Bruised Arms & Happy Hearts

Some of you may recall that last year I had a shearer come out for Calpernia, Scout and Walske. My girls were left in horrendous shape and I was left heartbroken and blue stained hands. This year I tried to find a new shearer. Not a lot of shearers are farmiliar with Jakes, and those that were weren’t willing to come out for our little flock of four. 

That’s chill, now I’m a shearer. We got the supplies, and I ventured out to catch the sheep and shear them myself. Now I’m sure y’all can guess how I anticipated catching them. In my mind it was easy. Bring out some grain, grab them by the horns and tie them up for shearing. Breaking news; It did not work. I was able to trick little Polly with that, but after I had grabbed Polly none of the others would come near me. 

I then tried a different plan, I figured I’d catch Walske by backing him into a corner and grabbing his horns. He’s got the biggest horns and is usually the easiest to catch. Here’s what I forgot though, he’s easy to catch but really hard to hold. He weighs more than I do, and is pretty squirmy. I got a rope around him, and let go of the horns thinking I’d just be able to tie him. I always think things will go smoothly, they never do. As soon as I let go of his horns he took off running and bucking. Me dragging behind, at first I was on my feet, running behind him rope in hand, hoping I’d be able to get some leverage when we got near the fence. Here’s another huge surprise to no one, I tripped. Now I’m just dragging behind. 

I once went out water skiing with my brothers, I had never been before but they were going to teach me. Of course I fell pretty quickly, and did not let go of the rope. It was a bad time. This was similar. 

I eventually let go, and gave up. Got the rope off and called it a day. Now my arms and hands are bruised. Despite only having done one sheep, it taking ages and being terrible to catch them. I am much happier to do it myself without and deep gashes in my flock. 

Yes, those are in fact dog leashes I have used to tie her. Do the best with what you’ve got right?


Dylan will be able to help me catch the other three this weekend. I anticipate things going much smoother with two of us. 

Oh My Daddy Said Shoot

We’ve spent the weekend off of the farm in Vancouver. We’re currently heading back to the farm. It’s a fifteen hour drive and we’ve got 116 baby chicks in the truck. My life is a series of shrugging emoticons. 🤷‍♀️

It’s also Father’s Day. So I’d like to take a minute to talk about our Fathers. It’s difficult to articulate all of the ways in which both mine and Dylan’s fathers have influenced and supported us in order to make our farm dream a reality. 

Dylan’s dad raised him with a solid and hard working foundation. Dylan has always known the value of elbow grease. Which is perfect, because the farm takes a whole lot of it. Despite his dad not being here to actively participate in the farm, he’s there in everything we do and value. Joe was a collector of nifty things that might possibly come in handy someday. That day has come. We’re constantly finding things Joe had that saves us from working our hands to the bone. 

We are fortunate to have my Dad still. My dad has been exceptionally helpful in our little farm life. So far he hasn’t even grown tired of my texts and calls about everything from snowplows to trucks that won’t start. My poor father, imagine having a vapid city girl for a daughter and then suddenly she moves to a farm. I wonder if he ever wonders how it came to be. 

I’ll tell you. My dad has worked incredibly hard his whole life. He’s always been able to do anything he wanted to. Often I’ve been unsure of how, but he’s always personified the “if there’s a will, there’s a way” phrase. Having him as my dad influenced the way I see things. When Dylan and I discussed the farm my knee jerk reaction was to say it was crazy and impossible. Probably should have stuck with that. Instead I decided that if we worked hard enough we could make it work. And we have, most days. But it hasn’t been an individual effort. We’ve got a community of neighbours, friends and family that have supported and guided us. Whenever something seems particularly daunting, we have someone we can call. Poor daddy, more often than not it’s him. Bless his heart, he still answers. 

In other farm news, dearest JoJo has resumed her fence jumping ways. 

This is JoJo on the wrong side of the fence, and Dylan luring her back with grain. 

Here’s Brisket enjoying his freedom. He got out as we tried to get JoJo in. 

Here’s JoJo again, on a different day. The grass by the house is apparently far better than the grass in the pastures. 

Fortunately we have been successful in getting her back into the pastures each time. It’s just a little weekly ritual we have now. I swear she does it just for the grain. With any luck we’ll make it through this year without losing her again. She’s getting real close though to heading to freezer camp. 

