Blown away

Yesterday was poised to be another productive day on the farm. The sky was a brilliant blue and the clouds were like white cotton candy -- a perfect day for working in the kitchen garden. As I sat at my desk, finishing up the day's editing work, I noticed the wind picking up. It started out gentle at first, playful, but as the dark clouds rolled in, it became menacing and then violent.

At first, small things were blown over -- a few bird houses, a chair, the kids' swing hanging from their favourite tree -- and then I began to worry about the tree itself as it whipped back and forth like it was made of rubber. The wind was unrelenting as it hammered away at our metal roof, screeching like a howling banshee. I took a step outside and from deep in the woods, I could hear the trees snapping like matchsticks. The power flickered on and off and then at 10:30 a.m. it went off for good. The house was eerily silent, save for the screaming of the wind.

By 11:30 a.m. the wind had died down enough that I thought it safe to venture outside. At the edge of the woods, I could see bud-tipped branches torn and lying on the ground, trees cut in two, and even one cedar knocked completely on its side, roots still clinging to the earth that once grounded it. I started walking down the hill towards the ponds and I noticed one of the hydro lines that bisect our property looked "wrong" -- it was sagging lower than its twin.

Returning to the house, I put Henry on a leash and walked out towards the road. It was covered with branches and the tops of several trees, but it was passable. I turned on to the main road and walked to the nearby power transformer. There was the other end of the saggy power line, severed and blowing in the wind.

What I didn't know at the time was that this windstorm, with 100 km/hour gusts, darkened hundreds of thousands of homes across Ontario. More than 65 utility poles were snapped and the damage was widespread. Of course, this was nothing compared to Wednesday's tornadoes that ravaged six southern states, killing hundreds of people.

I returned to a still and quiet house, put Henry inside and went back out to the road to clear away the debris. Even though the wind was but a breeze now, the creak and occasional snap of the trees made me nervous. It was humbling, that feeling. We have such hubris to think that humans can govern Nature, that we are "in control," when in an instant, all our structures, our brilliant engineering, our lives, can be taken away.

As the day progressed, I grew more impatient and agitated. We'd been without power before, but never for this long. While I'd reported the outage to the utility company, and subsequently my discovery of the severed lines, the hotline was no longer answering calls or providing any updates on when service would be restored. The generator, which is stored in the garage, is too heavy for me to move. I started worrying about the contents of the fridge, the absence of running water, the rising water levels in our basement sump.

I told myself that this really wasn't a big deal: Lucas would set up the generator when he got home, which would power the well pump, the fridge, the kitchen lights and one outlet that we could use to plug in the sump pump. It wasn't minus 30 degrees out, so we didn't need to worry about heat or frozen pipes -- and even if it did get chilly, we had the wood stove in the kitchen. When the kids got home, I planned on telling them that this would be an adventure -- just like in the pioneer days. It would be fun!

Instead, by the time they returned home, I was grumpy, stressed out and short tempered. There was nothing fun about this.

Because I work from home, I feel obliged to be accessible between the hours of 8:00 am and 6:00 pm. I felt like I needed to do "something" productive, so I trundled the kids into the van, dog in tow, and drove halfway to town where I could park at the side of the road and access the Internet via my phone. As we turned onto the main road, I noticed the line was still severed, with no utility vehicles in sight.

I responded to a number of work emails, read a few news releases that detailed the extent of the damage and then called Lucas. I'd asked him to bring home some food basics -- bread, yogurt, fruit, etc. -- because I hadn't done any baking or food prep before the power went out. He told me he hadn't yet had a chance to get to the grocery store but he'd be home in 10 minutes and we'd figure something out. I burst into tears.

I felt so ridiculously incompetent, powerless and unprepared -- something as minor as a power outage had thrown me into a major tailspin. I was embarrassed and disappointed by my reaction. I don’t think it was the power outage, per se, that affected me so much; it was one more stress on top of everything else -- we're low on wood, we're low on hay, I'm behind on the garden, gas prices are way up (along with everything else), and now this; or moreso, it was the reminder of how much we still have to learn that seemed like another bump along the road to "simpler living."

