several new friends in the same boat - not a one regrets her choice. How can you regret such a God given gift. I am thankful for my little boy - colic and sleepless nights included. Thank you God for answering my prayer!

Excerpts from "Farm life for City kids"

This is a couple of excerpts from my short story based on farm life for city kids, I hope you enjoy it.

Living on a farm isn't all work, as my kids soon discovered. They anticipated hard, laborious work, but soon learned that living on a farm can be fun as well. Suddenly the television did not seem so important. Sure the Saturday morning cartoons still play an important role in their growth and development, but all of a sudden the out of doors was luring them away from that as well. Ordinarily I would wake up on Saturday mornings to the noise of three children fighting over a remote, or which channel to watch, or even more frustrating, which character did they wish to see outwit the other the most - the road runner or the coyote? Occasionally the morning fight was over which child ate the other child's share of froot loops. Since moving to the country, the fights seem to have dissipated. Now when I wake in the early hours of a sunny Saturday, I hear silence. Wondering if an alien abduction has occurred, I creep about the upper level of our 15 room house peering out windows wondering which direction the children have gone in today. Most often I would see my son, dressed in full army uniform borrowed from his step father's hand-me-downs, B.B. gun tucked under his arm, in hot pursuit of a nasty little pigeon. Normally I would frown on this, but lately the pigeons are outnumbering the farm animals, and they have been entertaining themselves by playing that game called "bombs away". Tired of pigeons pooping on my head and my hay, I approved the hunting expeditions. At the price of hay today, a few lost pigeons certainly were understandable. My only rule, one shot, one kill. I did not like the little bombers, but I did not want them to suffer.
Looking out another window, I see my daughter brushing her horse, enjoying a moment of peace and companionship. The horse munching at my lawn, my daughter dreamily brushing her black silky mane, maybe she is using the horse to mow the lawn so she does not have to. I don't care, as long as it gets done; it makes no difference if the horse decorates the lawn with a few recycled hay plops. My youngest is most likely to be firmly planted in front of the tele, munching away on a dry bowl of froot loops, most likely mine, watching every cartoon program available. Our rule is if you are going to let your mind rot, at least do it folding laundry. Some days she folds laundry, other days, she sits with a pile of laundry in front of her and one item in her hand in case she gets "caught", so she can suddenly pick the item up and fold it. She thinks I fall for that one, but after she picked up the same item several times that day, I figured her out. Oh well. Running a farm is very busy, and hard work, and you have to learn to pick your battles, and fighting over laundry is not my idea of a battle worth fighting over. The animals don't care if my clothes are wrinkled.

My daughters love the idea that they can shoot a bow and arrow. Andrea has gotten pretty good at it, and laughs that she is better than the boys in her school. Andrea has always enjoyed doing things better than the boys, and used to wear her lime green t-shirt nearly everyday to express that thought. It said, "You pick the toys, I'll beat the boys" and she often got scolded by her father for using the phrase, "boys drool, girls rule". She was always my competitive one. Now her little sister has inherited those sentiments.

Another form of entertainment on the farm is mud wrestling in the spring. Of course when you think of mud wrestling you think of two people, but in reality, on the farm mud wrestling usually involves a child attempting to catch a lamb or goat. In the spring when the mud is at a premium and the rain never stops, it is inevitable that a lamb will escape the fencing seeking that first luscious blade of grass. All hands on deck are required when in pursuit of a lamb capable of performing triple flips in midair. I thought cats were amazing at falling and landing on their feet, well this one little lamb made our cat look clumsy. Combine five humans chasing an agile lamb in a muddy yard, and you have an out and out mud fight. The kind where every one involved except the lamb is covered with mud from head to toe. The shower takes a beating that day; as it is too cold to hose off outside.

The Green Grass Grows

May 22 - I sit in my window gazing across acres of lush green grass. Less than a month ago the snow was to the roof of my barn, it is such a relief to see green after such a long winter. Like everyone else (less the ski hill owners), I couldn't wait for this winter to end. I thought it never would. Never in my life had I seen so much snow, and I never remember being snowed in so bad I had to send my dog and children through a window to put them outside. Yes, I had to climb through a window to go outside on some mornings. Several times we had to dig out doors, and having several barns full of animals, meant a lot of mornings shoveling snow from in front of doors. It got to the point that we needed to carve stairs out of the snow banks to go down into the holes we dug in front of the barn doors so that we could feed the poor sheep, goats, and cows. Eventually the snow was so high the sheep were climbing over the snow banks to get out of their pens, then all became captive in the one spot I could keep them after adding fencing to a sheltered opening.

Thank God spring is here! I anticipated great oceans of puddles in my barnyard due to the amount of melting snow, but miraculously God had intervened by not allowing the ground to freeze beneath all that snow, so drainage was quick. Amen. I had not looked forward to trudging through mud all spring. So, I look out over green fields of timothy and grasses blowing in the wind, waiting for the sheep and cows to converge upon them, growing lush and sweet. Oh, won't the animals be happy next week when I send them into their version of heaven.

Happy Birthday!

