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Muddy Valley Farm

~ Life on a tiny west coast hobby farm

Muddy Valley Farm

Category Archives: Liza and Arrow

A Solitary Sentry

14 Sunday Jun 2020

Posted by Jodi in Chickens, Farm Life, Liza and Arrow, Wildlife

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Quail are so common in our muddy valley that we have a Quayle Road just down the way. In the summer months we see them a lot. They dash along the roadside in single file family groups, pacing us for a few seconds before plunging into the brush. Mini roadrunners with legs flying, flouncy headdresses bobbing in front of them as they go.

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California quail were first released in the Victoria area way back in 1861, a hundred years exactly before I was born. They thrived, as immigrants tend to do, and are now common all over our valley and indeed most of the west coast. In the fall and winter they congregate in “coveys” consisting of a few adults of both sexes and a bunch of youngsters. Female quail choose a new mate each year in early spring, and the happy couples leave the covey to hatch and rear their brood before rejoining, kids in tow, in the fall.

One day a few weeks ago, I noticed a lone male hanging around the chicken coops. That first day, he introduced himself by standing on top of a barnyard fence post, chuk-chuk-chuk-ing at me for all he was worth. When I got too close (rudely ignoring his warnings), he burst up into the air, flew over my head and then dove for the nearest bush, where he hit the ground running. California quail are far better runners than fliers. They use their wings much like chickens do; only in a pinch, and to escape delicate situations.

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A few days later, Resident Gardener approvingly noted how well puppy Arrow was doing with his livestock guardian raptor training. “He ran off a quail!” she enthused, “he knew it wasn’t a chicken!” I politely refrained from pointing out that quail may not be chickens, but they ain’t raptors either. Nor did I mention that I had already met this particular quail.

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Arrow may have run him off that day, but not for long. Our new little sentry is very much still around, popping up every single time I go out to the barnyard. And every time, I get a stern talking-to, in quail-speak, for daring to set foot in what he evidently feels is ‘his’ chicken empire. It’s a blessing that quail aren’t physically aggressive creatures, or I would surely have had my eyes picked out by now. This plucky little fellow, even smaller than Tiny Chicken, has adopted my flocks as his own, lock, stock and barrel. He stands guard from dawn to dusk, usually on the bridge railing (sadly now unfit for human hands), and roosts up high in the willows at night.

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As you might imagine, I am out in the barnyard a lot, enjoying various chicken keeping activities, and I have become accustomed to his constant surveillance and commentary. Our little sentry continues to get himself quite worked up at my presence and so far he is careful to keep a healthy distance. I hope he gets more approachable over time.

When the roosters call out a warning, the little guy goes ballistic, echoing their concern in his most enthusiastic manner. But it doesn’t work the other way around. When he freaks out because, say, I’ve shown up, the chickens don’t listen. They know I am no threat.

Our barn cat is wary of him now, after their recent run in. The other day as I was filling feeders, Callie decided to come on over for a quick visit and neck scratch. She had made it halfway across the paddock separating the barn and the coops, when a brown and gray feathery spitfire launched himself at her, claws first. Scoring a direct hit, he beat her with his tiny wings, chuk-chuking loudly all the while. Recoiling in utter shock, Callie turned tail and ran to hide in the barn, while our little sentry drew himself up, gave his headdress a satisfied toss, and returned to his post. I believe it is only a matter of time before he does the same to Arrow.

I wonder why he is all alone? Did he find a mate and she meet a tragic end? Or was he fated this year to be a bachelor, with not enough females to go around? Did he willingly strike out on his own, eager for a big adventure? Or get the boot? I will never know his story, only that I am now part of it.

I probably shouldn’t be encouraging wild birds to stick around, they carry disease as all wild things do. But my flock free ranges all day anyway, I couldn’t keep them insulated from wild birds unless I fenced the sky. Strong healthy birds fend off disease, so I will focus on good husbandry, and give my birds their freedom, and enjoy my little solitary sentry. I wonder how long he’ll stay?

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Butter Press Lore

10 Friday Jan 2020

Posted by Jodi in Chance, Farm Life, Farm Produce, Liza and Arrow

≈ 1 Comment

Our local curio shop posted some lovely old butter presses online just before Christmas. A transparent attempt to snare unwary butter-making customers, and it worked. Oh my, I thought, I need one of these! I make butter! I could have pretty butter!