24 hours later and we're still without power. It could come back today, but mostly likely it'll be several days -- who knows. Given the amount of widespread damage (most recent update: 45,000 people restored, 130,000 still without), the utility company has to fix the areas that affect the greatest number of people first. I get that.

I also get that being without power offers opportunity. On my way home from yoga last night, I drove through pockets of the countryside that were still and quiet in absolute darkness. Such beauty! Then as I turned into our driveway, I could see tiny flickers of light in the windows and a lantern that Lucas had left me on the front step. Walking into the house, I was met with the rich smell of beeswax and the dance of dozens of candles -- a simple and loving gesture from a man who knew I needed some comfort.

In the light of the day, I can be pragmatic about this experience and the many lessons learned: that a power outage can happen at any time and it's not good enough to have an emergency preparedness plan in your head. While we were well stocked food-wise for the winter, I've let our reserves dwindle, which is a mistake. While I spend a lot of time learning about working towards greater self-reliance and sufficiency, there is much more that we can do. In the meantime, the generator is working well as a stop-gap measure, keeping our fridge humming and the (oh-so-cold!) water running. And compared to those people whose lives have been destroyed by violent acts of Nature, we're facing a minor inconvenience.

I know we'll be better prepared next time. I guess I just had a tough time embracing the "simple" life when right now it feels anything but simple.

An uninvited visitor

I love gazing out over the barnyard while sitting at my big farmhouse kitchen table. Just like earlier this evening. I was admiring the frolicking goats, the handsome horse, the small red creature standing in the run-in stalking our ducks….

HEY!!!! That's a red fox going into the barn!!

Photo courtesy of fotosearch.com

Off I went running out of the house like a lunatic again (I tend to do a lot of that around here) with Lucas close behind me. I guess the fox heard me coming (really?) for it high-tailed it into the paddock behind the barn and was later spotted trotting along the far end of the adjacent hayfield before entering the woods.

We’ve been restricting our hens’ barnyard movements for the last week after finding several suspicious piles of feathers in the hayfield. We thought it might have been a fox that had snatched a hen or two (or three) but what surprised me just now is how brazen it was – standing there, just a few feet from the entrance to the barn like it owned the place.

Thankfully, all winged creatures are accounted for but it's too bad we can't give our "noble" donkeys any credit for saving the day. You know the barn-eating, hay-burning creatures we installed to protect our flock? They missed out on the action. Completely. They were behind the barn treating themselves to some lovely dust baths.

Since this latest crisis, I've been reading up on foxes on the BackYard Chickens' "Predators and Pests" forum and I know we should count ourselves very lucky -- this time. For it'll be back. It's not a question of if, but when.

So it looks like I'll be shopping for more electric fencing tomorrow -- maybe that portable netting stuff -- or perhaps some traps, though foxes sound pretty tricky to snare.

Unless anyone else has any suggestions -- what do you do to keep your poultry safe?

Busting out

Lately I've been feeling a bit smug about how few problems we've had managing the barnyard. Sure our animals tend to be on the neurotic side but we've never had issues with anyone escaping (well, except once when Lucas left the man-gate open too long and Leeroy decided to follow him and go for a romp in the garden) or fences failing.

Tonight I got my smug little self batted right out of the ballpark.

I was just finishing a different blog post about my glorious spring day today when I heard this high pitched sound. At first I thought it was coyotes but when I put my head out the front door, I recognized Gall's whiny. Lucas was out so while I was putting on my coveralls and boots I called to ask if Gall usually did that at night. Sometimes, Lucas replied, usually if he can't see one of the donkeys (i.e. Cinder) because she's wandered off somewhere in the dark.

Gall looking for his girl, Cinder

Well, when I walked up to the barnyard, Cinder was somewhere in the dark alright. I just had no idea where.

Gall was trotting around in circles, snorting and whinnying and getting himself whipped into a right lather. A 15-foot section of fence that leads to our big hay field was flattened and the donkeys were nowhere in sight. Thankfully, Gall was on the barnyard side of the fence still but for how long, I couldn't be sure.

He was getting louder and more agitated and running around in larger and larger circles. At 16 hands high and not wearing a halter, he wasn't the easiest to catch. But it's one thing to have the donkeys missing; it's another to have the donkeys missing and a codependent freaked out old horse running around after them. Let's just say I was pretty motivated to not let the situation escalate.

