Thank God for Good Vets

It can be hard to find a good large-animal veterinarian. We were fortunate to have one just around the corner from us in Illinois, and who didn't charge a fortune to come see us at the farm. Here, it took us awhile to locate a good vet who can see the livestock, but we did at last find one; most of his practice is dogs and cats, but he has good experience with farm animals. He will come out on farm calls, but it's a fairly steep charge. Since every one of our animals is small enough to fit in a vehicle, we find it makes most sense to drive the 14 miles to his office.

A year or two ago, one of our excellent dairy goats, Thistle (or, as our four-year-old called her when he was learning to talk, "Fissle"), developed a cancer of her eye. A sizable tumor began consuming the eyeball, and it was one of the most unsettling things we'd ever seen. We were really afraid we might have to put her down. The vet said not to worry; he'd seen this numerous times before in various types of livestock, and knew just what to do. He put her under anesthesia, and in very short order (1) removed the entire eyeball and (2) sewed her eyelid shut. The next day, Thistle was home on the farm and feeling fine. She's certainly one of the more bizarre-looking animals, and has only half her original sight, but is otherwise none the worse for the experience. She remains a gentle doe who takes good care of her kids and gives us lots of milk. With the added bonus that she's now much easier to catch --- you just need to sneak up on her from the "blind side."

Which brings us to Button, the mother of Thistle. She had twin kids about a month ago, and has been producing an outrageous amount of milk. We're talking basketball-sized udder, with teats like great big sausages. Plenty for the twins and us.

Anyway, late last week, Button got some sort of scrape on her right teat. It wasn't too big a deal, and the Yeoman Farm Children worked around it when they milked. We treated it with salve, and it was scabbing over. Problem was, the scab began growing and blocking the milk hole. This meant it had to be opened up a bit for each milking. Which was fine...but on Sunday morning we found the hole simply would not open. We tried everything we could, but didn't want to hurt her; we were concerned that scar tissue might be forming.

Mrs Yeoman Farmer called the vet, who was willing to see Button on a Sunday --- but there would be a substantial "emergency fee." We were grateful for the option, but knew Button would be fine (if a little full) until Monday morning.

The plan was to get Button packed up and to the vet as close as possible to his 8am opening time; he sees walk-ins from 8-10 on most mornings, so we wanted to be first in line. Unfortunately, as Homeschooled Farm Girl and I were moving Button out of the barn to our van, the goat's engorged teat caught on a piece of fence and tore the skin. Great. One thing after another. Now quite worried, and somewhat delayed, we sped off to the vet.

We turned out to be second in line, and got in to see him after just a short wait. Must be interesting being a country vet; the person ahead of us was an elderly lady getting her pet dog's toenails trimmed. Then us, with a dairy goat with a torn teat! Anyway, the vet was a bit taken aback at first by the wound, but then got right to work computing how much anesthesia Button would need. He gave her a little shot, she collapsed in a heap, and then I helped the vet lift Button onto a work table.

First order of business was to clean the teat and bathe the cut with some sort of antibiotic cream. He then needed to drain the teat, which he did by inserting a catheter and then putting a bowl under it to catch the milk. After all the work we usually have to do, expressing milk, it was amazing to see the stuff all come running out like through a faucet. I even joked that we'd better not let our children see this process, or they'll ask if they can start catheterizing the goats every time they go out to milk.

With the teat going flaccid, and with me holding Button's leg so she wouldn't interfere with his work if she twiched, he began suturing the cut closed. He explained that he was leaving plenty of loose skin, so the teat would be able to expand with milk. It took him just a few minutes to get everything done.

Then, since the anesthetic still had Button nearly entirely knocked out, he took advantage of the opportunity to give her hooves a good trimming. "It's a lot easier when they can't kick!" he joked.

This whole time, my daughter had been sitting in the quiet waiting room, doing school work. Once Button awakened, the vet and I called Homeschooled Farm Girl back and explained the situation. Button would need to be milked several times per day, to make sure the re-opened teat remained open and didn't scar over. This would need to be done gently, taking care not to stress the sutures. And we would obviously need to keep Button totally separated from her kids for the next ten days or so.

HFG happily volunteered to take on the management of the situation, all the way from milking Button to bottle-feeding that milk to the twins. Needless to say, it's very gratifying whenever one of your children takes that kind of initiative, without any kind of "bargaining" or questioning what might be in it for her. It just needs doing, and she wants to take charge of it.

So, after a wild morning, we're all back home on the farm. Just another crazy day in our life.

Another Brood

We've had a few Buff Orpington hens go broody lately (in addition to the one that insisted on hatching a clutch of eggs last fall). Given that we've got eggs coming out our ears, I figured there was no harm in allowing them to set.

Note to readers who are learning about/taking up farming in preparation for civilizational collapse, or who simply want to hatch their own chicks: Buff Orpingtons are a wonderfully self-sufficient breed. We've found them to be excellent setters and mother hens.

Broody #1 started hatching her chicks a few days ago, and yesterday took her chicks for their first stroll off the nest. I checked on her last night, and she had all seven of her chicks safely under her wings; there is really nothing quite like listening to the deep, reassuring clucks that a hen makes to her brood in a darkened barn.

Today, she took all of them for an outdoor adventure:

She quickly found a spot where Little Brother spilled some grain, and had the chicks getting their first good meal. I'm just glad the spilled feed didn't go to waste. Then she took them into a weedy/overgrown area between the barn and the garage.

