Happy Valentine’s Day

It’s Valentine’s Day, and recent farm events have a particular love story that’s been in the front of my head for a long time, demanding to be told.

A couple years ago, a local neighbor called needing to find an urgent home for her male goose. She had a mated pair, who the night before, had been attacked by either a dog or coyote in her backyard.  The attach was vicious and cost the life of her female goose that she found dead, with her body being protected by her mate, an African Goose by the name of “Wally”. The owner cried and cried but feared that whatever had killed one, would be back the following night for the other, and so “Wally” came to live at Kuhs Farm.

When “Wally” arrived, we thought for sure his heart would be melted by the sweet and steady charm of our African Goose “Georgie”. Georgie and I first met in a chaotic blur of a small Vietnamese woman making a bee-line for her at a swap meet in Bonne Terre, Missouri.  Not having the most polished understanding and command of the Vietnamese language, I was still able to surmise that her intentions for Georgie were not honorable, and I managed to put myself and cash between the small lady and Georgie, and into the back of the Nissan she went. It seemed fortuitous that all of a sudden with the crisis in Wally’s life, we now had a boy and a girl goose that might somehow be interested in each other.

Around the same tie, or shortly thereafter, a new acquaintance was downsizing her farm animal population, and in so doing, I bought her beautiful mated pair of Sebastopol Geese (think ‘Bjork’s outlandish dress for the Oscars years back). They were so exotic and beautiful in their crisp and clean white, with twirling feathers and piercing blue eyes…..together they were a cross of farmyard and old Hollywood glamour, and I named them “Fred” & “Gracie” for Fred Astaire and Grace Kelly.

Strolling around the farm together was like being on the edge of a red carpet that rolled all the way out to The Midwest. Fred & Gracie toured together…..walking around the farm, like the Lord and Lady of The Manor might “take some sun” to go watch the peasants work the fields.  They had a sense of refinement and an aloofness that traveled with them like a protective bubble.  It was beautiful just to watch them, and everybody did. Even the chickens stopped what they were doing when farm royalty walked by. From the outside looking in, their world and their love seemed flawless (think David Beckham and Posh ‘Spice’ Victoria – the early years). Seeing them, you couldn’t help but feel a little smitten.  If you can imagine our hope was that Wally would come to love the simple and steady Georgie in time, those hopes were soon dashed when Fred & Gracie walked past him the first time. All hope was lost.

I may be dating myself but if you’re old enough, you might remember P-Diddy went through this weird phase where he went to movie premieres, parties and All Star events with this crazy looking dude in a seersucker suit with a bow tie named ‘Farnsworth Bentley’, who followed Diddy everywhere holding a ridiculous ‘Mary-Poppins-meets Versace’ umbrella.

 

 

It was so pretentious and weird, and thankfully somebody told him what a dork it made him look like. It stuck in my mind because this poor guy with the umbrella just trailed ‘P Diddy’ (or was he ‘Puffy Daddy’) everywhere like his butler or footman…just so completely subservient to shadowing him no matter where he went.

So here are the King and Queen of Farmlife, touring the farm like Elizabeth & Prince Phillip, when their magnificence is witnessed by Wally. From this moment on, his life is changed.  Wally’s world was rocked. Call it smitten, call it enthralled, ‘star-struck’…whatever you want, but from that point on, Wally attached himself to their entourage-of-two, and wherever they went, Wally followed.  It was kind of ridiculous. OK, a lot.

The strange thing was that he didn’t follow like a stalker; a farm paparazzi waiting to jump out of the bushes….he walked either in front of them or behind them as if he was poultry secret service.  The first couple times I saw it, I was like “Awwww Fred, you better watch your girl…that goose is getting all L.L. Cool J on her”, but then I realized Wally wasn’t confronting or challenging Fred. Instead of hanging out on the sidelines of a party, sipping his cocktail and acting nonchalant while he’s secretly mentally undressing Gracie, he’s acting more like the good guy who just wants to make sure the cute couple doesn’t get accosted by fans.  It was cute.  No silly umbrella, but he was their protector, and all the while very respectful and chaste.

The more I watched, I felt bad for Wally. He had just lost his love, and before he could go to any meetings to talk about his feelings or read a self-help book about moving on, his black solar system had 2 new white hot suns. He was their 3^rd wheel, or if you’re a ‘Top Gun’ fan, he was a ‘Wingman’. I guess it was better than descending into depression, but perhaps it felt good to have something to occupy his time and make him feel needed.  I would imagine that it all made sense in his head and that he’d made his peace to worship from afar, but devote his life nonetheless. Very stoic. Very Jane Austen. Back then it struck me as noble.

Fate has a wonderful way of killing movie stars in car crashes, motorcycle accidents, downed planes and by falling overboard Robert Wagner’s yacht, and out of the blue, Fred met his end underneath the front truck tire of farm helper Phil.  Absolutely and without a doubt a total accident, but now Gracie finds herself alone.  Ok, not really alone, because Wally didn’t miss a beat.  He was there to comfort her and follow her around while she mourned the loss of her mate. Always respectful, Wally continued his ‘watch’ to make sure she never went anywhere unattended, or was ever in harm’s way. I was very sad to lose Fred in such a tragic way, but I was rooting for the underdog to finally have a chance at happiness.

Months went by, and still the admiration ever evident in his supervision of Gracie’s daily routine.  As soon as the Mr. Turtle pool was cleaned and replaced with fresh water every day, Wally was squawking with wings open, pushing everybody out of the way like a linebacker so that Gracie got the sparkling clean fresh water to bathe in. Never mind that it was everybody else’s drinking water, first and foremost it was Gracie’s because of Wally.

