Something You Knew Already

This story won't come as any surprise to followers of this blog, but it's always encouraging when the "hard" sciences provide evidence to back up what we know:

Scientists have confirmed what every urbanite has long suspected – life in the city is more stressful.


Researchers have shown that the parts of the brain dealing with stress and emotion are affected by living among the crowds.

The findings help shed light on why those who are born and raised in urban areas are more likely to suffer from anxiety, depression and schizophrenia than those brought up in the countryside.

The team of international scientists behind the finding are unsure why city life is so bad for the nerves.


However, past studies have shown that exposure to green space reduces stress, boosts health and makes us less vulnerable to depression. The findings come from the brain scans of 32 healthy volunteers from urban and rural areas.

Go read the whole thing.

To be fair, we've found that life in the country isn't exactly stress-free, either. Livestock and gardens produce stresses of their own. Whenever you're trying to cultivate or nurture living things, life is unpredictable and can lead to worries or difficulties: A surprise late frost wipes out your seedlings. A surprise early frost destroys the tomatoes you were going to can for a winter's worth of sauce. The barn cat finds a way to go hunting in your poultry brooder, and feeds five baby turkeys to her kittens. (Five baby turkeys that, I might add, every hatchery is now sold out of for the year).

But would I trade these stresses for those of a city? Not on your life. I visit Chicago, DC, and NYC frequently enough on business; I certainly enjoy the change of pace, and appreciate the resources that cities can provide, but you can see in the faces of passersby the toll that day-to-day urban stress wrecks. I'm always more than happy to return home to the quiet of my farm.

I'd a million times rather deal with the stresses of livestock and a garden than with the stresses of city life. Worrying about the garden getting enough rain, or whether enough broilers will survive to maturity, is entirely different from worrying about whether your packed commuter train will get you to work on time. Because when you've worked through and solved the "rural stress," you get to enjoy the wholesome and delicious fruits of your labors. But when you've survived the "urban stress," all you've done is successfully gotten to work in a high rise in a concrete jungle.

I'll take the literal jungle of my pasture over that any day of the week.

Gosling Initiation

We've been raising a batch of ducklings and goslings in the brooder for the last two weeks, and are preparing to move them to a pasture pen (as soon as I can butcher the last four broilers that are in it...hopefully this afternoon).

Given our past success with gosling adoption, I decided to take six of the new ones out to our flock of mature geese. As I approached, they backed away warily. Then, the instant I set the box of goslings down and released the little ones, the entire mature flock began honking at the top of their lungs. The goslings sprinted toward the big birds, the big birds gathered around the little ones, lowered their necks, and continued honking. And honking. And honking.

I went to the house and got a camera. They were still honking when I returned, initiating the little ones into the Fraternity of Goose. I managed to get this brief video:

A half hour later, they've quieted down. But it looks like we may have pulled off another successful gosling adoption. Given how much grass is out there, it's good to have all the more beaks at work now on the ground.

Puddles Grows Up

I've been swamped with work (and trying to stay ahead of the grass which never seems to stop growing), but wanted to give a quick update. Puddles the Goat Kid is now nearly three months old, and thriving:

Her broken leg has completely healed, thanks to an outrageous amount of duct tape. I still bottle feed her a couple of times a day, which provides a good use for the milk that we can't use (because goats stepped in it during milking, etc.). She bleats and comes running when I call her. But otherwise, she's integrating well into the rest of the herd, and spends all her days with them in the pasture. Given where she started from, 95% dead on the floor of a frozen barn in mid-March, and then with a broken leg, her current condition qualifies as pretty much miraculous.

Sadly, I can't say the same thing for Ellipsis the Lamb. We gave it everything we could for her, but she was not able to integrate with the flock (no bummer lamb we've had ever has been able to do it). She was more a pet than anything else, and I bottle fed her several times a day, but something wasn't right in her little system. I'm not sure if it's because she was eating too much stuff other than milk at too young an age. Or what. But a few weeks ago, we found her dead out in the pasture. She'd been looking a little bloated earlier that day, but had seemed to be getting around okay. And then, just as suddenly, she wasn't.

It was very sad, particularly since she was the last of Dot's line and we'd really wanted to keep her. But such is farm life, especially when livestock are involved. You give everything you have, as a good shepherd and steward. Sometimes they thrive. Sometimes they don't. It's a great mystery, and I certainly don't claim to understand it. We just keep plugging away, and keep doing everything we can for our little flock.

