The next time you buy or rent a DVD, check the "special features." Along with the Director's commentary and deleted scenes, it's often possible to select an alternate language to hear the movie in. Spanish. French. Portuguese. Italian. Whatever. It must not be too terribly difficult or disc-space-consuming to include an alternate audio track, because so many DVD movies now include that feature.
So, here's my question and proposal: Why not include the cleaned-up version of the dialogue that is used for television broadcasts of the same movie? It could be another language option, alongside Spanish and French or whatever else. And for any movie that's been cleaned-up with dubbing for television, that audio already exists. It shouldn't be hard to do. Yet, in all the movies we've rented from Netflix, I've never seen a disc that offers this option.
I'm not talking about the "bad scenes" that are cut for television; I know some Christian groups have tried to produce and sell or rent versions of movies that cut these objectionable scenes, and have been sued. That's not so critical for me; if I know there's a bad scene in a movie, I can skip through it, mute it, or make my kids face away. But I can't press the mute button every time Bruce Willis says the F-word. Sure, "melon farmer" is a silly substitute. But I'd rather my kids hear that than the original words.
What prompted this thought was recently renting Rain Man. It's a wonderful movie, with absolutely superb acting from Tom Cruise and (especially) Dustin Hoffman. In fact, it's hard for me to think of a movie with a better-acted lead than what Hoffman did in Rain Man. And the story itself, with Cruise growing to appreciate his brother for who he is, is powerful and moving. I really wanted to have the whole family watch it.
But it was rated R, and because I hadn't seen it in many years I couldn't remember exactly why. I knew there was at least one sex scene, but if that was the only problem...well, I could skip through that. But I had to know where it was, so I sat down to preview the movie by myself.
I found the sex scene, and it was pretty mild. Really mild, in fact, by Hollywood standards. The much larger problem was Tom Cruise's mouth: the profanity never stopped flowing. The longer I watched, the more dismayed I grew. I loved the story and Hoffman's acting as much as I remembered, but I knew I couldn't share this film with the Yeoman Farm Children. If it'd just been that one sex scene, I easily could've skipped it. But the foul language was far too pervasive.
And you know what's most frustrating? How completely unnecessary the rough language is. Yes, it fits Cruise's character as a rough and profane guy who thinks only about himself. But an actor as good as Cruise could sell that role without dropping F-bombs.
In a similar vein, the first time I saw Coming to America was on an airplane. I was delighted. What a wonderful romantic comedy, I thought. And Eddie Murphy played such a refreshingly clean role! And then I rented it at home, and saw everything that'd been cut out. The language and short clips they'd cut weren't just crude. They were totally unnecessary for the story --- I'd loved it just as I'd seen it. The rough language and innuendo ruined it for me.
So, getting back to my proposal, why not offer cleaned-up dialogue as an alternate DVD audio track? If the film producers think it's important not to exclude potential customers whose primary language is not English, why not show the same attention and concern to those of us who'd like to watch a movie with our kids and without all the four letter words?
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
20 January 2012
09 October 2011
On Wheels
Homeschooling families are often asked "What do you do about sports?" It seems that this is the question we are asked second-most to all others. (Number One, of course, is "How are your kids learning to socialize with others?")
We've consciously decided to avoid the typical team sports that involve shuttling kids all over creation to attend practices, games, and tournaments. Sure, baseball, hockey, football and soccer have value and can be quite healthy. But the schedules can consume enormous amounts of time that could be better spent with family; we've seen this happen to a number of our friends.
Just living on a farm, our kids get plenty of exercise. But they also participate in a relatively unusual sport. What this is, and how it came to be, is the focus of a fun article I just had published on MercatorNet. It begins like this:
And for those who have been asking about my plans for a second novel, I do have a story in the works. The general plotline is inspired by the events recounted in this MercatorNet piece. I've finished a complete first draft, and the editor (and other initial readers) have sent me suggested changes. I am in the process of incorporating those edits now; I am hoping to have a final version for publication sometime next year.
In related news, my first novel, Passport, is now available in e-book format through the Amazon Kindle Store
(for just $2.99). Also, Amazon has temporarily reduced the price for the print edition to $13.45; it can be found by clicking on the image below.
We've consciously decided to avoid the typical team sports that involve shuttling kids all over creation to attend practices, games, and tournaments. Sure, baseball, hockey, football and soccer have value and can be quite healthy. But the schedules can consume enormous amounts of time that could be better spent with family; we've seen this happen to a number of our friends.
Just living on a farm, our kids get plenty of exercise. But they also participate in a relatively unusual sport. What this is, and how it came to be, is the focus of a fun article I just had published on MercatorNet. It begins like this:
If it’s true that an addict is the last to recognize his own addiction, that may be especially so when the compulsion is ostensibly healthy. But rock bottom is rock bottom, and mine came on November 20, 1999 — appropriately enough, near the lowest geographic point in North America, on one of the country’s most isolated roads.You can read the rest of the piece here.
And for those who have been asking about my plans for a second novel, I do have a story in the works. The general plotline is inspired by the events recounted in this MercatorNet piece. I've finished a complete first draft, and the editor (and other initial readers) have sent me suggested changes. I am in the process of incorporating those edits now; I am hoping to have a final version for publication sometime next year.
In related news, my first novel, Passport, is now available in e-book format through the Amazon Kindle Store
(for just $2.99). Also, Amazon has temporarily reduced the price for the print edition to $13.45; it can be found by clicking on the image below.
19 March 2011
Our Pet Goat
The goat kid we revived from "mostly dead" continues to thrive...but, unfortunately, only in the house.
We did our best to reintroduce her to Thistle, the mother goat. The Yeoman Farm Children put Thistle in the stanchion, got some milk flowing from her teats, and tried to get the kid to suckle. She just stood there and let the nipple fall from her mouth. They tried again. And again. And again. No luck.
The YFCs milked Thistle out, and then returned her to the kidding pen. We tried leaving the kid out in the pen with her, hoping something might click, but she just sat there all afternoon. And Thistle didn't express the slightest interest in this "thing" sharing the pen with her.
So...the kid (who remains nameless, BTW) came back into the house. Where she sleeps in a box in front of the fire, and gladly takes milk when given to her from a dropper. She's put on noticeable weight. Her tendons are doing a lot better, and she's walking steadily all over the living room and kitchen when we let her out of the box. She doesn't gallop around like a typical kid, but she's making remarkable progress and I think her prognosis is excellent.
Except for the whole "bonding with other goats instead of humans" thing. I'm honestly not sure how we're going to work this, or how long she's going to be a "house goat." It's okay for now, but goats are notorious climbers. It's only a matter of time before she'll be climbing out of her box, messing all over the floor, climbing the stairs, and climbing onto the dining room table.
We took her out to my office last night, while we watched college basketball. The office has a vinyl floor, so it didn't matter if she piddled (and she did). Her footing was a bit unsteady, because vinyl is slick, but she got the hang of it soon enough. Before long, she was wandering all over my office like any other house pet. It was kind of fun, actually.
Wilbur was all over her, trying to figure out what this new little creature was. For her safety, we thought it best to move Wilbur outside (which was fine with him).
What happens next? We're not really sure. This is uncharted territory. She's a very nice goat kid. I'm just not sure how long we can continue keeping her as a house pet.
Stay tuned. There's never a dull moment on a farm.
We did our best to reintroduce her to Thistle, the mother goat. The Yeoman Farm Children put Thistle in the stanchion, got some milk flowing from her teats, and tried to get the kid to suckle. She just stood there and let the nipple fall from her mouth. They tried again. And again. And again. No luck.
The YFCs milked Thistle out, and then returned her to the kidding pen. We tried leaving the kid out in the pen with her, hoping something might click, but she just sat there all afternoon. And Thistle didn't express the slightest interest in this "thing" sharing the pen with her.
So...the kid (who remains nameless, BTW) came back into the house. Where she sleeps in a box in front of the fire, and gladly takes milk when given to her from a dropper. She's put on noticeable weight. Her tendons are doing a lot better, and she's walking steadily all over the living room and kitchen when we let her out of the box. She doesn't gallop around like a typical kid, but she's making remarkable progress and I think her prognosis is excellent.
Except for the whole "bonding with other goats instead of humans" thing. I'm honestly not sure how we're going to work this, or how long she's going to be a "house goat." It's okay for now, but goats are notorious climbers. It's only a matter of time before she'll be climbing out of her box, messing all over the floor, climbing the stairs, and climbing onto the dining room table.
We took her out to my office last night, while we watched college basketball. The office has a vinyl floor, so it didn't matter if she piddled (and she did). Her footing was a bit unsteady, because vinyl is slick, but she got the hang of it soon enough. Before long, she was wandering all over my office like any other house pet. It was kind of fun, actually.
Stay tuned. There's never a dull moment on a farm.
27 December 2010
Greener Cereal
What do you do for breakfast? Me, I've always enjoyed raisin bran cereal. I have it nearly every day. When I was a kid, I often even had a bowl as a bedtime snack. (Heck, I still do that on occasion.)
Cereal is not such an easy matter for the Yeoman Farm Children, however. With their Celiac disease, most grains are off limits. Rice is pretty much the only grain they can eat, and we practically buy it by the truckload from our food co-op. Plus, given all the additives and other ingredients that go into commercial cereal (even rice-based cereal), the YFCs' other food allergies mean they've never been able to just sit down and pour themselves bowls of anything off-the-shelf for breakfast.
Each morning, we must grind a few cups of organic long grain brown rice in a grain mill, add it to some water in a pot, bring it to a boil, and simmer it for about 20 minutes (stirring constantly) on the stovetop. It then must sit and "set up" for some time before it can be dished into bowls. Think "very slowly cooked Cream of Wheat," except made from scratch with rice flour.
The YFCs are now old enough to be able to take turns cooking cereal themselves, but when they were younger Mrs Yeoman Farmer had to do it every morning. To this day, we still talk about the time we had some friends visiting overnight; they slid bowls of off-the-shelf cereal in front of their kids, who proceeded to finish eating by the time MYF was still grinding our rice into flour.
Anyway, as much as we tell them how incredibly healthy their diets are, the YFCs have naturally long wondered what it would be like to "eat normally." This Christmas, after having done extensive research, Homeschooled Farm Girl found a way to give her brothers the gift of eating breakfast like typical kids for a day: at the natural food store, she discovered a certain brand of puffed rice cereal that had no problematic ingredients. She bought it, wrapped it up, and put it under the tree for her siblings.
Needless to say, they were very excited. And this morning, thoroughly enjoying having been liberated from cooking their cream-of-rice, they poured themselves their first bowls of the stuff. They added some of our goat milk yogurt, grabbed some spoons, and sat down to try eating breakfast like other kids do.
The verdict? To my surprise, they quickly decided that commercial cereal is terribly overrated. "I don't like the texture," Homeschooled Farm Boy said. HFG, taking no offense that her gift hadn't gone over so well, heartily agreed. Big Little Brother wasn't crazy about it, either. They ate as much as they could, but the three of them left quite a bit for the chickens.
It was a very thoughtful gift on HFG's part, and her brothers did appreciate the effort she put into finding a commercial cereal they could try. I don't think the three of them quite realize it yet, but they actually ended up getting a gift that no amount of money or research could buy: a real-life lesson that the grass really isn't greener on other people's lawns (or breakfast tables, as it were). And that when it comes to food, they're pretty darn lucky they get to eat the way they do.
