Birthday calf

Well I got my birthday calf after all! Jet had a little bull calf last night.

All evening we kept an eye on her. The classic sign of a cow in labor is a hunched back and some painful low "moo" sounds. That didn't happen until after I'd gone to bed. But by late evening (9 pm or so) Jet was pacing around the driveway and lashing her tail. Tail lashing is a typical cow response to early labor pains. I guess that turgid udder was the right indicator after all. We knew we'd have a calf by morning.

I went to bed around 9:30, and was sound asleep when Don woke me up at 10:30. "She's in labor if you want to watch," he said.

I dressed and took a camera and flashlight. The girls woke up and joined me for a few minutes but didn't stay for the entire birth (Younger Daughter swears she's going to adopt some day). I took only a limited number of photos because I didn't want to disturb Jet too much with the flash.

Here she is, in heavy labor.

She pushed out a sac of amniotic fluid first. It burst shortly after taking this photo.

The camera wasn't focusing well in the pitch darkness, so some of these shots are blurry. Here the calf's hooves are starting to emerge.

Then she lay down right next to the corral fence to push some more.

About half-way out. The white covering is the amniotic sac.

Then Jet heaved herself to her feet for the final push.

Dropped! Jet immediately started licking her calf.

The time: 10:55 pm. Still my birthday.

I went out to check one last time. All seemed well, so I went to bed knowing I wouldn't find out the gender until morning.

This morning I found the calf standing, and I gently reached down and felt a tiny scrotum. A little bull calf. Adorable!

Of course, Jet hovers close by, anxious and protective. This is her seventh or eighth calf, and she's an excellent and experienced mom.

We'll have to come up with a name for this little fella.

It's a big wide world out there for him to explore, including meeting the chickens.

Jet kept a wary eye on me. Thankfully she's not a cow to get aggressive with a new calf, but I also knew to keep my distance. Hormones do funny things to critters.

The birthday calf is strong and curious...

...and was already making the cute little hippity-hop skips most newborns do to express health and exuberance.

Playing with mama's tail.

Altogether now: "Awwwwww....."

Older Daughter wants to call him Tarter. As in, sauce. (Don't ask me why.) I suppose it bears some similarity to "steak tartare," so I guess it works. We usually try to give our bull calves "meat" names, since that will be this little guy's fate in about two years... at which point, trust me, he'll no longer be cute.

What a nice birthday present!

Photo contest

The fine folks at Pantry Paratus are hosting a photo contest. Here's the announcement.

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Pantry Paratus is excited to celebrate our second year on as an e-store. We are looking to expand our digital marketing appeal with real pictures; so in order to do that we are hosting our first annual 2013 photo contest to celebrate all the harvest of this season's bounty. All the official rules are here, but the basics are these:

• All photos must be original work and submitted to photocontest@pantryparatus.com between Friday, September 6th through Friday, September 20th.

• There are two categories: "Canning" and "Food Preservation." The first one is easy to define, but the second one can be anything from saving seeds to rendering lard to making jerky -- surprise us!

• We have one Grand Prize winner ($200 of selected merchandise) and one First Place winner ($150 of selected merchandise), one Second Place winner ($100 of selected merchandise) and one Third Place winner ($50 of selected merchandise) for each category. There will be seven big winners in all!

• Since people tend to be private about their food supply, people need only supply their name (any name will do really) and a valid email address so if they win we can contact them -- or else the contest is pointless, right?

• One entry per person, per email, per category (e.g. John Smith can submit one (1) entry for "Canning" and one (1) entry for "Food Preservation" from johnsmith@emailaddress.com).

Please feel free to use the attached graphic. We are announcing the contest with this link on Friday, September 6th so if you could help us out by pushing it out through social media either Friday or later this upcoming weekend (whichever works best for you) we would really appreciate it--we want to make this hugely viral!

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If you've never visited the website for Pantry Paratus, I highly recommend it. They have every conceivable item for canning, food storage, water filtration, and other items for preparedness and the domestic arts. Really really cool place.

New blog

A reader named Lee started a new blog on the subject of preparedness entitled The Dependent Independent. Hop over and take a look!

Another birthday

Today is my birthday. I'm 51 years old.

We don't make a Big Deal out of birthdays in our house, so today's been a pretty ordinary day. It started out early before the rest of the family was awake by scooting a couple of pregnant cows into the corral.

This is Jet, looking very grumpy. She doesn't want to be holed up like this, but she's due any time and I'd prefer to have her close.

How can I tell she's about to calve? Well with Dexters, I've learned to watch the udder. When it goes turgid and all the teats stick out every-which-way, it usually means they're close.