Over time, I thought for sure, we might consider them a real ‘couple’, but I have never seen any unchaste behavior. Nothing rude or assumptive. Always she is show the utmost respect. I began thinking of them like two 30-something year olds who both lost a spouse, and from two broken beginnings, make a new life together. Two creatures who have known loss and settle in to a safe life of being good to each other.  Now as farm life went on, these 2 could be seem just outside the edges of everything, just the two of them in their own private bubble. I thought this is how it would always be.

Spring 2015, just in time for our annual Easter party and egg hunt, neighbor Joshua and family had taken home chicken, turkey and duck eggs weeks prior, so that we would have Spring chicks, baby ducks and turkeys.  We had been collecting these amazing dark charcoal grey eggs, one day at a time and wanted to hatch them. They were so exotic and strange, almost like ‘Game of Thrones’ dragon eggs.  We were all fascinated and Joshua set to work to see if he could get them to hatch…and of course he could.  Just in time for the party, he brought brown and yellow baby ducks with black feet and black bills.  They were a hit at the party and we had 7 of these adorable little guys.

As these little ducks outgrew their brooder box, for safe keeping, we put them in their own little protected pen, attached to a tiny house with a walk up ramp to get inside.  They even got their own Mr. Turtle pool with fresh sparking water. This house is directly across from the farm house, and enough removed from where the chicken house stood, that to discover the addition of the baby ducks, you’d have to walk a bit away from the main chicken house where the ducks also lived, along with Wally and Gracie.

With the addition of the baby ducks, they had attracted curious onlookers who upon wandering towards the barn, discovered new lower toned quacking coming from inside. The little brown and yellow ducks had begun to turn colors as their baby duck down turned into glistening black feathers with emerald green accents when hit by the sun.  They were beautiful and exotic and reminded me of the star power wattage of Fred and Gracie when they had first arrived. You couldn’t help but look at them and “Ooooh” and “Ahhhhh”. Also caught in the tractor beam of admiration were Wally and Gracie.  As soon as the chicken house door would open in the morning, the two of them would make a B-line for the baby duck pen, where they would spend their day walking back and forth the perimeter looking and squawking.  Not a little bit of squawking like “ooooh look at the pretty tiger”, but more like alarm.  This went on for days.  They did nothing else, and at the end of the day, had to be physically herded back to the chicken house, all the while with Wally protesting with open wings and quippy comments. We began to worry that the two geese weren’t even eating or drinking. They were absolutely consumed with circling the pen, attention so tightly focused that we began to deeply question what had them so singularly focused and driven. The baby ducks were getting bigger, that as I went down a list of what-the-hell-is-going-on, I thought “Well, why don’t we open the pen door and see what the issue is?”. I actually thought it might be ‘clean Mr. Turtle Pool water envy’ so I thought, “Let’s just see what happens”.

After me telling all the humans that I take full responsibility for whatever happens next, the pen was opened, the two frantic geese stormed into the yard with the 7 baby ducks.  I thought for sure the next thing would be Gracie plopping herself into the pool and all the clean baby duck water sent splashing out, but it wasn’t. They walked in calmly. Walked towards the Mr. Turtle pool and passed it. They divided and each flanked around the little black ducklings, and from the backside, came back together in the center of them, and then kept them herded together. And then they did something weird.  In the middle of the babies, Gracie bent her graceful white neck down, and began grooming them, one by one, while Wally trumpeted around them with outstretched wings. Something beautiful was happening.  Something really really beautiful was happening and not a person that saw this didn’t realize what we were witnessing.

Now I’m no Walt Disney, but I can see that common emotions transcend the barriers of phylum and class within the Animal Kingdom, and that attachment, love and belonging aren’t the exclusive franchise of humans. From incubator to this very moment, these ducklings had been fed and cared for with love by humans, but what we all forgot was that to be animals and not just our cute little ducks, they would need role models, elders to teach them behaviors to model. Mother Nature has a pretty ingenious system in place to help the young of any species thrive, but essential to that is to have the protection and teaching to get them safely into their maturity.  That all makes logical sense. What isn’t so evident is that what is not only ‘good for the goose, is good for the gander’.

I thought of Wally and Gracie as a happy couple that survived loss and found each other in the face of adversity. I thought that was the zenith of their story, but it was just the beginning. Though they began as a mismatched pair, two broken halves can come together, and as it does for many childless couples, adoption can make a family whole. What Wally and Gracie were doing was taking their love and sharing it with the ducklings and bringing them all in to be something even greater together.  It was and it is beautiful. It is the most powerful and tangible testament I have ever witnessed to the strength of love that transcends common genes or preconceived ideas. Simply beautiful.

Even more amazing was witnessing Wally and Gracie staying with the ducks and refusing to leave them until finally they all left the pen together, single file, as Wally and Gracie walked them to their new home in the main chicken house.  Many weeks later and after a second hatching of more grey eggs, Wally and Gracie repeated this wonder, and with teenager black ducklings in tow, moved back into the pen with the newest black ducklings and absorbed the rest of the hatched black and emerald babies into their fold.