Cereal is not such an easy matter for the Yeoman Farm Children, however. With their Celiac disease, most grains are off limits. Rice is pretty much the only grain they can eat, and we practically buy it by the truckload from our food co-op. Plus, given all the additives and other ingredients that go into commercial cereal (even rice-based cereal), the YFCs' other food allergies mean they've never been able to just sit down and pour themselves bowls of anything off-the-shelf for breakfast.
Each morning, we must grind a few cups of organic long grain brown rice in a grain mill, add it to some water in a pot, bring it to a boil, and simmer it for about 20 minutes (stirring constantly) on the stovetop. It then must sit and "set up" for some time before it can be dished into bowls. Think "very slowly cooked Cream of Wheat," except made from scratch with rice flour.
The YFCs are now old enough to be able to take turns cooking cereal themselves, but when they were younger Mrs Yeoman Farmer had to do it every morning. To this day, we still talk about the time we had some friends visiting overnight; they slid bowls of off-the-shelf cereal in front of their kids, who proceeded to finish eating by the time MYF was still grinding our rice into flour.
Anyway, as much as we tell them how incredibly healthy their diets are, the YFCs have naturally long wondered what it would be like to "eat normally." This Christmas, after having done extensive research, Homeschooled Farm Girl found a way to give her brothers the gift of eating breakfast like typical kids for a day: at the natural food store, she discovered a certain brand of puffed rice cereal that had no problematic ingredients. She bought it, wrapped it up, and put it under the tree for her siblings.
Needless to say, they were very excited. And this morning, thoroughly enjoying having been liberated from cooking their cream-of-rice, they poured themselves their first bowls of the stuff. They added some of our goat milk yogurt, grabbed some spoons, and sat down to try eating breakfast like other kids do.
The verdict? To my surprise, they quickly decided that commercial cereal is terribly overrated. "I don't like the texture," Homeschooled Farm Boy said. HFG, taking no offense that her gift hadn't gone over so well, heartily agreed. Big Little Brother wasn't crazy about it, either. They ate as much as they could, but the three of them left quite a bit for the chickens.
It was a very thoughtful gift on HFG's part, and her brothers did appreciate the effort she put into finding a commercial cereal they could try. I don't think the three of them quite realize it yet, but they actually ended up getting a gift that no amount of money or research could buy: a real-life lesson that the grass really isn't greener on other people's lawns (or breakfast tables, as it were). And that when it comes to food, they're pretty darn lucky they get to eat the way they do.
09 December 2010
How Open?
It's now been over a year since we've adopted Yeoman Farm Baby, and I've been wanting to share a few thoughts about the experience. Above all, we remain deeply grateful to the birthmother who entrusted him to us. It takes an enormous amount of love for a mother to recognize that her baby needs to be raised in a home and family that she is unable to provide...and then to actually go through with releasing her child into that more appropriate situation. We've had three biological children of our own, and understand the depth of attachment a mother establishes with her baby during a pregnancy. We cannot imagine how difficult it would be to have to sever that tie.
By way of quick recap: about a year and a half ago, we were contacted by a friend of a friend of the birthmother. She was still relatively early in the pregnancy, and deciding whether to put the baby up for adoption or raise him herself. Her friends and family were helping assemble potential adoptive parents, to give her a sense of the kind of life that other families may be able to offer her child. The go-between approached us because, for various reasons, she (the go-between) thought our family might be a good fit. We thought so, too, and after prayerful discernment decided to offer ourselves as candidates. To our great joy, the birthmother agreed that our family was just the kind of home she wanted her child to be adopted into.
One of the early questions that we and the birthmother needed to agree about was the degree of openness we would have in the adoption. Options can range from completely closed (no identifying information is exchanged, and there is zero contact after the adoptive parents assume custody), to completely open --- to the point of the birthmother actually visiting and playing some ancillary role in the child's life.
In my own personal experience as an infant adoptee, I was grateful that my own adoptive arrangement was completely closed. I could imagine the confusion and divided loyalties that would've been introduced had my birthmother been lurking just off stage and making regular contact with me. I know it would've undermined our family's sense of unity, and caused me to question where I really belonged. When I grew old enough to understand, my parents explained very matter-of-factly that some children join families biologically (like my younger brother), while others join families through adoption (like my sister and I did). But once we're together, we're together. Everyone is a full and equal member of the same family. Had I been getting visits from my birthmother, I know that mixed signal would've confused me.
To this day, I have not had a desire to meet my birth family. I have one mother and one father, and they are really my parents. I neither need nor want any different ones. That said, however, I have a natural curiosity about the birth family, and the circumstances surrounding my origins. The agency through which I was adopted provided a basic two-page overview of the family's social and health circumstances, but nothing about the reasons why my birthmother thought it best I be raised by another family. I'd like to know more about that, and I'd like to be able to tell her in a letter how grateful I am that I was raised by the family that did raise me. It's truly the best thing that ever happened to me. I want to thank her for that, and to let her know that my life has been happy and successful as a result of that self-sacrificing choice she made for me.
These are some of the personal considerations I brought with me, in trying to decide with Mrs Yeoman Farmer what kind of arrangement we wanted for our own adopted son. We wanted to be able to tell him, as he grew older and asked questions, the sort of person his birthmother was. That we'd met her, and gotten to know her. How much she loved him, but why her situation wasn't right for him. If he wanted to know what she looked like, we wanted to be able to show him. If, as an adult, he wanted to meet her or even just send her a letter, we wanted to know how to reach her. But we wanted to ensure our privacy and that he wouldn't get confused by ongoing contact from her in his youth.
We decided, with the birthmother, on a "semi-open" arrangement. We would not exchange last names, and she would never know exactly where in Michigan we live (not even the town or metro area). We did provide her with a very long family profile letter, and many photos, to help her be as comfortable as possible about where her baby would be growing up. We visited with her before the baby's birth, and met her family, in her city. We agreed to take custody of the baby upon his release from the hospital, and invited her to visit us/him while we remained in her metro area. In conjunction with her, we agreed to email update letters and photographs every three months for the baby's first year and every six months for his second year; we will decide together what to do after that.
This has proven to be a good arrangement for all of us. The birthmother has been able to know how well her baby is thriving, and to see how happy he his --- and to see how much happiness he has brought to our whole family. She's been able to hear about his growth, his doctor's visits, and all his milestones. We've been able to tell her how much we appreciate having him here with us, and how much we love him. She's also sent us some notes of her own, which we have been able to keep and tell YFB about when he gets older.
But the most surprising benefit is that the process has forced us to sit down and think about and document all of YFB's milestones. Yes, to be honest, I sometimes feel some resentment when the "due date" for an update is approaching and we have to take time away from normal family activities to write it up and organize the photos we'll be sending. "He's ours. This is our family. This is our time. This is our life," the voice in my head complains. But now that we've been doing this for 12+ months, I've come to realize something: we have a more complete written record of YFB's first year, all in one place, than we do for any of our biological kids. And we have more photographs of him than most families ever have of their youngest child. (MYF is the youngest in her family, and has almost no pictures from her youth.) Because we've wanted to show how much YFB is part of our whole family, we've also ended up taking a lot more pictures of our other kids --- especially #3 --- than we would have otherwise, or than we did before YFB's arrival.
I realize that these kinds of "semi-open" arrangements don't always work out the way people would like. There may be less detailed contact than the birthmother would've wanted. There may be more contact --- or more intrusive contact --- than the adoptive family would've wanted or expected. Some adoptive families opt for an international adoption, in part to avoid all of these issues.
In our case, cooperation and understanding on both sides have helped us come to a solution that's worked well for everyone. In reflecting on YFB's first year, I wanted to share this with you; I know some of you may be considering adopting, or be in a position to advise a birthmother who is putting her baby up for adoption. I offer our family's experience as an example of what can be done to help make a difficult situation as optimal as possible for all.
By way of quick recap: about a year and a half ago, we were contacted by a friend of a friend of the birthmother. She was still relatively early in the pregnancy, and deciding whether to put the baby up for adoption or raise him herself. Her friends and family were helping assemble potential adoptive parents, to give her a sense of the kind of life that other families may be able to offer her child. The go-between approached us because, for various reasons, she (the go-between) thought our family might be a good fit. We thought so, too, and after prayerful discernment decided to offer ourselves as candidates. To our great joy, the birthmother agreed that our family was just the kind of home she wanted her child to be adopted into.
One of the early questions that we and the birthmother needed to agree about was the degree of openness we would have in the adoption. Options can range from completely closed (no identifying information is exchanged, and there is zero contact after the adoptive parents assume custody), to completely open --- to the point of the birthmother actually visiting and playing some ancillary role in the child's life.
In my own personal experience as an infant adoptee, I was grateful that my own adoptive arrangement was completely closed. I could imagine the confusion and divided loyalties that would've been introduced had my birthmother been lurking just off stage and making regular contact with me. I know it would've undermined our family's sense of unity, and caused me to question where I really belonged. When I grew old enough to understand, my parents explained very matter-of-factly that some children join families biologically (like my younger brother), while others join families through adoption (like my sister and I did). But once we're together, we're together. Everyone is a full and equal member of the same family. Had I been getting visits from my birthmother, I know that mixed signal would've confused me.
To this day, I have not had a desire to meet my birth family. I have one mother and one father, and they are really my parents. I neither need nor want any different ones. That said, however, I have a natural curiosity about the birth family, and the circumstances surrounding my origins. The agency through which I was adopted provided a basic two-page overview of the family's social and health circumstances, but nothing about the reasons why my birthmother thought it best I be raised by another family. I'd like to know more about that, and I'd like to be able to tell her in a letter how grateful I am that I was raised by the family that did raise me. It's truly the best thing that ever happened to me. I want to thank her for that, and to let her know that my life has been happy and successful as a result of that self-sacrificing choice she made for me.
These are some of the personal considerations I brought with me, in trying to decide with Mrs Yeoman Farmer what kind of arrangement we wanted for our own adopted son. We wanted to be able to tell him, as he grew older and asked questions, the sort of person his birthmother was. That we'd met her, and gotten to know her. How much she loved him, but why her situation wasn't right for him. If he wanted to know what she looked like, we wanted to be able to show him. If, as an adult, he wanted to meet her or even just send her a letter, we wanted to know how to reach her. But we wanted to ensure our privacy and that he wouldn't get confused by ongoing contact from her in his youth.
We decided, with the birthmother, on a "semi-open" arrangement. We would not exchange last names, and she would never know exactly where in Michigan we live (not even the town or metro area). We did provide her with a very long family profile letter, and many photos, to help her be as comfortable as possible about where her baby would be growing up. We visited with her before the baby's birth, and met her family, in her city. We agreed to take custody of the baby upon his release from the hospital, and invited her to visit us/him while we remained in her metro area. In conjunction with her, we agreed to email update letters and photographs every three months for the baby's first year and every six months for his second year; we will decide together what to do after that.
This has proven to be a good arrangement for all of us. The birthmother has been able to know how well her baby is thriving, and to see how happy he his --- and to see how much happiness he has brought to our whole family. She's been able to hear about his growth, his doctor's visits, and all his milestones. We've been able to tell her how much we appreciate having him here with us, and how much we love him. She's also sent us some notes of her own, which we have been able to keep and tell YFB about when he gets older.
