The Farmette Report

The hand-off

Without much warning, the CEO of the health center where I work had to change her plans and I and another executive ended up attending a policy and issues conference in Washington, DC, in her place. Which meant that I spent a good amount of Sunday afternoon and evening learning how to speak with our congressional representatives about funding reauthorizations and appropriations and other policy issues involving community health centers. Learning advocacy was fun. Really.

The downside (other than the obvious one of being away from husband and donkeys) was that I did not pack a laptop. Oh, sure, the conference organizers had set up Internet stations for the attendees to use during breaks - complete with long lines of people and screens that were situated so as to offer absolutely no privacy to the user. Ick. That wasn't how I wanted to use the limited amount of time available between workshops.  Therefore, I did not have Internet access for almost three days.

That worked out just fine for me. What I wanted to do at the end of that first day was to decompress with a low-tech pursuit and temporarily get the bureaucratic acronyms out of my head. Sunday evening was my chance to kick back in a comfy armchair in my hotel room, light a scented candle, listen to Glenn Gould on my iPod, drink a cup of tea and knit. Perfect!

The next day brought more workshops and little time for anything else. Keith and I had planned to have dinner together, and he almost got wet feet at the last minute because he had been running errands with his pickup truck and felt a little self-conscious about pulling up to the Washington Hilton in a vehicle we affectionately refer to as Ol' Paint. Heck, I rationalized to Keith, most community health centers are in rural areas, so a pickup will be like old home to most of the attendees and will give the rest of the folks at the Hilton something to talk about.

That settled that. We enjoyed a casual supper while chatting about the places in DC that we used to frequent when we began dating each other nearly twenty years ago. Twenty years! It doesn't feel nearly that long.

Because I would be visiting the offices of a congressional representative and two senators the next day, we agreed to make an early night of it. He had a loaded-down truck and some animals at home waiting for their supper, so there was, sadly, not much question of sharing the hospitality of my $300 a night hotel room with him. Instead, we had our dinner date, and then he drove me back to "my" place where he kissed me good night.

"Oh!" he said, as I started to open the truck door. He grinned as he reached into his jacket pocket, adding, "I didn't forget." Then he pressed a new ball of white merino wool into my hand.

It was for the project I had brought with me to work on in spare moments; I had finished up the first small ball of wool before supper. I started the new ball that night and brought the project with me to Capital Hill the next day. Now I'll be able to tell my sister-in-law that part of her baby blanket was knit in the halls of the Hart senate office building.

Spring lambs

The sheep that belong to our across the road neighbors have been busy lambing! The little ones are so light on their feet - just springing and bouncing every which way. However, they are like their stodgy parents in that they are cautious about strangers approaching from the other side of the fence and would have nothing to do with me. Actually, this photo shows them retreating from my approach.

The sheep seem to be a mix of breeds, and even though we love the color of the brown wool on the big guy, we suspect these critters are more for meat than for fiber, poor babies. For instance, some of them have been marked with a colored dye, which doesn't seem like the thing to do if you were primarily interested in harvesting their wool. But, then again, we don't know much about keeping sheep.

It is funny to see the undocked tails of the young'uns, something I'm not used to seeing. The first time I noticed those long tails, I did a double-take as I had forgotten that most sheep don't have naturally stumpy tails. (I'll save the "dock or no-dock" argument for those who know about such things.) The best part about the lamb tails is watching them waggle madly whenever the happy lambs enjoy an opportunity to nurse!

We're not the only ones who enjoy watching the wee lambs. We've seen our donks Molly and Ambrose gazing at them, transfixed, from across the way. Maybe their sheep guarding instincts were kicking in?