With all the black ducklings from two generations following behind them like a poultry Partridge Family, the new group that instead of two mix matched geese, is now the farm ‘Dugers’ spent their days roaming, foraging, swimming, finding worms and generally enjoying life, while spending their time quite separate from all the already existing 20+ ducks.  Every day when the chicken house doors would open and all the creatures fly off to different corners, the geese and black ducks would head off on their own, while the rest of the crowd of brown ducks, white ducks, mixes, Swedes and Harlequins would be in their own social groups like a high school lunch room.  They all existed peacefully and without incident without mixing or socializing together.  Equal but separate, and I thought this would be a perfectly fine and sustainable stalemate. This seemed like a reasonable part in the story of Wally and Gracie to hit a plateau and continue on until the horizon of who knows when.

I was wrong again.

Several weeks ago, as many of you know, the chicken house, home to almost a hundred chickens, adult turkeys, ducks and geese caught fire, and with devastating effect, took many lives with it. As soon as the fire was discovered, the front door of the chicken house was opened to let them out and away from the smoke and the fire that trapped so many of our beautiful birds that we will never see again. Every morning before that night, with the opening of the door after sunrise, chickens would come flying out the door like a scene out of Charlotte’s Web, followed by the slower parade of turkeys, ducks and geese. On this night, with the inside of the house already engulfed in flames, and filled with thick black smoke, birds can flying out…into the night…into the dark…into clean air…into the cold. Unlike any other exit from the building before, something miraculous emerged from the horror. With the opening of the door, every single duck, regardless of color or social group, young or old, injured, crippled…..all were pushed out of the house by two big geese with outstretched wings, who in spite of the black smoke that proved lethal inside, opened their lungs to call out and trumpet alarm as they pushed their whole family towards the door. Between the two of them, every single black duckling, white, cream, spotted, brown….all the ducks and geese got out safely thanks to Wally and Gracie. The loss for the evening was heartbreaking.  So many sweet and wonderful birds never to be seen again. It is still hard to think about, but I do, and I keep coming back to a story of love. A story of two broken hearts that came together to be whole. A love so big that it had room to add more, and in the most amazing and selfless gesture, these two beautiful birds opened their wings, their lungs and their hearts, to protect others.  I can’t get it out of my head and I hope I never do.  It is beautiful.  It is the silver lining to a very dark cloud, but magnificent nonetheless.

Living on a farm, and with the greater part of my time spent with animals instead of people, I sometimes questioned my sanity, for one, or whether or not I risk losing my balance or the ability to relate to people.  I wondered if I am missing out on the human interactions that define and shape us while we’re still ducklings trying to find our way in the world. I wondered if there is something human I am sacrificing for all my time spent in the company of creatures, watching and learning from teachers outside my species. I questioned myself and finally came to an answer. I don’t feel that way anymore. I have amazing teachers; two geese that have taught me everything I need to know about how to be good in the world, how love can grow and how much room a heart can have.

I thought it about time that I share it with the people I love, on a day when they deserve to be honored. To you Wally and Gracie: I am so proud to know you, to care for you, to watch you and to learn from you.  I love your love and what it has taught me.

Happy Valentine’s Day to you.

The agricultural timetable and magic of chickens

Each night after the sun sets, Nick and I look forward to heading over to the farm to tuck our sweet little flock of hens to sleep for the night. If you have never spent time around chickens, which I would imagine most people have not, they are the true keepers of the agricultural timetable. The watchtowers of farm life; letting farmers around the world know when to wake up to start their day and with their quitting time at the setting of the sun, we too are reminded that after the light is gone, to quiet down, perch ourselves for the evenings and get some sleep before we start it all again with the rise of the sun tomorrow morning.
Following the lead of chickens has been an effort at times. I don’t consider myself a morning person, but rather more of a night owl (hmmmm…..another bird analogy). I find I get more down when the world is quiet and the phone and e-mails trickle and disappear. I can focus and relax knowing that everyone and everything I care about is tucked away and is safe on my watch. I like the night time and find my creativity is at its highest in the late night hours. Although I have always loved this time, a group of about 156 hens have wooed me over to the value of hitting the hay at a reasonable hour to be rested and ready to enjoy the spectacle of the sun as she spreads her long red and apricot fingers to slowly crawl up over the horizon at the confluence. Being able to witness this is one of the more magical things one could expect to see in their lifetime…I have the chance every morning. As soon as the light creeps slowly up the bluffs and across the grass, I can hear the roosters crowing as herald of the new day. The hens begin their clucking and pecking and the rest of the farm awakens.
One of my other favorite chicken rituals to witness is the roosting call again from the roosters. As the sun slowly fades and it’s time to come inside, the boys stand watch at the door of the coop and take shifts summoning everyone back inside to safety. It reminds me of a movie of medieval times as the sentry on the tower, watching out over the fields, sounds the alarm for the approach of the unknown. Every night the rooster who calls the hens inside changes but each s equally focused on being the last inside after all the ladies are safely tucked in and on their appropriate perch for the evening.
Just after the sun has set, baskets in hand, we walk inside to see them all aloft, as if a chicken Omnimax movie is about to start, and in this quiet unfrantic time, we refill water and food, and most importantly, collect the days eggs. It’s like my favorite Bill Murray movie, “Groundhog Day”, where he relives the same day over and over again, but for me it is like being 6 and hunting for colored Easter eggs and trying to find the most. I never get sick of the satisfaction of filling my basket with all the colors, and then boxing them up beautifully to share.
Maybe I am too much of an artist or romantic or just sensitive “Farm Girl”, and I know most people don’t know the beauty these chickens witness in the course of a day, but I am convinced that I can taste it in their eggs. Just taking them back home for myself feels like I treated myself to something succulent from Dean and Deluca. Whether they’re destined to be baked or scrambled, when I crack them open and see that beautiful marigold sun spill out of the shell and into my mixing bowl and I need no other proof. Every bit of that perfect day made it into that egg. Absolutely it did!