But the most surprising benefit is that the process has forced us to sit down and think about and document all of YFB's milestones. Yes, to be honest, I sometimes feel some resentment when the "due date" for an update is approaching and we have to take time away from normal family activities to write it up and organize the photos we'll be sending. "He's ours. This is our family. This is our time. This is our life," the voice in my head complains. But now that we've been doing this for 12+ months, I've come to realize something: we have a more complete written record of YFB's first year, all in one place, than we do for any of our biological kids. And we have more photographs of him than most families ever have of their youngest child. (MYF is the youngest in her family, and has almost no pictures from her youth.) Because we've wanted to show how much YFB is part of our whole family, we've also ended up taking a lot more pictures of our other kids --- especially #3 --- than we would have otherwise, or than we did before YFB's arrival.
I realize that these kinds of "semi-open" arrangements don't always work out the way people would like. There may be less detailed contact than the birthmother would've wanted. There may be more contact --- or more intrusive contact --- than the adoptive family would've wanted or expected. Some adoptive families opt for an international adoption, in part to avoid all of these issues.
In our case, cooperation and understanding on both sides have helped us come to a solution that's worked well for everyone. In reflecting on YFB's first year, I wanted to share this with you; I know some of you may be considering adopting, or be in a position to advise a birthmother who is putting her baby up for adoption. I offer our family's experience as an example of what can be done to help make a difficult situation as optimal as possible for all.
07 December 2010
Weathergirl
Homeschooled Farm Girl, describing how bitterly cold it is here in MI this week:
"If you tried to butcher a goose, Daddy, the blood would probably all freeze before it could get out."
Yeah.
Good reason to stay inside by the fire and leave the butchering for another day.
"If you tried to butcher a goose, Daddy, the blood would probably all freeze before it could get out."
Yeah.
Good reason to stay inside by the fire and leave the butchering for another day.
22 September 2010
Just Another Week
The light at the end of the tunnel is beginning to come into sight, as the busiest season for my professional work winds down. I appreciate your forbearance with the slow posting, and I look forward to posting more frequently going forward this fall.
In between the craziness with work, here is a sampling of what it's been like living on a farm for the past week or so:
Dot's lamb is thriving, and managing to keep up with her mother all around the pasture. It's a big pasture, and they occasionally lose sight of each other; we can tell because the lamb begins a piercing high pitched bleat. Dot usually comes and finds her soon thereafter. It's been a real joy watching Dot mother another lamb; it wouldn't surprise me if this is the last time she gets to do it.
That said, Dot's instincts sometimes conflict with our own. The first couple of nights with her lamb, she attempted to bed down in the wooded ridge on the far end of the pasture. I'm sure she was seeking privacy and shelter, but the lamb would've been easy pickings for any number of predators --- from raccoons to owls. When I did my head count at the barn the first evening, Dot was noticeably absent. Having gotten to know her pretty well over these years, I had a good idea as to where she'd be hiding out. I grabbed the spotlight and crossed the pasture to the ridge; sure enough, that's where she'd bedded down. Much to Dot's chagrin, I grabbed the lamb and began jogging across the pasture to the barn. The lamb bleated, and Dot came running. It was actually kind of amusing listening to her continual protest "Meeah" sounds as we jogged.
Dot tried the same trick the next night, and I again didn't catch on until it was pitch dark. The third night, I dispatched the Yeoman Farm Children to the ridge just before dusk, and they did the honors. In the meantime, I spotted an older lamb which had gotten its horns stuck in the pasture fence farther down the ridge. I freed it, and it ran across the pasture to rejoin the rest of the flock. In the days since, Dot has begun coming into the barn on her own with the rest of the flock at dusk.
We've been taking Wilbur the puppy along whenever we do chores or work with the livestock. When we went to retrieve Dot and her lamb, for example, I took Wilbur with me on a leash. He's no help with herding yet, but I want him to experience as many different aspects of farm life as possible. For the more routine tasks, he's beginning to follow me even without a leash. Each morning, he accompanies me as I let the sheep out, fill water tanks, feed chickens, get hay for goats, and feed turkeys. And then he does it again in the evening. Puppies have such boundless energy, it's nice giving him a chance to work some of it off.
Wilbur hangs out in my office with me much of the rest of the day, and he's about 70% of the way toward being housebroken. He hits the paper most of the time, but the biggest frustration is getting him to relieve himself outside. Often after running around the farm with me, he'll wait until he's returned to my office to relieve himself on the paper.
We had a litter of kittens born in the barn over the weekend. They were very much unwanted and unplanned (we didn't get the cat fixed in time), but the cat fortunately only had two of them. Unfortunately, though, the mother cat has been doing a poor job caring for them. I was inclined to let nature take its course, but Cat Girl is having none of it. She and her brothers have taken it upon themselves to bottle feed the things. As of this morning, the prognosis for one kitten wasn't good. But Cat Girl is working hard to save the other one.
Speaking of the Yeoman Farm Children, Yeoman Farm Baby contracted the chicken pox a couple of weeks ago. It wasn't a big deal, and Mrs. Yeoman Farmer treated it effectively with homeopathic remedies. YFB got over it toward the end of last week. Now, you guessed it, the others have begun coming down with it. Homeschooled Farm Boy wasn't feeling well last night, and began breaking out with pox this morning. Little Big Brother began breaking out this afternoon. We figure Homeschooled Farm Girl isn't far behind.
Pears have begin falling off our tree in the front yard, and I've enjoyed tossing the blemished ones over the fence. The sheep see them, and the word spreads quickly through the whole flock. Within minutes, they're all happily munching as many as I can throw. Then the geese come honking in to join the feast. It's better than television. Really.
On a sad note, we lost one of our oldest roosters this afternoon. Sardine had been the Alpha Rooster for a long time, but got deposed in a cockfight earlier this year. He went into exile, sleeping in a far corner of the barn each night for months. For awhile it looked like he was plotting a Rocky-like comeback, and he did roost with the flock for a time, but in the last few days he'd begun sleeping out in the pasture at night. Annoying me to no end, he would begin crowing at 4am near the house. Always the widest-ranging of the flock, he would regularly cross our road during the day to forage in the neighboring fields. This afternoon, he met the same fate that Scooter met a couple of weeks ago; I found his crumpled body along the side of the road. I won't miss his pre-dawn crowing, but Sardine had been "one of the gang" and a fixture on our farm for years. He's one of the few remaining birds that came with us in the "Noah's Ark on Wheels" from Illinois. So...it's sad to lose him, but I'm glad he had a long and happy life.
Just another week of farm life. What's ahead? Our first harvest of honey from the bee hive. About a dozen old laying hens need butchering. Potatoes need to be dug. And who knows what other surprises we may find in the pasture...
In between the craziness with work, here is a sampling of what it's been like living on a farm for the past week or so:
Just another week of farm life. What's ahead? Our first harvest of honey from the bee hive. About a dozen old laying hens need butchering. Potatoes need to be dug. And who knows what other surprises we may find in the pasture...
09 September 2010
One of Those Things You Don't Really Believe Until You See...
Posting has been slow of late because I've been swamped with professional work. But our family did manage to get down to Amish country in northern Indiana over Labor Day weekend, for the big Midwest Tandem Rally. I'll post more about that event later, but in the meantime had a photo to share.
We'd forgotten a few key items on the trip, so we stopped at a Wal-Mart in Sturgis, Michigan. It's just across the state line from where all the Amish families live.
That's when we discovered just how universal Wal-Mart's customer base is. And the lengths to which Wal-Mart will go to accommodate its customers:
Yes, that's a hitching post. And, yes, those are about a half dozen Amish buggies. And, no, I wouldn't have believed it unless I'd seen it.
I realize many people have divided opinions about Wal-Mart and the merits of shopping there versus supporting local Mom and Pop merchants. For the record, we prefer to support small local merchants, too ... but sometimes Wal-Mart is the best option.
It was interesting to find that even the Amish agree.
We'd forgotten a few key items on the trip, so we stopped at a Wal-Mart in Sturgis, Michigan. It's just across the state line from where all the Amish families live.
That's when we discovered just how universal Wal-Mart's customer base is. And the lengths to which Wal-Mart will go to accommodate its customers:
I realize many people have divided opinions about Wal-Mart and the merits of shopping there versus supporting local Mom and Pop merchants. For the record, we prefer to support small local merchants, too ... but sometimes Wal-Mart is the best option.
It was interesting to find that even the Amish agree.
30 July 2010
Hanging in Here
Sorry for the slow posting of late; we are here, but buried under the summer's work on the farm. Add to it a slew of professional work (my business is opinion research, particularly political, which spikes during the summer and fall months of even-numbered years), and it's been hard to come up for air.
For those who are curious, Tabasco continues to hang in there as well. We got a refill on her medications; I think the vet was a little surprised to hear she stabilized, but gave us a month's worth of pills for her. We've kept on spoiling her rotten, letting her have first crack at the best dinner scraps. She's been acting very old and slow, but content and not in a lot of pain. So...for the time being we're going to keep appreciating every extra day we get to have her in our lives, even as we prepare ourselves for the day when it's clear we won't be able to let her keep going on.
My goal for the weekend is to butcher the six remaining Pekin ducks. Or maybe fewer, if Homeschooled Farm Girl prevails and convinces me to keep a one or two of the females.
"Why do you want us to keep one?" I asked her.
"Because I like them," she replied.
When you're a Daddy's Girl, that's usually enough to prevail.
For those who are curious, Tabasco continues to hang in there as well. We got a refill on her medications; I think the vet was a little surprised to hear she stabilized, but gave us a month's worth of pills for her. We've kept on spoiling her rotten, letting her have first crack at the best dinner scraps. She's been acting very old and slow, but content and not in a lot of pain. So...for the time being we're going to keep appreciating every extra day we get to have her in our lives, even as we prepare ourselves for the day when it's clear we won't be able to let her keep going on.
My goal for the weekend is to butcher the six remaining Pekin ducks. Or maybe fewer, if Homeschooled Farm Girl prevails and convinces me to keep a one or two of the females.
"Why do you want us to keep one?" I asked her.
"Because I like them," she replied.
When you're a Daddy's Girl, that's usually enough to prevail.
26 June 2010
Kid AWOL
We had a goat kid born about a week or two ago, and he'd been doing fine. Kept up with the rest of the herd, and was thriving. Then suddenly, tonight, when the herd came back in from pasture for milking...there was no sign of the kid. I'd seen him earlier this afternoon; he'd squeezed through a gate and gotten into the sheep pasture, so I'd picked him up and reunited him with his bleating mother goat.
But now...he's nowhere to be found. I've looked all over the sheep pasture. The Yeoman Farm Children took the bleating mother goat (who's even more anxious than we are) on a full tour of the goat pasture and woods, getting eaten alive by mosquitoes the whole way. No sign of him. No responding bleats. Problem is, the weeds out there are quite high. If he's bedded down and curled up, he could be ANYWHERE and we'd literally have to step on him before we found him.
The YFCs are now very upset, as can be imagined. But I told them how pleased I am with their heroic efforts trying to find the lost kid. It's hasn't helped their spirits much. It doesn't help that it's now 8:40pm and they now have two goats to milk all the way out, and dinner's been pushed back.
