In light of a forecast filled with heavy downpours and dark skies, the weather wasn’t so bad. For each intermittent bout of showers, there were equal hours of warmth and almost-sunshine. The day began with trellis building and pea planting in our upper field, a warm-up before we headed to the bulk of our day’s labor: compost turning.
Now, compost is nature’s process of decomposition. It’s happening all around us. Maintaining compost piles is simply a means of harnessing the nutrients in various “waste” products, then using the natural breakdown of organic matter to our benefit. Compost becomes soil – plant food - that then becomes human food. Turning compost is part and parcel of planning ahead for your next dinner gathering.
So it was to this task that we turned our attention. Here at D Acres we have a handful of disparate compost piles that have accumulated over the fall and winter months. Some are small, needing the addition of more material to successfully become a steaming pile of compost (…rather than lumpy conglomerations of odds-and-ends detritus harboring the last of the snow and ice beneath their loads). Some, however, loom large.
These blue-ribbon piles are full of microbial action. Wisps of steam rising from the piles’ zenith are modest indicators of internal decomposition. If we want to talk science, compost can be understood in terms of two elements: carbon and nitrogen. In layman’s speak, this is the “brown” and the “green.” Regardless of linguistic preferences, a healthy compost pile should offer a robust mix of woody materials (woodchips, straw, old hay, dry grass clippings, woody debris) and fresh matter (food scraps, weeds, manure, fresh grass clippings). In combination with oxygen introduced into the pile through frequent turning, a hot, active microbial environment is fostered, essentially “cooking” the pile’s contents. Decomposition happens fairly rapidly in this manner, providing quality soil for use in the gardens within a season or two.
And this process is essential. Finished compost releases nutrients slowly over time, preventing soil from becoming depleted and helping to ensure plant health. Compost, therefore, is a key component to a healthy garden system.
So back to that looming compost pile. (Are you familiar with our ox hovel? Well, the oxen have had a lot to eat. Check out their heaping, steaming compost mound on your next visit to the farm.) At the time, heaving pitchforkfuls of partially-aged ox manure overhead, the mental mantra isn’t more than a rhythmic scoop-and-pitch-and-scoop-again. With this round of turning completed, though, it sure is satisfying to think of the plants it will grow and the meals it will provide. Just a few more turnings to go between now and then…
And the thing is, this tale could be your story, too. Start a compost pile! Already have one? Build it up, turn it regularly – it will only be to your benefit. With soil on hand, any plant will be more willing to grow.
~Beth
as published in North Country News
Monday, May 16, 2011
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Like a wheelbarrow through mud
Mud season, let’s say, is a time of transition. You get the good with the bad. And if snowdrifts give way to daffodils at the temporary expense of dry ground…well, the flowers sure are purty.
Here at D Acres, a long and epic sugaring season is just winding down while the hubbub of the growing season has us trotting from task to task. The greenhouses are finally boasting beds of baby greens, robust seedlings are demanding to be transplanted, orchards and garden edges are expanding with new tree stock, and the care of peas and potatoes is looming as I write these words.
In the midst of recovering our green thumbs, however, is a final week of soot-covered digits. That is to say, more sugaring. The taps have been pulled, but stock-piled sap is demanding a last hurrah of early mornings and smoky hours beside the evaporator. And the real frenzy is in the search for wood. Having burned through all the softwood stacked in and around the sugar shack, the next best option has proven to be bundles of slab wood piled in our lower lot.
So, predictably, last week found us cutting and hauling said wood to where we needed it most. Our relief at not having to carry armfuls over slushy snow waned slightly as our wheelbarrows stalled in muddy tracks. Impromptu drainage trenches diverting water across our path only upped the ante. Swampy suction against our boots was a constant reminder that April showers bring boosted calf muscles as well as May flowers.
I jest, and even as we worked our way through the muddy glop I had to smile. The smell of dirt was pungent and had my senses primed, crocus buds reaching out of the sodden ground to grow into what we know they will become, my memory of trilliums and sensitive ferns coloring the otherwise very brown ground.