Enjoying the day

Thursday was my birthday, and as is my custom, I took the day off from office work. Some folks have told me that they find this a "quaint" custom, and I suppose they mean that a middle-aged woman should be above making such a fuss over a birthday. Apparently most women my age prefer not to dwell on anything that reminds them that they are getting older. I've never been one to resent getting older, especially when you stop to consider the alternative, and neither am I someone who requires being "fussed" over. Rather, the customary day off came about because of my career in human resources management - and the first year when a manager at a company where I worked needed my presence during the termination of an employee who had numerous performance issues. It occurred to me that I had better ways of marking the day than firing someone, and so we settled on another date for our meeting with the soon-to-be former employee - and I have taken my birthday off ever since.

This year, I wanted a quiet day of reflection. I planned to achieve this by taking my knitting and sitting out back with the donkeys nearby while I worked on my current project. What luck - the day promised to be unusually sunny and lovely. The temperature was a mild 65 degrees, with a slight breeze. A beautiful day for idling around the garden and the donkeys.

As you can see, I was not the only one who welcomed the sunny day! With his high-maintenance white coat, you'd think our cat would know better, but he couldn't resist lounging in the sun-warmed earth of the one of the small raised beds next to the kitchen.

I set out towards the donkey's main pasture, passing one of their dust baths on my way to a pretty spot where I could sit and knit. Look what the dust bath revealed, plain as day:

At first I thought these were groundhog prints, because we see those critters the most - and their paws are so well padded, but after consulting one of our wildlife books, I'm not so sure these aren't raccoon prints. Groundhogs have four "toes" in front and raccoons have five. Plus, it looks like the edge of the longer rear paw is visible in the lower left corner of the photo. The tracks couldn't have been there long, either, because the donkeys use their dust bath several times a day, especially when the day is sunny. But then that would mean that we have a raccoon traipsing around in the donkeys' dust bath during the day.

Speaking of donkeys, Molly and Ambrose most obligingly followed me to my knitting spot. They grazed nearby while I knit, an arrangement that seemed to content us all. Every once in a while, one of the donks would come over and visit with me while I scratched behind an ear or offered a treat of carrot or while Ambrose tried to mouth the yarn I was working with.

At one point, when I got up to stretch my legs, Ambrose ambled over to check out my unguarded knitting bag. At least that's what I thought he was up to, until he made it clear that his real interest was in sniffing the rock where I had been sitting. Have I ever mentioned how much the donkeys are like big dogs?!

After knitting for a good while, I took a walk with the donkeys before ending my relaxing afternoon sojourn. I passed under the tall spruce on my way to the house, and there - newly dropped - was the tree's latest gift:

Why they need their tetanus shots

A couple of weeks ago, while I was at the office, Keith sent me this email:

Ambrose, up to something or just unlucky -

I went out there this morning to keep the critters plump (and quiet), and to my amazement, Ambrose had a jagged piece of rusted metal around one of his front hoofs and ankle, like a bracelet - and of course he wouldn't let me hold his lower leg up to get it off .... And once he realized my (to him) unseemly interest in his leg, he wouldn't let me come close to it again, nor would he let me corner him, so I could lean him up against a wall and try a leg-lift in that position .... finally I decided to distract him with hay, and carefully holding the red-handled tin-snips at my side, I stroked his neck and upper-leg and slowly worked my hand down to the hoof, which was encircled by this unidentified "bracelet" ... then, every so often I'd reach over and cut down vertically through the piece, which was fairly thin from rust and age, until I had cut it all the way through, but he wouldn't let me bend it open to remove it and kept walking well away from the hay pile to watch me .... eventually I got it off; we'll have to tag-team him this weekend to get an exacting look at the ankle/hoof, but it looks uninjured. I left it in the kitchen on the island counter-top. I would have really not wanted to go to work without getting that thing off him but all's well that ends well - I do wonder, though: what will these donkeys get into next?
(knock wood).

This is the "anklet" in question. It's about 3 inches high - and we haven't a clue as to its origins or how in the world he managed to get his hoof stuck in it. We don't think he was wearing it for long because we brush and/or "fuss" over the donkeys every day - sometimes many times a day! It's a good match for the variegated browns of our boy's lower limbs, so it's possible that he was wearing it the night before Keith found it - but I just didn't notice it in the low light.

