Madcap Monday: Horse power

A growing number of ecologically-minded small farms are turning to draft animals (horses, donkeys and/or mules) to work the land instead of using tractors and other heavy machinery. We're not one of them. Our old (28ish) thoroughbred horse is retired and largely functions as barnyard eye-candy. And the donkeys? Well, they're supposed to be on predator watch, but we all know how good a job they're doing there... or not.

However, the grassy paths in the kitchen garden were looking a bit unruly last week but instead of cutting with the mower, I enlisted the help of my four-legged friends.

While they mucked up the beds a bit, they did a great job razing the grass to more manageable levels. And the natural fertilizer* they left behind can't be beat! Now if I could only get them to help me plant peas...

* Yes, I know you have to age manure before you use it in vegetable beds.

Seedlings under lights + 2012 garden plan (so far)

2012 seedlings, before thinning

As this space is meant to include a garden journal of sorts, I thought I'd provide a quick update of what's growing under lights.

I had good germination this year (85% on average), using a heat mat to help get the tomatoes, basil, peppers and eggplant started. After cooking the first batch of Brandywine tomato seedlings, I realized I need to be much more careful about moving the seedlings off the mat sooner. Of the varieties that didn't do too well -- Jimmy Nardello peppers (2 out of 7 pods), cinnamon basil (3 out of 9 pods), for example, were from older seeds, so that's not too surprising.

I decided with this year's garden to grow more of less; put differently, more quantity of food from fewer crops/varieties.  So, as an example, I took brassicas off the list (no broccoli or brussel sprouts) and only four varieties of tomatoes (not 18, like I did my first year). Last year's food garden totally got away on me (we're talking invasive weeds, horrible insects and rampaging deer) and as I'm still on a steep self-taught learning curve (mountain), I want to keep this year's garden manageable.

So, taking a peek under the lights, there are:

Tomatoes: Brandywine, Amish Paste, Isis Candy (new), Baxter Bush (new)
Peppers: Bull Nose, Early Cal Wonder, Jimmy Nardello
Eggplant: Pingtung
Leeks: Scotland
Onions: Evergreen Bunching (already have some in coldframes, and will direct seed more this weekend, plus plant some yellow and red sets)
Kale: Red Russian
Swiss Chard: Bright Lights (have some in the coldframe -- will move outside this weekend as looking leggy and droopy inside)
Basil: Cinnamon, Lime and Italian Large leaf
Sage: White
Parsley: Single hardy Italian

Plus some sunflowers (doing beautifully), zinnias (doing beautifully until the cat nipped the tops off of half) and marigolds (the first batch was a total bust -- 1 out of 25 germinated, so I've started a second tray with new seed).

This weekend I'll be starting my cukes (National Pickling & Mexican Sour Gherkin (new)) and winter squash (Butternut, Buttercup and/or Acorn), and maybe some summer squash (Cocozelle zucchini (new) & pumpkins (Small Sugar & Connecticut Field).

I'll also be direct seeding some peas (Tom Thumb (new) and maybe some Sutton's Harbinger), turnips as companions (Early Snowball (new)), carrots (Danvers 126 & Nantes Coreless) and beets (mixed heirloom) and whatever else strikes my fancy! I'll also top up the coldframes with more lettuce, spinach, radishes, etc. 

The traditional 'planting out' day for frost-sensitive plants in my zone is May '2-4' weekend (aka Victoria Day weekend), which this year is May 19 to 21st -- or approximately three weeks from now. I originally thought I may get out sooner, but we were hit with frosty sub-zero temps last night so despite our March 'heat wave,' I think I'll just stick to tradition.

So on the planting out weekend, I'll direct seed lots of beans (Kentucky Wonder Pole, Contender Snap bean (new), Blue Lake bush (new) and maybe some rare heirlooms that I'll write about later), some heirloom corn (Mandan Bride) and four different kinds of organic seed potatoes that I got from a farmer friend. So exciting! The tomatoes, cukes and peppers will move into the yet-to-be-covered-in-plastic-because-the-weather-has-been-crappy greenhouse.