So I sent my husband the link and voila, Christmas morning brought me the most adorable little vintage butter press. And a gift receipt, plus a gift card from the shop, in case I wanted another, or wanted to trade this one for a pricier. He had all the bases covered. ❤️

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With visions of pretty butter pats sliding around on the hot pancakes I generally make with my leftover buttermilk dancing in my head, I pulled it out this evening, gave it a good scrub, and packed it with freshly made butter. The internet said to put it in the fridge and pop it out when chilled, which I did.

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The results were not exactly as expected. So then I tried packing it and then un-moulding immediately. Nope, that doesn’t work either.

I will have to figure this out. There has to be a trick to it. Back to the internet I go, to search out some butter press lore.

Lore. Accumulated knowledge or beliefs held by a group about a subject, especially when passed from generation to generation by oral tradition.

What an age we live in, where someone like me no longer possesses the lore that my homesteading great grandma a hundred years ago did, with regard to pressing butter. Yet I can still lay my hands on this lore, using a World Wide Web of freely available information, literally at my fingertips.

We are truly living through an information revolution. Just this evening, I have explored elderberries, their medicinal uses, propagation, growing and harvest; I have read how to make paneer, and ghee; I have learned about pulverizing the bones and scraps left over from making bone broth and dehydrating the resulting “pate” for dog treats; I have given a woman 4000 miles away my tips for making raisins; and I have shared a link to the comprehensive animal feed analysis online encyclopedia “Feedipedia” with a group of farmers wondering how best to feed their livestock spent brewer’s grain.

How many laborious hours at the library, in conversation and via correspondence would all this knowledge-sharing have taken me in the past? Hours and hours, if not days and days. It’s unprecedented in history, our access to knowledge. Such a gift. What will we do with it? Will it set us free? Will it enrich our global society? Maybe. Enlightenment is a good thing, right?

Time will tell, and in the meantime, I’m just going to figure out this butter thing…

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Liza Saves the Day

29 Sunday Dec 2019

Posted by Jodi in Chickens, Farm Life, Liza and Arrow, Wildlife

≈ Leave a comment

Liza Saves the Day

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Late last night while peacefully practicing yoga,  Resident Gardener became aware of a new voice blending into her music. Glancing up, she saw Liza vibrating at the door. Understanding instantly, she dove for the doorknob, flung open the tiny house door, and urged “Go get ‘em Liza!!”

Liza was off like a shot, silently beelining at top speed through the dark to the coops. RG wasn’t far behind, pausing only to push her feet into her boots and grab her headlamp (that truly indispensable piece of wintertime barnyard equipment). They found the cream legbar pen door slightly ajar, nervously manned by a excited young rooster while his three terrified hens hid at the back.

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Earlier that evening, I had apparently neglected to latch the door firmly. An opportunistic predator, out testing latches at midnight like a prowler trying car doors, had discovered, no doubt to its great delight, an unlatched door behind which slept four tasty hens and a plump rooster. The birds had woken, loudly protesting the attempted kidnapping, and this had alerted Liza.

With zero insight into how many legbars were supposed to be in that pen, and me fast asleep at the big house, RG looked around, trying to figure out if any birds were missing. Meanwhile Liza, way ahead as usual, drew RG’s attention to the trail of feathers leading across the winter field towards the road and the wildlife corridor that runs alongside – aka ‘Raccoon Alley’.

Understanding now that at least one bird was out, RG latched the pen door, then followed the trail, which petered out. They hunted around fruitlessly for a bit, then gave up and headed inside. It seemed that some lucky raccoon family would be enjoying legbar for dinner that evening.

A while later, the chicken racket started up again, and again RG and Liza bounded outside, to find nothing new amiss. The coops were all shut up tight, and the missing hen was still nowhere to be found. RG speculated to herself that the noise must have been the poor hen’s last hurrah, coming from somewhere down Raccoon Alley.

