Situational awareness, rural style

Over many years of various outdoor work (field biologist, farmer, general animal-watcher) I've come to appreciate the sensitive responses animals have to their environment. A case in point: watch those tell-tale ears.

This morning, for example, I went out to feed the beasties. No one seemed alarmed or agitated (thus, no predators in the area) but I did notice these two calves with their ears twitched forward, watching something.

Sparky also had her ears tipped forward.

Notice everyone's posture: alert but not alarmed. I suspected a deer, though I couldn't see anything.

I stood quietly for awhile and just watched, and finally saw the deer. Can you see it?

Even though I knew where it was, I had a hard time spotting it until it moved, since it blended so well. (It's right smack in the middle of the photo enlargement below.)

This is just a small example of situational awareness in the wild. Animals have keen senses, and it behooves us to pay attention to the posture, attitudes, and ear positions of critters, both wild and domestic.

This hearkens back to last July when I released the chickens from their coop one morning, and they stood stock still because they saw a great blue heron up a pine tree. I'll copy over the same conclusion from that post, because it bears repeating:

These short and seemingly trivial incidents (cows watching deer, or chickens watching a heron) actually have some deeper implications for people.

Modern humans living in modern society with modern conveniences have learned to ignore the internal red flags that all creatures possess by instinct. In the kill-or-be-killed crucible of nature, to ignore a potential threat may be the last thing an animal ever does.

Yet people will do it all the time. In fact, most modern Americans have cultivated an amazing ability to disregard warning signs, both internal and external. We still have the instincts, but we're often too "civilized" to pay attention to them. But I figure instinct is there for a reason, and that reason might be very important.

This is some of the advice I gave Older Daughter as she prepared to leave the nest: to listen to that still, small voice inside you saying something is wrong. It may be saying something important. God gives us those little red flags now so we can avoid big problems later.

Building an awning

As I alluded in yesterday's post, Don and our neighbor's son Master Hand Grenade have been engaged in building an awning on our barn. This will shelter our animals in inclement weather as well as cover a long feed box which will take up one entire side of the barn.

The awning has been planned ever since we built the barn two years ago. The size is generous enough to shelter our herd while being steep enough to shed snow.

Don started the infrastructure for this awning last year, but winter caught up with us before he could complete it.

This year he is committed to finishing the awning before the snow flies. Master Hand Grenade's help has been wonderful.

Two of our neighborhood's manly men -- I love it!

Last Friday they had finished the rafters...

...and today they got an excellent start on the sheathing.

It's been rather exciting, watching this project come to fruition.

The prevailing wind direction is on the opposite side of the barn, which means this awning will offer the animals the maximum protection.

But what happens if the "blizzard of the century" rolls through? What kind of shelter can we give the animals when the wind vortexes around the barn and dumps snow inside?

Well that's a story unto itself. You see, all summer long I've been collecting old billboard tarps from an advertising company. Originally the idea was to use them as weed control in the garden (where they've performed splendidly), but we quickly realized that these tough vinyl tarps have a thousand-and-one uses on a farm, anything from tarping hay to funneling rainwater into the pond.

One of the pre-cut sizes of these tarps is 14x48 feet which -- I'm not kidding -- happens to be the exact dimensions of the long side of the barn. So our plan is to grommet one of these tarps, fasten it under the eaves, roll it up when not in use, and have it ready to drop down and secured to the barn beams when necessary. This will offer both wind and snow protection inside the barn.

And, as Don puts it, if that mythical "blizzard of the century" comes roaring through, to heck with keeping the animals out of the hay bales. It's more important to keep them alive. In such circumstances, we'll shoo the whole herd into the barn and secure them there.

Actually, this mythical "blizzard of the century" isn't so mythical to the folks in South Dakota. Doubtless you've hard about the horrible recent tragedy in which a catastrophic early-season blizzard killed a hundred thousand cattle. My heart goes out to all the farmers and ranchers who lost stock.

Apparently "Livestock were initially soaked by 12 hours of rain before 48 consecutive hours or snow and winds up to 60 mph." That is one heck of a storm.

It's not just the economic loss to these ranchers, though that's devastating enough. It's an emotional loss as well. It's no easy thing to see dead animals, much less a tenth of a million of them. And the thought of losing one's entire herd (and livelihood) is devastating.