With my grip tight around the wheelbarrow’s worn handles, it occurred to me – now granted I was a bit tired, sooty, and yes, preoccupied with the next day’s plan – that somehow this pushing of a wheelbarrow through mud could be a microcosm of so many endeavors that we pursue here at D Acres. Fostering the well-being of our community, holding on the skills & traditions of our past, trying to create a little more joy and tad more beauty…neither good intentions nor high hopes would seem to proffer instant traction any better than a mucky path. But whether it’s the health, strength, vitality, and vibrancy of our community, of our food systems, of our northern forest ecosystem, or simply of our maple syrup production, surely a bit of effort is worth putting into the mix.
So while mud season may not be the favored spell, we can agree that, yes, it’s worth it for what follows? Surely the effort of a moment is reaped exponentially as the energy multiplies into the future. And whether that takes the form of sweet syrup, or blooming daffodils, or a wheelbarrow full of just what you need, or food from a farmer whose hand you can shake, let’s make the extra effort. Push a little harder. Can we afford to lose our traction?
~Beth
as published in North Country News
p.s. Check out our survey - let us know what you think!
http://survey.constantcontact.com/survey/a07e3r4pyyygmuy24b2/start
Here at D Acres, a long and epic sugaring season is just winding down while the hubbub of the growing season has us trotting from task to task. The greenhouses are finally boasting beds of baby greens, robust seedlings are demanding to be transplanted, orchards and garden edges are expanding with new tree stock, and the care of peas and potatoes is looming as I write these words.
In the midst of recovering our green thumbs, however, is a final week of soot-covered digits. That is to say, more sugaring. The taps have been pulled, but stock-piled sap is demanding a last hurrah of early mornings and smoky hours beside the evaporator. And the real frenzy is in the search for wood. Having burned through all the softwood stacked in and around the sugar shack, the next best option has proven to be bundles of slab wood piled in our lower lot.
So, predictably, last week found us cutting and hauling said wood to where we needed it most. Our relief at not having to carry armfuls over slushy snow waned slightly as our wheelbarrows stalled in muddy tracks. Impromptu drainage trenches diverting water across our path only upped the ante. Swampy suction against our boots was a constant reminder that April showers bring boosted calf muscles as well as May flowers.
I jest, and even as we worked our way through the muddy glop I had to smile. The smell of dirt was pungent and had my senses primed, crocus buds reaching out of the sodden ground to grow into what we know they will become, my memory of trilliums and sensitive ferns coloring the otherwise very brown ground.
With my grip tight around the wheelbarrow’s worn handles, it occurred to me – now granted I was a bit tired, sooty, and yes, preoccupied with the next day’s plan – that somehow this pushing of a wheelbarrow through mud could be a microcosm of so many endeavors that we pursue here at D Acres. Fostering the well-being of our community, holding on the skills & traditions of our past, trying to create a little more joy and tad more beauty…neither good intentions nor high hopes would seem to proffer instant traction any better than a mucky path. But whether it’s the health, strength, vitality, and vibrancy of our community, of our food systems, of our northern forest ecosystem, or simply of our maple syrup production, surely a bit of effort is worth putting into the mix.
So while mud season may not be the favored spell, we can agree that, yes, it’s worth it for what follows? Surely the effort of a moment is reaped exponentially as the energy multiplies into the future. And whether that takes the form of sweet syrup, or blooming daffodils, or a wheelbarrow full of just what you need, or food from a farmer whose hand you can shake, let’s make the extra effort. Push a little harder. Can we afford to lose our traction?
~Beth
as published in North Country News
p.s. Check out our survey - let us know what you think!
http://survey.constantcontact.com/survey/a07e3r4pyyygmuy24b2/start
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Choose your holidays wisely
April is host to quite the range of federally recognized days, wouldn’t you say? I mean, in what other context do you start off the month with nationally accepted acts of mischievousness, committed in broad daylight and under the noses of co-workers, in-laws, neighbors, and pals? And then merely two weeks later the tables turn, punctuality, precision, and transparency being the order of the day so as to avoid consequences from the chief in-law of them all, Uncle Sam. By the end of the month, whole sectors of the nation are searching for painted eggs and returning to chocolate, meat, favorite TV shows, and preferred smartphone apps as their month of lent comes to a close. Phew.