A Friday Film: The Last Legend

The Last Legend, a film by Farm Girl friend, Brant Hadfield. Shot largely (but not entirely) at Farm Narnia. Brant won several awards with this short film, which is so incredibly cool. What do you think about it?

Texting and driving

Bad City Chick! Texting and driving is a very bad habit ….

I need to wash my hands, I smell like snake

Hello out there – it has been awhile!

Please picture a random Tuesday evening, about 78 degrees, sunny and lovely.

City Chick is ready to ride. The work day is done, she has made the 40 minute trek from the mall to the farm, she is dressed, booted and ready to drag Sampson the super pony out and make him earn his keep for an hour or two. She walks across the grounds out to the big grass pasture and notices a really odd looking stick under the avenue of trees. This, of course, begs for further investigation because if it is a stick, it is really cool and may be worth keeping for some sort of decorative function – you never know when a cool stick will make a pretty table display turn into a really cool table display.

City Chick detours from her route to the pasture to check it out. It is really quite dark (and maybe oddly dark for a stick) and really kinky, sort of like this: \ / \ / \ / \ / \ /. What the heck – oooo, that is so not a stick. That is a snake. But City Chick is fairly confident that it is a dead snake. Live snakes usually don’t hang out in that kind of configuration, do they? Hmmm – she finds a real stick and gives it a tentative poke. And it moves.

City Chick isn’t going to lie. She screamed a little out of surprise. I mean, here was a stick that was not actually a stick, but a dead snake that turned out to be a LIVE snake. Which hadn’t moved since she poked it, which was a little odd – mostly they slither off pretty quickly to get out of the way. At this point Farm Girl comes down the driveway, riding William (a former racehorse) bareback with just a halter and leadrope. City Chick has just poked the snake again to make sure it really was alive (it is) and gave yet (another, sigh) involuntary scream when it again demonstrates that it is alive and moves.

“What are you doing?”

“I found a snake. I’m pretty sure it is a black snake, but I thought it was dead. Turns out after I poked it, it really isn’t dead. Do you want to do something with it?”

“Yes, but could you stop yelling and poking it until after I get off the horse?”

City Chick is very firm on the no screaming or yelling around horses – just ask Kuhs Kid #2 about this – so she makes a face at Farm Girl, “I didn’t know you were coming over on him!”

Farm Girl takes Will over to the pasture, swings off of him and walks back to City Chick.

“Do you want to hold it?” Farm Girl is not fond of snakes. At all. So every chance she gets, she’ll handle a snake because she not only because she is crazy but she refuses to allow herself to be afraid of them.

“No – I’ve held snakes before . . . it isn’t a big deal for me. You go ahead and catch though.”

So, Farm Girl finds an excellent snake catching stick and proceeds to get control of his head and asks City Chick to snap a picture. City Chick complies.

Farm Girl then lets said snake go. After he pooped on her arm, of course. (Really – you didn’t see that coming?)

“I wish I had held him . . . Now I want a picture holding a snake.”

“Do you want me to catch him again?”

“Ummm, yes, please?”

Farm Girl has since misplaced her excellent snake catching stick and resorts to a lead rope. She gets his head and curls his body around her arm and hands him over. City Chick takes the snake from her and then proceeds to make friends:

And so the snake is released into the lawn for the second time (and really makes an effort to get out of our sight) and City Chick climbs through the pasture fence to get Sampson. She places the halter on his head and watches his eyes get a bit googly and hears the snorting start. She fusses at him to settle down and starts leading him out towards the gate. He becomes the prancing pony, still snorting and still with the googly eyes rolling around. He’s being a gentleman about it (in horse terms) but he is NOT happy about something. She opens the gate and starts heading towards the barn when a mosquito (charming buggers) lands on her cheek and she gives it a swipe with her hands. And realizes why Sampson isn’t happy – most horses aren’t really into snakes and he is no exception, but her hands smell quite distinctly of reptile, a musty and dank sort of smell. The poor horse continues to prance next to her as she chats to him. She ties him up quickly and heads for the sink when Farm Girl attempts to get her attention for something. City Chick replies with words she’d never thought she’d say, “Hang on . . I need to wash my hands, I smell like snake!”

Ahhh, life on Farm Narnia. It is never boring.

The Birds and The Bees – But Really Just the Birds

So, it is Spring time here at Farm Narnia! (Finally – really, who ever heard of 48 degree highs with nasty drizzle in May in Missouri?) We’ve been very bad bloggers, but it has been a busy time for us – lots of potential clients coming out to tour the property for weddings, wedding season has started up and our usual shenanigans have all combined to make for bloggers who fail to blog.

So, City Chick is grabbing a few minutes tonight to give the people who (might) be still holding out hope that we haven’t abandoned this blog altogether and hoping for some new installments. She hopes that all will be forgiven if she promises to start getting a few quick stories and pictures posted every couple of days.

So, last weekend we were enjoying some (FINALLY!) fine weather, sitting under the trees at the picnic table. This is one of our congregating spots to eat as we can accommodate about 10 people on this bench without smooshing together too much. Subway was being enjoyed by the Kuhs Crew as was the sunshine. The chickens were swarming, begging for treats. Kind people shared some bread in small little pieces and divided it amongst the masses. Those looking for a laugh would throw down a big chunk and watch as chicken after chicken would run and drop the chunk without time to eat it before the next chicken snagged it and took off an attempted to eat it. It is always good for a chuckle.