Little Brisket is nearly grown, which means his days are numbered. I’ve known all along that he won’t be sticking around, and so far I’m okay with it, though as it gets closer, I fear for my little heart. It may break a little when it’s time for him to go. I was hoping that I could find a new calf to love in Juicy, but he has been accepted by the yaks as one of them, which means I will never get close to him. Terribly torturous to have two cute little babies that the yaks won’t let me near. 

We’ve kept Walske and Calpernia and Scout together throughout the spring after they lost the lambs. We’re hoping to have some winter lambs this year. Not as ideal as spring lambs, but better than no lambs. 

🤷‍♀️

Most days I’m the hydrant, some days the dog

Scout lost her lambs as well. Though we haven’t an official cause for both ewes losing lambs, the vet suspects a toxoplasmosis outbreak. Apparently it’s very common. In all my googling, I hadn’t come across it. Though I found lots of information when I searched specifically for it. 

It’s a disease that is carried mainly by cats and rodents, sometimes even birds. So the cat eats the mice/birds, then sleeps in the hay or does a poop near the sheep. The sheep eat the hay, or graze the grass near the cats business. Boom, dead lambs. From what the vet told me, it’s difficult to prevent, and there is no way to treat it. It’s basically chicken pox for sheep. After having been infected, they develop an immunity and go on to have healthy lambs in the following seasons. Knowing this didn’t make it any less sad to lose the four that we did. Other livestock owners have all told me not to be distraught, that having livestock also means sometimes having dead stock. Knowing that also doesn’t make me feel any better. You see losing a critter especially a baby makes you feel like you failed the animals. Or at least that’s how it makes me feel. I love my sheep, and losing them, even the ones I didn’t get a chance to pester with my love, is heartbreaking. 

In their typical manner, the animals did not care about my sadness. They all still need to be fed and snuggled and pestered. 

Good things happened here too. Dylan filled my heart with joy when he bought me dwarf goats. 

This is Cher, trying to spark fear into Bella’s heart. 

Gardening with goats is better than gardening without.

This precious boy is Chaz.

We got one female, she’s black with a little bit of white, I named her Cher. Obviously. 

Her twin brother is Chaz, he’s a little grey and white precious baby. 

The brown goat doesn’t yet have a name. So far I call him, Tiny goat friend, precious goat baby etc.

In June we pick up another unrelated boy, his name will be Sonny. Of course. 

The puppies seem to think the goats are their best friends, the goats feel much differently. The puppies try to play and scare the pants off the goats, the goats run, the puppies chase. Then the goats stop running and jump up to do some kind of drop attack like they’re Hulk Hogan. This scares the pants off the pups and they run. Goats chasing. I still haven’t quite figured out if this is a weird goat game or if the pups are actually at risk of giving my goats a heart attack. Bella loves them, she tries to groom them they also do not like that. Bella gets the drop treatment as well.

Rocky and the goats have a good thing going, they completely ignore each other. Harmony.

We also welcomed a new baby yak bull to the farm, he is the first calf for both Elizabeth and Cameron. He is precious and lovely and I love him. 

This weekend we will have to pull him to get him vaccinated and tagged, and banded. Cher be with us. Elizabeth is a very attentive and protective Mama. Fingers crossed we make it through. 

Send me your name suggestions for my little brown goat! 

I was your silver lining, but now I’m gold

A year ago today Dylan and I were trudging through snow and mud looking for Elizabeth and Mary our darling yak escape artists. I would also just like to point out that Mother Nature is a cruel and sadistic woman for making people contend with both mud and snow. There should only be one horrifying example of nature’s cruelty at a time. Though to be fair, the combination of the two allowed us to track the yaks for miles, so there is a kind of silver lining. If following bovine for days can be considered a silver lining. 

This year, all critters are home so I only have to contend with mud and snow so far as the pastures. 

Last week Calpernia delivered her twin lambs, they were weeks too early and were born dead. Which was a really great way for me to once again recognize that my cold black heart is neither cold enough nor black enough to farm successfully. I mourned the loss of those little babes. Now if we’re to see any happy bouncy lambs this year it is all riding on Scout who so far is 0 for 1. I’ve moved the sheep out of the lambing pens as my extensive googling has indicated that sheep unused to confinement are more likely to experience difficulty at lambing if they are confined. I figured we had nothing to lose really. Scout has lambed once in the pens and it was incredibly unsuccessful. Really how could it go worse than it went with Nugget? I should never say that, but I’ve said it. So likely now the sheep will surprise me with another horrible trauma I have yet to fathom. Cher be with me.