Tucked into such a formidable list is the comparatively innocuous Earth Day. (Followed shortly thereafter by Arbor Day…on to what percentage of calendars does that one actually make it?) No money is owed, no threats of cotton-ball stuffed chocolates or buckets of water above your doorway color the day’s activities, no-one is dieing nor rising nor fingering ashes to your brow. No, not this day. Just a little compassion is all that is requested, if you can spare the thought and the moment, for the ground we walk on, the water we drink, the air we breathe.
That’s all.
Or is it? For just one day each year – April 22 - blue-green globes and swirling clouds are all the rage. ‘Re-duce, re-use, re-cycle’ is annually rejuvenated as the popular mantra; composting & tree-planting are temporarily accepted as buzzwords bandied about without a second thought. Yet all this gusto and emotion is just for one day? What about the other 364?
Please don’t be taken aback by my questions…I’m just wondering. Air, Water, Dirt…without these elements we would not survive, yet this basic biology is routinely overlooked. So what about trying to sustain the energy and momentum that is drummed up each April 22 and grow a year-round ethic?
The difficulty, it strikes me, is in the scale. Earth Day can quickly become a celebration fraught with global issues and overtones. I mean, how do you reasonably honor an entity with a 24,901.55mile girth without getting a bit, well, big for your britches? There is a certain glamour to international places, events, and environmental tragedies for they are potent in their overwhelming nature and scope. And yet it is difficult to live at this heightened level of global awareness. If we are to act with Earth Day in mind all year round, I think it must exhibited in our local lives. Let the global stage influence and inform us as we pick our way through daily life.
This takes ongoing commitment, yes. But the rewards are many, including the health & well-being of future generations and the survival of life as we know it. Feeling motivated?
So what can you do to let Earth Day live on? Start with your home: turn off lights when not in use, shut down all appliances and technologies at the end of the day, conserve water, turn down the heat (put on an extra sweater), buy the extra sweater at a second-hand shop, note down your patterns of consumption – then work to minimize them, consolidate errands to limit your driving needs…start a compost pile, turn the compost into a garden, keep plants on the windowsill…support local farmers through Local Foods Plymouth (www.localfoodsplymouth.org), check out the 2011 Local Goods Guide (info@dacres.org), patronize Plymouth Shop Local establishments; know what you buy, why you buy it, and where it’s coming from.
Step outside. Know the names of trees as you know the hills by sight, taste our mountain air with a deep breath, relish the seasons. Isn’t it worth preserving?
~Beth
as published in North Country News
Tucked into such a formidable list is the comparatively innocuous Earth Day. (Followed shortly thereafter by Arbor Day…on to what percentage of calendars does that one actually make it?) No money is owed, no threats of cotton-ball stuffed chocolates or buckets of water above your doorway color the day’s activities, no-one is dieing nor rising nor fingering ashes to your brow. No, not this day. Just a little compassion is all that is requested, if you can spare the thought and the moment, for the ground we walk on, the water we drink, the air we breathe.
That’s all.
Or is it? For just one day each year – April 22 - blue-green globes and swirling clouds are all the rage. ‘Re-duce, re-use, re-cycle’ is annually rejuvenated as the popular mantra; composting & tree-planting are temporarily accepted as buzzwords bandied about without a second thought. Yet all this gusto and emotion is just for one day? What about the other 364?
Please don’t be taken aback by my questions…I’m just wondering. Air, Water, Dirt…without these elements we would not survive, yet this basic biology is routinely overlooked. So what about trying to sustain the energy and momentum that is drummed up each April 22 and grow a year-round ethic?