I managed to shoot a brief, low-tech video. (It's the very first one I've uploaded to YouTube.) My sense was that a still photo wouldn't give the full sense of how fascinating a mother hen's behavior is. She clucks constantly, and is constantly pointing out new food, and scratching to uncover new food. And watch the way the chicks respond to her!



About five minutes after I shot this, she seemed to have decided the chicks had been exposed to the 55 degree temps for long enough. Like a football quarterback, she called a huddle --- and all of them found their way back under her feathers. No telling how long she's going to sit out there before scratching around again. But she's picked a safe spot for the huddle; it's in a corner, and she has a full view of everything approaching.

Hard to think of any place better for homeschooling than a farm is. We never run out of real life education here.

Breaking a Broody

A reader poses a good question in the Comments section for one of the posts about our broody hen:

We've got a broody hen and I don't know what to do with her! My neighbor has told me I need either a bucket or a trap to get the hen 'off the cluck'.

It is indeed hard to break a hen of her broodiness. Once she's in full brood mode, she's already stopped laying eggs. If you can catch her on the first day, she should start laying again in seven days. But if you don't catch her and break her until the fourth day, it'll be another 18 days or so before she begins laying again. We basically let our hen brood this time because (1) we had enough other hens to keep laying; (2) we had a bunch of fertile eggs we didn't need to eat; and (3) it's too much work to break a hen of broodiness --- and we've never had much luck doing it.

Storey's Guide to Raising Chickens lists several tips for breaking up a broody hen (p. 181):

• Don't let eggs accumulate in the nest
• Repeatedly remove the hen from her nest
• Move or cover the nest so she can't get in
• Move the hen to different housing
• Put the hen in a "broody coop," which is a hanging cage with a wire or slat floor, for a few days.

How hard you work to break a broody hen will depend in part on why you're raising chickens in the first place. If your egg production is tight, and you're interested in nothing but eggs, and you have just a few hens, you'll want to do everything you can to break her. You may even want to cull a persistent broody hen, if broodiness is a trait you do not want in your flock.

But for us, in our situation, raising chickens has always been about more than maximizing egg production. We've fortunately always had enough "extra" hens, and have always had roosters running with them, so we can allow broody hens to remain broody. Broodiness is a trait that we actually appreciate, and it gives us another "teachable moment" in homeschooling our children. The kids are learning that chicks don't come merely from a hatchery; nature has a beautiful and mysterious way of ensuring that the cycle of life continues itself without our mechanical intervention. Also, there are few things as fun or entertaining as watching a hen escort a brood of chicks around the barnyard, keeping them close and showing them what is good to eat.

We've also wondered if there may come a time when it's difficult to obtain chicks from a hatchery, or when hatchery chicks become prohibitively expensive. For that reason, we've wanted to have some heritage breeds of chickens, ducks, turkeys and geese that will be capable of "getting the job done" without our help, and ensuring that we will always have some home-produced supply of meat and eggs. The birds haven't always been successful in brooding and raising their own young. We're just glad that, in a pinch, we have some brood-capable birds we can work with.

What is Home?

My apologies for the slow posting of late; I've returned to Michigan after several days visiting Seattle, where I grew up, for the first time in nearly two years. It was a wonderful trip; altogether too short, but when you have a farm...getting away for even a few days in the middle of summer is asking a lot. I went alone, and am grateful that Mrs Yeoman Farmer and the Yeoman Farm Children (particularly the older two) were able to carry the burden in my absence.

The purpose of my trip was to ride the Seattle to Portland Bicycle Classic on July 11th, and I will be putting up a separate post describing that adventure. It's an event I've done many times in the past, but not since 1996. Being able to get in shape again, and manage all the logistics of getting myself and my bicycle to Seattle (and then to Portland) once more, fulfilled a dream that had been simmering in my mind for several years. As I pedaled along Lake Washington Blvd on Saturday morning, with the rising sun framing the Cascade range in purple, and Mt. Rainier standing with all its immensitude in the crystal clear summer daybreak, my heart overflowed with joy. I'm really here. I'm really doing it. This is truly happening. Everything in the world is exactly right.

It occurred to me that this could be a rough working definition of "home": not simply the place where a person happens to be living at the moment, but the place in the world where everything seems right. The place where a person senses he belongs, and the place from which a person feels exiled when he is not able to be there. Circumstances and grave obligations may force a long --- even permanent --- exile. But it takes much more than relocation to change one's sense of "home."

I had several days, largely to myself, to reflect on these and other thoughts. In a sense, the trip was not unlike a retreat. I spent last Wednesday getting to Seattle and retrieving my bike from the mechanic to whom I'd shipped it. Then, apart from reconnecting with an old friend for dinner one night, and the big event on Saturday, and spending Sunday afternoon with relatives, I had few scheduled obligations for the rest of the trip. I was able to spend much of Thursday and Friday simply riding all over...and thinking, and praying, and reflecting. I rode the Burke-Gilman trail to the small town where I grew up, pedaled past our family's first house, and rolled around town.

The community swimming pool was still there. So was the football field. And the Ranch Drive-In. But there were also uncomfortable changes: the local library --- my favorite spot as a young child --- was now a cold municipal office building; the books had been relocated into a larger and more modern structure nearby. One of the grand old school administration buildings had been razed and was now a parking lot. Other buildings had disappeared. There were new buildings I didn't recognize. And so on. And so forth.