We checked Ambrose's leg when I came home from work that night. There was a slight cut on the front, just above the hoof. It didn't need much tending, but we're still relieved that a tetanus shot is part of the donkeys' annual vaccination program.

Here is Ambrose, without a care in the world:

 

As for Keith's wondering about what the donkeys would get into next, we didn't have long to wait. Just a few nights later, when I went out to give them their evening hay, I was surprised to discover that they were not already waiting at the barn door. Donkeys are very punctual when it comes to their tummies. I whistled for them, and - oh dear - the braying response came from the back of our property that we affectionately refer to as the "back forty" even though it is really just a couple of acres at most. We don't let the donks into the back forty because several sections of fence are in need of repair. Keith fixed most of the problem areas, but one section is wide open - there is absolutely nothing there to keep the donkeys from simply stepping out onto our neighbor's land. The same neighbor, incidentally, where Molly and Amrose had their post-Halloween adventure. There is also a cluster of groundhog holes back there, but we won't even think about that right now!

There was almost no moon. Taking a lesson from that earlier adventure, when I went inside for the flashlight in preparation for checking the gate to the back forty, I took a moment to stuff my pockets with bits of carrots.

When I got to the gate, sure enough, it was wide open. Keith and I are of two minds about the gate being open. He, being the easy-going type, says the wind blew it open. I, on the other hand, consider the iron bar and chain that hold the gate closed. Then I consider that, if left open and on its own, gravity would cause the gate to swing out towards the downhill side of the fence. But when I found the gate that night, it was open inward, held in place by the earth of the uphill side of the fence. It was a windy evening, but I still can't figure how the wind could remove the iron bar and chain. Or prop the gate open. To me, it doesn't make sense, unless someone helped things along.... There it was: open.

I walked through, flashlight in hand, carrots in pocket, and headed towards the section of fence with the gap. All the time, I was calling and whistling for the donkeys. Remembering the other "escape," I decided to stay in one area and let the donkeys find me. It worked! In less than five minutes, the sound of galloping hooves announced their approach. What a thrilling sound! They didn't stop until they were practically on top of me - then they just about skidded to a halt. Oh, they were excited to see me, eager for carrots, and downright high on adventure. Fortunately, it didn't take much effort - or even many carrots - to convince them to follow me back to the barn.

Oh, I could go on and on, but not tonight. Tonight, allow me to direct your attention to this delightful article by Jon Katz on Slate.com: Nice Ass! - Why I Own Donkeys. Jon Katz is the author of The Dogs of Bedlam Farm: An Adventure with Sixteen Sheep, Three Dogs, Two Donkeys, and Me, which is currently on my sidebar list of recommended farmette reading. Props to my new bud Sidney K. and his five mini donks (five!) for sending me the link. Thanks, Sidney!

Harbingers

Our crocuses have arrived! I almost missed them because my focus has been on other things, but yesterday was unseasonably warm and sunny - perfect for checking in on going's on in the garden. The daffodils have been shooting up for a few weeks now, and today they obliged us with their first blooms.

These are at the side of the barn, in view of Molly and Ambrose. I wonder if they appreciate the sight as much as we do? Not likely, but that's okay.

While the flowers are a welcome harbinger of Spring, we've also had some unwelcome activity from the local groundhogs and at least one... skunk. The skunk problem started a few weeks ago. At first we thought that maybe a skunk had been hit by a car on the road in front of our house. But the smell kept going away, then returning on different nights. Then we thought that perhaps a skunk had tried to help itself to our cat's food, and there had been a tussle followed by a spraying outside our kitchen door. But the smell outside went away fairly quickly, while inside the house, and especially in the cellar, the smell remained fairly strong. Then, one night around 3 am, we got hit with a renewed blast of skunk that was so strong, it woke me - gagging - from a sound sleep.

What to do?

