Spring in February?

It’s February 20th.

And it’s raining. Not the freezing rain we are more used to, but full on raining as if it were spring. It’s weird. And it makes me worried.

Often, at this time of year, we are ensconced in our country home, with the electric fire place going full-tilt, watching movies and hockey, waiting for warmer weather. I’m planning my garden, ordering seeds and drawing diagrams. We’re laying bets as to when the large drift along our treeline will melt. T is hoping that work will slow down  enough to let him think about the upcoming planting season.

But this is weird. Suddenly, I’m looking at my snow free flower beds around the house and thinking about how much weeding needs to be done and wondering what will happen to these plants if the temperature drops and we don’t get any more snow. I’m watching the dogs romping around outside. I’m smelling skunks waking up from their hibernation. What is happening? It’s too early. I’m not ready.

But each winter-turning-to-spring we’ve spent here is different than the last. So far there hasn’t really been any “normal”, although weather specialists and farmer’s almanac enthusiasts would like you to believe otherwise.

And so, like many things in the country, we take it as it comes. What else can we do? We watch the forecast and get out the rubber boots. We have the washing machine going full time and let the dogs inside despite their wet and muddy paws. We marvel at how much snow has melted in the last 4 days.

And we wait to see what happens next…

J.

 

Back in the saddle

Whew…

It’s been a long time. Like a really long time. I think it may have been about a year ago that I thought I might come back to blogging. I mean, I had my chickens and things were looking really great and I thought to myself: Self, you have time. You can do this.

And then I started writing a column for an online prairie paper. And it was great. But the weekly commitment got to be a little more than I could handle. Perhaps I was feeling a little self-conscious of the subject matter. Or perhaps I wasn’t feeling great about the writing style. You know, trying too hard to make it sound funny or quirky, instead of making it sound like me.

So, is this a better arena? Well there are a few benefits. I’m not trying to garner readership. I mean, I know that my mom will read this. (Hi, Mom! I appreciate your faithful support!) And I know there are some faithful followers. (Thank you!) But basically, here, I’m writing for me. And somehow, that feels better.

And even as I’m writing this. I feel better.

Better than what, you may ask. Well, maybe “better” isn’t quite the right word. What I mean is, I feel like I can write. I’m able to get my thoughts out there. I kind of know what to start with and I kind of know where to stop. (Or do I?) And I for the past few months or so, I’ve forgotten how much I like it.

Here’s a place where I can just write. And maybe find out if I’ve got something to say…

So stay tuned…

J.

Nobody here but us chickens…

T sings this song to me on occasion. And for years, I wondered if this was really actually a song. Turns out it is (despite the fact that I don’t know it…which is hard for me to admit).

And now that I’ve taken the large next step in being a farmer, it seems appropriate.

Guys, I bought Bogs.

Ummm…what?

No. What I meant to say was, I ordered chickens.

I was expecting this to be a challenging new adventure, that I’d have to ask a million questions and no one would know what I was talking about. That I’d be frustrated and upset about the imperious farm folk who acted in a condescending manner towards me, still an obvious outsider after having lived here for almost 3 years. But….as it turns out, none of that happened.

Turns out that the guy who works at (runs? owns?) the feed store (where I found out one can order the chickens from) was more than happy to help. He smiled when I asked what he knew were very basic questions, but answered patiently. And now, maybe he will regret his kindness, because now I will ask him about EVERYTHING…

He answered my questions, gave me a pamphlet (from the hatchery – local [meaning: in my province] and reliable according to all reports) with description of the different kinds of birds and the phone number to call to order the birds (at the feed store’s main office). So I decided on the type of chick (Columbian Plymouth Rocks crossed with Rhode Island Reds – hardy, large birds that lay brown eggs). And I called the next day to place my order.

Easy-peasy. And also, exhilarating.

And my day-old chicks will arrive on May 5.

So I’ve got a month and a half to prepare for my new flock. I’m already making a list of what needs to happen (brooder, heat lamp, chick feed, bedding, waterer – if these words mean nothing to you, never fear, you will learn as I have learned, dear friends…)

What I do find, is that there isn’t a ton of information about keeping and raising small flocks on the Canadian prairies. So I’ll be learning as I go, and gleaning what information I can from those who have done this before. And I’ll be writing it down, if I find the time and can remember, as I’m sure the learning curve will be steep. And likely hilarious. And hopefully not too heartbreaking… (T is already a bit worried about this part.) But we do have many predators lurking in and around the farm that would happily eat a tender young chicken if only given a chance, including our own beloved farm dog.

