A new home for Brit

We've had Brit, our horse, for the past twelve years.

She's a purebred Appaloosa and was born on our neighbor's farm. At the time this neighbor had a lot of babies born and owed us a favor, so he gave us Brit for free. ("Brit" is Celtic for "spotted.") Our daughters were 9 and 11 when we got her, and we thought for sure they'd want to ride a horse. Every tween and teen girl is interested in horses, right?

Wrong. The girls just never developed an interest, and Don and I have no experience in training horses, so for over a decade Brit has been a herd-guardian and something of a pet, but nothing more.

But a horse needs a purpose in life, so we've been actively looking for a new home for her with someone who is horse-savvy and perhaps has a tween or teen girl who wants to ride.

Unexpectedly last week, we found such a family. A gentleman named Jason called about our cows, and when he came over (with his 10-year-old daughter) to look over our Dexters, I happened to mention Brit was free to a good home. Next thing we knew, Brit had a good home.

Coincidentally, a couple months ago, we had a horse expert come over and put Brit through her paces to determine how much training she would need before she would become a good riding animal. Sarah L. was truly an expert horsewoman, and it was awe-inspiring to watch her at work.

Among many things she did, Sarah put ropes around Brit's legs and pulled them up to see how she would react. (As it turns out, quite calmly.)

Sarah concluded Brit would need about three months' of training. Armed with this information, we set out spreading the word Brit was available. When Jason expressed an interest in Brit, we were able to tell him what Sarah had said.

When Jason came to pick her up, Brit acted skittish and wouldn't let him put a halter on her.

But shucky-darn, the 10-year-old daughter just happened to have a bucket of oats with her which proved irresistible.

With some patient coaxing and firm handling, Jason soon had a halter and lead rope on Brit. Then came the next challenge: loading her into the horse trailer, a gizmo she had never seen (from the inside) and didn't like.

She took a bit of persuasion to go in, but the rope trick worked like a charm and she loaded without a problem.

So now Brit is gone, living with a horse-loving family who will be able to train her as a horse should be trained, complete with a darling little tween girl to lavish her with affection.

We don't miss Brit, exactly, except for certain odd moments here and there. For example, every morning when I stepped outside to do farm chores, Brit would inevitably spot me and whinny. For years I've played a little game with her. I would step outside and say, "Frau Blücher!" If Brit whinnied before I said that, she won. If she whinnied after I said that, I won.

(For those who are wondering about this, it's a scene from the hilarious Mel Brooks movie "Young Frankenstein" with the indomitable Marty Feldman.)



So I can no longer play my little "Frau Blücher" game, but it's a small price to pay for giving Brit a useful, purposeful life.

Thank a veteran today

Today is Veteran's Day. Please remember to thank a vet for your freedom.

We can't forget the brave men and women who have served our country.

Nor will we forget the ones who won't be coming back.

Thank you to our veterans.

It is the Soldier, not the minister
Who has given us freedom of religion.

It is the Soldier, not the reporter
Who has given us freedom of the press.

It is the Soldier, not the poet
Who has given us freedom of speech.

It is the Soldier, not the campus organizer
Who has given us freedom to protest.

It is the Soldier, not the lawyer
Who has given us the right to a fair trial.

It is the Soldier, not the politician
Who has given us the right to vote.

It is the Soldier who salutes the flag,
Who serves beneath the flag,
And whose coffin is draped by the flag,
Who allows the protester to burn the flag.

For an amazing photo tour of Ardennes American Cemetery in Liege, Belgium, where Don's uncle is buried, see this post.

Are we fastidious yet?

Anyone who works with social media is familiar with spam posts. I get lots and lots of them here on the blog, and for some reason the most frequent adjective I see is “fastidious.”

As any native speaker of English knows, fastidious has a fairly precise meaning. The dictionary defines it as “excessively particular, critical or demanding; hard to please” (as in a fastidious eater), or something requiring excessive or painstaking care or delicacy.

And that, apparently, describes my blog. Some typical comments:

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All these comments makes me wonder: In teaching English out there to the wider world, who decided “fastidious” was such a useful word?