JoJos calf is a beautiful bouncy boy and I am endlessly thrilled at having another precious baby to love. JoJo, of course is not thrilled. I think it’ll grow on her. The yaks and cows are living happily together thus far. They didn’t give us much of a choice in that department. Eventually a person gets tired of broken fences and hooves caught in fences and just allows the herd to be together and fight it out.

Last week after Juicy was born I had seperated the yaks and cows because the yaks were treating baby as if he was a throw toy, scooping him in their horns and launching him into the air. They did the same last year to Jack the baby yak, and I was determined to change things this year. That worked well for approximately two days, then Dylan came and got me out of bed in the middle of the night to help him. The yaks had broken the fence between them and were in with the cows, all but baby Jack who was stuck in the fence. Of course. Why didn’t we see some kind of chaos ensuing with separation. You would think we would have learned by now, NOTHING GOES ACCORDING TO PLAN! NOT EVER! We spent a couple of hours in the rain chasing bovine through knee deep snow. (Another example of nature’s cruelty. Rain and snow, come on, for serious?!) eventually we got them seperated once again. The following morning I watched the yaks ramming the fence trying unsuccessfully (Thank Cher) to break the fence again. They were seperated until after Juicy had been tagged, vaccinated and banded. Once that was complete I opened the gates and prepared for a battle. There wasn’t one. All were friends. Full of surprises.

This is Dylan post bovine battle looking like a cool farmer despite the rain and snow. I on the other hand looked like a drowned sewer rat. There are no pictures of me for that reason. 

 It is unendingly confusing for me, when they’re together they appear to hate each other, when seperated they seem to want nothing more than to be together again. Not unlike some families I guess. Nonetheless they are reunited and the yaks have stopped hunting baby Juicy. We’re expecting Elizabeth to calf in the next couple of weeks. I’m truly hoping her calving goes the same as her sisters did last year. One day no baby, the next day, a happy healthy nursing baby. 

We bought a squeeze a couple weeks ago, so our lives should get exponentially easier after we build a chute and corral for the critters. We may even be able to properly vaccinate and tag the animals. Which will be an exceptional amount of stress off us. 

Spring seems to have finally arrived, the dugouts in the pastures are thawing, the barn and shop have flooded, so it seems we really have made it through the winter. 

I did the spring clean of the chicken coop, a most unpleasant task. Last year I remember being excited about it. It was disgusting and miserable but I recall how thrilled I was at the prospect of getting chickens of our own. So thrilled I didn’t even loathe cleaning a coop full of chicken poop from chickens I didn’t even own. This year, the novelty had worn off. I was no longer thrilled. 

Right : last year, fired up

Left: this year, misery

It is done now though, and I can resume cleaning the coop regularly. It is far easier to clean it after a couple weeks than after months of things being frozen. Horror. Disgusting. 

Here are some photos of the last couple weeks on the farm.

Cameron allows me to stand this close now. Progress.

Baby Juicy loves to cuddle down in the hay



Brisket is pretty bad at selfies

Look how big baby Jack is getting

I am equally bad at selfies

Allie came to visit the yaks and also me

Gabe was interested, the yaks were not



The snow is going away!!!!

Welcome to my world little one

In the wee hours of this morning we welcomed the first Highland calf born on the farm. He was born after a long cold night of trudging through the snow in the dark only to finally be born with the sunrise. JoJo as usual did not care about my sleep schedule, therefore she just walked around aimlessly the entire night ensuring I had to spend extra time just to find her in the pasture and see for myself that she had not yet given birth. Until this morning, just after Dylan had gone to work and I was fully exhausted. That was the perfect time for the little baby to arrive. 

Because this was my first calf I of course made myself sick with worry over it being too cold and when he started to shiver I exhausted every farmer/neighbour contact in my phone asking for advice and help. Eventually I coaxed JoJo away from her calf with oats and was able to get him out of the snow and onto some hay and under a blanket. I don’t think the blanket helped, but it made me feel better. 