So we want to be prepared should the "blizzard of the century" roll through north Idaho. All of our dear animals -- Matilda and Ruby and Jet and Polly and everyone else, including the calves -- are too valuable, both financially and emotionally, to lose.

So an awning, as well as a pre-positioned tarp to drop across the entire front of the barn -- sounds like an awfully good idea to me.

Escape!!

I was awoken this morning at 4:30 am by the sound every livestock owner dreads: the sound of hooves where they shouldn't be. This far north, it's quite light at that pre-dawn hour, so I lifted my head and looked out the window. "Oh, they're not gonna like that," I murmured as I watched five horses gallop across our neighbor's -- the wrong neighbor's -- field.

I got dressed and headed downstairs to call the Neighbor A, whose horses had escaped. Just as I reached the bottom step, I received a call from Neighbor B, whose field the horses had just galloped across. He was spittin' mad because the escaped horses had trashed his fences in an effort to reach Neighbor B's horses. (Horses can be hell on fences.)

The reason Neighbor B called me was because he didn't have Neighbor A's phone number, and Neighbor B knew I was an early riser.

So I called Neighbor A (who, to his credit, actually answered his phone at that hour) and explained the situation. Meanwhile I headed down our driveway to keep on eye on the escapees.

The light was still a little dim, so the photos aren't the clearest; but here are four out of the five the culprits.

The thinnest slice of moon shone in the eastern sky.

A blurry shot of one of the horses greeting Brit, our mare.

"Hey, I like this freedom stuff!"

"Crud. The party's over." Neighbor A drives up on his ATV, grain and halters in hand.

"If one comes, the others will follow," he told me. Here he's haltering up one of the horses...

...before slowly driving away, pulling the horse along.

Sure enough, the others followed.

The drama ended just as the sun rose, 5:20 am -- though Neighbor A still has to mend some fences (both literally and figuratively) with Neighbor B.

I'm so used to it being us whose livestock escapes. In a weird sort of way, I'm glad it was someone else this time.

Living with livestock

Of all the most longed-for hopes and dreams for serious Preppers, nothing is more wishful than a barnyard full of livestock. Chickens, cows, pigs, goats….whatever the species, the whole idea behind that dream is security. The security comes in the form of food that is perpetual. In theory, you cannot run out of food if you have livestock.

And to an extent it’s true. We don’t have pigs or goats, but we do have chickens and cows – and food security is definitely something they can offer. But with that security comes sacrifice.

We have some dear friends in Oregon who very much want livestock. They want chickens and a Jersey cow or two. They want to be able to raise their own beef and make their own milk products. They have the acreage and the barn space. So what’s stopping them?

It’s the fact that they also want to travel.

And I will be the first to admit, livestock puts a serious crimp on one’s ability to leave home. The fact of the matter is, once you gain the security of livestock, you also take on the responsibility. A part of that responsibility means accepting limitations on your freedom.

Recently we (meaning, all four of us in the Lewis family) wanted to go visit these friends. They live just far enough away that it would require an overnight trip. At virtually the last minute we had to cancel because we couldn’t find anyone to house sit for us. House sitting for the Lewises is a complicated business. Besides keeping our dog Lydia from attacking our dog Major (they conflict while in the house), the current list of chores consists of:

• Feeding and watering the chickens morning and evening
• Taking a head-count of the chickens before buttoning them up for the night (and, armed with a flashlight, hunting up any stray chickens that didn’t make it into the coup)
• Feeding and watering the livestock morning and evening
• Caring for Matilda (our Jersey) and Thor (her new calf), which are apart from the herd
• Working Thor on his lead-rope two or three times a day

• Mucking out Matilda’s pen (removing the soiled hay), dumping the old stuff in the manure pile, and spreading clean straw on the floor of the pen
• Milking Matilda morning and afternoon
• Straining and chilling the milk
• Feeding and watering the barn cats
• Keeping the woodstove going (unless you want to freeze)
• Et cetera ad nauseum

Anyway without a house sitter available, the visit to see our friends fell through. The girls and I later went on the overnight trip by ourselves, leaving Don home to mind the beasties. In a couple months, Don and the girls will go visit our friends and leave me home to return the favor.

Such is the nature of owning livestock. As a family, all four of us haven’t taken a trip together in over a decade. Business or pleasure trips always require one of us to stay home and mind the farm.