Now, as City Chick has observed, it is Spring time here at Farm Narnia. That means some of the critters are a little, shall we say, feistier right now than they are the rest of the year. Chickens are no exception to this rule and some of the hens are exhibiting “Rooster Rash” from the constant attentions of the boys. One rooster in particular, a Jersey Giant Splash, is particularly diligent in knocking off the other roosters (as he TOWERS over the other birds) but never seems to get much himself, was having a heck of a time regulating all the “action” going on near us. We laughed about it until we saw the turkeys . . .

A healthy turkey tom weighs in at about 40 pounds. The hens come in at about 30. These are not clever birds, generally speaking, however instincts usually steer them right and they manage to find enough food, water and generally keep out of trouble. We have several hens and a couple of toms and none of them seemed to ever do much. The toms strut about and “drum” quite a bit at each other, but that’s always seemed to be the extent of the action – none of the turkey eggs we’ve tried to incubate have ever actually developed, so we just figured they weren’t getting fertilized for whatever reason. They are not, as stated previously, particularly clever birds.

We have one turkey hen who is a lovely cross of some sort – she is white with beige and gold feathers – really, if she didn’t have that turkey head she’d be lovely enough to be a peahen. We see her . . . with a tom on top of her. Attempting to do the deed. Now . . . please picture this poor hen, with about 125% of her own body weight on her back. Because Mr. Tom Turkey apparently can’t figure out how to line it up and actually “do it”. Now – if these were the domesticated giant breasted white turkeys, this would be understandable – they are some genetically modified that they can’t reproduce naturally due to the size of the breast on the birds – it interferes with the action. However, these are heritage breed turkeys that haven’t been particularly modified. In fact, the tom in question rather looks like a very handsome wild turkey. But there he is, looking like he is giving this poor hen some strange version of a barefoot back massage and she’s just smashed to the ground and starting to pant in alarm. We laugh. There may or may not have been a few inappropriate jokes made. We keep waiting for the conclusion – the ducks and chickens are usually pretty quick about their business. And it goes on. And on. And on. He’s getting rather red in the face and she’s looking quite alarmed.

Farm Girl finally sends Terrific Twin A and Kuhs Cowboy to rescue the hen. She gratefully scuttles off to find her hen friends. Mr. Tom Turkey looks distinctly embarrassed in front of his buddies and quickly puffs up and begins to make his drum noise. He might not have managed to impress this hen, but there is always next time.

And the Piggies went “Weeee Weee Weee” all the way home!

Babe the Farm Pig has been mentioned on this blog a couple of times. How we decided pigs should be here here is an adventure that we haven’t discussed yet. As with several (OK – many) of our adventures, it started with City Chick getting fixated . . .

City Chick’s mom, Mama Lou (sorry if you don’t like your blog handle, Mom!) volunteers for a large rescue ranch in Missouri that primarily handles horses, but also takes in a full assortment of creatures you would expect to see on a farm – chickens, ducks, llamas (ok, maybe you wouldn’t expect to see llamas), sheep, goats and . . . pigs! City Chick was getting the tour of Mama Lou’s most recent favorite creatures on a snowy winter day in early 2011 while waiting for (the running on Farm Time instead of City Time) Farm Girl and Kuhs Kid 1 and Kuhs Kid 2 to show up for some poultry adoption. It is always a fun trip to make and this time was no exception – in one of the special areas was a cute little mini pig! This darling little chap had recently been surrendered by the family of the older gentleman who had owned him and could no longer take care of him. He was a charming little guy and eager for attention and any treats that could be pushed his way. He is such a personality that the ranch has kept him on to be one of their mascots that goes out and interacts with the public instead of being available for rehoming – so, you can see that City Chick was pretty enamored with the thought of adding a pet mini pig to Farm Narnia. Farm Girl finally arrived and somehow missed the pig between all of her poultry procurement for the farm and Kuhs Kid 1 & 2 rolling down snowy hills in the chilly winter sunshine.

But City Chick did not forget. City Chick got on Google and started researching. Turns out mini pigs are pretty great pets – similar to dogs and tend to be quite clever. Food consumption is an issue that they face – they can reach enormous proportions and some breeds are “mini” in only that compared to a 600 pound hog, they only weigh about 150 pounds! Other breeds or mixes of breeds can produce a pig anywhere from 15 pounds to 60 pounds, which is a manageable size. They can be taught tricks, house-broken and can be completely snuggly. Plus . . .the oinking is the cutest thing ever. City Chick’s research into what mini-pig keeping complete and a local vet who sees them, she begins to utilize Google to search out pig breeders and (her other addition) CraigsList to see what realistic prices in the area are and what is in the vicinity. The obsession intensifies during the summer once her wedding and honeymoon are over, finally scoring in October for a litter of pigs that is an acceptable mashup of mini pig breeds and isn’t too far away from St. Louis.

So on a golden Sunday afternoon in October, Farm Girl hops into City Chick’s car, along with Kuhs Kid 2 and begins the trek South to the Pig Lady, about 90 minutes from the farm. It was nearing twilight as we came down a country lane with a picturesque bridge to the small farmette where the piglets were. City Chick was interested in a small black female with a pink spot on her nose . . . the little girl was quickly handed over for inspection and cuddling. Farm Girl was then asked if she wanted to hold a piglet . . . and a small squirming bundle of pink with black spots was promptly handed over into her hands, squealing his indignation at being removed from the warm pile of his brothers and sisters. It was love at first sight for Farm Girl and the completion of yet another mission for City Chick. The piggies, named Penelope and Teddy were coming home to Farm Narnia just as soon as they were old enough to be separated from their mother.

