Cecil McLovin

I figured I'd better dedicate a post to my one and only pet since he's uncontrollably cute! Admittedly I've recently come in second for his attention, but I'm pretty delighted he's so damn happy and busy with interesting activities that he doesn't have time for me! He did come in last night (after a five days of independence!) for some snuggling and raw meat - probably not in that order though :)

Cecil cat's not sure about his first rocky mtn oyster (complements of Burdock the calf). Well, I did forget to batter and deep fry it!

(rant warning)

While I realize I'm not seeing a representative slice of the pop'n up here near Aspen, the state of America's children is none-the-less giving me some serious qualms about our future as a species. I can't tell you how many children are terrified of mud and manure. Since when do kids care about getting their shoes dirty?? On Saturday I was helping a 4 year old girl wash her hands and told her we were trying to save the trees by not using paper towels, and she started cry-screaming because her hands were intolerably wet. WTF? Luckily she wasn't tall enough to reach the paper towels herself, though she did take some leaps at it (not headed for the NBA, this one). She eventually recovered when her tiny little brain was distracted by the shrieking of her horrid compatriots as they detected incoming cake. Turns out I really can't stand entitled Aspen children, especially if they come for their farm-themed birthday party in sparkley sandels and frilly frocks.


On top of this rampant germaphobia, most of our young visitors also seem to suffer from a complete inability to work. I kid you not, it took three 12 year olds ten minutes to move one bale of straw (not hay, this is less than 50lbs) into the goat pen, and the whining was epic. When (I would say "if," but I'm pretty commited to the peak oil theory) the economy changes and cushy jobs are few and far between, our society may very well be fracked. Where are the kids who want to fall in creeks, would give their right leg for the chance to pet a cute animal, and can happily muck some shit-filled stalls?

Growing Season!

Everybody out at Rock Bottom seems to be growing at a breakneck pace! These chickens were insubstantial fluff balls just eight weeks ago, and now they're almost six pounds! We have three batches of chickens going at the moment, and luckily we've had a little practice by this point because there's great potential for chaos. We accidentally spaced the batches a little too tightly on this last group, and the new chicks were ordered to come in the same day the three week old group was headed out to pasture. Unfortunately that Friday was the one rainy and cold day in weeks, and we ended up losing 40 of our freedom ranger chicks to cold. Well, we technically lost them to smothering from the overzealous "huddle for warmth" efforts of of their siblings. Alas! We seem to have a 40/batch trend going here. My favorite old man rancher friend suggested I make a head stone for the chicks reading: "40 Freedom Chicks. Ranching Lesson #106." He's great at putting things in perspective for us, being exceptionally encouraging, and treating us like compentent buisness partners despite some evidence to the contrary :) Too bad none of his good looking sons are single!

In addition to the chickens, the piglets are growing like mad, and I'm hoping all my fence repair will mean larger, greener pastures for them as soon as they're weaned. Burdock the calf is also growing (no longer heft-over-the-fence-able), and is as handsome as can be! We vaccinated him in my home-made livestock chute, and he was the only victim who didn't even flinch. His two older siblings put up such a dramatic fight one nearly gave Caitlin a concussion while she was closing the butt gate! Such spoiled critters.

The laying hen chicks are almost chickens now, though still significantly smaller than their meaty counterparts. As the peacock was recently widowed (some predator was delighted the peahen decided not to roost safely in the hen house that night), he's started making moves on the laying hen chicks. Unfortuntely they don't even bat an eye at his impressive strutting - which I have yet to capture on camera. To most everyone's surprise, "Eve" the peacock has become a well-loved member of the menagerie and visits every corner of the ranch to deliver his eerie calls and class up the place with his good looks. My (mostly-suppressed) animal hoarding tendancies may have been partially responsible for his (unwelcome) arrival at the ranch as I OKed the avian donation. Luckily, instead of becoming yet another unproductive burden for the staff, Eve requires no care and bequeaths us with a great deal of entertainment. Yay!

One of the rabbits gave birth, but I couldn't see them way back in their nest box so I'll just have to take Peter's word for it. So excited for them to become furry, ambulatory, and adorable! We'll have to fix up one of the chicken "tractors" for them soon, and I need to get the third one all ready for my turkeys who are slowly but steadily getting pretty big! A little boy told me the other day that one of the six week old turkeys was the momma bird for it's much smaller siblings, which made me think of how far they have to go before they're actually mom-turkey size. They currently couldn't look much less like their adult counter part, King Louie.

Caitlin and I are finally making some changes to the goat herd which before last week had one productive member out of eight. Charlotte (Delilah's bitchy daughter) is headed for the rainbow bridge (and stewpot) this week, and the two pigmies will hopefully find a new home on craigslist. Deb has some dedicated fans (my sister included), so we're giving her yet another chance at breeding which goes against most everything I learned in grad school about herd management. Grandma Corona is also well loved, so she will be kept as a pet, fed and doctored through her geriatric years. Charlotte, Gray, and Rosie have been replaced with mother-daughter milking team Pomegranate and Persimmon who are far more cuddly (and polite) than anyone else in the herd. They also enjoy my singing (Firework was a big hit on the milking stand this week).

Adorable Poults!