I will admit that I took full advantage of my opportunity to give him lots of rubs and pets. He still did not get up. By this time I’m entering a full panic mode, all the things I’ve read about hypothermia in calves is rushing to my head. So is the fact that he did already get up to nurse, and is possibly just really sleepy having been born only two hours ago. Here is my thought process;

• He’s shivering and cold, I have to get him warm
• But how - I’m alone and unable to both carry a calf and fend off an angry mom
• I’m probably being paranoid
• Text/call everyone I know
• Some say to leave him, some say take him and get him warm - who is right?! 
• If I take him will JoJo take him back? 
• A sleepy newborn is normal
• Shivering is not
• Google says some shivering is normal, severe shivering is not
• What the hell is the difference between normal and severe shivering?
• Do I have time to watch YouTube videos of cold calves or will he die of hypothermia while I do that?
• Settle down. 
• Oh my Cher, he’s not breathing - wait yes he is, his breathing is normal
• Distract Jo, get him back on the hay
• So soft, so snuggly, I’ll just pick him up quickly 
• Run away from Jo
• SOMEBODY HELP ME
• I’m going to take him, I’ll never live with myself if he freezes in front of me
• I’m probably being paranoid- leave him JoJo is being a great mom, you need to simmer down
• Please get up little guy, please just be fine
• Go in the house, nope stay out and watch. ( at this point I’m just wandering around)
• Prepare the heaters in case you have to take him
• Probably going to have to take him
• I wish I was better at this
• He’s probably fine
• But what if he’s not? How can I tell
• Internet says to look at moms udders to see how much he drank
• How can I tell by looking? Can people actually just tell by looking? Is everyone a better farmer than me? Yes. 
• Why did we buy animals
• Why did we buy a farm
• Cher have mercy on my soul
• You’re being a freak, he’s probably fine

Then one of our lovely neighbours comes over. To either look at him and tell me he’s fine, or help me take him to warm him up. Thank Cher, I was in a tail spin of sorts. Of course because I don’t already look like enough of an idiot, she arrives, and he gets up and goes to have a drink. I am embarassed and relieved. Mostly relieved. 60/40 split. 

The calf, a sweet little bull calf we’re calling Juicy was born eight hours ago. I have not slept in 32 hours. I tried to go to sleep after I had seen the little guy have a good drink and wander around but alas, I am a neurotic mess. I keep getting up to make sure he’s still okay. He is. Everytime. 

So the first Goldie Acres calf is here and beautiful. Poor thing, he has no idea he’s been born into a home with a psycho that just wants to love and spoil him. Poor little guy just wanted a nap and instead he got me, helicopter parenting, hand wringing and pacing all about. I hope I someday become the kind of person that can look at an udder and know whether the calf has had enough nourishment. Today I am not that kind of farmer. Probably not tomorrow either, but maybe sometime. Hopefully sometime. 

I found endless joy today in seeing a newborn calf get up and drink and in it not snowing today. 

Fine, fine, fine.

It’s snowing again. That’s fine. It’s only the middle of April and I had only gotten a tiny bit ecstatic to see a mud patch in the driveway. So the two feet of brand new snow is fine. It’s fine. It’s totally fine. I’m fine. Everything is not terrible. It’s been winter for seven months. That’s fine. Seven months is only a little more than half a year. My friends are enjoying spring in my old home. That’s fine. I’m just wading through snow. 

The other day I trudged through the snow and mud (which is gone now, replaced with new snow) and went to give my critters some oats and love. Well, I went to give Brisket some love, he’s the only one that accepts my scratches. I gave the others bribes to love me but, once again, it did not work. As I was giving Bridget oats and Brisket pets Bridget decided to also bestow me with an offering of her own. 

A beautiful line of bruises along my knuckles. She’s so generous. She still doesn’t like me petting her baby. 

The one nice thing about winter being endless is that it’s left me with a glorious feeling of not giving a single shit. Which has left me no longer afraid of the yaks. I slapped a yak that charged me, and since then she quit charging. Now she runs away or comes up nicely for oats whichever she’s in the mood for. I recognize that a slap was an insane reaction to a thousand pound bovine, considering I had a stick in the other hand, but it seems to have worked. So that’s progress. 

We’re still waiting on lambs and calves, we expect JoJo to calve any day now. I’ve been watching calving videos on YouTube daily and trying not to read about all of the things that can go wrong. Just joking. That would be a reasonable thing to do. I’ve read every single available article on the difficulties of calving which has me both prepared for emergency and petrified. Cher have mercy on my soul.

