Thanksgiving, 2009.

We decided not to do Thanksgiving this year, even though it is perhaps the American tradition most worthy of export. As America sat down to enjoy a turkey feast, we enjoyed a feast of our own that was perhaps the quintessential embodiment of the lifestyle we have chosen.

To catch you up from our last post, we are back on track towards self-sufficiency. Our setbacks in October have been wiped clean. As much as October sucked, November has been just fine.

To illustrate the palpable difference between October and November, here's a little story. After the incident with Bessie the cow, we brought our truck in for its annual Warrant of Fitness. It failed. The next day, I tried to arrange for the necessary repairs to be done, but I was informed that Ford was on strike, and the warehouse wasn't shipping parts.

A friend of ours works at the garage. We started to talk about Bessie the cow, and about how I was having such a hard time finding a replacement.

"Hey, there's a guy who lives near me with dozens of Jersey calves. I don't know his name, but you should knock on his door."

November first found me pulling up in front of a tidy but secluded ranch house, in the middle of a big field of Jersey calves. I knocked. The man who answered looked unaccustomed to visitors.

"Let me guess. You're lost."

I told him about Bessie, and how I was so depressed because I couldn't find another Jersey to replace her. I told him about the truck, and the strike at Ford, and about how Quentin the mechanic told me to knock on his door, which was how I came to be there in the first place.

The man heaved a big sigh, and squinted a little as he looked me over. "So you want a Jersey. Well, I have six-hundred-forty of them. I guess I could give you a Jersey."

The next week, Gail and Levi accompanied me to select which cow to take. We had to ride an ATV for several miles across beautiful, rocky countryside. Gail rode behind me and Levi sat on the handlebars. It was a glorious day. Our insurance company would have, well, had a cow.

So that's how we bought Vanessa. She is two years old, and had her first calf a few months ago, so she is still in milk. She adopted Bambino, the orphan from Bessie. Everything has been coming up roses since then.

Zim milks her morning and evening. We get about a gallon per day from her. Gail mentioned this to her doctor, who grew up on a small farm with a Jersey house-cow. He became quite excited at the prospect of having fresh, raw milk again. So now, every Saturday, he and his wife come over for a cup of tea, and we fill their jug with fresh milk, and they bring us flowers and fish from his boat. It's a great arrangement.

So, back to our non-traditional Thanksgiving feast: Fresh bread, from our own oven; fresh salad, from our own garden; fresh vinaigrette, with vinegar made from our own elderberry tree; lasagne noodles that Gail made from scratch, and cheeses (mozzerella and ricotta) that Zim made from Vanessa's milk; home-made butter; and eggs and artichokes from a friend's henhouse and garden.

To carry the self-sufficiency theme even farther, Zim bottled ten gallons of fresh homebrew today (Moo Brew), and our first block of cheddar is in the cheese press.

This is a beautiful way to live. We are truly blessed, and we thank God for all of the people who have helped us along the way.

Happy Thanksgiving.





P.S. -- The strike at Ford ended, the truck got fixed, and Brian, the guy with six-hundred cows, is now a very good friend.

Progress, Birth, and Death

Well, things have been happening rather quickly.

Our friend Dean helped us divide our paddocks into smaller, more manageable sections. Now there are two sections for tree lots, and we have fences around our veggie patch and orchard. This is a picture of Dean and his tractor, setting posts in the ground.

Our property now looks like this:


The last part of winter and the beginning of spring is a fine time to plant trees. So far, we have planted:

• 12 apple trees
• 10 cherry trees
• 3 plums
• 1 nectarine
• 1 peach
• 3 pear trees
• 45 cherry plums
• 19 grape vines
• 2 kiwi fruit vines
• 1 lemon tree
• 1 lime tree
• 2 pomagranates
  
• 2 fig trees
• 2 olive trees
• 3 hops vines
• 10 oaks
• 10 pinion pines
• 40 tree lucerne
• 100 radiata pines
• 50 willows

We had some help planting all of these trees. A friend came over one morning, and we planted the back tree lot with about fifty trees. This is rugged terrain, and Gail and I both suffered some back strain, so we decided to call in a professional for the next push. He planted the next 200 trees all by himself, in a single afternoon!