Keith did a little research and discovered that skunks move from one den to another fairly often. They like to use burrows created by groundhogs, and we definitely have more than one entrance, and maybe even more than one burrow under the 90 feet of porch that wraps around two sides of the house. The Humane Society suggests persuading the tenants of these burrows to vacate by tossing ammonia-soaked rags into the holes, then semi-blockading the entrances so that we can tell if there is any new traffic. If the hole remains unused for a few days, it is safe to close it up without worrying about trapping anything inside.

Keith went looking for burrow entrances this morning, so we could plan our campaign. At the far end of the porch, near the outside entrance to the cellar, is a retaining wall. Last year, a new burrow entrance was dug into the top of the hill on the other side of the retaining wall. This morning, when Keith peeked inside the hole - a groundhog peered back up at him!

"It was cute." Keith said to me later, as he described the incident.

Cute?! The groundhogs are our sworn enemies. Their extensive digging can ruin buildings, create a misstep that can break a donkey's (or a person's) leg, and do untold damage to a garden. We're supposed to be vanquishing the vermin!

Later this afternoon, I went out to snap a quick photo of the groundhog hole for this post. If I stand on tip-toe and lean over the edge of the retaining wall, I can just see inside the hole. I stood. I leaned over. A groundhog - the groundhog - peered back at me, about 18 inches from my face.

Gahhh! What in the world was it still doing there? Shouldn't it have hightailed it the heck out of there this morning? I quickly held the camera above my head, pointed it at the hole and snapped, hoping for a decent shot.

It's not easy to see, but there it is.

Our first thought was to put a Hav-a-Heart trap near the opening, baited with something yummy, but we don't want to risk trapping a skunk instead of the groundhog. After all, how would you go about releasing a skunk? I keep imagining something to do with Marlin Perkins and tranquilizer guns.

And now I can't shake the thought that, if the groundhog had held its...er, ground since this morning, maybe it couldn't readily retreat or move to another burrow. Maybe it was protecting something. Maybe that something was a new batch of baby groundhogs.

Cute.

Among the living

Oh, dear, dear, dear. It has been that long, has it?

Well. I think I can explain. Sorta. Kinda.

You see, back in January, that very week that I killed an afternoon in traffic court, I had my annual physical. And while I was killing time in traffic court, my doctor's office was trying unsuccessfully to reach me to tell me one of the lab results showed I had an infection - and where would I like the prescription called in? Because I ended up playing phone tag with the doc's office, and then, when I tried to pick up my meds, my pharmacy sent everyone away because of a bomb threat, I got about a one week late start on antibiotics. And even though I got the stuff that has been known to vanquish anthrax, it was only a three day supply - and I just knew, just knew, it wasn't going to do the trick. But when I called my doc's office, they wanted me to go to a lab and get a culture done - that way they could be sure of using an effective antibiotic. I went to the lab. And waited, waited, waited for the results - my calls made no difference.

A week passed, and I got a call saying the results were... all clear. Well, that just couldn't be true. Because now I was feeling truly miserable. It took about all I could do to just take care of the basics at the office and at home. I went in for another culture. This time they agreed that some heavy-hitting antibiotics were in order. I went to the pharmacy and picked up a week's worth of something I'd never heard of before. It took about two weeks before I felt as though I were surfacing again.

And just about the time when I was resurfacing, I got sick again! This time it was something different, a nasty-ass cold. Okay, maybe it was bronchitis. All I remember thinking is how unfair it was to get some new bug so close on the heels of two different courses of antibiotics. It hurt to look at a computer screen. So I didn't. I wanted to sleep 23 hours a day. So I did.

Thank goodness for a husband who kept me supplied with juice and tissues and tender loving care.

Thank goodness for a pair of little donkeys who, when I was ready to go for my first "crip-walk" after a couple of days spent mostly shut-in, followed me around the field visiting with me and generally making me feel welcome.

And thank you for your concern, too. I missed you, too.