I'll also be seeding more flowers as companions (California poppies, nasturtiums, more sunflowers, to name just a few) and then there are the yet-to-be-ordered starter plants for the new herb garden.  And then there's the plants for the bee garden and... and...

Hey, wait a minute... so much for not getting in over my head this season!

Gutted

As I was walking to the barn yesterday to start my morning chores, I noticed an unusual huddle --a wild turkey and a few crows picking at something down by the pond. The something was snow white, which puzzled me, as I knew all the chickens -- including the few white Columbian crosses we have left -- were safely locked in the barn. 

I struggled to think what it could be -- the wild ducks that we've seen visiting our pond are all dark and brown earthy colours. Then I remembered: two of the Muscovies, one male and one female, refused to come into the barn the previous night. I tried to chase them, shoo them in, but they simply flapped away from me. As I left the barnyard I felt uncomfortable leaving them outside as we'd seen a mature fox just the week before, but the male duck can be a vicious beast, so I told myself the lady would be ok.

As I walked towards the carnage crew, I realized I was wrong. As the wild birds flew away, I saw the lady duck, gutted; her chest and body cavity ripped away, with bloodied feathers scattered around her.

I didn't cry or freak out; in fact I felt strangely disassociated from what I saw. I was disappointed, sure, but we'd lost ducks and chickens before (though usually all that's left is the feathers) and my mind started spewing platitudes of all sorts -- "Where there's livestock, there's deadstock"; or "It's part of farm life"; and "Nature can be cruel."

I picked her up carefully by her limp neck and started walking back up the hill towards the barn, stopping only to grab a shovel. I continued past the barn and into the woods at the back of the second paddock, the donkeys and horse following me in a bizarre funeral parade.

I quickly dug a grave and buried what was left of the lady duck, saying some sort of cursory 'return to earth' blessing, ending with an apology. Then I returned the shovel and continued on with my chores. This is part of farm life, I told myself -- buck up and get on with it. It's just a duck.

But for the rest of the day I felt agitated, uneasy, fragile, and the more I tried to dismiss that, push it away, the more it grew. Until finally, just before the kids got home, Lucas called me on the phone to see how my day was.

My eyes started to gloss over, my throat tighten and a sick churning began deep in my belly. The details of the story gushed out and I wanted to share with him, unload, all of the gory images that were weighing heavily on me -- the shocking contrast of the blood to her feathers, her breastbone picked clean of all flesh, her unseeing eyes, and how just the night before, after giving up on trying to get her back into the barn, I had taken a moment to admire her form, her beauty, her aliveness and gentle personality, as she paddled off into the darkness after her mate.

As I shared the story, I could sense the pain lose its grip on me. I didn't feel any less sad that the lady duck had been ravaged this way, but I could feel the sadness and not suffer by it.

I thought of a passage that author Jon Katz recently wrote on his Bedlam Farm blog about how these sorts of losses are a part of life:

"This is a familiar part of life on the farm, this sickening feeling seeing things you are responsible for and live with killed suddenly, and then the process of sorting through it, because you know the foxes or raccoons or whatever will return... It is a nice life, not a perfect life, and there are no simple or easy solutions... So there is the happy time cuddling a lamb and the other time picking up body parts of animals you were talking to the day before…. It is disturbing, yet also oddly routine. It happens, anyone with a farm and livestock has experienced it. This lesson, I learn again and again. It is not a crisis, not a drama. It is life itself."

In trying to remove the drama, or what I thought was drama but was actually just feeling, I stifled a piece of my humanity. Rallying against these inevitabilities creates suffering, but so does not fully acknowledging the pain that accompanies these losses. Keeping animals on a farm is such a gift, but if you're not careful, it can become a burden, and I've wondered before that perhaps I'd be better off if I didn't keep animals as I get so attached to them. But that would deny me the happy times. 

So what's the solution? I'm learning that allowing myself to completely appreciate the joy of their life, then fully acknowledging and experiencing the sadness of their death, before finally letting both go, leads to greater feelings of peace, acceptance and ultimately freedom. It's something of a roller-coaster ride, but then again, that is life itself.