And I couldn't help asking myself: Is this where everything seems right? Because it's funny how, the longer you don't live somewhere, the more it lives in memory ... even if the reality has become quite different.

In that town, and all over Seattle, I did see plenty of other places and things that were familiar and comfortable, and were reassuring in their seeming permanence. But despite the joy of being in Seattle, it was hard to avoid a simultaneous sense of melancholy...because nothing in Seattle is truly "mine" any longer. I couldn't stay. I couldn't be attached to it. As much as I may feel a sense of belonging in that city, I don't truly belong there now. And it was these two competing senses about "belonging," pulling in opposite directions, that triggered the melancholy.

Because no matter what I might feel, the inescapable reality remains: I chose to leave and go to college in Chicago. I chose to take a job in Detroit after college. I chose to attend graduate school in California. And, above all, I chose to marry a woman who grew up in Michigan, with deep roots in that part of the country, who very much dislikes the part of the country in which I grew up. One of the better definitions of "adulthood" that I've come across goes something like this: doing the things we ought to do and need to do, and not necessarily the things we want to do. And in our family's case, there is no doubt about what we ought to be doing, and need to be doing: living in rural Michigan, near the town in which MYF grew up and has so many friends and so much family. And I have no doubt that "adulthood" was calling me to do all the other things (education, career) that took me farther and farther away from Seattle, one step at a time. Funny how easy it was to take each of those steps, without reflecting on the larger picture of how much distance each of them was putting between me and the city I loved so much. And yet even if I had seen the whole picture, with all its consequences, I wouldn't go back and change any of those steps.

I will no doubt be living in Michigan for many years, and I have few illusions that the passage of time will make it seem any more like "home" than Seattle always will. I will always be, in some sense, an exile here. But you know what? That's okay. And the more I pedaled around the region where I grew up, and the more I thought about it, the more okay with everything I became. My family is infinitely more important to me than getting to live in any particular place...and at the end of the day, I'm much happier living with my family in a place that is so completely right for them than I ever could be if they were compelled to live in a place that was "right" for me but completely wrong for everyone else. Because it's ultimately not being in any particular place that makes us happy...it's being with the people we love, and above all it's living our lives in the way God wants. And I have absolutely zero doubts that that this little farm in this little town in this Rust Belt state is exactly where God wants me --- and my family --- to be.

Out With the Old, In With the New

We had such a large number of lambs born (and survive) last year, it was impossible to take them all to the butcher in one trip. Our solution was to take a first batch last October, with all the large males, and to keep the runts and females to see if we could fatten them up a bit. I even planned to try butchering one of the small ones myself, just to see if I could figure it out.

One thing led to another (or, more precisely, one bitterly cold snowstorm led to another) all winter, and I never did get around to trying my hand at butchering a lamb...or even driving the second batch in to the butcher.

Finally, today, I got my act together and cleared out the seven remaining lambs. They'd been eating us out of house and home, plowing through the hay that needs to last until the pasture begins growing --- but they weren't putting on much weight. Yesterday, I made the call to the butcher to see if I could get them in; Wednesdays are the only day they do lambs and goats. Fortunately, they had some availability, so I made the appointment.

I went out to the barn early this morning, to make sure everything was okay with the sheep. I flipped on the lights, and immediately noticed the Scooter the Border Collie was acting a bit unusual. He seemed extremely interested in what was going on in the sheep area, was wagging his tail purposely, and had his muzzle tucked into the fence separating him from the sheep. One quick look revealed what had Scooter so interested: a tiny black lamb, tottering near the fence.

Maybelle, one of our best mother ewes, was hovering protectively over the lamb, not quite understanding that Scooter was only trying to be protective (and helpful), too. A moment later, I spotted another tiny black lamb...and realized that Maybelle had done it again: delivered twins, and delivered before any of the other ewes. Her streak now extends to seven years in a row.

The arrival of Maybelle's twins (one male and one female) meant it was doubly important to get those seven extra lambs from last year out of the sheep pen. All the extra bodies would only multiply the opportunity for little lambs to get trampled.

I managed to get our old 1984 Ford Bronco II fired up, and the rear seats folded down. Spread some old paper feed bags on the floor to catch sheep droppings, and then backed her into the barn. Homeschooled Farm Boy (HFB) helped make sure we barricaded both sides of the Bronco, to discourage any escape attempts. He then helped me pick up Maybelle's lambs, and we used those as bait to lure her outside to the fenced sheep paddock. We also got Dilemma, our big breeding ram, out of the barn; he would have been liable to attack us as we caught the lambs to load them on the truck.

With the barn door shut, Scooter, HFB and I quickly caught lamb after lamb and hauled them into the back of the Bronco. The hardest part was hoisting each lamb up and in, and closing the rear hatch door, without any of the already-loaded lambs pushing their way out. Fortunately, between the three of us, we managed to get all seven loaded without any escapees.

As there is only one spare seat in the Bronco once all the lambs are loaded, our children take turns being the one who gets to ride with me to the butcher. This was HFB's turn, which he thought was very exciting. Scooter always goes as well, in case he's needed to quell a jail break. (The Bronco's rear window does not latch, and we have had animals --- particularly goats --- try to escape at stop signs. Plus, when unloading at the butcher's, anything can happen.) So, at about 7:40am, all of us set off.