I expect we’re a few weeks away from lambs, so the search for a shearer has begun. I’m doing my best to not have a repeat of last years trauma. This time I’m hoping to find someone experienced with Jacobs. Not an entirely easy task. Poor old Walske was very warm this winter with two years of wool growth, but he does need desperately to be sheared before summer. If summer ever comes. At this rate summer will just be a couple weeks of snow melting and mud and then we’ll be back to winter. I have found no endless joy in the endless winter. 

Still learning how to bend

It seemed like a really good idea to pasture all the animals together. It was easier to feed and water and monitor. It seemed like less of a good idea when Molly died. It seemed like a damn terrible idea when it came to separate. 

For the last two days Dylan and I have been working on getting the sheep into pens in preparation for shearing and lambing. We only have four sheep. 

Day 1:  We got Calpernia and Scout in with relative ease. Then we tried to catch Polly. Molly and Polly were not quite as tame as Calps and Scout (which is saying a lot). Calpernia was a good mom so she didn’t let the lambs too close to me and if I got too close to them, she was sure to let me know with a horn or two. So Polly ran from us. 

She’s a smart little lamb, she runs alongside the yaks or cows knowing that we won’t dive on her if we’re likely to take a yak hoof or horn to the bod. The oats didn’t work to lure her either, it only lured the Highlands and the yaks. Polly hid under/between them. We ran around the pasture like maniacs for a while trying to catch her. We did not. We set up a kind of run from the gate of the barn to the lambing pens, hoping to chase her in. She did not fall for our trickery, Bridget did. I didn’t anticipate that. The run was not big enough for a cow, nor for a cow and a person at the same time. She finally wandered back out and the chase was on again. Then I slipped and fell directly into a puddle of melted snow and yak/sheep/cow poop. 

The old me probably would have cried a lot and screamed. New me however just screamed and said the F word a few times. Much improved. We did a couple more chases before finally giving up. 

Day 2. I decide I’m going to shovel out the gate to the second pasture and try to separate sheep from yaks and cows. Cool, there’s only about six feet of frozen snow on both sides of the gate. Dylan told me that it wouldn’t work, but I felt like we had to at least attempt a different technique than the day before. It didn’t work. I couldn’t get the gate open after an hour of shovelling and turning my arms to painful jello. I am not farm strong. 

We go back to running through the pasture. This time we focus on separating her from the herd and getting her into the deep snow to slow her down. That also slows us down. We have a number of unsuccessful attempts. One of which breaks one of my witch nails and finds me doing a belly flop into the poop puddle. Finally, we’ve got her and Walske seperated and in the deep snow. Turns out Dylan has learned the art of fully committing. That man of mine took three giant leaping steps, in his socks, (the boots were lost in the first step) and dived down onto Polly. Success!!!!! We got her in a pen. Now for Walske. 

We got Walske cornered and seperated, he’s a bit more difficult to chase because he puts his three foot vertical horns down and chases back. No diving onto that. We chased him, once again I slipped and fell into the poop puddle. More swears. I am prepared though, I have dressed in layers to be removed as they get wet and smelly. Brilliance. We carried on. Poor Walske’s big horns are both his best asset and biggest downfall. They are large targets for us to grab. Dylan was finally able to get hold of his horns and the two of steered/forced him into a pen. He’s not a big fan of the pens, the girls don’t seem to mind, but he never gives those accommodations a good review. 

We spent three hours chasing sheep. Which was less than the previous day, but more time than I want to spend in poop and hip deep snow.

Once they were all fed and watered I went to the house. I had to scrape the manure from my engagement ring. My life is one glamorous event after another. 

Walske, looking pretty unhappy about his new digs.

Polly sticks her head through there like she’s trying to hide. 

My Scout, with her peculiar horns and little moustache. 

Darling Calpernia, just a good sheep. 

The anniversary

Thanks to Facebook memories I know that today marks our official one year anniversary of having chickens. Y’all remember when I was naive and so excited to get chickens? Now I know that they’re actually suicidal little maniacs. Honestly, chickens are crazy. We’ve had so many die from the dumbest things. Freezing to death outside the open door to the heated coop, flying into the walls of the coop breaking their necks, jumping into the waterer and drowning. I try so hard to keep them alive but I am constantly overestimating their will to survive. I mean to be fair to the little psychos, we lost two to Bella the chicken eater and three to some kind of weasel or something. But mostly they’ve just succumbed to their own antics. 