We bought a guest house, and had it delivered on a truck. It's nothing special, but with a little love, she'll be a nice cozy sleepout. (Well, what do you expect for $300?)


Our chicken coop was delivered. She's a beauty. Guests can stay in there, too.

Here is a picture of our grape and kiwi trellises in the orchard. Soon they will be covered in vines!


We have had seven baby turkey chicks, and Matilda is sitting on more eggs for a second clutch.

This is Harold, our proud daddy turkey tom.
Our geese haven't had any chicks yet, but they're awfully pretty. George is a bit ornery, but Gaberdine is a sweetie.

All our ewes have lambed. Out of four sheep, we got seven lambs, so that's pretty good.



Two of our cows have calved, and we're waiting for the other two.

Some of you have asked what our days are like. Today was a busy one:

• 7:30 Check the cows for new calves. (None, thankfully!)
• 8:30 Castrate our second calf.
• 8:45 Move the cows, so the ones with babies are out of the way.
• 9:00 Bill arrives unexpectedly, looking for part-time work to do. Bill and I finish the grape trellises, and Bill installs wind-screen around the garden.
• 11:00 Fix tractor.
• 11:30 Cultivate and harrow the garden, then plant half of it in barley. We won't eat that much barley, but it's better to plant something (even if it's for the cows) than keep bare dirt.
• 1:30 Laundry. Hey, some things are normal, no matter what kind of life you choose.
• 1:45 Go to town to buy a milking pail. Get accupuncture to help recover from tree-planting.
• 3:00 Pick up Levi from school.
• 3:15 Harrow the front paddock.
• 4:30 Feed the animals and check on babies while Gail makes dinner.
• 6:00 Write some business emails.
  
• 6:20 Dinner.
• 6:45 Chop firewood.
• 7:15 Decide that the herbs should be planted. Clear herb garden, and turn with compost.

By the time the herbs were planted, it was just about dusk. Time to tuck Levi in, make a pot of mint tea, and update the blog.



Sorry I haven't published this page yet.... more has happened!


Bessie had her calf on Wednesday morning, a beautiful bull calf with wide eyes; he looks just like Bambi. I have been frantically busy all week, so I left Bessie and Bambino to bond for the day. I checked them every so often, to see how they were doing. I was looking forward to milking her.


I have been training Bessie to be a milking cow for almost a year. When we got her, she was completely wild, and it took weeks just to be able to stand within twenty feet of her. Slowly, through careful interaction and trust-building exercises, she became tame enough to come when called, to follow me to the milking byer, to let me put a halter on her, to let me touch her, and (finally) to let me play with her teats. That sentence went by rather fast; in reality, it took several hours every day, for about seven months.

All during this daily routine, I would sing to her. "Swing low, sweet chariot..." At first, she didn't know what to think, but after a few days, she seemed to like it. I think she associated the singing with kindness, affection, soft praise ("What a good girl, good Bessie!") and a good scratch behind the ears.

For months now, Gail and I have been talking about what we will do with all that fresh milk and cream. How do you make butter, anyway? Yogurt? Hmmm, we'll have to make quiche every week. And ice cream. And, oh God, yes, cheese!

Now, finally, the waiting was over, and the day of the first milking had arrived! An experienced farmer friend called and advised me that I should milk her this first day, and milk her as if her life depended on it. If the milk stays in the udder too long, he said, it goes rancid and spoils inside her. Mastitis follows quickly, and then death.

Another friend had told me of the importance of feeding her well, especially when she is making milk. She said that feeding her barley helps to bring more milk to her udder.

And so, just before dinner, I fetched half a bucket of barley, led Bessie into the milking byer, and started to milk her. It went so smoothly, just like we had practiced. After the barley was gone, she got a little restless, so I tied her to the trough while I worked the teats. She didn't like that, but I kept going. (Inner voice: "Must milk her, must avoid mastitis...") Still, she wouldn't stay calm unless I gave her more barley.

