Menopausal Mother Nature

This morning I went to let the chickens out and I did so in my PJ's.   No coat, not hat, no gloves.

Later in the morning I shoved all humans outside to do outsid'ey things. Rhiannon ran around and chased roosters, Paul did something noisy beyond my line of sight, and I continued cleaning out the wasted hay from the goat's feeding area.  After just a few minutes of pitching compost material, I had to shed my undershirt so I didn't overheat.

Lily, one of our pregnant Boer gals, still has her winter coat and it looked like she may have been panting.  Rhiannon came up to me to shed one of her shirts and claimed that she was "Soooo very, very hot.", which although was probably partially true, was also the precursor to "Can I have a smoothie to cool me down?"

So we took a break and headed into the house to prepare the frozen fruit treat.  On the way inside, I spied the thermometer and it read 72 degrees.  Wow.  I could get used to this kind of winter.

After Rhiannon had her blueberry and banana fruit smoothie in hand, she went on the porch and sat on the pile of wood Paul had just deposited there minutes earlier.

Wood that we're going to use starting this evening because it's going to get down to 16 degrees tonight with a high of only 25 tomorrow.  I though I was the one with the night chills and hot flashes, but apparently Mother Nature is going through some hormone imbalances of her own.

Six Month Taste Test

Ten minutes ago, I drank this:

And I'm still here.  I'm a teeny-tiny bit buzzed to boot as well.

Waaaaay back in August, Paul and I tried our hands at making our own alcoholic beverage - Mead.  Basically a honey based wine. 

Personally, I would have much rather put the time, money and effort into making a batch of homemade whiskey, but for whatever asinine reasons, one can make wine without governmental intervention, but gawdforbid if you go the extra step to distill that stuff, you'll have the jack booted thugs crashing through your living room window at 3 am, shooting your dog and pointing a gun at your head.

Anyways, where was I?  Oh.  The Mead.

It's been over six months since we dumped a bunch of honey, yeast and raisins into a jug of distilled water (hey, can you distill water, but not wine???).  It sat for almost a month, then when it looked as if the bubbles were finished bubbling, we decanted it into several glass jars.  After a month, there was sediment in the bottoms of the jars so we decanted it again.  During each decantation (? is that like the opposite of an incantation??) we took a sip.  First sip was pretty much gawdawful.  Second time around it was slightly less awful.  This time I decided to pour myself a shot's worth.

And still, it's just "eh".  Actually, I think it was more like an "EH!" after I downed it and unconsciencly jerked my head to the side once it hit me.

Paul said, "It's not terrible.  But it ain't that good either."

Of course, we're going to drink it.  Eventually.  And if the mead continues to improve over time, we may have some truly enjoyable homemade honey wine with our supper.

Say, in 2019.

Lucky Ducks, er, Chickens

After the last midnight chicken massacre, I've been making sure that we close up the chicken door at night.  I put the live trap out a few times, but only managed to catch the new outside cat.

Tonight Paul didn't get out to the coop until just before 8 pm.  He came back inside with a quicker than normal gait and a winded exclamation, "There's a 'possum in the chicken house."  He grabbed the .22 and I threw my book across the bed, rolled out and pulled my boots on.  Before I could make it to the coop I heard the familiar "pop" and correctly assumed that the chicken-eating marsupial's life had been snuffed out.

Sorry, no free meals here buddy.

As the poultry pilfering 'possum writhed on the ground for the remainder of the time it took the brain stem to stop receiving communications from the splattered brain, I opened the doors to the coop to assess the other damage.  Handful of feathers on the ground, freaked out chickens on the perches, squawking chickens in the corner, but not a single chicken casualty.

The chickens dodged a bullet.

The opossum, not so much.

G.H.A. (Goat Haters Anonymous)

I never had Pickles tested to see if she was pregnant.  I'm assuming she is not.  I hate her.

I'm assuming that Lira (the half Boer half Nubian) is pregnant.  But she's still small, both in the belly and in general stature.  Which is worrying me now.  Her mother wasn't very big, so I wasn't expecting her to be very big, but I'm now concerned about her kidding.  She was bred to Studly, who was only a wee thing himself, so hopefully her kids will be small enough for her first kidding.

Oh, and Lira screams just as much, if not more, than Pickles.  I also hate her.

Herman continually knocks off his head-gear so the effer is always getting his head stuck through the cattle panel fence.  Sometimes I see him out there, stuck, and I yell at him and leave him there just because.  You'd think he'd learn.  You'd think I'd learn (not to get goats with horns).  So yesterday Paul and I had to wrestle with him and duct-tape the PVC pipe back to his noggin.  I hate him.  Herman, not Paul.

Then, there's the fact that the only friendly Boer goat from last year's kidding is Gimpy.  The one we're going to eat.  The other two, Clover & Dilly, run from me every chance they get.  Even when they know it's feeding time.  I have to run after those jerks every stinking day.  And they know that once they get clipped to the fence, that they get to eat.  So, what's with the running away from me?  I've given them treats, I scratch their heads.  But still they run.  I hate them as well.

So, why do I have all these goat that I clearly despise?  Well, it wasn't supposed to be that way.  The three Boers that went to the County Fair last year were supposed to come home, tame, broke & just lovey-dovey.  But the only one that did is the one that's going into the freezer.  The Boer / Nubian cross doeling is not only semi-wild, but will no doubt prove to be a pain during kidding and I'm sure will end up raising kids that will hate me just as much as she does, if not more.