I'm also seeing periodic bubbles of mucous that come and go.

On the other hand, she's been in the corral all day and hasn't gone into labor yet, so my hopes of having a birthday calf may be dashed.

I also shoved Matilda into the corral for the same reason -- she's due any day. With Matilda, however, her massive udder balloons up well in advance and the poor dear walks around with this enormous pendulous beach ball between her legs.

Matilda is pure Jersey and about eleven years old now, and she's always had a poor udder attachment. She's a wonderful mama, though, and adores having calves on her. We missed a breeding last year, so I'm sure she's looking forward to a new baby.

However Matilda and Jet don't get along, and I knew it was dicey to keep them confined together (Jet is vastly dominant to Matilda and has horns to boot). I ended up closing the rest of the livestock in the pasture and letting Matilda loose in the driveway and keeping Jet in the corral.

This morning I also noticed Polly was in heat, so Don and I shoved her and Petunia in with Samson, our bull. I'll keep her in for about a week and then release her, since I want to keep milking her and I can't milk her when she's with Samson.

Later in the morning I had to hurry to get my WND column finished and submitted by noon. I was a few minutes late in sending it, but that's because my folks called to wish me happy birthday. Sorry, they take priority for a few minutes over a noon deadline!

We had some heavy rain showers move through yesterday and today. This means I'm off garden-watering duty for awhile, a nice break.

However it was past time to pick a lot of the cantaloups. I sent Younger Daughter out to pick the ripe ones.

Some are over-ripe and have split.

I'm not overly worried about keeping the house tidy right now. It's trashed, but that's because we're in the throes of our busy season and have tons of tankard work going on.

I get the kitchen cleaned up each night, but that's about it. This is the reality of a home business -- it's at home. A messy house just happens.

One nice thing is that I can listen to classical music again. I'm an absolute classical music fanatic. For years I listened to our one and only regional classical station on a thrift-store radio in the living room, but my radio hasn't been working and I've gone into withdrawals. Then the girls told me about Pandora.com, so I've been listening to my beloved composers via the tinny speakers on my computer. Today Older Daughter loaned me her computer speakers which vastly improved the sound quality. As I type this, I'm happily listening to Concerti a Cinque by Albinoni. Bliss.

This afternoon I made some chocolate chip cookies, and toward the end Older Daughter rummaged in our bag of candles and took out a birthday candle (in green, my favorite color) and stuck it into a cookie for me.

I thought that was SO sweet.

So that's been my birthday. Nothing earth-shattering... except for being continuously around my lovely family. Doesn't get any better than that. I'm one lucky woman.

Ripe and riper

After reading everyone's suggestions on how to determine whether or not a watermelon is ripe, I waited a few days and gave it another try.

This time I gauged things by the pigtail, the tiny tendril closest to the watermelon's stem. Rumor has it that when the pigtail is dried up, the watermelon is ripe.

So I took it into the house, and Don sliced into it.

At first it didn't seem much riper than before, until (duh) we realized he'd cut close enough to the rind to get a lot of white.

But once we sliced through the center, we realized we had... success!

The watermelon was wonderful, and it was an ego boost to realize it came from our own garden. That said, I could have left it on the vine a day or two longer for additional sweetness. Still very good, though. And it was fun to wade through the watermelon seeds (remember those?), the way a watermelon is supposed to be.

And the chickens certainly appreciated the leftovers.

Then a day or two later, I was mindlessly watering the garden when I became aware of a distinctive smell, the smell of RIPE cantaloup. And I mean ripe. In the photo below, can you see how the two lower cantaloups are yellower than the one on the upper left?

So I picked two and brought them into the house.

Yes! Ripe ripe ripe!!

We all took spoonfuls and agreed it was the best durn cantaloup we've had in years.

There are dozens of cantaloup ripening in the garden, enough to hand out to friends and neighbors. I also want to bring some in to the folks where I've been getting the billboard tarps, by way of saying thanks.

Sadly these fruits are hybrids, so I won't be able to save their seeds for next year. I have one heirloom watermelon that has a nice-sized fruit on it, and I'm guarding it like a hawk in order to harvest its seeds.

Casting call for off-grid folks

A few days ago I received an email as follows:

Dear Patrice.

I hope you are well and don’t mind me getting in touch out of the blue. I am a Researcher at Blast! Films in London England where we are developing a one-off documentary film for the Bio Channel. I hoped that you may be able to help us in our research.