By the time we were done, she had eaten quite a lot of barley, and had given me about five litres of milk. Beautiful, thick, rich, yellow, creamy, colostrum milk. Wow! Time to celebrate!


Oddly, I didn't sleep at all that night. The next morning, when I went to check on her, she staggered into the byer like a drunken sailor. I called the vet immediately.

It turns out that a lot of barley isn't good for a ruminant animal like a cow. It changes the pH in the stomach, which kills the bacteria that process the food in the rumen. The undigested food starts to ferment, causing the stomach to bloat up like a balloon. Meanwhile, the altered pH causes electrolytes to go haywire. This condition is called acidosis; it's like a really bad hangover, but worse, and can lead to dehydration and (you guessed it) death.

Bessie died last week, early Friday morning, with her head in my lap. I was bawling like a baby.

Later, when we were all very quiet around the dining room table, Levi asked us, "What does the word 'ironic' mean?" While we struggled to think of an example, the mail truck arrived, delivering a large box of cheese making supplies. "That's ironic," I said with tears in my eyes.

We buried Bessie in the orchard, on the hill amongst the apple trees. It has been a week now, and I cry for her every day. She was my animal companion, my dairy partner, my friend. She was intelligent, beautiful, trusting, and loyal; and I killed her. My grief is made so much worse by my guilt.

If you ever have a cow, please learn from my experience.

Bessie, ??? to 16 October, 2009. We love you.

Hey all,

As promised, here are some pictures of our new lifestyle. Enjoy, and please leave a comment!


This is the view of our property from the street.



Walking across the top paddocks, looking towards the cliffs.

Coco and CJ enjoy the view.

When you climb up to the top of the cliff and look around, this is what you see:


Jed Clampett lives here. No, wait, that's our house!


We have a minimal kitchen, with a woodburner for heating the house, and making hot water.



The view from the living room, out through the french doors.


Such a sunny living room, but a wee bit cold in the winter....


This is how Levi gets up to his room. It's an old ship's ladder!


Levi's room.


The view from Levi's window, toward the street.


The view from Levi's other window.


Our shed is a dumping ground for all our stuff. This is a project for another day.


In the rear of the shed, we built a work room for our business.



Blue skies are common around here.



Luka on the day she arrived at our farm.


Gail and Tinna enjoy a moment together.


Tinna romps in the tall grass.


Levi rides the Headless Horse.


We have four cows. The pretty red one is Bessie, our Jersey cow. She will be our milk cow once her calf is born in September. Zim is in love with her. Don't tell Gail.


What a nice place to live! This picture puts our house into its proper setting. Someone once phrased it this way: our "house" is 20 acres, but only part of it is inside.


Levi relaxes in the living room.


In June, our neighbor Eric helped us out by ploughing our veggie garden, which is a quarter of an acre.


The next day was the winter solstice. We had a huge bonfire and invited many of our friends.


We are still active in the Jewish community. One of the visiting rabbis came to pay a house call, and we tied one on.


Another view of the house, after we removed some of the rubbish. Humble on the outside, but nice on the inside.



Zim runs the tractor through the garden with the rotary hoe attachment.

Gail takes a turn.


Luka and Tinna relax in their paddock.

Zim has been taking life drawing classes.


There's a story in this next picture. We talked to Mom and Dad one Sunday morning, and they told us how their friends were envious of our lifestyle. Later that day, we had to excavate our grey water system, because the grease trap was plugged up. In the midst of the stench, we thought to take this picture to show how good our life really is.


Baby lambs are so cute! Today is the second anniversary of our arrival in New Zealand. As a special gift, Uni the one-horned ewe gave birth to triplets!We had to assist with two of the births, as they weren't in the right position to come out. Don't ask if you don't want to know.
Uni says thanks. Actually, she says bleahhhh.