The difficulty, it strikes me, is in the scale. Earth Day can quickly become a celebration fraught with global issues and overtones. I mean, how do you reasonably honor an entity with a 24,901.55mile girth without getting a bit, well, big for your britches? There is a certain glamour to international places, events, and environmental tragedies for they are potent in their overwhelming nature and scope. And yet it is difficult to live at this heightened level of global awareness. If we are to act with Earth Day in mind all year round, I think it must exhibited in our local lives. Let the global stage influence and inform us as we pick our way through daily life.
This takes ongoing commitment, yes. But the rewards are many, including the health & well-being of future generations and the survival of life as we know it. Feeling motivated?
So what can you do to let Earth Day live on? Start with your home: turn off lights when not in use, shut down all appliances and technologies at the end of the day, conserve water, turn down the heat (put on an extra sweater), buy the extra sweater at a second-hand shop, note down your patterns of consumption – then work to minimize them, consolidate errands to limit your driving needs…start a compost pile, turn the compost into a garden, keep plants on the windowsill…support local farmers through Local Foods Plymouth (www.localfoodsplymouth.org), check out the 2011 Local Goods Guide (info@dacres.org), patronize Plymouth Shop Local establishments; know what you buy, why you buy it, and where it’s coming from.
Step outside. Know the names of trees as you know the hills by sight, taste our mountain air with a deep breath, relish the seasons. Isn’t it worth preserving?
~Beth
as published in North Country News
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Sugar and Smoke
It’s 5:06am. By headlamp & memory I clamber down the ladders of the my silo abode and delicately balance my way atop the trail’s icy crust to the tiny shack at woods edge. I stop by the community building on my way for the following provisions: a stick of butter, a jug of water, and a hatchet.
This means sugaring season.
Once inside the rickety door, I crouch to light the sticks and newspaper awaiting within the belly of our rusty evaporator. Laid in place the night before, the kindling crackles to life quickly. I’m particular about the fire for the stove offers an imperfect system, full of inefficiencies and character. Getting off to a quick, hot start is key and I best be sure my sleepy eyes and groggy hands don’t deter the process.
I start with barely ten gallons of sap atop the stove and have it boiling within fifteen minutes. I use a four-pan system, the back two being warming trays, the front being the intermediate step, and the middle pan – ultimately – being the finishing pan. Using a ladle and a strainer, I’ll move eighty gallons of sap across the stove over the next fifteen hours.
The result will be two gallons of dark, sweet, smoky maple syrup.
Between beginning and end, nonetheless, is a rhythm of constant motion. I maintain that if there’s time to sit, then the process is not progressing sufficiently efficiently. Therefore, it is amongst sweet-smelling steam and smoke that burns the eyes, that a confined dance is choreographed. I strain, transfer, and add sap as, thankfully, these watched pots do boil. The empty buckets gradually stack up: twenty gallons, forty gallons, sixty gallons, eighty. Around this work, I split wood (hence the hatchet), feeding the fire frequently and stockpiling wood for the nightime hours.
In every spare moment, I drink water. I’ll guzzle two to three gallons each boil day (hence the jug). While that minimizes the headache, I still leave the shack desiccated and weary, not to mention the inhaled soot that leaves me sounding like a struggling asthmatic.
The stick of butter, I’d like to clarify, is not some personal endurance trick. Rather, it is the 911 call of sugaring emergencies. At some point, usually first occurring in late morning, the sugar content of the final pan will gain that critical ratio when, over intense heat, it wants to boil over. While still far from finished syrup, care must be taken to not burn this saccharine, over-zealously-bubbling sap water. At this juncture, the simplest act is also the most effective: throw in some butter and ta-da, problem solved. No need to dramatically dampen the fire, no need to cool the pan with cold sap…
Eventually, though, as evening settles around the shack and a few bright stars are visible from the smoky doorway, the end approaches. First, sap ceases to be added to the warming pans; then only two pans are left atop the evaporator; the fire is allowed to die down just a bit; and finally it is the finishing pan alone that garners my consideration. I study it, attentive and focused, waiting. At a crucial moment the bubbles will achieve a distinctive unity and coherence atop the sap-turned-syrup’s surface. They rise up, and it is suddenly quite clear that the day’s alchemy is complete.