As of right now,  the custom coop (built by T) is on the yard, waiting to be covered in chicken wire and I continue to read anything I can get my hands/eyes/ears on in order to be as prepared as possible.

Wish me luck,

J.

Adventures in homesteading…

So it’s not as though I’m actually homesteading… I mean, we live on an established farm about two miles from a town where I can get almost everything I need (clothes shopping aside, unless I hit up one of the local thrift stores, which have been known to  throw down some gems of one form or another). I’m not far from civilization and my parents-in-law live on the same yard, so you know, we’ve got neighbours closer than one mile away. This is not the kind of country living that my ancestors were forced to do when they came to this country in 1874. You know, clear trees, dig a hole, live in the hole for 5 years until they had time (and enough supplies) to build a proper house, make everything from scratch, forage in the bush for berries, you get the idea.

But I’ve been drawn to homesteading blogs more and more since moving here. And I’ve discovered that there is this whole subculture of people who make their own cheese from the cows they milk each day, go out and collect eggs however often that needs to happen, grind their own flour, make amazing things our of recycled material and in general try to be as self-sufficient as my aforementioned ancestors. To be fair, there are also a whole lot of crazies in this subculture, and like anything, it can be exploited and made to seem fashionable and chic. But the people who are actually working hard at the whole homesteading thing and making a go of it, are inspirational to me.

I like the idea of self-sufficiency. That’s not to say that my aim in life is to live off of grid and carry my own water for miles. But living on a farm makes me think about the need for being able to do things for myself. Like I’ve got enough garden space to feed an army of people for several winters. And the growing of vegetables and herbs is so exciting. However, the preservation of said veggies and herbs is another thing entirely. But reading about self-sufficiency and the (over)confidence in my abilities to be able to read about something and then do it myself have brought me to a certain amount of self-sufficiency in the following ways:

1. Making stuff like bread, butter and vanilla. It’s easy and delicious. And preservative free.

2. Growing my own vegetables in my own garden, organically. And composting.

3. Preserving. This included canning, freezing and fermenting over the course of the year. It’s very exciting to open a can of tomato juice knowing exactly where the juice came from. Again, preservative free. Oh, and drying herbs in the shed.

4. Buying eggs from the neighbours instead of the grocery store. Yes. I would like to have my own chickens, but I’m realizing more and more, that I have to do things slowly. If you take on too much at once, things will quickly fall apart. Also, this spring, the neighbours have offered me their composted chicken manure. Like four-year-old composted chicken manure. Of course, I couldn’t say no…

And these are small things, that anyone could do whether or not one lives on a farm.

But I also have next steps. I really want those chickens that I talked about earlier. But, I want to make sure that they have shelter and that I am prepared to take care of them properly.  Ditto for the milk cow. But think how amazing it would be to have my own milk, cream, to make my own yogurt and cheese. I  also need to work on my sewing skills. Home Ec class was a long time ago, and in my book, sewing buttons and the odd tear, doesn’t really count as sewing in my books. Maybe if I could find a way to turn these things into a full-time job…

And of course, there are larger-scale things to think about too, such as alternative energy sources and water conservation. Which we mull over every now and again, especially as we think about the future of our farm.

You know, we’ve got to be prepared in the case of a zombie apocalypse. 🙂

J.

Work and Pleasure

And so it continues…the next five books, I mean.

Gone Girl by Gillan Flynn

A++

OH. MY. You must read this one! (These are my editorialized comments. I know. I promised I wouldn’t change what I wrote in my book journal, but this book calls for it. Trust me.) This book is dark and tricky. You cannot possibly see what’s coming around the corner. Enjoy!

 

Quiet: The power of introverts in a world that can’t stop talking by Susan Cain

B

Like the title says, our world (and school systems) value extroverts and don’t really allow for the more introverted types among us. The problem with this book is that it’s championing the introvert and giving an extremely negative view of the extrovert.  That is neither helpful nor fair. One can’t be posed as better than the other. They’re just different. Enough said. Read it and let me know what you think.