The film will feature in families who are living “off-grid” in North Idaho and surrounding regions, and will explore the inspiring challenges and unique pleasures which this way of life offers. The film will be very positive in tone - a sensitive and layered portrayal of a unique way of life. We are not looking to make a reality-TV type show but rather intend to explore and promote off-grid living as a real possibility. Examples of the kind of intelligent and thoughtful films we have made previously can be seen here: www.blastfilms.co.uk.

We want to speak to as many families as possible who would describe themselves as “off-grid” or self-sufficient. We are in the process of having confidential research conversations with families who are interested, with no obligation to be involved in filming.

I wondered if you might be interested in speaking to me further by phone? Or if you might be able to help us in spreading the word to anyone you think might be suitable.

I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this.

Thanks for your time and all best wishes,

Hannah Boyd
Development Researcher
Blast! Films
2 Imperial Works, Perren Street, London, NW5 3ED

Cellphone: 00 44 (0)7899 915 957
Switchboard: 00 44 (0)207 267 4260
Direct Dial: 00 44 (0)207 424 8037
www.blastfilms.co.uk


I spoke with Hannah at length by phone about the nature of this project, and she made it clear the filming will be portraying ruralites in an upbeat and positive way. It’s not about “preppers” or “survivalists” or anything sneering or derogatory. Rather, it’s exposure to a largely urban viewing audience what it's like to live off-grid or otherwise self-sufficiently.

And when you think about it, most city dwellers don’t have a clue what it’s like to produce electricity or milk a cow or clean a barn or gather eggs or plant a garden or can peaches. This is all strange and exotic to them. What’s the motivation behind such hard work? Why milk a cow and make your own cheese when dairy products are readily available at the grocery store? Why install solar panels or a windmill when you can just flip a switch? …These are the types of questions this documentary aims to answer.

The filming will be limited to north Idaho and the surrounding areas (eastern Washington or western Montana) because that’s where an existing film crew is already located, so their pool of potential applicants will be more limited. If there’s anyone in this region interested in talking with Hannah about this project, I urge you to get in touch with her. She’s a durned nice woman and will be happy to answer all of your questions.

A rebuttal

With regards to the unpleasant snark our neighbor Enola Gay received about her son Master Hand Grenade's decision to become a butcher, my husband had a few additional choice words for the snarker. His commentary follows. (My dear husband doesn't like to mince words.)

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With regard to the anonymous correspondent of Enola Gay’s son Master Hand Grenade and Hand Grenade’s decision to become a butcher:

Patrice, of course, wrote a careful, well-thought-out comparative piece completely in line with the loving and thoughtful bride that has blessed me by sharing her life.

Now it's my turn. And I'm not nearly that nice.

I've spent a lot of my life dealing with a whole host of folks from all walks of life and I'm pretty good at reading people. So I'm going to give Mr. Anonymous a reading.

Sir (I'm assuming male from the manner and cadence of his brief post):

They say that brevity is the soul of wit. In your case "they" are wrong. Or perhaps they are right, but the definition of "soul" or "wit" needs amplification.

You seem to have Sir Hand Grenade all figured out. You've commented on, or inferred, his level of intelligence, educational achievements, social status, mental stability, people skills, and future earnings potential… and you've done all of that without ever once having seen or talked to him.

Well this seems like a fun game. So let me take a shot at it with you.

You are crude. I don't come to that decision based solely on the quality of your writing or the content of your message, although either of these would suffice. But the use of personal invective, flung at someone you do not know and who has never done you harm, is definitive. From this I must assume that either your family shares this trait, or more hopefully, they are in despair of your possession of it. In either case, and since you can tell someone's character by the company they keep, we can certainly posit that your friends and close associates must be equally mean and uncouth (assuming, of course, that you possess either friends or associates).

You place a high value on a college education. In point of fact, given that it's the be-all and end-all of your comment, you appear to hold it in higher regard than other human accomplishments and regard those without a college degree as somehow inferior. From this fact, as well as your disdain for the working class and your dislike of firearms, we can safely infer that you are both an elitist and a liberal (but I repeat myself). Further, we can assume you are both a toady and a sycophant since you appear to consider monetary worth and tangible assets as the most important factor in a man's value. From that it seems a fairly safe bet that you are also an atheist.

Finally, combining the inferences above with the general tone of your missive, I must inevitably conclude that you are an unhappy, lonely, bitter, and miserable excuse for a man; a witless, crude and insulting, uncouth elitist liberal whose greatest pleasure in life is toadying to wealthy snobs (who probably despise you for your all-too apparent weaknesses).

How'd I do?