For some people, this is a deal breaker. Not take a family vacation every year? Impossible to contemplate!

But major trips aside, it’s the day-to-day upkeep that livestock require that can seem the most intimidating.

In some ways we have it easy. We work at home. We school at home. We don’t have to deal with commutes and overtime and school buses and other scheduling difficulties. Barn chores become part of the daily routine. But barn chores must be done, and done daily.

It doesn’t matter if it’s a howling blizzard or baking sun or pouring rain – the chores must be done. I’ll say it again: if you’ve taken on the responsibility of livestock, you have the responsibility to feed and care for them.

But it’s not all hardship. After all, we have our livestock for a reason, and those reasons are a big payoff for the limitations on our freedom. The livestock are an integral part of our “prepping” efforts – even before we were Preppers.

Prepping without livestock is rough enough. Prepping with livestock means some additional things to think through. We’ve have to “prep” for the needs of the livestock in addition to our own needs.

For example, we have a large number of mineral blocks we’ve stashed away because livestock need trace minerals as well as salt. We stockpile usable fencing materials as we find them. We’ve looked into ways to keep the stock tanks from freezing in the winter if we’re deprived of electricity (which powers the heating coil in the tank heater that keeps the tanks ice-free). We’re anxious to grow wheat and corn to grind and mix together for chicken feed. We are looking for ways to hand-harvest (if necessary) sufficient amounts of grass hay to last our animals through a harsh Idaho winter. (Scything 25 tons of grass hay by hand? Now that's an intimidating prospect!)

So should you get livestock? Assuming you have sufficient space to put them, my answer is: Yes and no. Yes if you can commit to them. No if you can’t.

Like everything else associated with Prepping, it’s best to practice and know what you’re doing with livestock before a “bleep” scenario. If you want to get cows or goats or pigs or chickens in order to survive a catastrophic situation, get them sooner rather than later so you know all the good, the bad, and the ugly associated with owning livestock.

It does no good to own guns if you don’t know how to shoot them. If does not good to store first-aid supplies if you don’t know how to use them. Both guns and first-aid require hands-on practice. Same with livestock.

It’s all fine and good to say you want a cow after seeing pretty pictures of Matilda and all the foamy creamy milk she gives, but do you know how to milk a cow? Deal with mastitis? Hobble? Lead? Halter? Do you even have hobbles, leads, and halters (in various sizes)? See my point? You won’t know what you need until you get the animals and start learning. And the time to start learning is NOT post-bleep.

Sometimes you just have to DO IT. I clearly remember when we got our first Dexter cow/calf back in 1998. I remember looking at the cow and thinking, “Poor thing, you don’t have any idea that I’m totally ignorant of how to take care of you.” Interestingly, I had the precise exact same thought when holding my newborn Older Daughter – an overwhelming sense of “Oh bleep, what have I gotten myself into?” Livestock, like parenting, is something we all learn on the job. All the books in the world won’t help unless you practice as well.

Believe me, I would not discouraging anyone from getting livestock any more than I would discourage anyone from having kids. If you have the room for animals, give it a try. If you want animals badly enough, then I’m confident you’ll learn what it takes to feed, shelter, and care for them.

The rewards of owning livestock are both tangible and intangible. For example, now that I’m milking Matilda again, I just made ice cream using fresh milk, fresh cream, and fresh eggs. For lunch I had some leftover pot roast from the steer we butchered last year. For tomorrow’s dinner I’m defrosting a chicken we butchered last year. We have literally tons of composted manure awaiting spring when it will be spread over the garden and worked into the soil, ready to feed our vegetables.

Our animals give us milk, meat, eggs, and manure. Those are the tangibles. But they also give us a great deal of intangibles – namely security and yes, enjoyment. On a summer evening, I love nothing more than to take a glass of wine and a good book and sit outside among the chickens (“communing with the chickens,” I call it). I love watching the calves gambol in the pastures in warm weather.

I love milking Matilda, even when it’s muddy and cold. I love the sense of security that comes from knowing how to care for and harvest our animals’ resources.

Maybe it’s because I’m a homebody at heart anyway, but I like living with livestock. I’ll never become a world traveler, but that’s okay. It’s a tradeoff I’m willing to take. And if the bleep hits the fan, we will still have meat, milk, and eggs.