I was able to calm Gall down long enough to get his halter on and clip a lead onto him. He was still whinnying and snorting but at least he was under control, or so I hoped. By the time I got him down to the barn, Lucas came into the barnyard (after I unceremoniously called him and told him to get the f&*k home) and helped me get Gall into the stall. Gall does not like the stall. Gall paces and whinnies almost as much in the stall as he did out in the barnyard when Cinder and Lee went missing. At this point, I didn't much care for my horse's emotional sensitivities; he was safe and sound and I'd make it up to him later.

While Lucas went up to evaluate the fence damage, I took my headlamp and made my way over to the edge of our 30-acre, pitch-black hayfield to look for two renegade donkeys. I must have looked and sounded like a complete idiot. No wonder the neighbours don't talk to us much.

Within a minute or two, I saw movement and I thought it's a.) the donkeys, b.) a deer or c.) coyotes and maybe I'd get eaten and wouldn't have to worry about any of this anymore. It was the donkeys.

I'd loaded my pockets up with corn and I lured Cinder right up to the fence (I was, of course, on the wrong side still.) Lee was a bit more reluctant but wherever Cinder goes, he goes. Lucas had temporarily abandoned his fence-fixing to help me lead Cinder, who was now clipped onto another lead, back into the barnyard. It didn't help that the gate we were trying to lead them back through was stuck in mud and ice and it took several minutes and lots of swearing to unstick it but we finally got Cinder, munching corn, and Lee, following behind her, back into the barnyard.

I breathed a sigh of relief and was actually foolish enough to think, "Glad that's over with." I let Gall out of his stall (he was still whinnying and snorting for his girl) and he immediately walked over to Cinder and gave her a once over with his nose. She wasn't too impressed at all -- she just wanted to see if there was any hay still lying around.

Gall was pretty sweaty so I thought I'd fill up the barn buckets (I have to go back to the house to collect water because our barn well hasn't worked all winter) and while I was there, grab some equine-type treats from the house. When I got back into the barnyard, up at the top where the trouble started, all three of them were crashing around in the sumac, with Gall chasing the two donkeys.

It seems that Gall had had enough of their foolishness and decided it was time for his charges to go back to the barn run-in and put the evening behind them. The donkeys wanted nothing to do with this. So every time they tried to walk away from the barn, Gall would try and chase them back down.

After much cajoling and waving of water buckets and treats, I finally managed to coral the three hooligans together for some calming down time. It worked for a while and then the donkeys decided to take a stroll around the perimeter again. After more thundering hooves and crashing in the sumac I decided to leave them to their foolishness or risk getting knocked over (it was quite dark out, you see) while I put down fresh straw in the second run-in for their bedding (while I didn't really believe we'd see any signs of normality this evening, I had hopes) and top up the big water trough.

By the time the three equines had made their way to the front of the barn, Lucas had finished fixing the fence well enough until morning. I gave everyone a once over, making sure old Gall was sufficiently cooled down and that no-one was worse for wear (Lee has a scrape on his nose that may need seeing too but otherwise, everyone is OK.)

I don't know how well I'll sleep tonight. I'm a worrier, you see. While it worked out well in the end, it could have been much, much worse. The hayfield adjacent to the barnyard (aka the donkeys' playground) has an opening to our road as well as several openings to the woods and if they'd ventured far, I'd hate to think where they could have gotten to.

I'm also worried about Gall. He hasn't had this much exercise or agitation in months and at 23-years-old, his ticker ain't what it used to. He's supposed to be in retirement, not baby-sitting two silly donkeys. He's exhausted but I know he won't sleep until the donkeys are bedded in for the night. He's a tough old boy, though. I'm just hoping for a nice day tomorrow so he can spend it lounging in the sun.

Then there's the fencing. With the snow melting, it seems we've got a lot of waterlogged old cedar posts sitting in mud. At last check everything seemed secure but this evening's escapades proved us wrong. Maybe we'll just have to take a trip to the farm co-op tomorrow for some electrical fencing. At least that way, the next time anyone tries to escape, we won't be the only ones getting a shock.