Do It Tomorrow

February was not a nice month for Treecroft Farm.  There was a lot of construction going on and in the middle of it, two of my sheep died.  First, I found my ram lamb Little Guy lying by the feeder early one morning when I went out to feed the sheep.  His body was still warm.  He had been fine the evening before, ate all his supplement as well as hay.  It took me all afternoon to bury him.

Then, the following week, I had the vet come out to look at two older ewes who were losing weight and had lost most of their fleeces.  Since they were eating como loco and otherwise seemed healthy, I was still concerned.  The vet came and caught Ma Joie, a badgerface.  He was in the middle of taking her temperature when he said that he heard an ewe on the other side of us struggling fro breath.  We rushed over to her but it was too late.  It turned out to be my favorite little brown ewe Athena. She, too, had had no signs of illness.  I had been in the shelter all Sunday afternoon and none of the sheep were having problems breathing.  No coughing, no snotty noses.

The vet suspected a parasite problem and examined the hay I was feeding, which was a good grass hay.  I built feeders and do not feed the sheep on the ground; I have a regular worming and vaccination program.  The sheep are not due for anything until mid-March.

The next day I called the feed store and asked them if the sheep hay I bought was supposed to be alfalfa or grass and they said it was straight alfalfa, very fine cut; so I told them what the vet said and they came and exchanged the grass for the alfalfa.  We assume that was a delivery mix up.

Then I called the vet to find out the results of the fecal sample he had taken. The results were not bad at all (100 worm eggs per gram) and this blew the vet's whole theory.  I did some reading and checking in my book on sheep health; it is possible Athena bloated or had something caught in her airway.  I contacted Laurel Gates who also raises Icelandic sheep; she said that she, too, felt the local vets did not know very much about sheep.  She had sent carcass samples to UC Davis when she had a similar problem.  That turned out to be a flu, which is rare in sheep.  The fleece loss was due to a brown mite, and that problem went away by itself.  Like Laurel, I avoid pesticides.

I have not lost any more sheep.  Everyone seems fine.  They have great appetites.  Cleaning out the sheep shelter has been a problem because there have been too many people working around here.  A new deck was just completed Friday.

We have had torrential rains and several moderate earthquakes. Together they messed up the front of the house, taking out a large section of slope and fence.  The driveway slope was sheered off about three feet its entire length.  About 30 feet of fence had to be rebuilt, using ten foot metal T posts. Unfortunately, the daffodils planted on that slope have not appeared.  The land is still slipping and I am not sure what to do about it.

Hopefully, soon, it will be spring and plants can be set out.  The soil on the slopes is very fertile, with lots of humous.  From what I have read, soil fertility plays an important role in soil erosion control.  I have a lot of Escallonia, Butterfly bushes and Rosa Rugosa growing elsewhere on the slope.  That part was not affected at all by the storms.

I can't do everything in one day.  That's for sure.  I have been trying to catch up on the spinning, too.  Finished a bobbin of multicolored yarn and have that hanging up to dry in the house, where the wood stove warms things up.  Started a bobbin of creamy white with tan and brown streaks.  I think this is another part of Xerxes' lamb's wool.  I haven't made too many mistakes in it yet.

It helps to keep my hands busy.  Then I don't miss Little Guy and Athena so much.  Nature is at work all the time.  Death and destruction are a part of it.  Making things new is a part of it. Change and renewal are a part of it.  Taking care of the land, little by little, day by day, is what I love to do.

Life Learning Experiences

Apparently,
with no surprise,
I have managed to do it again.
I just have to be different.

I must be the only blogger who has ever accidentally clicked on Delete and watched in horror as the screen went blank.  There are no entries in General Issues or in Posting and Editing Issues in the Help menu that will help me find and restore my posts.

My friend and colleague Andy would ask, "What does this remind you of?"

It brings back fond memories of my mother screaming, "Don't touch anything!"

It also reminds me of the county building department's secretary (a Monica L. double (are we still talking about her?) with a tight black skirt, a tight red sweater, straight out of a Lee Child thriller) telling me, more or less, that I am a walking code violation.

So, why does this happen?  Why is there no UNDO button?  Or, if there is one, why am I the only one who can't find it?

Is all this happening because I am female?  A single mother? Post menopause?  A sheep farmer?  A PhD? Poor?  Fill in the blanks.  Oh, right, this has to happen because I am blind.  That must be the right label to slap on me.  Used to be if you made a typo or any other Freudian slip, it had to be for a reason that is now politically incorrect to mention.

My grandmother lived past her 100th birthday.  She never used a computer.  She didn't go to graduate school.  She never raised sheep.  She wasn't a single mom.  She never blogged.  She never swore or threw the All-Im-One across the room or wanted to hit any key with a sledge hammer.

<sigh>

I want my posts back.

It's almost Christmas.  Give me a break.

I knew I should have just sat around in my bathrobe and spun the rest of that Lopi grey cloud.  I knew I should have knitted another "Snoopy" hat, the fun hat with ear flaps that makes me think of Snoopy on his dog house, muttering to himself.  I knew I should have stayed in bed reading up on antique roses.  The Bourbons, the Chinas, the Perpetuals.  The Gloire de Dijon that D. H. Lawrence wrote a poem about.

Someday, soon, I must have one for my garden too.  After I buy more worms.   Big red juicy ones to set free in a worm bin.

After all, I have to do SOMETHING to amuse myself and get out of this funk.  I might as well go out and watch the worms when I hit the wrong key or get a paper jam.

<sigh>  <sigh>  <pout>

You can see some pictures of my handmade hats on Annie's page on etsy.com.

But that won't bring back my posts.

Alas!          

Lost Forever

It takes a century to create one inch of topsoil.  A whole one hundred years of . . .
of what?  It is beyond my understanding.

As I create compost, I am imitating those great forces of nature that carefully layer, mix and stir materials plucked from the universe.

When I first began raising sheep at Treecroft Farm, I worried constantly about the build-up of manure.  I joked with the shearer about an event in The Odyssey, where a river was diverted to clean out the manure from 3,000 oxen.

I experimented and in time have found a way to manage the manure on the farm.  My method also has a grand plan. Whether or not my plan happens to be successful remains to be seen. But right now I am happy.

I built the containers on top of the old driveway without removing the layer of asphalt.  Chuckle.  Won't those gophers be jealous when I convert these into raised beds for vegetables.  I don't think they can burrow under.

I created two containers.  One is made with six railroad ties stacked and butted together, about nine feet wide by nine feet long by two feet high. The other is made from old feeder panels I "deconstructed" to make a container roughly four feet wide by eight feet long by two feet high.  When I clean out the lower shelter, these bins fill quickly with the wasted hay and sheep pellets.

Since I laid down paving squares in the shelter, it takes less than a half hour to thoroughly rake up.  Nine sheep will produce about three cubic feet once every couple of days.

I add leaves, which are especially abundant now.  I added a pound of red wrigglers.

I take gardening seriously.  Just added "Mermaid" to the collection of roses.  Introduced in 1918, this scrambler was one of Monet's favorite roses.  Perhaps it will be as beautiful as my other climber, the giant "Belle of Portugal" (1903).  A few of her branches are at least three inches in diameter.

Oh, yes, the rose garden, star jasmine, ferns, strawberries and fruit trees are on "the other side of the fence."  The sheep may safely graze on their own side.