With seven four-legged passengers in the back, and one four-legged passenger up front with us humans, we had a very full vehicle. The seven passengers in the back were particularly upset about having missed breakfast. Also, every time we went around a corner or came to a stop, all seven of them would tumble in one direction or another --- and I would have to look carefully to make sure none was attempting an escape through that rear window. Needless to say, I made sure I obeyed all the traffic laws as I drove; I couldn't imagine the conversation with a police officer, were I to get pulled over.

With HFB's help, and Scooter looking on attentively, the unloading went off without incident. Once all seven lambs were secured in the holding pen on Death Row, I went around to the retail portion of the shop and explained to the butcher how I'd like the lambs prepared. HFB, Scooter and I then sped off to Mass in town; we managed to arrive just in time for HFB to get dressed to serve on this the Feast of the Annunciation.

Once back home, we were able to get some good pictures of Maybelle and her lambs (both of which seem to be doing very well):

Just another crazy day in the life of a homeschooling yeoman farm family. A family, I might add, that is looking forward to lots of dinners featuring delicious Icelandic lamb.

More than Just Bloat

After last night's adventure saving Queen Anne's Lace the Goat from bloat (detailed in a post this morning), it turns out that my suspicions about her engorged udder were correct: she was more than just bloated. She was also majorly pregnant!

I checked on her at lunchtime, and she was in active labor; the first kid's amniotic sac, with fluid, was hanging out of her rear end. I ran to the house, and the children quickly came out to watch. Homeschooled Farm Girl cleared other goats out of the barn, and then helped me move QAL to the kidding pen. This took some real effort, as we had to time the move to fall between QAL's increasingly-intense contractions.

Fortunately, we got her secured in time. Homeschooled Farm Girl and Little Brother made themselves comfortable, and we all settled in to watch. A hoof was clearly protruding and visible, and the kid's head emerged next. Progress then slowed down; QAL struggled and pushed for several minutes, but not much more of the kid came out. HFG fretted that perhaps QAL needed help. My own private worries aside, I assured her that everything looked fine, and we just needed to leave QAL alone.

Sure enough, a few hearty pushes later, the kid emerged the rest of the way. QAL turned around and began licking it off. She looked to have another kid inside her, and we dcould have stayed to watch --- but at this point I figured that what the goat needed most was some privacy so she could bond with Kid #1 and ready herself to deliver Kid #2. So, I told our children we needed to head back into the house and return to the books. But I think that the most valuable homeschooling lesson of the day had already taken place, right there in the barn.

I went back out about an hour later; both goat kids had been safely delivered, licked off, and were on their feet learning to nurse. We appear to have one male and one female.

And with three does now having delivered in the last month, we're about to have a whole bunch of delicious goat milk.

History

Yesterday, Mrs Yeoman Farmer was going over a history lesson with Homeschooled Farm Boy.

MYF happened to remark, "Your history book is a lot more interesting than mine was in the eighth grade."

HFB replied, matter-of-factly: "Well, yeah. A lot more has happened since then."

But Are They Socialized?

No, this isn't a post about the massive debt bill that Congress passed on Friday the Thirteenth. It's about the number one question that homeschooled parents tend to be asked. Nine times out of ten, when we tell a non-homeschooler that we're homeschooling our kids, the questioner's initial reaction is to furrow his/her brow seriously and ask, "But are they able to meet and learn to interact with other children?" (The second question is usually some variant on "Are they able to play sports?")

We have a battery of responses we've developed to reply to such questions, and my readers doubtless can add many more of their own. I won't bore you with the whole list, but a few quick ones:

1. Spending 7 hours a day in the company of 25 other people, all of whom are approximately the same age as oneself, is an extremely unnatural form of socialization that does not prepare a person for the real world;


2. By contrast, our children are making friends with and learning to interact with children from other homeschooling families --- the ages of whom range from infants to high school;


3. We don't want our children "socialized" into the prevailing youth culture that thrives in and infects even the best Catholic schools;


4. Homeschooling allows our children to go places and do things (often involving interacting with other people) that are impossible for kids in institutionalized educational environments.

Today's events provide a good illustration of this. Our church was originally a Polish parish, and still has many older parishioners who are of that ethnicity. One tradition they have is the annual "Paczki Bake," held each year before Lent. Volunteers get together in the parish hall's big kitchen, and over the course of three days and organize the ingredients, bake about 800 dozen paczki, and take orders for them. It's a huge fundraiser for the parish, and draws a large crowd of volunteers. (And, incidentally, is a big tradition in many other Polish communities.)

This morning, everything got underway after Mass. It was remarkable how many cars were in the parking lot, and how many volunteers were streaming toward the parish hall. Mrs. Yeoman Farmer and Homeschooled Farm Girl joined them, and I drove home with the two yeoman farm boys. HFG had been looking forward to this day for quite some time, as it's not just a break from the regular school routine --- it's also a chance to do something "hands on," and to spend hours working and talking with the adults and other homeschooled kids of the parish. As she explained later, I got to do something that was fun, and I got to play some, too.

And no doubt she and MYF will be back down there again tomorrow for more.

Chained

One thing that people don't usually give a lot of thought to before moving to the country and starting a small farming operation: You are chained to it. Much faster, and much more thoroughly, than you ever could have imagined. The things you took for granted while living in the suburbs --- going away for the weekend, going on vacation for a week, even staying out late at a friend's house or a show --- become major productions when you have livestock. Goats and cows need to be milked at reasonably regular intervals. Sheep need to be brought in from pasture before the predators are active. Poultry need to be secured in a barn or coop, and fed, and eggs gathered. And so on. And so on.