Liquid gold, with an indescribable intensity to its fresh flavor, has once again been made.
~Beth
as published in North Country News
This means sugaring season.
Once inside the rickety door, I crouch to light the sticks and newspaper awaiting within the belly of our rusty evaporator. Laid in place the night before, the kindling crackles to life quickly. I’m particular about the fire for the stove offers an imperfect system, full of inefficiencies and character. Getting off to a quick, hot start is key and I best be sure my sleepy eyes and groggy hands don’t deter the process.
I start with barely ten gallons of sap atop the stove and have it boiling within fifteen minutes. I use a four-pan system, the back two being warming trays, the front being the intermediate step, and the middle pan – ultimately – being the finishing pan. Using a ladle and a strainer, I’ll move eighty gallons of sap across the stove over the next fifteen hours.
The result will be two gallons of dark, sweet, smoky maple syrup.
Between beginning and end, nonetheless, is a rhythm of constant motion. I maintain that if there’s time to sit, then the process is not progressing sufficiently efficiently. Therefore, it is amongst sweet-smelling steam and smoke that burns the eyes, that a confined dance is choreographed. I strain, transfer, and add sap as, thankfully, these watched pots do boil. The empty buckets gradually stack up: twenty gallons, forty gallons, sixty gallons, eighty. Around this work, I split wood (hence the hatchet), feeding the fire frequently and stockpiling wood for the nightime hours.
In every spare moment, I drink water. I’ll guzzle two to three gallons each boil day (hence the jug). While that minimizes the headache, I still leave the shack desiccated and weary, not to mention the inhaled soot that leaves me sounding like a struggling asthmatic.
The stick of butter, I’d like to clarify, is not some personal endurance trick. Rather, it is the 911 call of sugaring emergencies. At some point, usually first occurring in late morning, the sugar content of the final pan will gain that critical ratio when, over intense heat, it wants to boil over. While still far from finished syrup, care must be taken to not burn this saccharine, over-zealously-bubbling sap water. At this juncture, the simplest act is also the most effective: throw in some butter and ta-da, problem solved. No need to dramatically dampen the fire, no need to cool the pan with cold sap…
Eventually, though, as evening settles around the shack and a few bright stars are visible from the smoky doorway, the end approaches. First, sap ceases to be added to the warming pans; then only two pans are left atop the evaporator; the fire is allowed to die down just a bit; and finally it is the finishing pan alone that garners my consideration. I study it, attentive and focused, waiting. At a crucial moment the bubbles will achieve a distinctive unity and coherence atop the sap-turned-syrup’s surface. They rise up, and it is suddenly quite clear that the day’s alchemy is complete.
Liquid gold, with an indescribable intensity to its fresh flavor, has once again been made.
~Beth
as published in North Country News
Friday, March 18, 2011
Problems & Solutions
Our kitchen manager, Regina, recently pulled off some officious freezer re-organization and the problem has been determined. We aren’t eating in sufficiently aggressive quantities. More specifically, gallon freezer bags of kale and collards persist in tremendous proportions, along with a surfeit of raspberries and a glut of garlic scapes.
At the most recent count, we had eighty (80!) bags of greens remaining – and winter’s almost behind us. 12 bags of frozen raspberries have made it this far, and a whole crate full of garlic scapes continues to commandeer the freezer’s left-hand side.
And that’s not all. Just the other day, pitter-patter down the steps Regina descended, her arms full of long-pie pumpkins. The black and fuzzy blotches were visible from across the room. Her plea echoed the unfortunate state of affairs as the suffering squashes rolled lopsidedly on the counter: “Ai! how can we not have this happen?!”
How long do we have before the fifty or so remaining winter squash and pumpkins meet the same fate? This is our S.O.S. – save our squash! We need to feed more food to more people.
This is, mind you, a first-rate problem to have. We are cultivating more food than ever before here at D Acres, and the next season looks to be all the more productive. With new greenhouse space to extend the growing season, soil that is more fertile and rich with each year, established techniques & methods, and committed staff whose skills & experience improve with the seasons…the prospects are certainly not dire.