Here are some pictures of them and a video of feeding time!

Sure, pigs and bunnies get along. Doesn’t everyone like a Pig Scarf and a soft Bunny Bed?

Can I chew on your shoe?

Narnia baby playpen

YESTERDAY……

A day in the life of Farm Girl / Farm Narnia (yes, actually yesterday)

Wake up

Captain Crabby Pants / Chris V.  texts wanting to know if I want a soda and my favorite cranberry muffin from QT – duh….YES

Sniff test clothes to see which are least offensive in pile of bedroom clothes / spritz my birthday Narciso Rodriguez perfume generously over myself and outfit to give it the old “Marie Antoinette” treatment.

Drive over to Farm & join Chris in barn to review what needs to be done for the

 Take 2 bites of muffin before realizing the crazy 6 bunnies are loose again and

playing “Catacombs of Paris” underneath the floor of the barn.

Accept soda and muffin offering

Put board up between stalls to start game of “Capture the Bunny”

Say “hi” to the community of baby chicks, ducks and mama bunny who is complacent in her inability to get herself back in to her “pre-bunnies” shape to be able to also play “Capture the Bunny” with her oddly all identical mini-herd of grey bunnies running wild in tunnels under the stalls.

Say “hi” to mama goat Snickers and the baby goat trio munching hay in the stall they are currently sharing with Babe the pig who is under barn arrest to protect him from eating so much he’ll explode – seriously, he is so fat that his wrinkle upon wrinkle of face fat are threatening to cause fat blindness – SERIOUSLY!!!

Take the hideously over-ripe and sickly pungent bananas out of my car to take down to the cow girls Luna and Bess to rack up some bovine bonus points before I resume trying to halter them and walk them around like giant Labrador retrievers

Amanda (Terrific Twin A) arrives and joins in my intimate game of “tickle the baby cows” –we both bask in the brilliance of my decision to add cows back to the property after a 70 year hiatus. (If you have never cuddled with a cow, it is not to be missed – you haven’t lived until you have been kissed by a sweet cow that smells like mushy bananas). We also discuss Amanda’s decision to buy her favorite horse “Dakota” from me, as I simultaneously try to woo her into coming back to work at the farm full time.

Chris joins us to look over new pasture in back and rising water in secondary field pond, to which Chris suggests we fence it in.  My answer is that we can as soon as I do the first picking from the money tree orchard I haven’t found time to plant.

Say silent prayer and say I am sorry to the God of Bumblebees, for having discovered that our entire hive perished sometime last week in what seems more like the life interrupted state of Pompei moments before the eruption of Mount Vesuvius……the bodies of the entire hive frozen in place on what looked like an average day in their life.  So sad.  Still horribly sorry.

Hoofing back up to the barn, Amanda and I stop off in the greenhouse to cut up seed potatoes to be ready to plant tomorrow for St. Patty’s Day.

After losing our potting shed and attached cottage and most importantly or collection of all varieties of seeds to a fire last week, I have become the crazy seed lady who doesn’t feel it is safe to have them anywhere but exactly where she is….I know it’s crazy and I am working through my loss….I managed to re-sort my newly purchased seeds into categories, seal them in plastic boxes and store them in the only place that poses no risk – The Greenhouse

City Chick arrives bearing coffee and hot chocolate for all and asks us what the hell we’re doing…..honestly….city people……how do you not understand? 😉

As a group we decide that today is the day that shithead “Willy the Goose” needs to move back home with his human parents down on Parker Road.  As buyer of feed, somehow I keep getting bitten and don’t want to run the risk of the same happening to wedding clients, or even worse, to a small child.  I make the wildly popular decision that “The Duck Stops Here” (OK, Goose….)

We retrace our steps and walk back down to the hay barn to discuss the relocation of City Chick’s beloved Sampson and Roper to a custom made pasture adjoining the Moo girls.  I am careful to use the pronoun “we” when describing what needs to be done to make a new space for her horse, and yet she looks at me as if I am speaking Dothraki. L

A few more minutes are stolen for speed petting of cows before heading back up to barn because potential clients have arrived for their 1pm appointment.

Meet up with lovely young clients in town from Truman State where they are both students – first words out of my mouth when seeing the Forever 21 summer shirt and light sweater on bride-to-be are “go back to your car and put on something appropriate….Rule #1 is no freezing to death during site visits!”.

Arriving back at Farm, Gwen and kids have arrived and are asking what they can do to help….I give them a wheelbarrow and two boxes of donated produce to wheel back to goats and pigs so they can feel like rock stars.

Chris V. is trying to distract me by talking to me about a tractor alternator, while Lauren sketchily walks back to hay barn with a halter and lead rope / Chris ACTUALLY believes 1) that I understand his mechanical gibberish &  2) that I care

Lauren reappears walking up hill with tall dark and sexy new horse “Rex” at the end of the lead rope.  Rex has a nasty puncture wound in his left shoulder, it is swollen and he needs to be put into a stall to be cleaned up and evaluated

The decision is made that if this injury were sustained by Sampson, City Girl would be calling the vet.  Vet is called.  He’s two hours out.

A vet call to the property isn’t cheap and Amanda noticed something swollen on her new horse Dakota’s face, and we decide to bring her up to the barn to also be looked at by our world’s greatest vet EVER (Dr. Bryce Goman from Normandy Animal Hospital….Woot Woot!!!!)

Gwen’s son Adam and daughter Mia return from checking on the eggs we all put into an incubator weeks ago, with news that peeps can be heard.