How much of a production? Our last family vacation was in November, 2004. And it was combined in part with an election-related trip I needed to take for work anyway.

When we lived in Illinois, we were seldom all out of town at the same time. If I had a business trip, Mrs Yeoman Farmer and the kids would stay home. If MYF and the kids went to see her folks in Michigan, I would stay home (and rent action movies, and eat pizza, and drink beer...but that's another story). On the few occasions when we all went to Michigan together, we had a homeschooled neighbor boy ("Rent-A-Son") named Matthew who was extremely mature and responsible, and was able to come to our place twice a day to take care of things when we were out of town visiting Mrs Yeoman Farmer's family. He fed the various livestock, made sure everything was in order, and took care of milking our goats. We'd usually talk by phone at least once or twice a day, and he sometimes had to do extraordinary things to save livestock which had gotten into peril. Because even when you're not physically present on your farm, the farm is never far from your mind. Matthew was our long distance "eyes and ears." Not to mention "arms" and "hands."

Here in Michigan, we have yet to all leave town together. Unfortunately, we have not yet found a local "Matthew" who we trust.

This is on my mind because I recently received an invitation to go to South Bend in April and give a talk to a Republican group, about my work in politics. The person who invited me is familiar with our farming activities, and himself lives on a country property. And has aspirations about establishing a farming operation. As part of his invitation, he encouraged me to bring the whole family --- so they could meet his family, and we could get to know each other better, and so we could exchange ideas about farming.

Fantastic aspirations and intentions. I would have loved to have responded in the affirmative. But my first thoughts were: April. Lambing season. Multiple goats needing to be milked twice a day. Sheep needing to be let out, and brought back from, pasture. Dogs need to be fed. Chickens need to be fed. Chickens? We'll have lots of pullet chicks in the brooder! And turkey poults. And ducklings. And the garden will be going in! Who will water it?

Who? Simple: When I am gone, MYF and all the Yeoman Farm Children.

I graciously accepted the speaking invitation, but explained why the rest of the family couldn't come along. He completely understood, and I thought his response was worth quoting verbatim:

I had not considered being so tied to a family farm. Man, that complicates things. I travel a little for work and I often take the family with me when we can. We’ll have to think that through. We’re a couple years from pursuing the farm as it is…

Yes, it definitely complicates things. And we hadn't considered it, either, before we suddenly found ourselves in the middle of it. And we'd only been on our Illinois property for 13 months when it was already causing huge problems: MYF was 9+ months pregnant, staying in Chicago with the other two kids in anticipation of a C-section, and I was shuttling 80 miles each way to get home to feed our chickens. And was at the house when she went into labor, and had to go to the hospital by ambulance (with the other two kids riding in a police car), leaving me to go bombing up I-57 at 80 MPH so I could arrive with minutes to spare before our son's birth. And then I took the older two home with me, fed the animals, and then drove back. And so on. And so on.

Believe me: we still talk about this incident. And we didn't even have that many animals at the time. But the ones we had (mature broiler chickens, out in pastured poultry pens) needed considerable attention. If it'd just been a handful of free range laying hens, we wouldn't have worried. They can take care of themselves. But those big meaty broilers would've been dropping right and left if I hadn't kept running home to tend to them.

This isn't to try talking anybody out of farming. I just hope it helps you stop and think about all the implications of what you're getting yourself into when you have a farm --- before you find yourself "in it." And wonder what on earth you have done.

Midwinter Surprise

We've had a foot of snow on the ground for over a month now. I can't remember the last time the temperature climbed above freezing. Mrs Yeoman Farmer's mail-order garden seeds have been arriving nearly ever day, but I'm wondering when we'll ever be able to plant them.

In short: it is really, really, really dreary and depressing here in Michigan. Has been for some time, and will be for the foreseeable future.

And then, today, a surprise greeted me in the barn when I went out to do the afternoon chores:

Yes, a goat kid. In fact, TWIN goat kids:

I hurried back to the house and announced the news. The children cheered and screamed with excitement, and I've never seen them move so quickly to get dressed. Within minutes, all of us were out in the barn to look at our two new beautiful little girls (both do appear to be female).

Unfortunately, the kidding pen was in serious disrepair. Fortunately, I'd patched the fence and installed a new gate a few weeks ago --- but the pen itself was full of junk, and we had no water bucket set up in there. And the gate needed some chain link material fastened to it, to keep little kids from slipping out.

Our whole family went to work, clearing the junk from the kidding pen and getting it ready for our new arrivals. I set up a 250W heat lamp (usually used for brooding chicks), so the kids could get some extra warmth for the next couple of weeks. Mrs Yeoman Farmer found some goat mineral. I brought an armload of clean straw down from the loft. Homeschooled Farm Girl carried both goat kids to the pen, while I made sure their mother ("Button") followed. I then got her some grain, and MYF put some hay in her feeder.

As the kids got accustomed to their new pen, MYF and I went to work fastening chain link material to the gate. Apart from being cold (and freezing our fingers), that went off without a hitch. I went to the house and filled a bucket with warm water, and brought it back out for Button. She slurped it like there was no tomorrow.