My plan, at least the one I have at this moment, and is sure to change at any time, is that I will try to breed Pickles first time she goes into heat, even if it's in the middle of summer.  If she doesn't take, she's going to the sale barn or into the freezer.  Same for Lira if she isn't a good mother or her kids are for crap.  And honestly, even if Lira's kids are decent, I'll keep the kids and still sell her.  I cannot stand the yelling.

None of my other goats yell like Pickles and Lira, and it is freaking annoying as hell.  You know that "Yelling Sheep"clip on youtube?  Funny, isn't it?  Well, until you hear that ALL freaking day.

Pickles and Lira yell when they see you come out of the house.  They yell if they see a car.  They yell if it's feeding time.  They yell if it's two hours before or after feeding time.  They yell if a gnat lands on their ass.  I H.A.T.E. the yelling.  And it only becomes a yelling match between myself and them.  I open the door to go outside and they yell.  I yell back, "SHUT UP!!".  They yell again.  I scream "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?".  They yell back.  I then scream some incoherent babble peppered with expletives and stomp back into the house and then Paul says, "You know you're yelling at livestock, right?"

It's a beautiful day today.  I plan on going out into the goat pen to get the kidding stall ready and to muck out the shitton of wasted hay from the picky goats.  Maybe do some weed-pulling and maybe attempt to reclaim my herb garden from the Ozark jungle that took over.

And maybe, just maybe, I can resist the urge to continue the yelling match.

Today's Homeschooling Lesson is brought to you by...

The "Cleaning of the Fish Tank" and "The Slicing of My Finger".

We haven't had a biology lesson in some time so when I was cleaning out the fish tank (and wondering exactly why it was we have these stupid goldfish in the first place), I scraped a little bit of the glop into a cup.  I set up the microscope and we viewed the tiny marvels under a 100x power magnifying lens.

After  Rhiannon drew a picture of the different life forms, we went online to try and identify them.

We positively identified vorticella, rotifers, didinium, euglena and paramecium.  Then we watched a video on microbial life in fresh water and came upon the neatest thing I've ever seen (under a microscope, that is); a waterbear.  We didn't have one ourselves, but watched a youtube video on them.  Very cool.

Rhiannon didn't really get past the "neat-o" aspect of the biology lesson, but I am still in awe at the amount of life that we don't even know exists.  Or, the amount of life that we know exists (at least in the back of our heads), but don't even consider in our day to day happenings.  I mean, come on, if you even saw a few seconds of that waterbear, you'd have to start questioning your own place in this universe.  That thing is micro-freaking-scopic.  And it looks like a little eight-legged bear.

This dude lived in space for ten days.  No helmet, no spacesuit.

After filling our brains with biological and microscopic nomenclature in an attempt to become somewhat more intelligent on the subject of paramecium and the amazing tardigrade (fancy pants word for the waterbear), I had a "dumb" moment while preparing a salad for supper that very evening.  I wasn't paying attention and sliced my finger.  That stupid thing bled for what seemed like an eternity.  There was blood everywhere.  Well, maybe not everywhere, but it sure seemed like it.  I'm not a fan of blood on my person, especially those that are caused by slices, so I had Paul clean and bandage me up so I didn't pass out on the kitchen floor.  Yes.  I am one of "those" people.  I can put a bullet through a goat's brain, drain the blood, skin, cut and butcher it, but I tend to get all pale and clammy and occasionally go unconscious if I slice a piece of my own flesh.

Oh, back to the blood bath in the kitchen.

Since there was blood gushing out of my index finger, I grabbed one of the microscope slides still conveniently located on the kitchen counter and smeared some of my life onto it.  Then got to see what red blood cells looked like.

Would you LOOK at all the blood!  I mean, it was just
gushing everywhere.  EVERYwhere!!!!!!  Auuggghhh!!!!

My lifeblood, for all to see, and watch die.

I thought it was neat / freaky.  Rhiannon was pretty much "Eh" about it.  Blood cells don't really "do" anything so I can understand her indifference to it, especially when compared to that waterbear.

But we got to scratch off "Biology" for the day on our school list and I'm now obsessed with waterbears.  Oh, and my finger still hurts.

Gone, but with a purpose

I apologize for my absence from the Blogosphere of late; I have been busy fighting Evil.

I shall return!

Where's the Beef? (Not here)

I made hamburger patties a few days ago:

I stuck them in the broiler (too lazy to start up a fire in the grill), filled our plates up with homemade sweet 'tater fries and homemade coleslaw and jammed those burgers in our maws before the buns touched the plate.

But my hamburger wasn't "Hamburger".  It was a half and half mixture of ground venison and ground pork.  Because there is NO way I'm spending over four freaking bucks for a pound of ground beef, from the grocery store or from the farmer.  Sorry Mr. Local Cattle Dude.  I'm glad you're getting a premium price for your beeves, but you just won't be getting it from me.

Why is beef so freaking expensive?  Texas drought?  Ice & snow?  I suppose the cattle numbers still haven't been able to recover from those events and it's just a classic case of supply and demand.  Or could it be insider cow trader manipulation?  Government conspiracy to increase demand for bison?   Apparently now only the "elites" will get to dine on the carcasses of cattle.

Even though we won't be grilling up many beef-based meals for a while, we won't be missing out on cheeseburgers.  And technically, our hamburgers actually have "ham" in them as we ground up some of the back legs (the "hams") from our hog.

Are you having to make do without beef?  Have you come up with other beef alternatives to use in your cooking?  If you're a cattle grower, how are you doing?