Boyfriend Scott arrives and without warning is instantly sucked into the Farm Vortex and follows us into the Farm House for our peep investigation.

Upon entering my bedroom of the Farm House, loud peeping can be heard as two eggs have already hatched – problem is that I should have taken the automatic egg turning mechanism out of the incubator yesterday, before hatching begins, otherwise it could hurt the newborns (like Han Solo and Chewbacca about to get ripped up by the huge trash compactor on the Death Star.)

With Amanda, Gwen, Scott, the two kids and I all crammed into the tiny bedroom like a clown car. To solve this problem immediately, Farm Girl marching orders are given to have the kids hold the two newborn chicks in polarfleece while 1) Gwen gets warm water to raise moisture in brooder to make shells softer and easier to exit from 2) Scott grabs a bowl as a temporary holding facility for the un-hatched eggs 3) Scott also grabs dishtowel soaked in warm water to help chick #3 get out of shell easier 4) I open lid of brooder while 5) Amanda ferries eggs to bowl while 6) Gwen’s photo client who is lost and excessively chatty calls repeatedly from each wrong turn she makes – attempting to try to keep talking and stay on the line for blow by blow directions while 7) Gwen adeptly and tastefully puts phone on speaker setting down on the floor (woman blathering on and on about god knows what) and picks up her awesome camera to document the emergence of chick #3 while we all crowd in with a cacophony of “Wow’s. It was amazing to witness and made even cooler to see small kids see such an unexpected miracle.

Scott and I run to Subway to pick up sandwiches for everyone and return to Farm House kitchen for everyone to eat / Farm Girl multitasks by talking and washing today’s eggs while Mia and Adam assist in putting them in cartons and placing them in the egg fridge.

What day is complete without firing up our favorite new farm addition – The Cotton Candy Machine (imagine angels singing)????

I put on my lucky cotton candy making apron (seriously, don’t ask), and find out what flavors the little kids would like to try.  City Chick prefers Cherry and Amanda prefers Grape, but little Adam settles on Pink Vanilla and Mia wants Blue Raspberry.  After 10 minutes of heat up time, I am ready to play sugar Rapunzel, and begin spinning my brightly colored treats for all.  With sticks of heavenly sugar fluff in everyone’s hands, I take off my magic confectioner’s apron and power down our centrifuge of fun.  Gwen and the kids leave to head home. Right about this point, Lauren quietly slips out of the house.

Barreling down the driveway victoriously in my 1993 red Ford truck formerly known as “Lucille”, but after recent additions of a new drive shaft, transmission, timing belt, new tires and brakes and operating under the new name of “Money”, Lauren and “Money” make the farm version of a hockey stop right in front of the Farm House with Willy the Devil Goose in a janky dog crate.  Insanely proud of herself, she enters the farm house to receive her hand spun cotton candy and goose catching “kudos” due from all of us.  Sometimes she does this wild Annie Oakley shit that blows me away and makes me really proud of her.  Catching him is not easy and he is a megatron pain in the ass (or leg, or arm or whatever area of tender flesh he can nip).

Gloating and “All Hail City Chick” is halted as Willy is spotted yards away from the truck, running back to his pen.  Not to be thwarted, City Chick cowboy’s up again and brings him back like Dog the Bounty Hunter, where his is crammed back into his crate that is now pressed up against the tailgate to prevent a premature evacuation.

Vet calls and says he’s 20 minutes away, so Chris and Amanda will have to take Willy back to previous owners without the aid of Farm Girl and City Chick.  Much grumbling and low tone cursing can be heard faintly above “Money’s” engine noises as they drive off into the rain.  When they are just out of sight, Farm Girl and City Chick “high 5” for their wily ability to extricate themselves from icky situations.

Back inside the barn and in the stall with gorgeous new horse “Rex”, I continue brushing him and combing the mud out from his long white fetlocks just as Dr. Goman arrives.  After catching him up on what we believe is the injury and cause of infection, Lauren tells Dr. Goman that she forbade me to buy this horse and even took my bidding number away at the draft sale to prevent me from coming home with another creature (Older and craftier than City Girl, I made a behind the scenes offer to buy the horse directly from the owner back in the stalls after the auction).

Dr. Goman tells me that he offers a pre-purchase exam for $100-$150 and spends anywhere from and hour to two hours thoroughly checking out a horse before his client truly entertain the notion of purchasing it.  He said he would be happy to do this for me in the future.  I assure him that in an auction environment, it wouldn’t have mattered much.  He says “hmmmm” and takes temperature, inspects the wound, teeth eyes and traces his hands all over the horses body to search for other problem areas.  He gets far back on his belly before stopping, saying “hmmmmm” again and coming up to look me in the eyes as he grabs my hand and with his hand guiding in, retraces his slow descent down the horses abdomen and now passing what I typically consider “Private Property”. He pushes my hand over a large extermally swollen mass and says “feel that”?….to which I say “yes”.  He says “do you know what it is” and I say “???…a plum?”.  Bringing both our hands back up, he says…”THAT is a TESTICLE”!!!!  To which I responded “how’s that possible…he’s a gelding?”.  Vet, now acting like Yoda, informs me that he never was a gelding.  I didn’t look, neither did City Chick and we just assumed.  Assumed wrong because he’s sexy and he knows it and is juiced up and ready to bring the heat.  Uh Ohhhhhh!!!!! Shitdoubleshit!!!!!