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At bedtime, as RG was peeing the puppy before kennelling him for the night, she caught a small red eye reflected in her headlamp light, up in the tall grass behind the barn, where (generally speaking) small red eyes do not typically lurk. Yup, it was the missing hen, still in one piece and vainly trying to hide. Putting the puppy inside to free both her hands, and grabbing the chicken net from its hook by the main coop, RG caught the hen, who, for the third time that evening, protested loudly. “Hey silly hen” RG admonished, “shush up now, this really is your best case scenario.”

I’ll say! If not for Liza and her handler, this chicken story could have had a very different ending, with at least one hen and possibly the entire legbar breeding group taken out at the very start of breeding season. Phew! Disaster averted!

This has been a good reminder. I will have to be more careful. The many predators that call our valley home have families to feed too. They will take advantage of my complacency every time.

Thank goodness for Liza, the best livestock guardian dog ever. Hopefully one day puppy Arrow will be as good at his work.

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Right Under My Nose

29 Tuesday Oct 2019

Posted by Jodi in Farm Life, Liza and Arrow, Seasons

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A sweet little hand-turned yew bowl followed me home from the thrift store last spring. I had been looking for a bowl to keep my sock yarn under control, and this would be perfect! DH cut a curved slot for the line to feed through, drilled a couple holes to hold my needles, sanded it smooth and I was in business.

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I love my yew yarn bowl, but soon discovered that it is just too small for bigger projects. The balls of chunky acrylic I bought to knit C’s infinity scarf were twice its size! So I added “big wooden bowl” to my wish list, keeping my eye out for one on my sporadic thrift store visits. But no luck, and I refused to buy new, the up-cycling part is half the fun. Practicing my patience, an ongoing project, I kept on looking.

Recently Resident Gardener got a new puppy. Arrow is currently in training with Liza the barnyard protector, so that one day he may be just as useful and obedient as her. In the meantime though, he alternates between ‘adorable’ and ‘royal pain in the ***”. He helps me to practice my patience too.

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I was puppy sitting the other day (at ten weeks old we can’t let him out of our sight for a minute) when he dragged a dusty old wooden bowl out from the bottom shelf of one of the side tables. The same bowl that Little Bean (human toddler, similar stage of development) had pulled out back in the summer when she was visiting. From a spot apparently so inconspicuous that it regularly avoids the cleaner’s swiffer.

The penny hadn’t dropped the first time when Bean had discovered it, but it certainly did this time. Yarn bowl! This thing would make a wonderful large yarn bowl! I whisked it away from sharp puppy teeth, washed off the dust, dried it, then rubbed in a generous dollop of organic olive oil. It cleaned up nice.

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The bowl had come from my dear late mom, who had told me when she gave it to me that it had been her mom’s. “Munising” is burned into the bottom, in left leaning script. This is an indication – according to the Munising Wood Products website history page (thanks again internet) – that it was “hand carved” on a Michigan lathe in the 30’s or 40’s.

Possessing both precious family history AND collectable wood bowl attributes, it is remarkably perfect. I can’t bring myself to cut a slot in its side though. I just don’t think my Gram would like that. The bigger balls are all centre-pull anyway.

Right under my nose. A right sized bowl. Sitting quietly in my house waiting to be discovered, all the time I was looking everywhere else. As we all so often do.

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The thought made me smile, my day a little brighter. And to be honest, I could use a little cheering up these days. Sometimes lately, the weight of the world settles so heavily I almost gasp for air.

The computer age that makes it possible for us to connect like never before and the social media that was supposed to draw us together, instead pushing us into diametric, vitriolic camps. Pushing us apart.

A caustic election, energy, refugees, the economy, the climate crisis, Trump, wars and cars and polar bears, the rise of the scary far right. My countrymen, friends and acquaintances, even my own family, split by opposing viewpoints. Torn asunder. We used to be able to mostly agree on the way forward, or at least the goals. It seems to me that we have lost that, I hope only temporarily.

The world is “going to hell in a hand basket”, mom would say. And there isn’t much I can do, except hope for the best and support the right causes. Assuming, of course, that I can sift through the crap and figure out what the right causes are.

So when I need to escape for a little while, I shall set Gram’s yarn bowl right here in my lap, busy my fingers, and free my mind to consider all the good things right under my nose. Once I really start to look, they do get easier to spot.

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