If you're inclined to do so, we would welcome any prayers you might offer tonight. For the goat kid and our own kids. The sun is going down, and with it our chances of finding the goat this evening. I'm inclined to think a marauding fox carried him off; we've spotted them in broad daylight around here before. But we're still holding out hope that he'll resurface. Alive and well.
But now...he's nowhere to be found. I've looked all over the sheep pasture. The Yeoman Farm Children took the bleating mother goat (who's even more anxious than we are) on a full tour of the goat pasture and woods, getting eaten alive by mosquitoes the whole way. No sign of him. No responding bleats. Problem is, the weeds out there are quite high. If he's bedded down and curled up, he could be ANYWHERE and we'd literally have to step on him before we found him.
The YFCs are now very upset, as can be imagined. But I told them how pleased I am with their heroic efforts trying to find the lost kid. It's hasn't helped their spirits much. It doesn't help that it's now 8:40pm and they now have two goats to milk all the way out, and dinner's been pushed back.
If you're inclined to do so, we would welcome any prayers you might offer tonight. For the goat kid and our own kids. The sun is going down, and with it our chances of finding the goat this evening. I'm inclined to think a marauding fox carried him off; we've spotted them in broad daylight around here before. But we're still holding out hope that he'll resurface. Alive and well.
11 March 2010
Meet the Orphan Twins
After last night's terrible events, we're left with twin orphan goat kids that must be cared for. They are barely two weeks old, and were fortunately in very good health at the time their mother died. Unfortunately, neither one of them was able to figure out how to drink from a bottle yesterday. They were clearly hungry, but when the nipple was put in their mouths they just tried to chew on it. We got barely three ounces into them at the time we discovered their mother was dead (early evening), and kids this age need about a quart of milk each per day just to survive.
Late last night, Mrs Yeoman Farmer and I went out to give it another try. They still wouldn't feed from the bottle, so MYF got an idea: let's try pouring some milk into a bowl. That proved to be the ticket. Kids this age supposedly can't be trained to drink from a bowl (supposedly, only newborns can), but these two went right at it. MYF held the bowl about a foot off the ground, and I guided the female kid's head into it. After a couple of tentitive laps, she started sucking the milk down with gusto. Ditto for her twin brother. By the time we refilled the bowl, we didn't need to guide either kid --- both of them started sucking down milk at the same time.
We just got back from feeding them again this morning; we'll need to do this three times a day until they're three weeks old...at which time we can cut back to twice a day. They both went right at it again, and we decided for the next feeding we'll just leave the milk in the large pan after we warm it up. Between the two of them, they took nearly a quart this morning. Which is great, but we're only getting three quarts a day total from the other two goats we're milking. If we're going to keep any for the Yeoman Farm Children (which is, after all, the whole point of having dairy goats), we're going to need to buy some goat milk replacer soon. For now, though, we're glad we're getting so much milk into these kids while they're still healthy and strong. Once they start going downhill and get weakened, it's really hard to bring them back.
Here's the female:
And her brother:
We hadn't planned on keeping this female (most of Marigold's other kids have been lousy), but it now looks like we'll need her as a replacement milker. So...we need a name. Soon. We're open to suggestions, but it needs to be based on a flower.
Late last night, Mrs Yeoman Farmer and I went out to give it another try. They still wouldn't feed from the bottle, so MYF got an idea: let's try pouring some milk into a bowl. That proved to be the ticket. Kids this age supposedly can't be trained to drink from a bowl (supposedly, only newborns can), but these two went right at it. MYF held the bowl about a foot off the ground, and I guided the female kid's head into it. After a couple of tentitive laps, she started sucking the milk down with gusto. Ditto for her twin brother. By the time we refilled the bowl, we didn't need to guide either kid --- both of them started sucking down milk at the same time.
We just got back from feeding them again this morning; we'll need to do this three times a day until they're three weeks old...at which time we can cut back to twice a day. They both went right at it again, and we decided for the next feeding we'll just leave the milk in the large pan after we warm it up. Between the two of them, they took nearly a quart this morning. Which is great, but we're only getting three quarts a day total from the other two goats we're milking. If we're going to keep any for the Yeoman Farm Children (which is, after all, the whole point of having dairy goats), we're going to need to buy some goat milk replacer soon. For now, though, we're glad we're getting so much milk into these kids while they're still healthy and strong. Once they start going downhill and get weakened, it's really hard to bring them back.
Here's the female:
And her brother:
We hadn't planned on keeping this female (most of Marigold's other kids have been lousy), but it now looks like we'll need her as a replacement milker. So...we need a name. Soon. We're open to suggestions, but it needs to be based on a flower.
13 February 2010
The Gibsonater
Tonight at dinner, I happened to mention something to Mrs Yeoman farmer about an extremely funny comedy piece featuring Mel Gibson. It came out quite some time ago, and we'd both laughed very hard as we'd watched it.
To which I only laughed more.
Finally, Homeschooled Farm Boy told her, matter of factly, "I think he's just tired."
Which is true, actually. But it was still that funny.
But tonight, when I mentioned the comedy piece, MYF's reaction was quite different. "I'm sorry," she said, "but I've lost a lot of respect for Mel Gibson lately."
Before I could reply, Homeschooled Farm Girl piped up and asked, "Why? Is it because he adulterated?"
MYF and I both began laughing, and I was soon laughing harder than when I'd watched the original Gibson piece.
"What?" HFG asked. "Why is that so funny?"
Finally, Homeschooled Farm Boy told her, matter of factly, "I think he's just tired."
Which is true, actually. But it was still that funny.
31 January 2010
Just Another Sunday Morning
We were looking forward to a particularly easy-going Sunday morning this week; we'd gone to Mass the evening before (very unusual for us), and didn't have anything on the schedule before mid-afternoon. I figured I'd sleep in, and then spend some time in front of the fireplace.
Mother Nature had other plans, and proved that "farmers never get a day off." Out in the barn, I got hay for the sheep and fed the chickens. Then, as I took hay to the goats, I spotted something very odd: a smallish white body of some kind of animal, laying under the hay feeder. My first thought: it's a dead cat. Then, an instant later, I remembered that we have never had any white cats. A wild animal? Nope. Possums are the only white animals I can think of, and this was definitely not a possum.
Finally, my brain kicked into gear: STUPID. It's a GOAT KID. One of the does obviously gave birth in the night, and this is where she deposited the kid.
All the goats were swarming me, trying to get the hay that I was still holding in my arms. I feared that if I filled the hay feeder the goat kid was under, the herd would trample the kid to death. So, brain now fully engaged, I filled the feeder at the other end of the goat area first, drawing the herd away from the kid. With the herd distracted, I filled the other feeder and then snatched the kid into my arms before any adult goats could get close.
Fortunately, the kid was alive. She'd been laying so still, and looked so dirty and neglected, that hadn't been clear it first. Now came my next two tasks: (1) see if there was a twin laying around somewhere else, and (2) identify the mother.
A quick scan of the goat area revealed no twin. But identifying the kid's mother proved more difficult. The kid was now bleating (which I took as a good sign of life), but none of our does was responding. And they were doing so much swarming and fighting over the hay, none was standing still long enough for me to get a good look at their backsides. At last, I found a young doe (Holly) with dried blood on her haunches --- but it looked like it'd been a while since she'd delivered. Her udder and teats looked tiny, and she wouldn't stand still for me to see if any milk had come in. Worst of all, despite the kid's insistent bleating, Holly seemed oblivious to her.
Being only fifteen degrees outside (and about 25 degrees in the barn), I decided to take the kid into the house and confer with Mrs Yeoman Farmer. We put her in a box next to the fire and let her warm up a bit, and sent Little Big Brother [with Yeoman Farm Baby's arrival, he's not “Little Brother” anymore] upstairs to rouse his siblings. They weren't happy about getting out of bed initially, but eventually came tromping down excitedly to see the new kid.
Our biggest concern: how would we handle the logistics of our herd? Holly and her newborn kid needed a separate place where they could bond and she could focus on taking care of the little one, but we already had two older kids in the kidding pen, in the process of weaning so we could milk their mother (Button). If we just turned those two older kids back into Gen Pop, we'd lose the morning's milk. The two oldest Yeoman Farm Children volunteered to go out immediately and milk Button, and we decided that the kids could then stay with her in Gen Pop for at least the next 24 hours while Holly adjusted to motherhood. Perhaps Monday night we would put the two older kids back in the kidding pen with Holly and the new arrival, and see how that went. (The YFCs were of course pleased to realize they wouldn't have to milk again before Tuesday morning.)
So, the YFCs and I headed for the barn. We took Scooter the Amazing Wonderdog with us, to help move Button's kids out of the kidding pen --- and move Holly into it. I got Holly a nice clean bucket of warm water with apple cider vinegar (as a good overall tonic), and a little bit of grain (to aid her milk production). As the YFCs began milking Button, I smashed ice out of the sheep water trough and goat water trough (both were frozen solid), then thawed the faucet and refilled both water troughs to the brim.
After taking the milk into the house, Homeschooled Farm Girl and I turned our attention to Holly and the new kid. The kid was still just laying in the stall's bedding, and Holly was showing no interest in anything but eating. We wanted to make sure that the kid (and Holly) figured out the whole nursing thing, and that the kid got a good meal, before we left them to their own devices. HFG held Holly still, which allowed me to finally do a good inspection of the goat's udder. There was definitely milk in there, but it was way up high and felt hard. I gave the udder a thorough massage, and HFG managed to express some milk from the tiny teats. She guided the kid to a teat...and Holly pulled away. HFG got a new grip on Holly, and I focused on keeping the kid on the teat. To get low enough, and at the right angle, I had to basically lay in the stall's soiled bedding...but the kid did eventually get a good first meal. As the kid suckled, HFG and I had a nice conversation about goats and milking and cats and everything else that HFG likes to talk about. Which is many things.
Our mission accomplished, the two of us headed to the house so we could finally have some breakfast. After breakfast, with my prospect for quiet "Sunday morning time" in front of the fire long gone, I went out to the solitude of my office for a bit. About a half hour later, I heard the farmhouse door closing and wondered where the YFCs were going (and why). Ten or fifteen minutes after that, I got my answer: HFG appeared at my office door with good news. She'd just been to the barn, and the new kid was finally up and on her feet. And she was nursing on her own --- and Holly was standing still for her to do it, and sniffing the nursing kid just like all the other mother goats do.
I thanked HFG for the update, and praised her initiative in going out to check on the new kid. And asked her if she'd like to take my camera to the barn, so we could share some photos of the new arrival with all of the blog's readers.
HFG happily agreed to carry out that task. She brought back a nice photo of the kid:
Just another Sunday morning on the farm. Just another day when you have no idea what to expect.
Mother Nature had other plans, and proved that "farmers never get a day off." Out in the barn, I got hay for the sheep and fed the chickens. Then, as I took hay to the goats, I spotted something very odd: a smallish white body of some kind of animal, laying under the hay feeder. My first thought: it's a dead cat. Then, an instant later, I remembered that we have never had any white cats. A wild animal? Nope. Possums are the only white animals I can think of, and this was definitely not a possum.
Finally, my brain kicked into gear: STUPID. It's a GOAT KID. One of the does obviously gave birth in the night, and this is where she deposited the kid.