The most amusing participant in this whole circus was Scooter, our Border Collie mix. Bottom line: it astounds me the instincts that God has given him. As MYF and I worked on the gate, Scooter hovered protectively over the goat kids. He nudged and herded the barn cats away from them, and then sat down to lick the amniotic fluid off one of the kids. When both kids were near Button, Scooter made sure he approached them in his most "subservient" posture: head down, full crouch, tail between his legs --- as if to communicate to Button that he didn't represent a threat, and was only here to help. Once near the new little goat family, he stood protectively and continued nudging the barn cats away.

At last, everything was set and the chores were finished. Scooter and I returned to my office, and the children excitedly returned to the house to finish their schoolwork. Just another dreary midwinter day at the farm...made much brighter by the addition of two beautiful new lives.

Yeah, Kind of Like That

Even without video games or cell phones of their own, and without exposure to kids at school who have video games or cell phones, it's remarkable what our children have been able to pick up from their cousins and other relatives.

Homeschooled Farm Boy (HFB) has been reading a book about Guglielmo Marconi, who of course was an early pioneer in the development of radio. Naturally, the book details the history of various forms of long distance communication that led up to radio.

Anyhow, this morning HFB beamed as he informed us of a conclusion he had drawn from the initial forty pages of the Marconi book:

"The telegraph was sort of like the first text message!"

Yeah. Kind of.

School Choice: The Opposition Explained

With the new school year starting, education is on my mind and probably on yours as well. Thought you all would enjoy this wonderful clip from the British sitcom, "Yes, Prime Minister", in which the characters are discussing school choice. All I can say is: this is dead-on accurate, and uproariously funny. Nobody can do satire like the Brits.





H/T: John R. Lott, Jr.

Science on the Farm

As we prepare for the new school year, we are wrapping up and filing away a few loose ends from last year. I realize that I never published the results of Homeschooled Farm Boy's (HFB) science project, which was quite interesting.

One of our biggest challenges was coming up with a creative project; I mean, how many times have you seen the old experiment where you plant three bean seeds and give them different types of water and measure the differences in growth?

I realized we'd never been very methodical about tracking the growth rates of our sheep; heck, we didn't even have a scale for weighing them. After some thought as the the experiment's design, and an investment in a scale, we were ready for the first lambs to be born. Once they started arriving, HFB and I went out every single night and weighed each one. It was a bit of a hassle, but I came to enjoy spending the time with him --- and teaching him how to use Microsoft Excel to record the data about each lamb and then track the results. We did this for several weeks, until we felt we had enough data for analysis. I transferred the numbers to SPSS, and showed him how to do some basic analysis of variance (ANOVA). And the best part about that was it allowed me to introduce him to more of what I do in my professional work.

Anyhow, here is his final report (the tables didn't paste nicely, so I had to re-type the numbers here...even so, I'm not happy with the formatting. Blame Blogger):

We live on a farm and raise sheep for meat. I wanted to know more about why some lambs grow bigger and faster than others. For this reason, I chose to do a lamb-weighing project for my science report.

I decided to test two hypotheses on the way lambs grow. First, we’ve seen that male sheep tend to be more aggressive than female sheep. As a result, they might take more milk and therefore grow faster. Secondly, some of our lambs are singles, others are twins, and a few are triplets. This makes a difference because each ewe has the same amount of milk, but not the same number of lambs. I hypothesize that the singles would be biggest, then twins, while the triplets are smallest.

Beginning in late March when the first lambs were born, we weighed each lamb every day in the evening. We recorded each of these weights in a spreadsheet. Five females and eleven males were born, and of these sixteen, there were two singles, eight twins, and six triplets.

The results of the analysis prove one hypothesis and show the other one to be false. I did this by subtracting the birth weight from its final weight and dividing by the number of days old the lamb was. I also computed this average daily weight gain for various types of lambs. These figures are detailed in the table below.


Weight Gain By Lamb Types

Starting Weight Avg. Daily Gain

Gender
Males 7.5 .47
Females 7.0 .51

Litter Size
Singles 7.1 .53
Twins 7.8 .49
Triplets 6.8 .41

As the table shows, the females’ average daily weight gain was essentially the same as that of the males’. However, singles do gain more than twins, and twins do gain more than triplets. (See the table above.) The singles gained a little more than half a pound (0.53) per day, the twins about half a pound (0.49), and the triplets gained just over two-fifths of a pound (0.41).

Something interesting happened with the triplets. We had two sets. One of those triplets died on day 8. Now we had one set of triplets and the two others became twins. Before the death, both sets grew at exactly the same rate, 0.38 lbs. per day. After the death, the triplets continued growing like triplets, but the new set of “twins” began growing like twins (0.47 lbs. per day).

Impact of Reducing Triplets to Twins

Nera's Triplets Licorice's Triplets
(All Survived) (One Died on Day 8)

Days 1-8 .38 .38
Days 9-14 .38 .47

In conclusion, the amount of food lambs get is very important. A lamb’s growth is affected most by how much food it gets, and not as much as by if it’s male or female. Triplets are good because we have one more lamb, However, if all three triplets must share one ewe’s milk, they don’t reach their growth potential. From this I conclude that next year, if we have triplets, we should give them some extra feed to make up for the lack of milk.

Catching My Breath

For those who figured I dropped off the face of the earth: you're right. But I'm back. Posting has been slow the last week or two because everything else turned outrageously busy. Had a couple of projects to deliver for work, and needed to go to Washington DC on Wednesday-Thursday. Yesterday was spent tying up loose ends.