Morning chores

Ever wonder what kind of homestead chores need to get done in the winter? Here's an illustrated guide.

After my first mug of tea (hey, a woman's gotta have her priorities) I suit up to go feed the beasties. Right now we have one horse, eight bovines, and sixteen chickens.

Eighteen degrees, not bad working weather.

First I release the chickens (sproing!!) and give them fresh water. Here's a hen looking for a spot to lay an egg.

Remember Snap and Crackle? Here's what they look like now. Both are roosters, by the way.

As we use up hay bales, we're burrowing our way into the barn.

The critters are hungry. They get three wheelbarrows full of hay in the morning, two in the afternoon, spread out in the feed boxes.

Here's Ruby, scarfing down.

Jet and her calf Nebuchadnezzar.

Happy beasties.

I feed Matilda and Pearly separately in the barn. Since they're lowest on the totem pole, they wouldn't get enough to eat at the feed boxes if I didn't feed them separately.

By this time I'm sweating. Off comes the coat, scarf, and hat.

Next it's time to clean Matilda's pen. Gotta get that soiled hay up and out.

I use a deep plastic sled/toboggan gizmo to move the manure.

After the soiled hay is pitchforked up, I spread a little bit of clean hay over the area they typically soil. The cows cooperate in this by only soiling one side of the pen. Generally, that is.

Then I sled the manure over to the manure pile and add to it.  Most is below the snow, only the recent stuff is above.

A pile of hay in the pen for Matilda's evening meal, and the chores are done.

Total time, about 45 minutes. Time for another mug of tea.

In the afternoon, Don does the feeding, Older Daughter feeds and waters the chickens, and Younger Daughter fills the water tank. Then we button up the chickens, as well as Matilda and Pearly, and that's all for the night.

Fixing the #$%&*@ fences

We moved the livestock over to the wooded side of our property this past week.  It was high time - the other side was pretty well eaten down - but it means we have some major fencing issues to address.  Oh groan.

The driveway fence was a mishmash of falling down cedar posts, bent-down field fence, and tangled barbed wire.  It needed serious replacement.

We had one new roll of field fence (cha-ching!) and decided to use it to build a new fence line along the drive, since it will be the first thing visitors see.

We harvested T-posts from other spots where they weren't in use, and Don pounded them all in in a nice straight row.  We moved it over from the original fence line about ten feet, to allow us to plow better during deep snowy winters.

Next we rolled out the field fence.  Naturally the critters took an intense interest in this process.

Here it is, all laid out and ready to start attaching to the T-posts.

Don uses a ratchet to pull the sections tight before we wire the fence to the posts.  Here he's ratcheting the lowest section.  After we wire the bottom part to the posts, he'll ratchet the upper part tight.  And so on down the driveway.

It was damp work, kneeling on the ground.

But ah, what a thing of beauty when it was completed!

Meanwhile we finally got our old tractor back from the shop.  The poor baby had been down all summer, and we finally had a chance to get it fixed.

We wasted no time in putting it to good use in removing the old driveway fence.  We chained up the old cedar fence posts...

 A sharp tug of the tractor bucket...

...and the pole is out of the ground.

Cedar poles are certainly more aesthetically appealing than plain ol' T-posts, but they do have a limited lifespan.

Waste not want not!  We salvaged the posts to be cut up and used for firewood.

Then we rolled up the barbed wire to be used later on to strengthen another side of the pasture.

Then we pulled the old field fencing into the driveway and walked down the entire length of it, one of us on each side, and yanked it straight.  Salvaging this field fencing saved us, oh, about $150 (the cost of a new roll).

  

We loosely rolled the fencing...

...and loaded it into the truck.

Then we drove on the access road at the bottom of our property (the road is actually on our neighbor's side).  The fencing down here is a joke, and the Brat Pack (this year's calves) had been happily using it as a doorway onto the neighbor's side.  Our plan was to slap the field fence up temporarily and come back later to affix it permanently.

Nice view across the canyon, though.

Naturally there was lots of brush we had to nip away.  Fencing is such fun!

We managed to slap the field fence against the T-posts (sorta)...

...and temporarily wire the fence in place.

That's enough for now.  Progress this far has taken us three days, and we're pooped.