Civic Pride

It's well known that Mrs Yeoman Farmer and I much prefer country and small town life to that in even a medium sized city. But cities have their place, and can be valuable for the resources they provide and their opportunities to connect with others.

Some time back, a national magazine put our state's second largest metro area on its list of "America's Dying Cities." But rather than taking the designation laying down, the people of Grand Rapids responded by putting together what may be the most remarkable production of community and civic pride we've ever seen:



Videos don't embed well on my blog, because of the narrow text template. This link will let you watch it on YouTube. If you haven't seen it yet, make sure you watch it. It is truly amazing.

An NPR story supplies more of the backstory of the video, and is definitely worth reading.

Much has been written in recent years about the decline in American "social capital." Technological changes, such as television, have led to the dissolution of traditional means (such as civic organizations) by which people used to connect with one another. That may be true, but productions such as this one demonstrate that it doesn't always have to be. Perhaps particularly in smaller cities such as Grand Rapids, there is still a thriving base of social capital; productions like this one couldn't be made without it.

And as closely as I watched it, I found no one in the video who was "bowling alone."

My Idea of Civil Disobedience!

Remember that Amish farmer who the FDA has been treating like some kind of drug lord? His customers are fighting back:

Four weeks after the government moved to shut down Amish farmer Dan Allgyer for selling fresh, unpasteurized milk across state lines, angry moms who made up much of his customer base rallied on the Capitol’s grounds Monday to demand that Congress rein in the food police.

The moms milked a cow just across the street from the Senate and served up gallons of fresh milk, playfully daring one another to drink what, if sold across state lines, would be considered contraband product.

What a terrific protest idea! If we still lived in the DC area, I would've shown up and joined them with one of our goats.

The video these moms put together is terrific:

And, as one of them points out, just look at those kids and how healthy they are!

When All Else Fails

Try duct tape!

Seriously, that's the lesson you learn pretty quickly on a farm. We bought a large bulk pack of it at Sam's Club some time back, and I'm glad to never have a shortage.

It proved itself particularly handy a little over a week ago. About two weeks ago, Puddles the Goat Kid somehow managed to break her left rear leg, down close to the foot. I tried splinting and bandaging it, but the whole thing came off in fairly short order. She didn't seem to be in a lot of pain, and was getting around well on three legs, but I didn't want to leave the leg untreated.

So, a week ago Tuesday, I took her to the vet to have it done "right." I figure we've spent enough time and effort (and milk) bottle-feeding her, we might as well invest a little more in getting her leg correctly set. Puddles was a huge hit in the waiting room, and got lots of attention from those with dogs and cats. It took a long time for the vet to get to her, but he splinted and bandaged her leg beautifully. I left his office confident that Puddles would heal nicely, and that our $60 was well spent.

And then, last Wednesday afternoon, the splint was off. Yes, the whole thing had simply slid off her leg. I took her and it back to the vet on Thursday, waited for a long time with lots of dog-and-cat people, and he re-splinted her leg but with more bandages and tape. And only charged me $10.

And, by 6pm, the whole thing had slid right back off her leg.

Rather than spend my Friday morning back at the vet's office, I recruited one of the Yeoman Farm Children to help me splint Puddles's leg myself. I'd watched the vet enough times now to understand the general principles --- and watched Puddles lose the splint enough times to know I had to do something different as well.

And that something was DUCT TAPE. I splinted and bandaged the leg much as the vet had (fortunately, her leg was already starting to fuse, so it wasn't necessary to align the bone). Then, I basically mummified the entire thing with duct tape --- and didn't stop at her knee. I kept wrapping her, all the way up to mid-thigh. "Just try slipping this thing off!" I told her, as she limped across the floor of my office.

Guess what? Nearly one full week later, the splint is still in place! This isn't the greatest photo, but it was a dark corner of the barn and she was a perpetual motion machine (every time I knelt to take a picture, she'd rush toward me). But this gives some idea of what her leg looks like:

And Puddles is doing much better. She's actually trying to rear up and place weight on both of her rear legs. I'll keep it on her for the next week or so, to make sure it's healed, but I'm very optimistic.

And now an even bigger believer in the power of duct tape.