 

Guided Reading by Irene Fountas and  Gay Su Pinnell

Word Matters by Irene Fountas and  Gay Su Pinnell

A

These are pretty much the “how to teach reading” bibles for early years teachers.  Full of teacher-ese and delicious teaching ideas, as well as best practice information, these texts are not riveting for the average reading crowd, but were very helpful in my work as a literacy support teacher last year.

 

The Best Christmas Pageant Ever by Barbara Robinson

A+

I did a book review of this book last December. I work in a school. What can I say? Sometimes I have to write book reports, on fun books like this:) This book is heart-warming and funny. Perfect for the Christmas season. It’s a kid’s book, that can be appreciated equally by adults. And teenagers. I first heard of this book when my Grade 12 English teacher read it to us. My whole class (of 17-year-olds) loved it. I’ve read it almost every Christmas since.

 

I’ve been thinking about whether or not I will try to read another 50 books this year. For the most part, reading is something I do anyway, but there is always that niggling pressure to “make good time”. However, the days are getting shorter and the nights are getting longer, so gardening isn’t an option. And there is no snow,  so I can’t cross-country ski and I’m looking for activities (and one can only do so much yoga). And because Alice Munro won the Nobel Prize for Literature this year. And I unknowingly volunteered myself to review books for Spectator Tribune. I guess that indeed, yes, I will try to read another 50 books this year.

So with 2 Alice Munro’s, 2 Manitoba authors and a whole list from my sister who reads way more than I do, I suppose I’m well on my way…

J.

 

Magic number 50

Actually, I don’t really think that 50 is a magic number. However, it’s been awhile since I’ve actually talked about “magic numbers”. Give me a minute while I google it. Ok. Done. I was actually thinking of magic squares, where you put nine numbers into a three by three square and when you add any three of the numbers across or down or even diagonally, you always get the same answer. But I digress….

Last year, right around this time, I set a goal. I went to a fantastic educational workshop where the speaker talked about her book journal. She talked about how she kept track of every book she read, wrote a brief description of each book and gave it a grade. I had tried on several occasions to also keep a book journal, but I was far from successful on every occasion.  Later on in the same month, I was also reading something about a 50 book pledge, where people were pledging to read 50 books in one year. So I thought, hey, why not combine the two!

So I did.

And today, I started my 50th book.

Huzzah!

Yet it feels slightly deflating because now what??

And then I was chatting with a friend and she said, do you have a list somewhere, like on your blog or something? In my head I’m thinking, I haven’t touched that blog in months…. And then I thought, I think the universe is trying to send me a message.

So here I am on this momentous occasion, blogging AND making a list (just ask T. He knows that making lists is one of my favourite things…I even found an app for my smartphone that allows me to speak my list and it is recorded. With checkboxes. Technology rules.) AND celebrating my 50 books this year.

But of course, no one wants to read a list of 50 books in one go (and some of them are books I read for professional purposes, which some of you may not want to hear about) so I’ll do 5-10 in one go. Sound good? I thought so.

Rules of the list:

1. Every book will be included no matter how embarrassed I am to have read it:)

2. The original grade will be given despite the fact that my grading system became more sophisticated as I went along.

3. The books will appear in the order in which I read them.

So here goes nothing…

Chai Tea Sunday by Heather Clarke

This book was bad. The story was not great. The writing was poor. The story was set in an African country that the author had clearly never visited. The main character was a teacher and clearly there was little research done into what being a teacher is actually like.

C (although now I would probably give this book a lower grade)

Wild by Cheryl Strayed

I LOVED this book. This is the story of how the author puts her life back together while hiking the Pacific Coast Trail. She has no idea what she’s getting into and is completely and utter unprepared. Read it

A

Teaching with Intention by Debbie Miller

This is a must read for teachers. Miller discusses the importance of examining your beliefs, teaching based on what you believe about children and learning, being reflective and practicing what we believe. Inspiring and challenging.

A

It’s All About We by Diane Gossen

This is a book about restitution. Again a book I read for professional reasons, but certainly has everyday life implications. This books talks about building empathy, belonging, community and restoring broken relationships.