On top of it, some of you may remember a post from January in which I mentioned going "back to school." I was taking a graduate statistics course in data mining, offered online through a university in Connecticut. Although much of that course ended up being review of other statistics methods with which I was already familiar, the review in itself reminded me of some fundamentals that I'd let get rusty. Then, on Wednesday of this past week, we had our major final project due. I was immersed in that for quite some time, occasionally well into the night, as I tried improving upon my models. That's what I love most about data mining: the adventure of the hunt for the optimal model. In the end, I don't think I got a perfect solution --- but the key was that I learned a ton about the process, and also about the Clementine software.

In a sense, it was liberating not having to worry about a GPA. I still wanted to do as well as possible on the project, and I need to pass the course so I can take future courses in the sequence. But for once in my life, I didn't really care whether I got an ego-boosting "A" or a humiliating "D." I know that I stretched myself immensely, and learned what I needed to learn. I would like a good grade to show for it, but I'm discovering that grades have little meaning in themselves...particularly in this context. And after a lifetime of anxiety over grades and GPAs, I guess that's why the word "liberating" is what comes to mind.

But of course I had three other projects all come in right as this school project was due...and there was the forced deadline of catching a 3pm flight to DC on Wednesday afternoon. All the while dealing with sheep who were begging for freshly cut grass and weeds (those lawn mower breaks were actually very refreshing, and helped clear my head).

It's great to have the desk cleared off for a few days now, and it was wonderful spending yesterday evening just hanging out with the kids and watching their favorite movie with them. The weather is looking nice for today, so hopefully we'll get the tandem out of the barn and roll up some miles.

When we're not cutting some grass for the sheep.

Sloppy Mess

We've endured feet of snow here the last couple of weeks, and the temps haven't gotten above freezing to melt any of it. As a result, the driveway has become packed with snow and ice, and impenetrable to the average snow shovel. We're at the point now where it makes most sense to wait for the thaw, and in the meantime simply follow our tire tracks from the garage to the road to get out.

And that worked fine, until this morning. Overnight, it began to rain; the temps had gotten just high enough so we weren't getting new snow --- but it still wasn't warm enough to really melt what was already on the ground. The result is a heavy, slushy, sloppy mess...sitting on top of a sheet of packed ice.

Naturally, we didn't realize just how bad it was until I went out at 9:30 to fetch the car. A half hour is usually more than enough time to get to the 10am Mass. But this time, I was able to do little more than back the car out of the garage before it got stuck. Mrs Yeoman Farmer came out to join me, and we took turns driving while the other one pushed/rocked the car to free it. I also attempted to shovel the wheels free, but the underlying layer of ice wouldn't budge.

Twenty minutes later, we managed to get the car (which even has front wheel drive, by the way) pointed in the right direction and about halfway up the sloped driveway...but we couldn't get it to go any farther.

Time to call in the 1984 Ford Bronco II 4x4. It only has four seats, so we couldn't all take it to Mass, but the thing is very handy for rescuing other vehicles. In fact, I keep a tow chain in the back at all times. But even with the 4x4, it was still after 10am before we managed to get the Taurus out to the road.

So...we were down to Plan B: wait another hour, and go to the 11:30 "last chance" Mass. We don't normally like going so late, but you gotta do what you gotta do.

And something funny happened: sitting near us was a family with five kids, and their ages looked similar to our own. The mother and the three daughters were all wearing chapel veils, just like MYF and Homeschooled Farm Girl were. As soon as Mass was over, MYF whispered: "I want to meet them!" Three minutes later, they were talking like old friends. Turns out, this family usually goes to a whole other parish, at 8:30am. But guess what? Their driveway was so sloppy this morning, they couldn't get out, either! We stuck around for quite a while, chatting and getting to know them. They also homeschool, and also have a small farm. We exchanged phone numbers, and the wives are already figuring out a way we can get the families together for something.

Just goes to prove, I guess, that...once again, God's timing is always perfect.

Back to School

Hard to believe...but I am again a student.

Even harder to believe: I am a student at a university in Connecticut.

No, we haven't moved again. The course is being offered online, and most of the students are mid-career professionals; many already have post-graduate degrees.

I've been finding that data mining is becoming an increasingly important part of political campaigns, and I've very much enjoyed doing that sort of work in the last couple of election cycles. In the downtime between busy periods, I've made a point of buying and reading books about data mining, and exploring the capabilities of my software.

I've discovered, however, that there is a limit to how much a person can teach himself---even with a good textbook. There's really no substitute for taking a graduate-level course at a university. And that's what I've decided to do. Central Connecticut State University has established an excellent online program in data mining, and even offers a Masters degree in that field. I doubt I'll go that far in the program, but I'm definitely looking forward to expanding my toolbox and strengthening my understanding of the fundamentals of statistics. And that's the wonderful thing about these programs: you can do as much or as little as you like. The more motivated you are to put effort into it, the more you'll get out of it. This isn't about getting a ticket punched; it's about learning more about doing something you love.

Today was my first day of class. I think the kids are excited that they are no longer the only ones at our place who are being homeschooled.

You Go, Girl

Lest any doubts still exist as to children's absorbing the political orientation of their parents, I offer the following incident.

One of eight year old Homeschooled Farm Girl's books had a discussion today about the importance of being democratic on the playground. It was the usual stuff about giving everybody a turn, allowing everyone to have a say about the rules, and so forth. At the end, there was an assignment:

9. Write a short paragraph about how you can be more democratic.

Homeschooled Farm Girl used only a small portion of the allotted space. Her paragraph was very concise:

I don't want to. I'm Republican.