May 10th - My 43rd birthday, and now the birthday of my beautiful baby boy! Berenger (Bear) Garrett Oliver arrived at 2131h in a blaze of glory three weeks early! Actually, I would have to say that it was the birth from hell from my perspective. I have never had a bad, or painful delivery. I would say that this one was intended to be sure of preventing me from ever thinking of doing it again! A week before Bear arrived, I had two fillings done without novacaine - without pain, and I always thought I had a high pain tolerance, but nothing prepared me for the seering pain that I went through in the last three hours of my birth experience with Bear, or the last three horrendous minutes that I can only describe as Satan himself coming through the birth canal with fists full of razor blades!!! Never again! I am cured. Enough of that, now for the important stuff. My pregnancy with Berenger can only be described as long, and full of little problems along the way. I had conceived him only weeks after a horrible miscarriage in July of 2007, and my doctor had dubbed my pregnancy "high risk". Throughout the pregnancy it seemed everything was going wrong. At least from my perspective. I had wanted a home birth, but developing diabetes and a group B Strep infection destroyed that idea. In retrospect - thank God I was in the hospital. Thought I'd never say that. As it turns out, Bear was born grey and with a very weak cry - I remember him lying on my belly greyblue and heard my voice urging him to cry. I just wanted to hear the healthy wail of a new baby and Bear could barely muster the energy to take a breath. He was wisked away to the neonatal unit while I lay exhausted in the bed. I prayed that he would be okay, I could not bear to lose him. Well, the long and short of it is, that after a few days in the neonatal intensive care, he is home with me, healthy and beautiful! What a good baby I have. I have waited a long time for this child to come into my life. I couldn't be any happier.

Home

I grew up in Colchester Vermont, but the Pleasant Valley is my HOME. Never have I felt such a connection, or a love for any place. That connection was immediate. The house was not listed on the market when a potential employer called me and suggested I see this house. I had told her I wanted an old farm house, and a hobby farm. When I drove into the yard to see the home, I was sure it would be out of my price range. Still I viewed the home. The minute I walked into the house, it seemed to comfort me, and I immediately fell in love. The barnyard would need a lot of work to make it functional, but the house was over a hundred years old and seemingly in good condition. Later, an inspector confirmed that the house was sound and safe, and I made an offer. Well, if I told you what I paid for it, you would not believe me. Let's just say, it was a steal! So now, seven years later, I sit in my office window, and look out over my 30 acres of field, trees, rivers, pastures, and my barn yard. A feeling of peace intermingles with pride. I love it here, even in the winter. My closest neighbors are 10 acres away, and the solitude is refreshing after living in Boston. Outside the chickens cluck and squawk as they comb through my spring gardens, not yet planted, looking for the first bugs and worms the gently warming soil produce. I pray that they eat the weeds too. I love to garden, I hate to weed. The occasional blat of a heavily laden ewe draws my eye to another part of the yard, lambing season seems drawn out this year. Perhaps complicated by the fact that I too am heavily laden with child. I have empathy for Gretel, heavy with twins. Her discomfort apparent in the hot sun, still fully clothed in her heavy winter coat of steel blue grey wool. My baby is large, my belly huge, and bending is not easily accomplished, and as much as I want to sit in the sun, the heat is too much. Yes, it is only 18 degrees celsius, but the heat is too much for a woman or beast at the end of her pregnancy. Soon this crazy farm will be home to another little beast, my boy child, eager to enter this sometimes unloving world. My prayer for him is that he will become a caring, productive member of society, one interested in protecting lands such as this, untouched and home to wildlife and a place where one can find peace, a child who loves this farm as much as I do, and maybe someday this will be HIS HOME. A place to always love, and return to, a place that brings peace, comfort, and pleasure. HOME.

LUCY
My farm is home to many breeds of sheep, all on the rare breeds list of Canada. Shetlands were the first to make this previously unused farm land home, then came the Jacobs with their many horns and brown and white spots. Later the Leister and Cotswold came, and the Romney. My favorite beast on the farm at present is Lucy. One of my first aquisitions. Lucy is a Angora goat, she produces enough Mohair in a year to keep my busy fingers happy, best of all Lucy has personality. Capable of making me laugh, and always a good listener, Lucy has become a good friend. She is wise with age, and leads the barnyard. Lucy no longer has teeth. A gummer. We almost lost her this winter. One morning I went to the barn to feed, it was nearly minus 20. I opened the stall door to feed the selected sheep that wintered inside this year to help them grow or maintain weight for various reasons, and Lucy was laying near the door, barely breathing. I reached in to pull her out of the stall as the other animals were stepping on her, and she lifted her head attempting to stand. I helped her to her feet and moved her to another stall, and quickly retreated into the house to get my oldest daughter to help me. Andrea is a natural with animals, and is destined to be a vet, but she is a bit of a tree hugger and wants to study environmental studies. I not so secretely hope she becomes a vet, that is where her talents are. Andrea mixed up a warm mash of oatmeal, raisin bran, shredded carrots and diced apples with just the right touch of molasses, donned her winter attire, and headed for the barn declaring that no animal was dying on her shift. Over the next few days Andrea prepared her mash and nursed Lucy back to health. Now three months later, Lucy once again rules the roost. Andrea grins with satisfaction, knowing that her efforts once again prevented an untimely passing on the farm.

A beginning May 6, 2008

May 6, 2008 - This is my first attempt at blogging. I thought I would give it a whirl. It is 1 am in the morning, and the baby is busy kicking and making it impossible to sleep. My due date is fast approaching, and I am looking forward to finally seeing this little child that grows within me. It has been an interesting week. I am trying to adjust to being on maternity leave, and not taking it well because I can not physically do all the work that needs to be done. The sheep are lambing, and so far we have had five lambs born this week. This has prompted me to start writing another chapter in my future memoirs - this chapter would be called The Pregnant Shepardess. I am an active person and being unable to perform all the normal farming duties has begun to make me testy.

Andrea, my oldest child, graduates from high school soon. We spent an awful lot of time sewing the most amazing dress for her to wear to the grad grand march (parade) and prom! It is a purple and green taffata tartan with lace underskirt... very pretty and unique! She looks like a princess in it. There will soon be photos of it on my face book page (kimberly peer- if you want to look it up). Well - I am going to make another attempt at sleep, if only the baby will cooperate. Take Care.