So we’ve been on the farm for a year, had animals for a year. It’s been the longest 365 days of my life. It seems there’s always some new challenge that we haven’t even begun to imagine, we attempt to have backup plans for our backup plans but none of our little critters care even the tiniest bit about our plans or sanity. Within the year we’ve lost a cow for months, lost two yaks, celebrated births and mourned deaths of our animals. 

I would have laughed previously if someone said they lost a cow for months. I mean you wouldn’t think it possible to just misplace a two thousand pound animal with two foot horns. It’s possible. So so possible. It all ended relatively well I suppose. JoJo came home thanks to a neighbour who had had her for months and didn’t know where she belonged, once he knew he loaded her up and brought her home. Much to her dismay. Our yaks were returned home by other neighbours, though some days I will admit that I wish they had just stayed wild. Yaks are mean little buggers. 

We’ve survived the last year not because we’re tenacious and brilliant farmers but mostly because our neighbours are patient and kind. I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I’ve called one neighbour or another for help. That concept in itself is a touch foreign to me, in my old apartment I never once met my neighbours. Which is surprising because we shared walls, halls and elevators. Out here we live a significant distance from the neighbours, all of whom have gone out of their way at some point to help us. I’m sure we’d have packed up and put the farm for sale months ago if not for all of them. 

Our lives have changed so drastically in a year and so have we. Some days are bad, some are good, sometimes there are more bad days in a week and sometimes more good. It’s like a roller coaster except not fun and you can’t get off. So maybe it’s more like Hotel California. 

Our home renovations have been progressing at a snail pace, but progressing nonetheless. We now have three out of six rooms completed or mostly completed, so that’s something! Last week I hung pictures up and now it almost looks like we actually live here. 

Here is what I’ve learned about the joy I was searching for:

• I can find it in the quiet of a sunset
• I can find it in the warmth of bed sheets after a long cold hard day
• I can find it in laughing with Dylan about how terrible/crazy we are at farming
• I can find it in the little tiny progress I make with our animals (like the yak taking hay from my hand without charging me first) 
• I still find it in having ridiculously long witch nails
• I can find it in my dirty muck boots when they keep my feet from getting wet and cold - I used to find it in my beautiful extensive collection of heels
• I can find it in little moments as long as I look for it, sometimes I have to look harder than others
• I can find it in the neighbours and their unwavering kindness
• There is immense joy in seeing Rocky and Bella and their pups enjoy freedom and not listening to Rocky howl endlessly because he’s bored and miserable cooped up in a yard. (Bella runs away so she mostly stays tied up, but still)

There are just as many things that bring me joy out here as there were in our old life, they are just drastically different. It’s a little bit easier to see the joy in a good dress than it is to see it in a barn, but it’s there. Most days. 

Funny Farm

On today’s edition of weird shit the dogs find. A sawed off cow leg. 

This morning I went out to find the dogs gnawing on this treasure. No idea where it came from. Cows have big ass legs. Picking up a half eaten frozen cow leg was never on my bucket list, but at least I can cross it off now. It was heavier than I expected. Also grosser. Bella and Rocky pranced around with it like it was the greatest discovery since time began. I felt differently. 

I brought you in, I’ll take you out?

As I write this Dylan is outside in the shop skinning the lamb I so stressfully helped bring into the world. Y’all remember the lamb I had to pull out of Calpernia? That’s the one. I got home today and she was dead, from what I can only assume was a yak/cow or sheep vs. my little Molly situation. 

Remember those puppies we had? Two of them had been living in the barn, one awaiting pickup by her new family and the other, Ghost, about to learn how to be a sheep guardian. However, I had limited space options for a lamb carcus, so the puppies came into the house. All the better to soothe my broken heart. 

I barricaded the puppies in the mud room and went to have a good cry. Returning to the mud room to find that the puppies had torn open a bag of concrete. Because why not? I then moved the pups into the bathroom, thinking that was a safer place, and went to assist Dylan.

 I suppose I’m some kind of horribly twisted masochist because I was no help and just sat staring at the little lamb I had birthed. Recalling both my joy and terror that day. I guess I just wanted to see how bad I could feel. Pretty bad it turns out. 