We don’t, however, eat more just because we raise more. This is where we need you. Come out to food events! Join us for a potluck! We can turn our stored delights into such a myriad of platters and dishes. Kale is easily tucked into much, no-one quibbles over raspberries, garlic scapes are the jackpot of flavor, and the squash varieties my oh my – delicata, acorn, hubbard, kobucha, red kuri, baby blue, and all manner of pumpkins…the dinner options are stupendous (not to mention all the other vegetables we grow and preserve in less daunting proportions!).
But listen, we need visitors with whom we can share the abundance. Pick the meal that best suits your style: how about wood-fired pizza the first Friday of each month? Or try our farm feast breakfast the first Sunday of every month, all-you-should-eat! Prefer being out in town? Join us at Mark’s Eatery in downtown Plymouth for seasonal soup and live entertainment every third Saturday.
And that’s not all! Join us for our monthly potluck the final Friday of each month, or learn our secrets to the best food around: join us for cooking classes the second Thursday of each month, then stay for dinner!
Our wealth is in our closets, and for this month of March it’s squash, garlic, and kale, along with potatoes and sauerkraut. We prefer sharing to hoarding, so consider this your invite. We’ll look to see you soon.
~Beth
as published in North Country News
At the most recent count, we had eighty (80!) bags of greens remaining – and winter’s almost behind us. 12 bags of frozen raspberries have made it this far, and a whole crate full of garlic scapes continues to commandeer the freezer’s left-hand side.
And that’s not all. Just the other day, pitter-patter down the steps Regina descended, her arms full of long-pie pumpkins. The black and fuzzy blotches were visible from across the room. Her plea echoed the unfortunate state of affairs as the suffering squashes rolled lopsidedly on the counter: “Ai! how can we not have this happen?!”
How long do we have before the fifty or so remaining winter squash and pumpkins meet the same fate? This is our S.O.S. – save our squash! We need to feed more food to more people.
This is, mind you, a first-rate problem to have. We are cultivating more food than ever before here at D Acres, and the next season looks to be all the more productive. With new greenhouse space to extend the growing season, soil that is more fertile and rich with each year, established techniques & methods, and committed staff whose skills & experience improve with the seasons…the prospects are certainly not dire.
We don’t, however, eat more just because we raise more. This is where we need you. Come out to food events! Join us for a potluck! We can turn our stored delights into such a myriad of platters and dishes. Kale is easily tucked into much, no-one quibbles over raspberries, garlic scapes are the jackpot of flavor, and the squash varieties my oh my – delicata, acorn, hubbard, kobucha, red kuri, baby blue, and all manner of pumpkins…the dinner options are stupendous (not to mention all the other vegetables we grow and preserve in less daunting proportions!).
But listen, we need visitors with whom we can share the abundance. Pick the meal that best suits your style: how about wood-fired pizza the first Friday of each month? Or try our farm feast breakfast the first Sunday of every month, all-you-should-eat! Prefer being out in town? Join us at Mark’s Eatery in downtown Plymouth for seasonal soup and live entertainment every third Saturday.
And that’s not all! Join us for our monthly potluck the final Friday of each month, or learn our secrets to the best food around: join us for cooking classes the second Thursday of each month, then stay for dinner!
Our wealth is in our closets, and for this month of March it’s squash, garlic, and kale, along with potatoes and sauerkraut. We prefer sharing to hoarding, so consider this your invite. We’ll look to see you soon.
~Beth
as published in North Country News
Monday, March 14, 2011
What a wild week.
The ducks have been taking quite the beating this week. On Sunday, Josh noticed that two of them were getting roughed up by the other ducks so they were moved into the g-animal house for their own protection. So we thought. Two days later, one duck was dead and the other was barely clinging on to life. The culprit? A Stoat, otherwise known as an ermine or short-tailed weasel. The wounded duck was killed and prepared for dinner Tuesday night.