All the goats were swarming me, trying to get the hay that I was still holding in my arms. I feared that if I filled the hay feeder the goat kid was under, the herd would trample the kid to death. So, brain now fully engaged, I filled the feeder at the other end of the goat area first, drawing the herd away from the kid. With the herd distracted, I filled the other feeder and then snatched the kid into my arms before any adult goats could get close.
Fortunately, the kid was alive. She'd been laying so still, and looked so dirty and neglected, that hadn't been clear it first. Now came my next two tasks: (1) see if there was a twin laying around somewhere else, and (2) identify the mother.
A quick scan of the goat area revealed no twin. But identifying the kid's mother proved more difficult. The kid was now bleating (which I took as a good sign of life), but none of our does was responding. And they were doing so much swarming and fighting over the hay, none was standing still long enough for me to get a good look at their backsides. At last, I found a young doe (Holly) with dried blood on her haunches --- but it looked like it'd been a while since she'd delivered. Her udder and teats looked tiny, and she wouldn't stand still for me to see if any milk had come in. Worst of all, despite the kid's insistent bleating, Holly seemed oblivious to her.
Being only fifteen degrees outside (and about 25 degrees in the barn), I decided to take the kid into the house and confer with Mrs Yeoman Farmer. We put her in a box next to the fire and let her warm up a bit, and sent Little Big Brother [with Yeoman Farm Baby's arrival, he's not “Little Brother” anymore] upstairs to rouse his siblings. They weren't happy about getting out of bed initially, but eventually came tromping down excitedly to see the new kid.
Our biggest concern: how would we handle the logistics of our herd? Holly and her newborn kid needed a separate place where they could bond and she could focus on taking care of the little one, but we already had two older kids in the kidding pen, in the process of weaning so we could milk their mother (Button). If we just turned those two older kids back into Gen Pop, we'd lose the morning's milk. The two oldest Yeoman Farm Children volunteered to go out immediately and milk Button, and we decided that the kids could then stay with her in Gen Pop for at least the next 24 hours while Holly adjusted to motherhood. Perhaps Monday night we would put the two older kids back in the kidding pen with Holly and the new arrival, and see how that went. (The YFCs were of course pleased to realize they wouldn't have to milk again before Tuesday morning.)
So, the YFCs and I headed for the barn. We took Scooter the Amazing Wonderdog with us, to help move Button's kids out of the kidding pen --- and move Holly into it. I got Holly a nice clean bucket of warm water with apple cider vinegar (as a good overall tonic), and a little bit of grain (to aid her milk production). As the YFCs began milking Button, I smashed ice out of the sheep water trough and goat water trough (both were frozen solid), then thawed the faucet and refilled both water troughs to the brim.
After taking the milk into the house, Homeschooled Farm Girl and I turned our attention to Holly and the new kid. The kid was still just laying in the stall's bedding, and Holly was showing no interest in anything but eating. We wanted to make sure that the kid (and Holly) figured out the whole nursing thing, and that the kid got a good meal, before we left them to their own devices. HFG held Holly still, which allowed me to finally do a good inspection of the goat's udder. There was definitely milk in there, but it was way up high and felt hard. I gave the udder a thorough massage, and HFG managed to express some milk from the tiny teats. She guided the kid to a teat...and Holly pulled away. HFG got a new grip on Holly, and I focused on keeping the kid on the teat. To get low enough, and at the right angle, I had to basically lay in the stall's soiled bedding...but the kid did eventually get a good first meal. As the kid suckled, HFG and I had a nice conversation about goats and milking and cats and everything else that HFG likes to talk about. Which is many things.
Our mission accomplished, the two of us headed to the house so we could finally have some breakfast. After breakfast, with my prospect for quiet "Sunday morning time" in front of the fire long gone, I went out to the solitude of my office for a bit. About a half hour later, I heard the farmhouse door closing and wondered where the YFCs were going (and why). Ten or fifteen minutes after that, I got my answer: HFG appeared at my office door with good news. She'd just been to the barn, and the new kid was finally up and on her feet. And she was nursing on her own --- and Holly was standing still for her to do it, and sniffing the nursing kid just like all the other mother goats do.
I thanked HFG for the update, and praised her initiative in going out to check on the new kid. And asked her if she'd like to take my camera to the barn, so we could share some photos of the new arrival with all of the blog's readers.
HFG happily agreed to carry out that task. She brought back a nice photo of the kid:
And of Holly taking good care of the kid:
14 January 2010
Farewell to Mean
Homeschooled Farm Girl is the consummate cat lover. She has named pretty much all of our barn cats, plays with the barn cats, draws sketches of our barn cats in her spare time, and has been put in charge of feeding and tending the litter box of the two kittens that dwell in the basement (and which I tolerate for the sole reason that they catch field mice before those mice make their way into the pantry). By contrast, I am a dog person and enjoy having both dogs in my office all day long as I work. I tolerate felines to the extent they provide a useful service (e.g. catching mice), but otherwise cannot be bothered with them.
HFG is our early warning radar, alerting us if anything goes wrong with any of the half-dozen or cats. She is the first to notice when any feline goes missing, or when any of them is acting sick. Predictably, she was the one who came to us yesterday afternoon with a concern about a barn cat named Mean (who, yes, had a littermate named "Nice"...but, just to confuse things, as they grew up "Nice" became mean and "Mean" became nice. I suggested they swap names, but HFG would have none of it). Anyway, it seemed that Mean had recently gotten injured in some way. HFG brought Mean to my office, and I took a look at the injury. I couldn't tell exactly what was wrong, but the cat was definitely having problems. She smelled especially awful, was meowing like she was in pain, and she had something weird sticking out of her rear end. It looked almost like what happened to one of our geese, several years back, when the goose laid her first egg and the whole oviduct came out with the egg. (I had to butcher that goose.) But Mean had been fixed, so I knew it had nothing to do with reproduction.
Mrs Yeoman Farmer and I had a quick conference. I contended that the barn cat wasn't worth anything, and that we shouldn't expend any resources on saving her. MYF insisted that we need to be good stewards of all our animals, and sometimes that means doing things that don't make economic sense. With doe-eyed HFG looking on, and me wrapped tightly around HFG's little finger, I caved quickly.
The nearest veterinary clinic has evening office hours, so MYF offered to take the cat in at 6pm. She obviously had to take Yeoman Farm Baby with her, and I was grateful that Homeschooled Farm Boy offered to go as well, to help hold the cat (allowing HFG to remain at home with me and Little Brother, rather than at the vet clinic to hear what I assumed would be a bad prognosis). Around 7pm or so, I got The Call from MYF. When her first words were, "Is [HFG] with you?", I knew the news couldn't be good.
Turns out, it wasn't. The cat had a prolapsed rectum --- indeed, not unlike the prolapsed oviduct that our goose experienced. The condition could theoretically be repaired with (expensive) surgery, but even then the vet said she couldn't make any promises about Mean's prospects. MYF was inclined to have the cat euthanized, and I quickly seconded the suggestion. MYF then explained that the cost would be $15 if we simply had her put to sleep and took the body home for disposal --- and another twenty bucks if the vet clinic had the body incinerated for us. (Long-time readers will recall that in Illinois, we were quoted $35 for incinerating the 90# body of a dog that got hit by a car.)
Naturally, my first question to MYF was: "Can't you just bring the cat home so I can shoot her myself?" I had to put an injured cat down about three years ago; it wasn't exactly a pleasant experience, but a bullet only costs twenty cents. MYF gave a half-chuckle, and explained that a few minutes earlier, when the vet had come in to explain the options, Homeschooled Farm Boy's first question was: "Or, can't we just take her home and have Daddy put her down?" To which I replied, proudly, "That's my boy!" MYF muttered something like "No kidding," but then raised her objection to the plan: she was concerned about the potential trauma for HFG of bringing the cat home alive, seeing the cat, seeing me take the cat behind the barn, hearing a gunshot, seeing me carrying a dead cat back from behind the barn, etc. MYF feared that this experience might drive a wedge between me and HFG, especially given that my dislike of cats is well known in the family. The bottom line: MYF didn't want me to be established in my daughter's mind as "Cat Killer."
Fair enough, I replied. But why not just bring the cat home and let me "take care of it" that very night, in the dark, without telling HFG anything about it? What would we owe the vet if we did that?
MYF put the phone down and asked a few questions. As it turned out, if we had the cat euthanized the total charge for the night would be fifteen bucks. But if we took a live cat home, we would be charged twenty bucks for the office visit and evaluation. Go figure! "That's a total no-brainer. Have the vet put the cat to sleep and bring the body home," I told her. MYF agreed, and said she'd have it taken care of.
Our children have grown accustomed to animals being born and animals dying, but it's always much harder on them to lose a dog or cat than it is to lose a chicken or duck. As we waited for MYF to come home from the vet, HFG disappeared. My "daddy" instinct kicked in, and I told Little Brother to entertain himself downstairs while I went up and looked for HFG. Sure enough, I found her in her bedroom, looking very sad. I sat down, had her sit in my lap, held her tight, and told her it was okay to cry if she wanted. And when the tears did come, I kissed them and told her everything would be okay, and that we should all be thankful for having had such a wonderful barn cat as Mean.
MYF's instincts also kicked in. She stopped on the way home from the vet at the video rental store and picked up three movies (one that each child especially likes) to watch over the next couple of days. That preemptive gesture seems to have helped, because all three kids did surprisingly well yesterday evening --- and woke up in surprisingly good spirits.
And, no doubt, when I go out this afternoon to butcher some old laying hens...HFG will be the first to ask if she can help cut their throats and pluck their feathers.
That's my girl.
HFG is our early warning radar, alerting us if anything goes wrong with any of the half-dozen or cats. She is the first to notice when any feline goes missing, or when any of them is acting sick. Predictably, she was the one who came to us yesterday afternoon with a concern about a barn cat named Mean (who, yes, had a littermate named "Nice"...but, just to confuse things, as they grew up "Nice" became mean and "Mean" became nice. I suggested they swap names, but HFG would have none of it). Anyway, it seemed that Mean had recently gotten injured in some way. HFG brought Mean to my office, and I took a look at the injury. I couldn't tell exactly what was wrong, but the cat was definitely having problems. She smelled especially awful, was meowing like she was in pain, and she had something weird sticking out of her rear end. It looked almost like what happened to one of our geese, several years back, when the goose laid her first egg and the whole oviduct came out with the egg. (I had to butcher that goose.) But Mean had been fixed, so I knew it had nothing to do with reproduction.The nearest veterinary clinic has evening office hours, so MYF offered to take the cat in at 6pm. She obviously had to take Yeoman Farm Baby with her, and I was grateful that Homeschooled Farm Boy offered to go as well, to help hold the cat (allowing HFG to remain at home with me and Little Brother, rather than at the vet clinic to hear what I assumed would be a bad prognosis). Around 7pm or so, I got The Call from MYF. When her first words were, "Is [HFG] with you?", I knew the news couldn't be good.