Rex now has an even stupider name that the one I already gave him – he is a Cryptorchid Stallion – meaning he has man nuggets of which one has fallen and the other can be still nestled cozily up inside his abdomen, staying warm and out of trouble, (probably playing video games and keeping the crazy intestines company)

1)      This megasucks because he now must be kept completely separate from the herd (and my money orchard still hasn’t been planted).  He has to be on anti-inflammatory drugs, antibiotics, special food and topical anti-inflammatory for the better part of a week and a half.  He will require surgery at UMSL and its going to cost the equivalent of the  price of the badass girl truck fantasy in my head. (Oh well….I guess it wasn’t meant to be…..)

Dr. Goman turns his sights to look over Dakota for Amanda. She clearly has a puncture wound just under her eye.  From quick inspection, her body condition is low and she is thin. He suggests that the food going in may be subject to some tooth drama and he then opens her mouth. While explaining to us neophytes how to tell the true age of a horse is by the length, shape and direction of their tooth.  We have believed this horse to be around 13, but he says she is closer to 28, and is in need of a lot of dental work to correct her eating and to further assist larger numbers of calories getting into her towards her rehabilitation.

Shitty Vet Visit for shitty news ——–Our beautiful gelding in a uni-baller and our teenage trail horse is really a Golden Girl

To add insult to injury, as I am on the stall floor with Babe, Dr. Goman looks over the railing and say “holy shit she’s fat”……he corrects himself by clarifying he meant only the pig.

By this time, I’m ready for him to go so I can harass Lauren into taking that “told you so” smirk off her face, and tell Chris to “shut it” with his talk “that he KNEW Rex was a Stallion”.

I have to leave before I throw up on everyone and decided to emulate my hero TS Eliot by saying “if the ———————– could be stopped, some fragments of the afternoon might be saved and I concentrated my attention with careful subtlety to this end.”

Scott and I left to go pick up dinner and for me to partially digest everything that happened today….what a day. Seriously….what a day

I am blown away by the wide range of opportunities and experiences that Narnia trotted out for all of us today. I entered the barn to say goodnight and found Rex asleep on the ground, but accepting of sweet pets.  Dakota was quietly eating.

Inside the Farm House, 3 more baby chicks had been born, which I relocated to the warm brooder next to the couch.  I took a minute to pick up and listen to the peeping chicks still inside their green and blue eggs, which will be jettison like Apollo 1 space capsules by morning.

I’m off to bed after writing this……hoping more bodies will be out tomorrow to help us deal with the vet news and all the changes we need to put in place for them and their safety.

I’m tired but going to make a huge attempt for enough spooning, snuggling, and validation that it might last deep into tomorrow.

Potatoes are already lined up for morning burial, so that will at least be a positive starting point.

What a day.  I better get up earlier and make more cotton candy to balance it all out, because after all, farm life can’t always be baby chick, ducks and bunnies…….. 🙂

Happy Birthday to me….another year older

In the days leading up to my birthday, which I both look forward to and dread in equal measures, I wanted to get a massage, talk to someone about acupuncture, get my hair colored (hadn’t figured out what color/s just yet) get a manicure update for my new gel nails, do some absolutely unnecessary shopping and make some by all means unneeded purchases. The idea of multiple cocktails with close friends even danced in my head briefly. Should I head to a casino later tonight or drive downtown to see what city-centric fun could be found for this farm girl in lovely attendance with her wacky sense of adventure.

All the ideas and potential appointments for indulgence danced in my head just as I awoke this morning. Reaching for my phone, I even made a couple calls to try and book appointments.

By 9am, I was dressed for anything, and could have hung a left out into the world, but rather i went straight to the farm side to check on the animals and get some hardcore nuzzling time in. there were baby bunnies to squeeze, cats to cuddle and horses in need of springtime scratching.

Instead of going to a massage appointment, I opted to work solo in my greenhouse and do my best to get it ready for the potatoes i’d like to plant this weekend in honor of St. Patty’s Day. With the help of trusty salvage sidekick Phil, we put in a raised bed for carrots, just after dear Ryan installed a raised bed for the Irish diet staple The Potato.

More grapes and blueberries were planted, as were more leeks and onions.

Instead of breaking for lunch, I went into the chicken house to see what order was in need of restore, in addition to the usual Seal Team 6 eggstraction.

A brief romp with the horses took me until 4;30 at which point I realized that i had intentionally surrendered my birthday plans in lieu of the more necessary, less expensive and more fulfilling duties of Farm Girl.

The Kuhs Krew of guys left what seemed like rather early for the day, but that allowed me more solo and reflective time before my evening plans of…..drinks, dinner, sushi, book shopping and whatever else……with my on and off again love of 5 years.

I did get dressed up, shed the smells of poly species poop, spritzed myself with CoCo Chanel Mademoiselle , put on clean jeans and met the man I love for sushi (and a dozen long stemmed red roses). We had a perfect evening eating each other’s sushi and really really taking about things that are important to us.

Two blissfully delicious drinks later (and after the bookstore had closed) we decided to simply go home, get in bed and catch up on Game of Thrones. As we are snuggling so tight and smiling at each other, I realize that this has been the most simple but also the most meaningful of any birthday I can remember. I must be growing up because the food and company and the really necessary conversations and exchanges truly made my birthday exquisite. Just talking to my love and watching him fall asleep is one of the greatest presents I would never think to ask for. It made me feel centered happy, balanced and relieved of stress.

Seems as though I saved myself a lot of money, but for now, you guys are just going to have to put up with my boring hair just a wee smidge longer. 🙂

True love beats spa time & presents hands down every time!

……….so says “29” year old Farm Girl 🙂

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