Small Farm Nation

Over the years I’ve often mentioned a fellow named Tim Young at Self-Sufficient Life. Tim has always been an inspiration to me. A bit over ten years ago, he left a high-powered, high-stress corporate job and bought a ragged run-down 60-acre parcel of land in Georgia. In a staggeringly short amount of time (through a combination of business savvy and sheer hard work), he became an expert in numerous enviable enterprises, including humanely-raised meat, raw milk products, cheesemaking, etc.

Having dabbled in small-scale farming on and off for 20 years, I can attest to the remarkable and varied skills he’s picked up much quicker than we ever did. He’s also a brilliant writer, marketer, teacher, and mentor.

One of Tim’s passions is helping people start their own home-based business, whether it's directly related to farming (raising meat, eggs, vegetables, etc.) or farm-related enterprises such as soapmaking, the fiber arts, landscaping, or permaculture. He is also knowledgeable about numerous food-related businesses such as artisan bakeries, wineries/breweries, dairy and raw milk operations, agritourism, restaurants/catering, etc.

Recently Tim has put together a mentoring course called Small Farm Nation Academy which guides people through what it takes to start a successful (as opposed to unsuccessful) business. The nice thing about his workshops and coursework is they don't just apply to farming-related enterprises. Speaking from the perspective of our long-term (and successful) craft business, his principles apply equally well to anything home-based since they focus a great deal on marketing. He mentors people along their journey and steers them away from making common mistakes that can doom them from the start.

This is the kind of stuff I wish Don and I had known from the beginning, much of which we had to acquire the hard way (y'know, via the School of Hard Knocks). Tim teaches about branding, website development, social media marketing, PR and media coverage, marketing strategies, etc. Resources include reading material, podcasts, videos, and community involvement through forums with other entrepreneurs.

I've always maintained the key to successfully living in the country is having a home-based business. Whether it's farming, crafting, writing, or any other innovation, a home business means you can live farther from the city (with cheaper property prices) and spend more time together as a family rather than being separated all day at distant ends of a commute.

If any of this sounds interesting, I urge you to visit Tim's academy website and see what he offers.

Don't bother preparing for the zombie apocalypse

A couple weeks ago, I did a long-overdue cleanup of our washroom, which tends to become a catch-all for a variety of stuff. It's not a large room, and some of the crowded floor space is taken up by two very important things: 50-gallon barrels of water.

We've kept these barrels in the washroom ever since the November 2015 windstorm devastated our region. We've dipped into those barrels more than once, notably last June when our well pump died and we had no water for a couple of days.

But it's important to freshen stored water once in a while, so I emptied the barrels (the water was crystal clear), rinsed them, then refilled. To each barrel I added five teaspoons of fresh bleach before tightening the lids. The combination of darkness and bleach keeps the water fresh and pure.

I told Don afterward that having those barrels filled with fresh water gives me a nice fuzzy comfortable feeling.

I have a cyber-friend in Maine who just experienced something similar to our 2015 windstorm. Thankfully this friend is a prepper.

She wrote: "We had most of the state without power for about a week. The windstorm last Monday caused quite a mess. It's amazing how unprepared my coworkers were for this. The power died last Monday morning and the general thoughts were, 'It's in the 60s so no problem with no electric heat.' No one thought about what was going to happen when it dropped into the 30s that night. We have a generator, which I am grateful for. It wasn’t cool enough to throw the freezer and fridge stuff outside during the day as it was in the 40s and 50s. No one appears to have learned their lessons either. You can't fix stupid."

My friend added these staggering words: "I can't believe how some folks really have their heads in the sand. Our generator cost a lot but it's worth every penny. I have a coworker who said she would rather buy new clothes, furniture, etc. than a generator because a storm like that is likely not to happen for another 100 years!"

You can't fix stupid, indeed.

The lesson to be learned here is this: Don't bother preparing for a zombie apocalypse. That's science fiction, folks. It's best to prepare for what you're most likely to face, including natural disasters specific to your region.