Minerals

Today's homeschooling lesson in science class was about Geology.

Mrs. Yeoman Farmer (MYF) decided to start eight-year-old Homeschooled Farm Girl (HFG) with some basics.

MYF: Today we're going to talk about minerals.

HFG: Okay. Minerals.

MYF: What are some examples of minerals?

HFG: Well...there's goat mineral. And sheep mineral.

MYF: (Laughs uncontrollably)

HFG: What's so funny?

MYF: (still laughing) Nothing, honey. That's good. Goat mineral and sheep mineral. Now, let's read about potassium and zinc...

Farm or Family?

One of the most valuable things about our rural lifestyle is the flexibility it provides in spending time with the family. Particularly with our children being homeschooled, I have opportunities to do things with them that many fathers wouldn't have.

However, as discussed recently, we're finding that we are simply too far away and too isolated from extended family. We're still looking for the right property in Michigan, and hopefully we'll be able to relocate there soon. Another excellent thing about small scale farming (and self employment) is that there is often considerable flexibility in deciding where "here" will be.

It's not always so for those engaging in large scale commercial farming, however --- and when a family has been farming for generations it can be wrenching when some members face the Hobson's choice of staying-nearby-with-another-job or farming-but-far-away. And as suburban developments and local regulations increasingly encroach on established megafarms, we're going to be seeing more and more of these situations.

Today's news brings a poignant feature story about one such family that had to make a 200 mile move from Western Washington to the other side of the state:

But that was before Travis left for the wide-open spaces of Eastern Washington. Now he works cattle in this tiny town, 200 miles from Enumclaw, with plenty of room to grow.

"I just see so much more potential here," said Travis, 33, who co-owns Thomasson Double T Dairy with his wife, Sasha, and his parents.

Dairying has always been a tough business to take on. But the rising cost of fuel and feed has made it worse for farmers in Western Washington. Not to mention the pressure of suburbia bearing down. Last year alone, 57 dairies shut down in the western part of the state.

More than 340 dairies remain, compared with 145 east of the Cascades. But with the fast pace of development, many farmers face a choice: leave family and head east, or hold ground and tough it out.

[snip - BTW, I remember well those dairies near where I grew up. Now they're all paved over into high tech office parks and subdivisions.]

Then came winter in a town with one grocery, a post office, and a population that, at last count, was little more than 400. There they were, a young couple, surrounded by elderly neighbors, 45 minutes from the nearest mall, in Kennewick.

Travis made friends through farm work. But Sasha worked only part-time. And when the children were born, there was even less chance to leave the house. Last year, they joined the volunteer ambulance service so Sasha could meet people. But she still makes monthly trips to play the dice game bunco with her Enumclaw friends.

"It's still hard," Sasha said, tears in her eyes, sitting across the kitchen table from Travis. "And it's been five years."

Family is what they miss most. Sunday breakfasts at the Enumclaw farmhouse. Saturday lunches at the cattle auction.

Don't Bury Me on the Old Prairie

It's amazing what you can find in your own back yard, and how even what appears most mundane can become an opportunity for a homeschooling lesson.

Our tiny town of Loda has one cemetery, and it dates to the mid-1800s. In the last six years, we've been in that cemetery dozens of times. And unbeknownst to us, we'd been missing out on an ecological treasure.

Then, this August, I happened to catch an interesting story on our local public radio station. The commentary was part of a feature called "Environmental Almanac," which airs once per week. According to the radio program, as recently as 1820, 60% of Illinois was covered by original prairie grasses and plants. Then agriculture boomed, and almost all of that prairie got plowed under and converted to commercial crop production or pasture. Today, there's nothing left of the original prairie except a few slivers here and there.

And one of those slivers, it turns out, adjoins the Pine Ridge Cemetery in Loda. The cemetery had kept that plot of land unbroken with all the natural prairie grasses growing on it, and had planned to expand into it when it ran out of burial space in the existing plot. Then, about 25 years ago, a local preservation society managed to acquire the prairie land and supply a different plot (probably farmland) for the cemetery to expand into. They've fenced off the 3.4 acres of prairie, and made it a permanent preserve.

But, as I said, we had no idea this jewel even existed before I happened to catch the story on the radio. All the times we'd been in the cemetery, we figured that adjoining plot was just another weed-covered empty piece of land locked up in a state program where they pay you not to grow crops. Unfortunately, the preservationists haven't done a very good job of educating the public as to the value of this prairie; the only sign is a tiny thing warning folks that everything behind the barbed wire is protected by law. Hopefully someday they'll be able to raise enough money to put up an "interpretive" sign that lets people know what they're looking at and why it's so special.

Mrs Yeoman Farmer and I immediately recognized an opportunity for a homeschooling lesson: it was time to take a literal "field trip" and learn about state history and ecology. One by one, I took each child for a tandem bicycle ride over to the cemetery (notice, we also managed to cover Physical Education with this field trip).

We walked around, looked out on and admired the stunning variety of grasses and plants, and I gave a mini-lecture about the site based on what I'd been able to learn ahead of time. I wish we could've actually walked around the prairie land itself, but it was clear from the barbed wire fencing that they didn't want people out there trampling any of the native vegetation. My rather poor camera phone picture doesn't really do justice to the beauty of the place; the Grand Prairie Friends site has many photos which are much better.

The kids thoroughly enjoyed the field trip. And I've resolved to look harder for the the other school lessons that might be hiding in our back yard.