B

The Taliban Cricket Club by Timeri N. Murari

There were elements of this book that were interesting and gave insight into life in Afghanistan. However, it was a pretty white-washed glimpse. Many unbelieveable coincidences make the outcome of this book too far-fetched.

C

Don’t worry. It gets better. Or at least my opinion of the book selections do…

J.

Preservation (or the art of pickles)…

I’ve never had a large garden of my own before. Sure, I’ve grown some very pretty flowers and managed to coax the odd tomato out of a patio plant. But this sumer, I’ve embarked on a completely different sort of adventure.

This year, that’s all changed.

Yep. This year between my 40 (yes, you read that right) tomato plants and 8 very healthy cucumber plants, some carrots, beets, overwhelming amounts of spinach and swiss chard, I’ve got a lot of produce to deal with.

And now I know why my ancestors pickled, canned, dried, blanched and froze everything that came out of the garden. It’s the only way to preserve the goodness that comes out of the garden. One simply can’t eat it fast enough. (Unless I was feeding an army, of course.) And I’ve adding “juicing” to the list. I don’t think my ancestors were juicing their greens,  tomatoes, yes, but not spinach, but it is a wonderful way to use up the massive leaves of greens before they start to bolt (that is the fancy, gardener word for “bloom” – which causes the greens to become gross-tasting).

And I tried my hands at pickles last week. The recipe, provided by my great-uncle (who makes very excellent pickles) was easy enough to follow. And he gave me some excellent tips. But despite my (and my uncle’s) best efforts, only two jars out of eight sealed. (The lids make the most excellent popping sound, letting you know that they have sealed.)

Needless to say, I was devastated. I couldn’t possibly imagine what I had done wrong. I googled the possibilities and yes I had wiped the lids, sterilized the jars, filled the jars to the appropriate height, etc, etc.

And I vowed to never make pickles again.

Of course, when my mom texted me back, she said that they’d be fine if I just made sure to store them in the fridge and eat them relatively soon.

Ok. So I decided to try again, but not without doing some research, first.

And here’s the one thing that I didn’t do correctly. The brine was not hot enough. I should have poured the boiling hot liquid into the jars. I took it off the heat to pour it into the jars, which is why the first two jars sealed but the others didn’t. Maybe?

Anyway, I decided not to rip out all of the cucumber plants and give it another go. Maybe on the weekend.

I’ll keep you posted.

J.

 

Another (wo)man’s treasure…

In case you didn’t know, farms are junk collectors. It’s inevitable really. There is just so much space. And there are so many outbuildings (FYI: An “outbuilding” is anything that is not a house, such as a shed, a barn, a chicken coop. You get the idea.) And the beauty of all of this space of course, is that it doesn’t look anything like hoarding but there is stuff everywhere. 

It’s a treasure hunters paradise. As long as you’re interested in nothing of value. And I’ve only scratched the surface.

Spring is the perfect time to rummage in the junk piles. Everything is exposed you see. The grass hasn’t grown in around the stuff yet and you can clearly see where the dangers lie. And by dangers, I mean rusty nails and sharp corners. That and the odd creature (spider, mouse, bird) that might be living in an old tractor cab. Otherwise, it’s very safe.

So far, I’ve collected two milk jugs, some metal feeder/watering things that I’ll be turning into planters, some old window frames, an old bread box and a bathtub (which I’ll be dragging to my shed so I can use it to wash vegetables and the dog). So far, the only thing I’ve been able to actually put to use (due to our abominable weather), is an old broken bird feeder. Basically, it was the only thing I could carry comfortably by myself.

I brought the feeder inside and washed it. It was so covered in mud and dust and leaves and (likely) cow poop that I couldn’t even really tell what it was made from. I noticed that the lid was a little broken, but the hinges still worked. I didn’t think the birds would really mind if the feeder was perfect. They would probably still eat at it. So I dried it off, filled it with bird seed and waited.

And waited.

And then, about  8 hours after I’d set out the full feeder, my first birds came. And seriously, it was quite thrilling. I couldn’t believe how excited I was when the first birds attempted to land on (and then eat at) the feeder. And the birds have been busy and hungry ever since.

And now I’m thinking about what other types of feeders I need to attract other types of birds. And that I need a  bird book so I can figure out what types of birds are actually eating at the feeder. And what kinds of bird seed to buy to attract other birds.