TYF Had a Little Lamb

To farm is to embrace a lifestyle of great joys...and great sorrows. And, more often than not, the joys and sorrows are intertwined and inseparable from one another.

Recent posts have detailed the great sorrow our family experienced with the decline and death of our sheep flock's matriarch, Dot. But wrapped up in that sorrow (in fact, arguably, the cause of it) was a great joy: Dot's lamb, which we named Ellipsis.

The little Dot-Dot-Dot has not only survived. She has thrived. And she's clearly adopted me as her surrogate parent. She lives with the other sheep in the barn, and plays with the other lambs, but when I appear she drops everything and runs to me. Because she knows what I've got.

Even after the feeding is over, she finds ways to squeeze through fences and gates to tag along as I take care of the other chores. Sometimes she'll even follow me all over the property. I don't really mind, as it's some consolation after losing Dot. And I know she'll grow out of it.

Most amusing was Saturday evening. We had some friends over, and had planned to grill a big platter of lamb chops. Ellipsis spotted me as I fired up the grill, and broke out of the barn. She followed me all the way to the house, just like the dog did. And then, once I had the platter of chops, she and the dog followed me all the way back down to the grill.

As I put the chops on the grill, I assured her that this would never be her fate. She gets to stay with us as a breeder for the rest of her life.

Which, we hope, is as long and happy and productive as her mother's.

Criminals

There are dangerous criminals among us. But you'll be relieved to know that the federal government is on the case, and busy getting them off the streets:

A yearlong sting operation, including aliases, a 5 a.m. surprise inspection and surreptitious purchases from an Amish farm in Pennsylvania, culminated in the federal government announcing this week that it has gone to court to stop Rainbow Acres Farm from selling its contraband to willing customers in the Washington area.


The product in question: unpasteurized milk.

It’s a battle that’s been going on behind the scenes for years, with natural foods advocates arguing that raw milk, as it’s also known, is healthier than the pasteurized product, while the Food and Drug Administration says raw milk can carry harmful bacteria such as salmonella, E. coli and listeria.

But this line from the story jumped out the most:

“It is the FDA’s position that raw milk should never be consumed,” said Tamara N. Ward, spokeswoman for the FDA, whose investigators have been looking into Rainbow Acres for months, and who finally last week filed a 10-page complaint in federal court in Pennsylvania seeking an order to stop the farm from shipping across state lines any more raw milk or dairy products made from it.

What????? Raw milk should never be consumed? Kind of makes you wonder how the human race survived, drinking that toxic "udder brew," for so many millennia. In fact, I poured about a cup and a half of that poison onto my cereal this morning. I'm surprised I feel so healthy and vibrant, and that I haven't collapsed under E. coli-induced convulsions. Even more remarkably, I've been poisoning myself in this way for weeks now --- ever since our goats freshened --- and in fact feel healthier than ever. No doubt the other ten million raw milk drinkers in this country (and the countless other millions around the world) would agree.

To paraphrase something Ronald Reagan once said about his political opponents: The trouble with our friends at the FDA is not that they're ignorant; it's just that they know so much that isn't so.

And, I would add, that they have so much power to prosecute and crush the small farmers who dare supply a healthy product to the willing consumers who seek it.

End of the Road

Poor Dot.

Despite all our efforts, and the best work of our vet, she never got her appetite back. She was still alive this morning, and I gave her an injection of antibiotic. Drenched her with lots of apple cider vinegar and warm water. Wiped the mucus from her nose. Expressed as much of the junk from her udder as I could. Told her what a good sheep she was. But she was clearly just barely hanging on.

The most interesting part of the last few days was watching the bond re-establish between Dot and her lamb. Although Dot had "officially" rejected the lamb, she grew too tired to drive the lamb away any longer. The two of them slept together, and the lamb tagged along everywhere Dot went. I was providing the nutrition, but Dot was still clearly her mother figure and companion.

Then, just a few minutes ago, Homeschooled Farm Boy was in the barn milking. He came to my office saying that Dot had gone down and wasn't moving. I ran to the barn, but she was already gone. The saddest part was the little lamb, still standing by her, trying to figure out what was going on.

I just wish I could've been there when it happened.


I know we did all we could for her. But it looks like I'm going to be spending this miserable, cold, rainy Good Friday afternoon out in the pasture digging a grave. We'll have to pick a good spot. Maybe near Scooter and Tabasco, close to the route the sheep use going in and out from their paddock to the pasture.