Back into the house. I had already called the vet about the pups and the concrete, watch them overnight. Cool. I was hoping to have one more thing to keep me up all night, one just wouldn’t be enough. 

The bathroom was not a safe place. 

Update: puppies are fine. 

Out of the fog, a colder morning

Hey y’all. Winter, we learned is hard, cold, long, dark and unforgiving. Definitely not a source of endless joy. We thought we were ready, surprise, we were not. Every single time we assume we’re prepared. In typical Goldie acres style, many things went wrong that we hadn’t thought about. Let me tell you a Christmas story that is both hilarious and an accurate depiction of how we spent our winter. 

It’s just after Christmas, that glorious week where in our old lives it was just a blissful sea of jingle juice and not knowing what day it was. It’s different now. 

Dylan’s mom is visiting, we’re having a swell time. Bella has had puppies so I have ten wriggly pups with their eyes still closed. Should be great. 

I get a text from Linda (Dylan’s mom) while I’m in town, no water in the house. Glorious. A couple weeks prior to this we had already had a pipe break and spill water through the hallway. At this point it’s at least forty below though we had some days that were colder than fifty below, I can’t recall the details of that particular joyful day. I assume the water lines under the house have frozen. Ain’t no thing but a chicken wing, we’ll heat it up and be good to go. We get home. It is not a frozen line. It is a burned out water pump. Hilarious, no water until we get a new one. This is a small town, and a holiday time. You would think at this point I would just assume the worst and have picked up a pump while I was in town and things were open. No, my optimism is our downfall. It’ll be at least tomorrow before we can buy one let alone install it. Cool. I always wanted to know what it would be like to have to walk outside in forty below every time nature came a calling. Inconvenience, of the medium variety. We had the shop bathroom, and though the walk was unpleasant it was better than nothing. At one point I looked at Linda and hysterically laughed at how terrible everything was. That clearly offended the universe. Boom, next hurdle. 

Now the water in the shop is frozen. Amazing. No water at all. Inconvenience of the highest variety.

Eventually we got water back both in the house and in the shop but let me tell you, winter has felt like one long year. Likely longer for poor Dylan who has kindly taken on the majority of the farm chores. My little reptile body rejects the cold. 

We had all kinds of difficulties, too many to list, and many days that we thought for sure we wouldn’t make it. But the days are getting longer, and warmer (relatively, it’s still cold, but now I only wear one pair of pants beneath my snowsuit) and we’re still here. 

Last month we had to treat the bovine for lice, y’all ever tried to use a liquid to pour onto critters that hate you in -20. Not ideal. Not ideal at all my friends. We lured with oats and climbed up on fences to get it on them. We also slunk around the feeders trying to surprise the critters with a sneak attack of ivermectin, quite the spectacle I’m sure. We need a squeeze and a chute, that much is quite clear.

 

Of course wonderful things also happened, Dylan and I helped whelp ten beautiful puppies and we got engaged! 

Let me tell you that story. 

Dec 16

Dyl wants to take me out to look at all the Christmas light displays, something we do every year. The farm has kept us busy and we have a list about ten miles long of things we need to do, one of those is putting up our tree, my favourite winter activity. We decide to enjoy the lights then come home and do the tree. Turns out in this town, there’s really only one major light display, the rest of the time we drive around like maniacs trying to find pretty displays. We go home, set up the tree and after the last decoration goes on I turn around to see Dylan down on his knee, turning me into a real farm wife. After I confirm that he is not pranking me, I say yes. We make the calls and plan to have a celebratory champagne brunch the following morning. 

Dec 17 ( 3am )

I wake up to hear Bella pacing restlessly and wanting outside. The puppies are coming. I get her off the carpet but she refuses to leave her dog bed and move to the provided towels. Typical Bella. The first puppy comes. They come slowly, by 5pm she is finished and we have ten little babies. Rocky is horrified, traumatized. We did not have our champagne brunch. My ring is covered in the unmentionables that coincide with birth. Bliss.

As spring is now within our sights I am looking forward to baby season. We have done lambing season before, it is our first known. We did spring last year, dealt with the mud and the babies and survived. I’m feeling prepared. Keep your fingers crossed for us, you know what happens when I think we’re ready!