We also noticed that the rest of the duck population was in danger. More than one had been attacked though no more had been killed. They were relocated to a more secure chicken coop on Wednesday.
Yesterday was going along like most any day. I was doing some work on the the kiosk, updating it with 2011 information. Just before lunch, I went out to chip the ice away from the door on the sugar shack in preparation for boiling. Although we are still waiting on the sap to really start running. While walking back up to the community building, I could hear some strange noise. As I got closer, I saw Dustin running by and found out that it was the chickens this time that were under attack.
I made my way over to the g-animal house and began to witness the chaos.
There was one chicken inside, a group was huddling next to the door at the top of the ramp, one was under the ramp, a few more were out deep in the snow with the rooster, and one rogue had made it over the fence to the pig area by itself. Dustin, Regina, and I were stationed in various locations trying to figure out the situation. The ermine reappeared and started attacking the chickens even with us present. I watched the ermine chase a chicken into a corner of the fence. I was on the other side. It was very intense to see this little critter attacking a chicken, many times it's own size, literally no more than a foot away from me. I beat on the fencing and got the ermine off the chicken. It ran back and started chasing another one through the snow. As Dustin came around it eluded capture and found a hole down into the foundation of the g-animal house. We had the little bugger seemingly trapped. He would poke his head out, inside and outside of the building, but we were unable to capture or kill it at that time.
We rounded up the scattered and frightened chickens and got them inside and locked down. We had no fatalities, though one had a slight wound on the back of its neck.
We set a live trap inside the greenhouse with some food scraps as bait. Later that evening the ermine was successfully secured inside the trap.
Yesterday we also welcomed 10 new piglets to the farm. It was great timing being just two days after getting the pig house cleared and prepared for the pregnant sow. She gave birth to the first around 5:30pm and the rest came along in the following two hours. The sow and the piglets all seem to be doing well at this time.
My name is Matt. I am a new intern here. I’ve been here just over three weeks now. I’m from Wisconsin and have really been enjoying my stay. The work can be challenging at time but it has been well worth the effort.
We also noticed that the rest of the duck population was in danger. More than one had been attacked though no more had been killed. They were relocated to a more secure chicken coop on Wednesday.
Yesterday was going along like most any day. I was doing some work on the the kiosk, updating it with 2011 information. Just before lunch, I went out to chip the ice away from the door on the sugar shack in preparation for boiling. Although we are still waiting on the sap to really start running. While walking back up to the community building, I could hear some strange noise. As I got closer, I saw Dustin running by and found out that it was the chickens this time that were under attack.
I made my way over to the g-animal house and began to witness the chaos.
There was one chicken inside, a group was huddling next to the door at the top of the ramp, one was under the ramp, a few more were out deep in the snow with the rooster, and one rogue had made it over the fence to the pig area by itself. Dustin, Regina, and I were stationed in various locations trying to figure out the situation. The ermine reappeared and started attacking the chickens even with us present. I watched the ermine chase a chicken into a corner of the fence. I was on the other side. It was very intense to see this little critter attacking a chicken, many times it's own size, literally no more than a foot away from me. I beat on the fencing and got the ermine off the chicken. It ran back and started chasing another one through the snow. As Dustin came around it eluded capture and found a hole down into the foundation of the g-animal house. We had the little bugger seemingly trapped. He would poke his head out, inside and outside of the building, but we were unable to capture or kill it at that time.
We rounded up the scattered and frightened chickens and got them inside and locked down. We had no fatalities, though one had a slight wound on the back of its neck.
We set a live trap inside the greenhouse with some food scraps as bait. Later that evening the ermine was successfully secured inside the trap.
Yesterday we also welcomed 10 new piglets to the farm. It was great timing being just two days after getting the pig house cleared and prepared for the pregnant sow. She gave birth to the first around 5:30pm and the rest came along in the following two hours. The sow and the piglets all seem to be doing well at this time.