And now I’ve got my eye on another large item in the bush that I must have. But I won’t be able to carry it.

I’m going to have to learn how to drive a tractor this summer. Bottom line.

J.

 

Nature isn’t always beautiful…

We’ve got baby foxes.

And they are very cute. Tiny and unafraid and seemingly always hungry and crying. Adorable.

But they are also confusing our dog.

I got home from work this afternoon and my dog was waiting for me on the deck as usual. It’s her usual way. She hears my car from a great distance (or my truck from an even greater distance – you should hear the pipes on that bad boy) and rushes to greet me before I can even get out of the car. Which she did today.

But turns out, she’d brought a friend over.

Yep. She’d plucked a baby fox out of the den (or more likely the den opening, after having sniffed around and lured out a kit) and brought  it to our driveway. And then acted like nothing was happening. I almost dropped my computer bag when I saw this little brown creature huddled under the steps. It was totally freaked out. And it stared at me with its dark blue eyes and rushed over to the dog. As if they were friends or something.

And needless to say, I had no idea what to do in this situation.  If I bring the kit back to the den, will my pup just bring it right back? Does my dog see this creature as a pet, as her own baby or as food? It’s hard to say. And it kind of freaks me out.

Will the kit’s mom reject it now that it has been licked and played with by a different species? Should I feed it and let it stay?

I went outside to have a look after watching from inside for awhile. The poor thing was shivering and mewing and calling for either its mom or its brothers and sisters. So I knew what I had to do. I got dressed for the elements (snow and wind on May 1 if you can believe it) put on some work gloves and went back outside. I tied my dog up on the deck away from the action. I needed to catch this little guy in peace. Despite the kit’s kitten-like size, it wasn’t easy to catch. It wasn’t until it ran head-first into the air-conditioner unit that I could grab it without using too much force.

As I held it in my hands, I could feel its tiny heart beating a million miles a second. Poor little guy. He was so freaked out. I brought the kit to the mouth of the den and hoped that his brothers and sisters would come out to bring him back inside. I sort of held my breath, not sure what would happen. But the kit started calling out and before long another brown head popped out and the kit disappeared inside the den.

So for now, my dog is tied up outside and we’re doing our walks on-leash. But that’s not sustainable for a good, polite dog who likes to explore. Nor is it fair as she’s only doing what comes naturally.

So what’s a farm girl to do??

I wish I knew.

J.

 

If you’re going to build a fire, you better make it hot…

I made this all by myself.

Together with friends of ours, we rented a cabin this weekend. One of the perks of heading out into the woods in the winter, is fire-building. There is nothing more cozy than sitting by a roaring fire, with a cup of coffee and a good book, knowing the only things you’ve got planned for the day involve eating, a little drinking and maybe some physical activity at some point. Oh, and a soak in a hot tub.

Yep. This cabin has it all. And we made the most of it. We had to. It’s not every day that we get to enjoy the sunrise from a lakefront view. The lake is frozen, mind you, but somehow, that doesn’t diminish the beauty of the Pre-Cambrian shield. In fact, when the lake is frozen, you can enjoy the forest from an unusual vantage point. We skied along the shore (of the lake). Sure, it was a bit windy, around some corners, but it was gorgeous.

The ski trail connected to the Trans-Canada Trail (for probably the most grueling climb I’ve ever done while wearing cross-country skis) and then connected to the Falcon Ridge cross-country ski trails, which also included more somewhat less grueling climbs, and some very steep declines. It was a test of my nordic skiing mettle to be sure. But I only fell once. So, success.

And despite the fact that my body almost gave out in the last 500m (it might have been the last km, to be honest) of the trail, knowing that there was a good hot soak in the tub waiting for me when I finally staggered in through the door, did, in fact, keep me going. That and the fact that there really isn’t anything you can do when you’re on the trail. I mean, you could just stop and cry and wait for someone (who would in no way be able to help you at that point) to come by, but really, the only option is to keep going.

You only get to stick your skis into the snow like this if you actually skied. Otherwise, it’s just showing off.

And then, when all of the physical activity was over for the weekend, we had this to enjoy.

Big sky. Tall trees. Fresh air. Nature.

It was a little hard to come home.

J.