If there's any bright spot in all of this, it's that the lamb is healthy and that Dot will have a final legacy. No matter what her physical conformation to breed norms, we're keeping her as a breeder. And now we need to name her!

I'm leaning heavily toward "Ellipsis." Dot. Dot. Dot. Trailing off, into a new beginning.

A Happier Birthday

Things were not looking good for our flock's matriarch, Dot, last night, on the eve of her twelfth birthday.

I went out to milk her one last time for the evening, hoping to relieve the pressure on the rock-hard left side of her udder. Because I wanted to save some money on milk replacer, I decided to put a pan under her and catch as much milk as I could.

Even though I used lots of hot compresses to loosen up her udder, Dot still hated being handled. I'm glad we had a stanchion to lock her into, because she fought every time I squeezed her udder. Eventually, I decided to call it a night and give her a break. There wasn't much coming out, it was late, and she seemed like she'd had enough.

I put her back in the pen with her lamb, then took the milk into the house to refrigerate. And then I realized something was seriously wrong with Dot. Instead of milk, her udder had been expressing a watery substance heavily tinged in dirty red blood. I knew it meant some kind of infection, probably mastitis, and that we were now in over our heads. Still, Mrs. Yeoman Farmer had a couple of herbal remedies to try: homeopathic pokeweed tablets, and a jar of pokeweed oil rub.

I gave Dot a tablet, then rubbed and massaged her udder with the oil. She didn't like it, and I had to block her against the wall, but I knew I had to persist. Gave her another tablet, then rubbed more oil into her. Then did it a third time, and called it a night.

The treatment didn't clear up the infection, but at least Dot was alive in the morning. She still had no appetite, but wanted to be let out of the separating pen. She led me straight to the main sheep area, so I let her rejoin the flock. Within a few minutes, she'd led her lamb outside to the sunshine.

Given the seriousness of Dot's infection, I knew she needed more attention than I could provide. We don't have a large animal vet in the area who does house calls, but there's a veterinary clinic that will see farm animals case-by-case if they're brought in. Judging from how confused and amused the young receptionist was when I walked in and explained why I was there, they don't get many sheep.

The clinic owner, Dr. Patterson, is an older vet, who retired from farm calls several years ago. I waited with Dot in the van until he was able to come see her. I explained what'd been going on, and showed him what I'd milked out of Dot's udder the night before, and he immediately diagnosed a serious mastitis infection. He gave her an injection of B-complex vitamins, and 10cc of antibiotics. He sent the rest of the bottle home with me, and said she should get another 10cc every day --- and that I should continue trying to milk that "junk" out of her udder.

After we'd taken care of that, Dr. Patterson smiled, relaxed, and lit a cigarette. We stood there in the sunshine talking...and for just a moment, the parking lot full of dog and cat owners' cars seemed to disappear. I could see in his eyes how much he missed seeing and treating livestock, even if he no longer had the energy and wherewithal to put 40,000 miles on a car going to visit farms.

"I think we might just be able to save this old girl," he said with a grin, rubbing Dot's back.

I paid him, then drove the old birthday girl back home. She rejoined the rest of the flock, and at first seemed mildly better than in the morning. But she wouldn't touch the hay I put down, and didn't even sniff at the grain I offered her. As the rest of the flock barged in and went crazy getting to the hay, the contrast with Dot's condition couldn't have been more stark. That's what Dot's supposed to be doing, I thought.

I drenched Dot with a couple hundred more CCs of apple cider vinegar and warm water, and included some cod liver oil, before going back to work. An hour or so later, she was out in the sunshine with her lamb --- but still not at all interested in food. I helped her to her feet, and led her to the hay, but she wouldn't even look at it. Or the grain I offered.

She needed liquids and nutrition really badly, so I tried offering her the lamb's milk bottle. She wouldn't even suck. But then I got an idea: Dot, you're getting some food in your stomach one way or the other. I went in, warmed up some goat milk, and returned with it and my drenching syringe. I managed to get 3 full syringes of 50cc each straight down her throat. I also put her against the barn wall and, despite her protestations, expressed as much "junk" out of her udder as I could.

Will she make it? I honestly have no idea. It all depends on whether her appetite returns, and how soon. In the meantime, we're treasuring every additional day of her reign as matriarch of the flock.