Turns out, it wasn't. The cat had a prolapsed rectum --- indeed, not unlike the prolapsed oviduct that our goose experienced. The condition could theoretically be repaired with (expensive) surgery, but even then the vet said she couldn't make any promises about Mean's prospects. MYF was inclined to have the cat euthanized, and I quickly seconded the suggestion. MYF then explained that the cost would be $15 if we simply had her put to sleep and took the body home for disposal --- and another twenty bucks if the vet clinic had the body incinerated for us. (Long-time readers will recall that in Illinois, we were quoted $35 for incinerating the 90# body of a dog that got hit by a car.)
Naturally, my first question to MYF was: "Can't you just bring the cat home so I can shoot her myself?" I had to put an injured cat down about three years ago; it wasn't exactly a pleasant experience, but a bullet only costs twenty cents. MYF gave a half-chuckle, and explained that a few minutes earlier, when the vet had come in to explain the options, Homeschooled Farm Boy's first question was: "Or, can't we just take her home and have Daddy put her down?" To which I replied, proudly, "That's my boy!" MYF muttered something like "No kidding," but then raised her objection to the plan: she was concerned about the potential trauma for HFG of bringing the cat home alive, seeing the cat, seeing me take the cat behind the barn, hearing a gunshot, seeing me carrying a dead cat back from behind the barn, etc. MYF feared that this experience might drive a wedge between me and HFG, especially given that my dislike of cats is well known in the family. The bottom line: MYF didn't want me to be established in my daughter's mind as "Cat Killer."
Fair enough, I replied. But why not just bring the cat home and let me "take care of it" that very night, in the dark, without telling HFG anything about it? What would we owe the vet if we did that?
MYF put the phone down and asked a few questions. As it turned out, if we had the cat euthanized the total charge for the night would be fifteen bucks. But if we took a live cat home, we would be charged twenty bucks for the office visit and evaluation. Go figure! "That's a total no-brainer. Have the vet put the cat to sleep and bring the body home," I told her. MYF agreed, and said she'd have it taken care of.
Our children have grown accustomed to animals being born and animals dying, but it's always much harder on them to lose a dog or cat than it is to lose a chicken or duck. As we waited for MYF to come home from the vet, HFG disappeared. My "daddy" instinct kicked in, and I told Little Brother to entertain himself downstairs while I went up and looked for HFG. Sure enough, I found her in her bedroom, looking very sad. I sat down, had her sit in my lap, held her tight, and told her it was okay to cry if she wanted. And when the tears did come, I kissed them and told her everything would be okay, and that we should all be thankful for having had such a wonderful barn cat as Mean.
MYF's instincts also kicked in. She stopped on the way home from the vet at the video rental store and picked up three movies (one that each child especially likes) to watch over the next couple of days. That preemptive gesture seems to have helped, because all three kids did surprisingly well yesterday evening --- and woke up in surprisingly good spirits.
And, no doubt, when I go out this afternoon to butcher some old laying hens...HFG will be the first to ask if she can help cut their throats and pluck their feathers.
That's my girl.
15 December 2009
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.
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 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.
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.
05 December 2009
Introducing Yeoman Farm Baby
We have big news: All of us are now home with the newly adopted Yeoman Farm Baby! He is happy and healthy, and the whole family is very excited about the new addition. Many thanks to all of you who were praying for us; it made more of a difference than you can imagine. The hand of Divine Providence was all over this experience, and we are incredibly blessed to have been chosen to be YFB's parents.
Posting has been slow of late, because the whole family was holed up in a hotel for the last few weeks in the birth mother's city. We got custody of YFB upon his release from the hospital, but it was necessary to clear certain legal hurdles before we were allowed to leave that state and travel home. Unfortunately, all of this coincided with the long Thanksgiving weekend, which greatly slowed the process down. But eventually things worked themselves out, and we got "The Call" from our attorney earlier this week. After a few hours of packing our minivan to the gills with kids and food and baby paraphernalia, we were on the road and headed back to our farm.
There is much to be told about the experience, and many insights that I'd like to share; I expect to have several posts over the next week or two discussing our adoption saga. Keep in mind, however, that for confidentiality reasons I will have to omit certain details from the story --- and the usual blogging rules about not naming our children or showing their photos will also apply to YFB.
Posting has been slow of late, because the whole family was holed up in a hotel for the last few weeks in the birth mother's city. We got custody of YFB upon his release from the hospital, but it was necessary to clear certain legal hurdles before we were allowed to leave that state and travel home. Unfortunately, all of this coincided with the long Thanksgiving weekend, which greatly slowed the process down. But eventually things worked themselves out, and we got "The Call" from our attorney earlier this week. After a few hours of packing our minivan to the gills with kids and food and baby paraphernalia, we were on the road and headed back to our farm.
There is much to be told about the experience, and many insights that I'd like to share; I expect to have several posts over the next week or two discussing our adoption saga. Keep in mind, however, that for confidentiality reasons I will have to omit certain details from the story --- and the usual blogging rules about not naming our children or showing their photos will also apply to YFB.
08 November 2009
Why Do This?
A reader from Southern California (actually not far from where our family lived, pre-farm) who wishes he could be doing what we're doing, Kevin Aldrich, writes with some important thoughts and observations:
It would seem that the reason to have a family farm is not so much to grow your own food or have a viable business as to have a means of raising your kids well. They are more “in touch” with real life and work with their hands, not just with their heads and technology.
Here’s a kind of a idea for raising kids—not that I’ve done it for any of mine—but a child’s development could kind of follow the history of the development of humanity. It seems like we are more and more cut off from the life that most people have led through most of human history. Not that we want any of the negatives, like mortality rates before modern medicine, or famines before the Green Revolution, or battles followed by rape and pillage.
Rather, it seems like kids would have a huge advantage if their youths were filled with activities like storytelling, memorization, growing your own food, dealing with animals, running, fighting, using weapons, building fires and doing without electricity, dealing with heat and cold and darkness, writing with pencils instead of keyboards, penmanship, building and fixing things, reading instead of watching, talking instead of texting. Have you seen Disney/Pixar’s Wall-E? People are fat and chair-bound and taken care of by robots. It really is the future.
I guess I think about this because I live on the edge of the center of modern, artificial living...
It really is remarkable how different the Yeoman Farm Children are from other kids their age. They get up each morning, go outside, and are responsible for milking two goats. They take the goats out to pasture. In the evenings, they do it all again (in reverse), and hunt all over the barn gathering eggs, and make sure the various animals have the food they need. They are present when lambs and goat kids are born, alert us to any problems those animals may have, work to ensure the health of all those animals ... and help load mature animals into the truck when it's time to go to the butcher. They know how to cultivate soil, how to plant seeds, how to tell the difference between a weed and a "good" seedling, which tomatoes and peppers are ripe, how to handle fresh produce (and eggs) without damaging or breaking anything. And because their severe food allergies make meal preparation such a big production (in the time it takes most kids to finish off a bowl of Fruit Loops, we're still grinding grain for hot cream-of-rice cereal), they have learned to take the lead in cooking breakfasts and lunches from scratch.
They do not have iPods or cell phones or Facebook pages, do not "text" their friends, have never surfed beyond the EWTN Kids website, and their television viewing is limited and always supervised (and made up of sports, politics, religious, and History Channel type stuff). They read a lot of books, particularly historical fiction. They know how to type, and how to use computers, but do most of their work with pen and paper. They know firearms are not toys, but rather powerful tools which must be respected and handled safely and responsibly.
When we first moved to the country, one of our primary motivations was getting control of our food supply. But the longer we've been doing this, and the more we've observed the way our kids have thrived, our motivation for continuing to farm has increasingly become the whole lifestyle and culture in which our family is immersed here, and the sorts of well-rounded young adults into which the YFCs are growing. It's hard to imagine anything that could've been better for them. Or for us.
It would seem that the reason to have a family farm is not so much to grow your own food or have a viable business as to have a means of raising your kids well. They are more “in touch” with real life and work with their hands, not just with their heads and technology.
Here’s a kind of a idea for raising kids—not that I’ve done it for any of mine—but a child’s development could kind of follow the history of the development of humanity. It seems like we are more and more cut off from the life that most people have led through most of human history. Not that we want any of the negatives, like mortality rates before modern medicine, or famines before the Green Revolution, or battles followed by rape and pillage.
Rather, it seems like kids would have a huge advantage if their youths were filled with activities like storytelling, memorization, growing your own food, dealing with animals, running, fighting, using weapons, building fires and doing without electricity, dealing with heat and cold and darkness, writing with pencils instead of keyboards, penmanship, building and fixing things, reading instead of watching, talking instead of texting. Have you seen Disney/Pixar’s Wall-E? People are fat and chair-bound and taken care of by robots. It really is the future.
I guess I think about this because I live on the edge of the center of modern, artificial living...
It really is remarkable how different the Yeoman Farm Children are from other kids their age. They get up each morning, go outside, and are responsible for milking two goats. They take the goats out to pasture. In the evenings, they do it all again (in reverse), and hunt all over the barn gathering eggs, and make sure the various animals have the food they need. They are present when lambs and goat kids are born, alert us to any problems those animals may have, work to ensure the health of all those animals ... and help load mature animals into the truck when it's time to go to the butcher. They know how to cultivate soil, how to plant seeds, how to tell the difference between a weed and a "good" seedling, which tomatoes and peppers are ripe, how to handle fresh produce (and eggs) without damaging or breaking anything. And because their severe food allergies make meal preparation such a big production (in the time it takes most kids to finish off a bowl of Fruit Loops, we're still grinding grain for hot cream-of-rice cereal), they have learned to take the lead in cooking breakfasts and lunches from scratch.
They do not have iPods or cell phones or Facebook pages, do not "text" their friends, have never surfed beyond the EWTN Kids website, and their television viewing is limited and always supervised (and made up of sports, politics, religious, and History Channel type stuff). They read a lot of books, particularly historical fiction. They know how to type, and how to use computers, but do most of their work with pen and paper. They know firearms are not toys, but rather powerful tools which must be respected and handled safely and responsibly.
When we first moved to the country, one of our primary motivations was getting control of our food supply. But the longer we've been doing this, and the more we've observed the way our kids have thrived, our motivation for continuing to farm has increasingly become the whole lifestyle and culture in which our family is immersed here, and the sorts of well-rounded young adults into which the YFCs are growing. It's hard to imagine anything that could've been better for them. Or for us.
14 October 2009
Wanted. Very Much Wanted
Our family continues to prepare for the adoption of Yeoman Farm Baby; all has continued to go well with his gestation, and our family's excitement in anticipation of his due date is growing daily.
Naturally, we have been spreading the word among friends and colleagues. In this regard, I recently had an interesting experience --- one that Mrs Yeoman Farmer and I both believe should be shared.
I was attending a conference last week with about 25 other Catholic men. In the course of introductions and various conversations, I mentioned that we were preparing to adopt a baby who will be born soon. Everyone responded to this with great joy and congratulations, and many obviously wanted to know more of the details. To this end, one older gentleman asked, "So, did you find a mother who's having a baby she doesn't want?"
Careful readers will note that this question actually had two parts. The second part caught me off guard, so I initially focused my reply on the first part. No, I explained, we didn't find her. She found us. Or, rather, a mutual friend/acquaintance connected her with us. The way everything played out, all of us were utterly convinced that divine providence was behind these events.