My name is Matt. I am a new intern here. I’ve been here just over three weeks now. I’m from Wisconsin and have really been enjoying my stay. The work can be challenging at time but it has been well worth the effort.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Punxsutawney’s Partner
As I write this, it’s the end of February and I’m preparing for a night nearing zero degrees. Admitting that, it may seem like an oblivious and outrageous statement to say that that springtime is coming.
There are, however, the usual suspects that accompany this annual statement: groundhogs and their shadows, sugar buckets (which also cast shadows), brief thaws and the icy aftermath, the days lengthening by perceptible increments. And here at D Acres, we have another gauge to add to the list.
Duck eggs. Mmm-hmmm.
With our Indian Runners having taken their first swim on our backyard pond this past July, we’ve been looking forward to this particular milestone in our breakfast diet for some months now. It’s a welcome treat, and though our chickens continue as the backbone of our egg production, the duck eggs are a pleasant present for the palate. Large, creamy, and full of flavor, they have sufficiently quenched (at least temporarily) our interest in roast duck meat.
Granted, there has been a bit more sun, a bit more warmth, a bit more daylight, and whether it’s that or just coincidence…well, in some quadratic formula of animal instinct and optimal timing all of the above translates to: eggs.
Excellent.
How many have we had at this point? A dozen or two? Gathering just two eggs a day, we’ve got to wonder if it’s one over-achieving duck leading the pack, or are they each taking turns in a delicate sharing of the task? Perhaps it’s just one wacky bird with cabin fever, jumping the gun on spring and insisting that this cold and blustery end-of –the-month is propitious timing?
Rhetorical questions, merely, that gladly can be set aside as we tend to the practicalities of the situation. Nesting boxes, breeding possibilities, an expanded enclosure; now’s the time to make our plan, for once the snow has gone we must be ready to bound into action.
For the interim, though, it seems that Punxsutawney Phil may have a Dorchester duo when it comes to predicting, or at least denoting, the perpetual changing of the seasons. So despite the ponds still being frozen, and the ducks still paddling their webbed appendages through drifted snow; despite glaciers sliding off the duckhouse roof and bedding freezing to the edges of their suite; despite this evidence to the contrary it would seem that the first inklings of spring have begun.
At least in Duckland.
~Beth
as published in North Country News
There are, however, the usual suspects that accompany this annual statement: groundhogs and their shadows, sugar buckets (which also cast shadows), brief thaws and the icy aftermath, the days lengthening by perceptible increments. And here at D Acres, we have another gauge to add to the list.
Duck eggs. Mmm-hmmm.
With our Indian Runners having taken their first swim on our backyard pond this past July, we’ve been looking forward to this particular milestone in our breakfast diet for some months now. It’s a welcome treat, and though our chickens continue as the backbone of our egg production, the duck eggs are a pleasant present for the palate. Large, creamy, and full of flavor, they have sufficiently quenched (at least temporarily) our interest in roast duck meat.
Granted, there has been a bit more sun, a bit more warmth, a bit more daylight, and whether it’s that or just coincidence…well, in some quadratic formula of animal instinct and optimal timing all of the above translates to: eggs.
Excellent.
How many have we had at this point? A dozen or two? Gathering just two eggs a day, we’ve got to wonder if it’s one over-achieving duck leading the pack, or are they each taking turns in a delicate sharing of the task? Perhaps it’s just one wacky bird with cabin fever, jumping the gun on spring and insisting that this cold and blustery end-of –the-month is propitious timing?
Rhetorical questions, merely, that gladly can be set aside as we tend to the practicalities of the situation. Nesting boxes, breeding possibilities, an expanded enclosure; now’s the time to make our plan, for once the snow has gone we must be ready to bound into action.
For the interim, though, it seems that Punxsutawney Phil may have a Dorchester duo when it comes to predicting, or at least denoting, the perpetual changing of the seasons. So despite the ponds still being frozen, and the ducks still paddling their webbed appendages through drifted snow; despite glaciers sliding off the duckhouse roof and bedding freezing to the edges of their suite; despite this evidence to the contrary it would seem that the first inklings of spring have begun.
At least in Duckland.
~Beth
as published in North Country News
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