I'm glad my cyber-friend is a prepper.

Horror in Texas

My prayers go out to the victims of the horrific church massacre yesterday in Sutherland Springs, Texas.

WHUMP. Winter's here

Suddenly -- WHUMP -- we're in winter. Big time.

We had a light snowfall in mid-October that lasted just a couple hours, but it snowed lightly yesterday and then all last night.

Mr. Darcy's first impression of snow yesterday was -- ahem -- favorable.

The chickens always look at snow with bemusement.

Then this morning we woke up to a snowy wonderland. Just like that -- WHUMP -- winter is here.

Older Daughter, who is now approaching her third year as a nanny in New Jersey (surrounded by deciduous trees), has come to the conclusion that only coniferous trees do justice to snow.

Right now it is just gloriously beautiful outside.

The larches (the yellowish trees in this photo) were caught with their needles on. Larches turn yellow and shed their needs each fall -- it's just about the only autumn color we get around here -- but the snow caught them early.

The willows in the backyard were caught still dressed in their fall finery as well.

Every object bore its load...

...including the hoses we had drained, coiled, tied, and stacked on the wheelbarrow to store in the barn.

When I slid open the back barn door, you could see how much snow had fallen.

Mr. Darcy, of course, thought all this was largess bestowed by heaven for his own personal amusement.

I took a ruler out and stuck it in the snow on the backyard dog house.

Verdict: Almost six inches as of 8 am this morning.

It's supposed to snow all day today, so we'll see how much deeper it gets.

Update on Younger Daughter

Some of you have been asking for an update on Younger Daughter.

Our dear daughter, if you remember, is now in Navy boot camp in Great Lakes, Illinois. She was able to make her one phone call upon arrival to let us know she'd arrived safely and to let us know she would be shipping her personal effects home. She would also be permitted a phone call in a couple of weeks.

After a bit we got her mailing address, and we all (meaning, friends and relatives) have been blitzing her with mail, to her great delight.

Bottom line, she's doing fine. Really fine, in fact. During her brief (ten minutes) phone call a few weeks ago, she said things were sometimes crazy in the barracks with 90 women sharing eight shower heads, but she actually likes her RDCs (Recruit Division Commanders) despite the obligatory yelling; and though there is an expected amount of angst and drama among the women in the barracks, on the whole she gets along with everyone. (She's good at not getting involved in angst and drama.)

And on her first written exam, she scored 90 percent.

Then out of the blue last week, she called. Yes, called -- when such a call was NOT expected. "Hi Mom," she said. "Long story short, I'm in the hospital with double-pneumonia."

Turns out conditions in boot camp are rather dirty, despite the general tidiness. Plus, of course, she's "racking" with 90 other women from all over the country. Early one morning on her fourth night of "mid watch" (midnight to 4 a.m. watch duty), an RDC looked at her sharply -- she was swaying -- and asked if she was okay. She snapped to attention and replied she was fine.

But the RDC departed, learned this was her fourth all-nighter in a row, realized she looked like death warmed over, and told her to leave her post. Later that morning she was transported to the hospital. (I have a sneaking suspicion she may have impressed the RDC because she refused to complain and was willing to do her duty despite being tired and sick.)

Once I got over the shock of her being in the hospital, it turns out she was actually feeling pretty well, considering an IV was pumping antibiotics into her and she had to stop to cough and gasp every so often. But she felt like she was in a luxurious resort: her own bathroom and shower, room service, and visits from the RDCs with smiles rather than the obligatory yelling.

And she was able to call people! In fact, I think she spent four days solid on the phone. She called us twice a day, she called her grandparents, she called friends. It was hilarious.

She expected to return to her division on Saturday (that was Oct. 28), and from the abrupt phone silence we expect that's exactly what happened. She felt confident she would be able to keep up with her Division despite the time in bed, rather than getting set back and having to complete boot camp with another division (she expressed great fondness for her group).

So that's the scoop so far on Younger Daughter. She's a trooper, I tell ya.