The gentleman nodded. And then I turned my attention to the second part of his question: is this a baby that she doesn't want? To expand on the answer I gave him: NO! In fact, the birth mother very much wants this baby. She loves him with all her heart, as almost all mothers naturally do. She would lay down in front of a train for this baby. She very much wants to raise this baby herself, and to give him all of her love --- but, at the same time, she knows she is not in a position to supply what he needs. She loves him so much, she is sacrificing her own desires ("wants") for the greater good of her child.
We can hardly wait to meet this very wanted baby and welcome him into our family.
Naturally, we have been spreading the word among friends and colleagues. In this regard, I recently had an interesting experience --- one that Mrs Yeoman Farmer and I both believe should be shared.
I was attending a conference last week with about 25 other Catholic men. In the course of introductions and various conversations, I mentioned that we were preparing to adopt a baby who will be born soon. Everyone responded to this with great joy and congratulations, and many obviously wanted to know more of the details. To this end, one older gentleman asked, "So, did you find a mother who's having a baby she doesn't want?"
Careful readers will note that this question actually had two parts. The second part caught me off guard, so I initially focused my reply on the first part. No, I explained, we didn't find her. She found us. Or, rather, a mutual friend/acquaintance connected her with us. The way everything played out, all of us were utterly convinced that divine providence was behind these events.
The gentleman nodded. And then I turned my attention to the second part of his question: is this a baby that she doesn't want? To expand on the answer I gave him: NO! In fact, the birth mother very much wants this baby. She loves him with all her heart, as almost all mothers naturally do. She would lay down in front of a train for this baby. She very much wants to raise this baby herself, and to give him all of her love --- but, at the same time, she knows she is not in a position to supply what he needs. She loves him so much, she is sacrificing her own desires ("wants") for the greater good of her child.
I should emphasize that in giving this reply to my questionner, my tone was not at all one of correction; it was rather one of explanation and of sharing insights that we ourselves had been learning in the process.
It is hard to imagine a more complete, or a more selfless, love than what we have observed from our birth mother. She is a mother who very much wants to keep her child, but loves him too much to actually do so. And when our son is old enough to understand, we intend to tell him precisely that.
This is our happy Yeoman Farm Baby, as of a few days ago:We can hardly wait to meet this very wanted baby and welcome him into our family.
24 August 2009
Seattle-to-Portland 2009 Ride Report
This post is a break from what we usually discuss here, and is very long to boot. Many regular readers may want to skip it. As noted recently, I returned home to Seattle last month for a few days; at that time, I promised a full report on the Seattle-to-Portland (STP) ride, the event which had been the primary purpose of my trip. It's taken me this long to sit down and put that report together. I write such a report after every major cycling event; I am sharing this one on the blog for anyone out there who may be interested in my experiences and who may want to learn from my mistakes and observations. You'll note the clipped style (many sentence fragments) is also quite different from what I usually post.
A couple of quick notes up front: I was an avid cyclist when I was younger, but have been away from the sport for many years. This year's STP was a personal challenge, to see if at age 40 I could get back in shape and again hang with the pack. My first STP was the 1984 two-day ride, which I did at age 15 with a good friend. I came back the next year and did the one-day ride, and then was totally hooked on that version of the event. For me personally, it was actually easier to pull through and do 200 miles in a single day than it is to ride 100 miles, sleep who-knows-where (usually a gym floor), then get up and ride another 100 miles with full body soreness. Also, given how large the event has now grown, I'd frankly rather be sharing the roads with 2,000 people than 8,000 people (which is the rough division between one-day and two-day riders). This wasn't an issue in 1984, when there were only 1,800 riders total.
Anyhow, I did the one-day STP in 1985-1989, 1992-1994, and 1996. After that, between distance and family and work obligations, it became impossible to travel to Seattle for the event. To put the 13 year break in perspective for you STP veterans: the last time I did STP, we were not only still starting in the Kingdome parking lot...but there still was a Kingdome. Family and work obligations eventually got to the point where I couldn't even train for cycling; I did my last double century ride while living in California in 1999, and then basically hung up the bike for many years. Only in the last few years have I discovered the pure joy of tandem cycling, with my kids serving as stokers; they have allowed me to again become a good cyclist while remaining a good father. I still do plenty of training alone, on my solo bike, but riding with the kids has been essential for rediscovering the sport. I highly recommend it for anyone who's wanting to ride more, but is also concerned about spending time with growing children.
On to the ride report itself:
Overall a wonderful ride, with nearly perfect weather. I was in good shape, and felt good most of the way. I was concerned because my longest training ride was only 80 miles, but 1,360 solo miles and 440 miles with kids on tandems seems to have been enough to make up for it. The weather was a little too warm, but better than being a little too cold. The temperatures topped out in the mid-80s by afternoon, but were very comfortable up until then. Best of all: we had a tailwind pretty much the whole time we were in Oregon. Couldn’t have asked for much better conditions, or a much nicer day on the bike. Sure don't envy the two-riders, who had a chilly drizzle for Day Two.
I shipped my old Bianchi to R+E Cycles, and they assembled it and did a full midseason overhaul before I arrived in Seattle. The guys at R+E are awesome, and I highly recommend them. They did a complete drivetrain cleaning and adjustment, trued the wheels, replaced all cables, re-wrapped the handlebars, etc. Definitely needed the service.
For gearing, I was running a 52-42-30 triple in the front and a 12x19 eight speed straight block cluster in the rear. This is perfect gearing for Michigan, but was only boarderline acceptable for STP. I never had to push the bike up a hill, but there were several times I wished I had something lower than 30 x 19.
Stayed at the Travelodge in the University District, just up the street from the start line. Began at 4:45 sharp, and was in the very first group released from the start. Weather was comfortable at the start; wore shorts, STP 96 jersey, and an old long sleeve t-shirt under the jersey. Used a flashing red taillight for the first 25 miles or so, but a headlight was not necessary.
I was amazed at the size of the ride. There were literally always other riders with me. The first 24 miles were screaming fast, and I arrived at the REI food stop in Kent after just an hour and 16 minutes. Used the restroom, filled with water, and got back out on the course after just five minutes or so. I did okay on “The Hill;” I had a gear that was just low enough, and it felt good to stand on the pedals and climb.
Spanaway was an awesome stop, with outstanding service from local kids, but the restrooms were way across a wide field. Spent more time at Spanaway than I’d anticipated, but that was okay. My goal was to finish the ride feeling strong, rather than finish as fast as possible. Taking a little extra time at rest areas was part of that strategy, and I made a point of not hurrying. Called home, and the kids were excited to talk to me.
The course now includes a long stretch of bike trail from Yelm to Tenino, which was excellent. I ran out of water just as the trail ended, so the mini-stop at mile 86 was a huge relief. Filled up with water, and cruised the remaining 12 miles to the Centralia rest area at 10:20 AM.
Spent a half hour at Centralia. Weather was starting to get warm, so I left my T-shirt there. Food at Centralia was okay; had a couple of baloney sandwiches, filled up with water, and got back on the course.
Just past Chehalis, as we were heading back into the countryside, I got into a minor accident. Was in a pack of about 20 riders, and the course took a 90-degree turn to the right. I watched the wreck develop in slow motion. A young man cut across the path of the woman right in front of me. I could see that she’d be unable to avoid him; sure enough, he sliced right across her front wheel and she went down hard. I slammed on my brakes, but knew I’d be unable to avoid her. Braced myself, hit her bike, and tumbled to the pavement. Scraped up my right knee, but was more concerned about my bicycle. The rear wheel wouldn’t turn, and I was afraid it’d been potato-chipped (or had busted spokes). Several riders stopped, including a medic, and checked out the woman who’d been in front of me. Her arms were badly scraped, but she was okay. Her riding companion asked if I was okay, and I said I was, but showed him my rear wheel. Fortunately, it was just a matter of the rear brake being jammed from the impact. He was able to realign it, and all of us were back on the road. Big relief. I saw the two of them again at Lexington; they were leaving as I was arriving. All of us assured the others that we were doing fine, despite our scrapes. The medical support on the ride was unbelievably good; I got my knee cleaned up at a first aid station in Vader, and really appreciated the help I got.
Along the way, I called Danby, another amateur farmer (and one of the blog’s frequent commenters); he lives a few miles off the course, and we’d agreed ahead of time to try to meet. I told him I was incoming, and he met me at a mini-stop near his house. We spent about 10-15 minutes chatting. Was very glad we were able to get together.
Was getting tired, and running out of food, between Vader and Castle Rock. Stopped at Castle Rock for about 15 minutes and filled up with water and used the restroom, but the available food was mostly candy. As my stomach was begging for carbs and protein, I decided I could stretch what I had until Lexington. Spent about a half hour at the Lexington stop, enjoying the excellent wrap-style sandwiches they had. Finally climbed back on the bike at 2:40 PM; was miserable battling winds and lousy roads/traffic into Longview, but I realized that the winds seemed to be blowing from a direction that would favor us once we crossed the bridge. That lifted my spirits.
The bridge itself was worse than I remembered. Lots of traffic whizzing by on the way up, then the expansion joints on the way down could be dangerous if not handled properly. I wanted to fly down the bridge at 40 MPH, but each expansion joint was dealing a horrible THUD to my front wheel. Fearing a tire blowout, I slowed down and took my time. Some riders were "bunny hopping" over the expansion joints at full speed, but I honestly didn't trust myself to try that. Ended up reaching the bottom safely, then began the long slog down Hwy 30.
The stretch to St Helens was by far my slowest of the day; averaged just 15.5 MPH between rest stops. Was pretty much all uphill from the bridge to St Helens – I had not remembered that. I’d thought the hills rolled more. Struggled a lot here, especially since there were fairly few people to ride with. Took a much-deserved half hour or so break at St Helens. Watermelon was wonderful, and I got some excellent cookies. Ice water made a big difference, too. Was quite hot by now. The folks staffing this rest stop knew how tired we were, and went out of their way to be friendly and of service. If any of you are reading this, please know how deeply appreciative I am for what you did.
St Helens is on a plateau, and it was largely downhill to Portland from there. My spirits were high, and I made very good time to the city limits, but after entering the city the stop lights killed my average time for this section of the course.
Reached the finish line just before 7pm. That was a respectable enough time for me, and above all I felt fairly good. I knew I wasn't the strongest one out there, and this wasn't my fastest double century ride, but speed wasn't my goal; finishing strong was. The other things which contributed to the strong finish: I was fanatical about eating and drinking before I felt hungry or thirsty. Having a Camelbak hydration system helped a lot, as water was always just a turn of the head away. And the regular rest stops ensured I never ran out of food. Also, I found that taking two ibuprofen tablets at each rest stop helped ward off and control soreness in my shoulders and back.
The next morning, I picked up a rental car, packed up my bike, dropped it at a 24-hour FedEx/Kinkos (yes, it was much cheaper to FedEx my bike both ways than it was to take it on the plane as checked baggage), and started driving back to Seattle. Stopped to see some extended family in Shelton, and spent a wonderful afternoon hanging out with them. Felt quite sore all day, but tried to keep moving and stretching. Stopped at Whole Foods that evening and picked up a fresh salmon to carry home with me; this was an essential gift for the family. Caught the redeye out of Sea-Tac at 11:20, and was home Monday morning.
Will I be back to ride again next year? I'd love to, but between having an infant in the house and it being a busy year for work, it's doubtful I'll be able to leave the farm for that many days in the middle of summer. Not impossible. Just don't put money on my being out there on the course before 2011.