Fortunately for you (and probably everyone who knows you) there is a cure. Drop to your knees and apologize. Oh, not necessarily to Sir Hand Grenade. He's a fine young man whose real worth is well known in our neck of the woods. There's not much you can do that would hurt him. No, you might want to make your apologies to God.

And, like this fine young man’s mother, I'll pray for you too.

Useless degrees vs. practical skills

A couple of days ago, our friend and neighbor Enola Gay put up a blog post about her 17 year old son's ambition to become a butcher. As homesteaders who frequently call upon the services of butchers, I can think of no finer and more useful profession. This young man has a solid career path open to him which virtually guarantees employment no matter how dire the economy.

But someone, it seems, took exception to his path in life and wrote a comment on her blog post, to wit:

Why don't you get Mr. Dumb Ass, er, I mean, Mr. Hand Grenade into a college so that Mr. H.G. won't be yet another loser walking around armed waiting to go postal when the world, which he is not prepared for, overwhelms him and he realizes that he is a working class cog and will never get ahead or have anything on a butchers wages.

(Master Hand Grenade is Enola's nom de plume for her oldest son.)

The words were vile, of course, but Enola handled the snarker with her usual class and grace.

Now hold these thoughts in mind for a few moments while we switch to another scenario.

My husband brought to my attention a blog which mentioned a recent college graduate named Andria who has an “Honors BA in Social Justice and Peace Studies” and is pursuing a Master’s degree in Gender Studies.

And how are these lofty degrees serving her? She writes: "I have a honors BA and I’m defending my MA thesis in two weeks. I am also apply for jobs and I can only find stuff in the service industry. I applied for a Hotel Front Desk Clerk job today. My degrees mean NOTHING. I am at the end of my rope."

Andria may sneer at the service industry, but it begs the question: Where does she want to work? Or perhaps more pointedly, where does she EXPECT to work? Who hires Gender Studies majors?

I don't mean to be snarky or to denigrate certain areas of study; I genuinely want to know. Who hires Gender Studies majors?

It makes me wonder what on earth Andria was thinking when she decided to devote five or six years of her life and possibly acquire a heavy student loan debt in order to obtain degrees which are hard to utilize in the best of times but essentially become useless in a bad economy. Did she think through her career path ahead of time? Did she look into the number of paying jobs available to Social Justice, Peace Studies, and Gender Studies experts?

As Vox Day so cuttingly put it, "And she just figured this out NOW? She has a degree in 'Social Justice and Peace Studies.' She will soon have a second degree in 'Gender Studies.' She's very lucky the service industry will consider hiring anyone with a pulse, because any employer looking at those degrees has to knows she is a walking, talking, sexual harassment and/or discrimination lawsuit waiting to happen. In fact, a Gender Studies degree actually has negative value, given that credentialed feminists are considerably more likely to cause disruption in the workplace. It's bad enough to acquire garbage degrees in economic boom times. It's even worse to do so in the middle of a five-year depression."

This is harsh, yes, but I see his point. I don't know if I'd be inclined to hire her either.

All this makes Master Hand Grenade's choice to become a butcher seem wise, forward-thinking, and intelligent. Not incidentally, since I'm well acquainted with this young man's character, I'd hire him in a heartbeat for ANY job, including hotel front desk clerk.

For those who think Gender Studies majors are somehow morally superior to "working class cogs" like butchers, please check back in ten years and let's compare Master Hand Grenade's and Andria's career paths.

Something to think about for young people thinking about their futures. Think practical, folks. Think practical.

I'm legal!

I just received my Utah Concealed Carry permit. If you recall, toward the end of June I took an eight hour course to qualify for this permit, which allows me to carry concealed in 35 other states including, crucially, Washington.

Since I go into Spokane about once a week, I will now be able to carry my revolver with me. There was a horrific murder in Spokane recently, and since crime in general is on the rise, I like knowing I have a means of protection with me at all times.

Thanks to my trusty bra holster, I'll now be armed and legal in the state of Washington while grocery shopping or doing other errands. Whoo hoo!

Big honkin' spider

We have a big honkin' spider web on our front porch.

The web belongs to a big honkin' spider. You can gauge the size by comparing her to the yellow jacket she's caught.

Both my girls are terrified of spiders, but I find them grimly fascinating, especially how they wrap prey. This lady twirls the hapless victim with her front legs and guides the silk around it with her two back legs. The amount of silk coming out of her spinnerets is impressive.

Since her web is right in sight of the kitchen, we notice almost every time she catches something.

She'll wrap her catch and then carry it up into the eaves of the porch.

So... any of you arachnophiles (or arachnophobes) know the species?