A couple of quick notes up front: I was an avid cyclist when I was younger, but have been away from the sport for many years. This year's STP was a personal challenge, to see if at age 40 I could get back in shape and again hang with the pack. My first STP was the 1984 two-day ride, which I did at age 15 with a good friend. I came back the next year and did the one-day ride, and then was totally hooked on that version of the event. For me personally, it was actually easier to pull through and do 200 miles in a single day than it is to ride 100 miles, sleep who-knows-where (usually a gym floor), then get up and ride another 100 miles with full body soreness. Also, given how large the event has now grown, I'd frankly rather be sharing the roads with 2,000 people than 8,000 people (which is the rough division between one-day and two-day riders). This wasn't an issue in 1984, when there were only 1,800 riders total.
Anyhow, I did the one-day STP in 1985-1989, 1992-1994, and 1996. After that, between distance and family and work obligations, it became impossible to travel to Seattle for the event. To put the 13 year break in perspective for you STP veterans: the last time I did STP, we were not only still starting in the Kingdome parking lot...but there still was a Kingdome. Family and work obligations eventually got to the point where I couldn't even train for cycling; I did my last double century ride while living in California in 1999, and then basically hung up the bike for many years. Only in the last few years have I discovered the pure joy of tandem cycling, with my kids serving as stokers; they have allowed me to again become a good cyclist while remaining a good father. I still do plenty of training alone, on my solo bike, but riding with the kids has been essential for rediscovering the sport. I highly recommend it for anyone who's wanting to ride more, but is also concerned about spending time with growing children.
On to the ride report itself:
Overall a wonderful ride, with nearly perfect weather. I was in good shape, and felt good most of the way. I was concerned because my longest training ride was only 80 miles, but 1,360 solo miles and 440 miles with kids on tandems seems to have been enough to make up for it. The weather was a little too warm, but better than being a little too cold. The temperatures topped out in the mid-80s by afternoon, but were very comfortable up until then. Best of all: we had a tailwind pretty much the whole time we were in Oregon. Couldn’t have asked for much better conditions, or a much nicer day on the bike. Sure don't envy the two-riders, who had a chilly drizzle for Day Two.
I shipped my old Bianchi to R+E Cycles, and they assembled it and did a full midseason overhaul before I arrived in Seattle. The guys at R+E are awesome, and I highly recommend them. They did a complete drivetrain cleaning and adjustment, trued the wheels, replaced all cables, re-wrapped the handlebars, etc. Definitely needed the service.
For gearing, I was running a 52-42-30 triple in the front and a 12x19 eight speed straight block cluster in the rear. This is perfect gearing for Michigan, but was only boarderline acceptable for STP. I never had to push the bike up a hill, but there were several times I wished I had something lower than 30 x 19.
Stayed at the Travelodge in the University District, just up the street from the start line. Began at 4:45 sharp, and was in the very first group released from the start. Weather was comfortable at the start; wore shorts, STP 96 jersey, and an old long sleeve t-shirt under the jersey. Used a flashing red taillight for the first 25 miles or so, but a headlight was not necessary.
I was amazed at the size of the ride. There were literally always other riders with me. The first 24 miles were screaming fast, and I arrived at the REI food stop in Kent after just an hour and 16 minutes. Used the restroom, filled with water, and got back out on the course after just five minutes or so. I did okay on “The Hill;” I had a gear that was just low enough, and it felt good to stand on the pedals and climb.
Spanaway was an awesome stop, with outstanding service from local kids, but the restrooms were way across a wide field. Spent more time at Spanaway than I’d anticipated, but that was okay. My goal was to finish the ride feeling strong, rather than finish as fast as possible. Taking a little extra time at rest areas was part of that strategy, and I made a point of not hurrying. Called home, and the kids were excited to talk to me.
The course now includes a long stretch of bike trail from Yelm to Tenino, which was excellent. I ran out of water just as the trail ended, so the mini-stop at mile 86 was a huge relief. Filled up with water, and cruised the remaining 12 miles to the Centralia rest area at 10:20 AM.
Spent a half hour at Centralia. Weather was starting to get warm, so I left my T-shirt there. Food at Centralia was okay; had a couple of baloney sandwiches, filled up with water, and got back on the course.
Just past Chehalis, as we were heading back into the countryside, I got into a minor accident. Was in a pack of about 20 riders, and the course took a 90-degree turn to the right. I watched the wreck develop in slow motion. A young man cut across the path of the woman right in front of me. I could see that she’d be unable to avoid him; sure enough, he sliced right across her front wheel and she went down hard. I slammed on my brakes, but knew I’d be unable to avoid her. Braced myself, hit her bike, and tumbled to the pavement. Scraped up my right knee, but was more concerned about my bicycle. The rear wheel wouldn’t turn, and I was afraid it’d been potato-chipped (or had busted spokes). Several riders stopped, including a medic, and checked out the woman who’d been in front of me. Her arms were badly scraped, but she was okay. Her riding companion asked if I was okay, and I said I was, but showed him my rear wheel. Fortunately, it was just a matter of the rear brake being jammed from the impact. He was able to realign it, and all of us were back on the road. Big relief. I saw the two of them again at Lexington; they were leaving as I was arriving. All of us assured the others that we were doing fine, despite our scrapes. The medical support on the ride was unbelievably good; I got my knee cleaned up at a first aid station in Vader, and really appreciated the help I got.
Along the way, I called Danby, another amateur farmer (and one of the blog’s frequent commenters); he lives a few miles off the course, and we’d agreed ahead of time to try to meet. I told him I was incoming, and he met me at a mini-stop near his house. We spent about 10-15 minutes chatting. Was very glad we were able to get together.
Was getting tired, and running out of food, between Vader and Castle Rock. Stopped at Castle Rock for about 15 minutes and filled up with water and used the restroom, but the available food was mostly candy. As my stomach was begging for carbs and protein, I decided I could stretch what I had until Lexington. Spent about a half hour at the Lexington stop, enjoying the excellent wrap-style sandwiches they had. Finally climbed back on the bike at 2:40 PM; was miserable battling winds and lousy roads/traffic into Longview, but I realized that the winds seemed to be blowing from a direction that would favor us once we crossed the bridge. That lifted my spirits.
The bridge itself was worse than I remembered. Lots of traffic whizzing by on the way up, then the expansion joints on the way down could be dangerous if not handled properly. I wanted to fly down the bridge at 40 MPH, but each expansion joint was dealing a horrible THUD to my front wheel. Fearing a tire blowout, I slowed down and took my time. Some riders were "bunny hopping" over the expansion joints at full speed, but I honestly didn't trust myself to try that. Ended up reaching the bottom safely, then began the long slog down Hwy 30.
The stretch to St Helens was by far my slowest of the day; averaged just 15.5 MPH between rest stops. Was pretty much all uphill from the bridge to St Helens – I had not remembered that. I’d thought the hills rolled more. Struggled a lot here, especially since there were fairly few people to ride with. Took a much-deserved half hour or so break at St Helens. Watermelon was wonderful, and I got some excellent cookies. Ice water made a big difference, too. Was quite hot by now. The folks staffing this rest stop knew how tired we were, and went out of their way to be friendly and of service. If any of you are reading this, please know how deeply appreciative I am for what you did.
St Helens is on a plateau, and it was largely downhill to Portland from there. My spirits were high, and I made very good time to the city limits, but after entering the city the stop lights killed my average time for this section of the course.
Reached the finish line just before 7pm. That was a respectable enough time for me, and above all I felt fairly good. I knew I wasn't the strongest one out there, and this wasn't my fastest double century ride, but speed wasn't my goal; finishing strong was. The other things which contributed to the strong finish: I was fanatical about eating and drinking before I felt hungry or thirsty. Having a Camelbak hydration system helped a lot, as water was always just a turn of the head away. And the regular rest stops ensured I never ran out of food. Also, I found that taking two ibuprofen tablets at each rest stop helped ward off and control soreness in my shoulders and back.
The next morning, I picked up a rental car, packed up my bike, dropped it at a 24-hour FedEx/Kinkos (yes, it was much cheaper to FedEx my bike both ways than it was to take it on the plane as checked baggage), and started driving back to Seattle. Stopped to see some extended family in Shelton, and spent a wonderful afternoon hanging out with them. Felt quite sore all day, but tried to keep moving and stretching. Stopped at Whole Foods that evening and picked up a fresh salmon to carry home with me; this was an essential gift for the family. Caught the redeye out of Sea-Tac at 11:20, and was home Monday morning.
Will I be back to ride again next year? I'd love to, but between having an infant in the house and it being a busy year for work, it's doubtful I'll be able to leave the farm for that many days in the middle of summer. Not impossible. Just don't put money on my being out there on the course before 2011.
15 June 2009
Yeoman Farm Baby --- Incoming!
In a recent post, I asked for your prayers regarding a big development that was underfoot. Mrs Yeoman Farmer and I are deeply grateful for all of those prayers...because they have been bearing tremendous fruit. Specifically, this kind of fruit:
No, MYF is not pregnant. We wish another pregnancy was possible, but God has made it clear that he has chosen a different way he'd like our family to grow. Some time back, we were contacted by a friend who wanted to know if we had ever considered adoption. We said that we had in fact thought and prayed about it a lot, and were open to it, but that we had not begun actively pursuing it. She then explained that she knew of a young woman who was at a loss as to what she should do about an unexpected pregnancy. Although privacy reasons prevent my elaborating on the details, the young woman and we both decided that her baby would be a perfect match for our family.
The baby is not due until late in the fall, so we have some time, but the upcoming months will still be a hectic whirlwind of agency interviews, legal proceedings, and a home study. We are discovering that even with a private arrangement such as this one, a great deal of government oversight (through an adoption agency) is still required.
But that is all fine with us. Our whole family is so excited about this new little member, all the legal and agency hurdles in the world seem like nothing. This new little baby is truly a pearl of great price, for whom we are prepared to sacrifice all we have.
The birth mother, and we, are completely committed to the adoption. However, given the number of complications that can arise in both a pregnancy and a legal process, both of our families would greatly appreciate all the prayers you are able to offer up on our behalf.
No, MYF is not pregnant. We wish another pregnancy was possible, but God has made it clear that he has chosen a different way he'd like our family to grow. Some time back, we were contacted by a friend who wanted to know if we had ever considered adoption. We said that we had in fact thought and prayed about it a lot, and were open to it, but that we had not begun actively pursuing it. She then explained that she knew of a young woman who was at a loss as to what she should do about an unexpected pregnancy. Although privacy reasons prevent my elaborating on the details, the young woman and we both decided that her baby would be a perfect match for our family.
The baby is not due until late in the fall, so we have some time, but the upcoming months will still be a hectic whirlwind of agency interviews, legal proceedings, and a home study. We are discovering that even with a private arrangement such as this one, a great deal of government oversight (through an adoption agency) is still required.
But that is all fine with us. Our whole family is so excited about this new little member, all the legal and agency hurdles in the world seem like nothing. This new little baby is truly a pearl of great price, for whom we are prepared to sacrifice all we have.
The birth mother, and we, are completely committed to the adoption. However, given the number of complications that can arise in both a pregnancy and a legal process, both of our families would greatly appreciate all the prayers you are able to offer up on our behalf.
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