Here are my new turkeys, my first personal animal project here at the ranch! Not only is there a fantastic market for turkeys, but they are supposed to be exceptionally personable and much smarter than chickens (not saying much!). Since I get to keep some of the females to start a small breeding flock, I get to name them and get attached - Yay! In this pic you can see the six bourbon red poults, and the one (darker) bourbon red/royal palm cross. They are so cute, but very skittish for now. My mom claims that they are rather ugly, but she clearly doesn't have good taste in baby poultry! One of the smallest of the burbon reds was mysteriously dead several mornings ago, but all the rest are doing great! In fact, one of the youngest ones is so full of energy and mischief that I've had to chase her around the farm twice. She snuck out a crack in the wall into the goat stall and made her escape, ending up in the hay barn the first adventure and over by the hen house the second. Not sure where she was headed or what she was searching for (maybe mom?), but she appeared to be strolling around and peeping rather aimlessly. She led me on quite a chase, showing off her swimming skills and getting me muddy half way up the thighs.

Here are the two new-borns (new-hatches?). In this pic they're two days old. I've named them Clarice and Fava, though I can't tell them apart yet! I like how the one up front is looking over her shoulder all pin-up style :) They're much more gawky than the chicks and less heart-meltingly cute, but have a great deal of character. They were so exhausted when I pulled them out of their box after their ride from Grand Junction but not sure about their surroundings and actually fell asleep standing up! Neither seemed overly steady to begin with, but pretty soon their heads started drooping until their beaks were resting on the straw. Their little butts were up in the air, swaying and twitching while they fought with their heavy eyelids. Ridiculous looking! Finally, one after the other they lost the battle and their knees gave way, plunking them onto their bellies for a good sleep.

It was a great weekend showing my new home off to my parents and getting a lot of wonderful food out of the bargain! I thought I had eaten enough in those two brunches and two dinners to last me the week, but I was so hungry today I had two lunches! I'm cooking up spagetti squash from last year's garden and an old laying hen who was no longer laying eggs and pecking holes in everyone else's - what a nasty old bird! Eight hours in the crock pot made her pretty fantastic though! Much more flavorful than the cornish crosses. I've got two more old hens in the "prison" cage in the hen house for suspected egg eating. They haven't laid any eggs in the three days they've been in there, so that's also cause for culling them I suppose. I'll have to get out my broom and scalding pot tomorrow!

I just looked over because I heard Cecil smacking his lips, apparently in the middle of a very vivid dream. He's all curled up in a ball with his eyes rolling around and his face twitching like crazy! Must be tired from wrestling that big vole he brought me this morning! You'd think I'd be saturated with animal care out here, but I still desperately miss sharing life with a dog, especially this dog. Her death seemed so irrationally early and pointless, but if she was still here I wouldn't be at Rock Bottom and would perhaps be headed in a very different direction. If there's a plan behind all this stuff, I hope there's also a chance she'll be back to share in another chapter of my life.

Oh, I almost forgot! I also had an adventure this evening with this little munchkin! He somehow got suck on the wrong side of the fence, and since it's 4' high post and board he was having a heck of a time getting back in to mom. I popped over thinking maybe I could help him out, but he was super wary of me and wasn't letting me get too close. I slowly crept up to him over the course of twenty minutes or so, and he finally let me touch him and, without even flinching, let me get my arms under him. My initial heave to get him over the fence was highly unsuccessful. Got him eye level with the top rail, but didn't have the umph to get him actually over it. He weighed a heck of a lot more than I expected! Must be over a hundred, which is great, unless of course you're me and aren't quite of a rancher physique yet. I tried to squeeze him through the middle, but his chest wouldn't fit. Oddly, he just went kind of limp and let me try to manuver him through. Not sure why he went from fleeing from me to letting me heft him around. So back over the top, but I got a knee up this time so was able to prop him while I inched up the fence myself. Once his front feet and nose were over he got the idea and started helping a bit so it was easy from there. He aced the landing too! I think we're friends now :) But who knows! Any name suggestions? "The calf" just doesn't suit him

So far this week has been delightfully productive and full of exciting experiential learning :)

The hoop house is actually getting vertical, which is admittedly a total surprise. We have bypassed things like leveling and uh, well, measuring for the most part. It's just a fifteen foot high 24'x48' structure, so I'm pretty sure planning and measuring would be overkill, right Dad? We don't have a transit or a skid steer or (until today) a tape measure longer than 25', but we do have a very wealthy board member with zero building experience on site daily and demanding progress. In fact, when he gets frustrated with all our measuring and planning, he just starts digging holes (abiet slowly and crookedly from behind that financier spare tire). So we have the ground posts in, and although they're not plumb or lined up, today they stuck two of the ridgelines up. They weren't bolted on straight, so one of them shoved out the ground post to a frightening angle. Frightening mostly because the ground posts are so easily pushed around! They were supposed to be set in concrete, but instead it was decided that we would dig a 2' hole (the top foot of which is freshly added compost and sand) with a post hole digger, plop the ground posts in, and pack a little dirt/compost in around the edges. Oh my god. As much as I like to bitch about Agriburbia, I was completely convinced our hoop houses weren't going to flop over, or look like hell for that matter. So, I guess the hoop house part wasn't delightfully productive, but on the other hand, it is nice to have the damn thing out of the box finally.

This week I've also learned how to set curtains for flood irrigation, mostly through trial and error. It was extremely wet, somewhat frustrating, but all in all pretty darn fun! It's pretty great to mess around in a ditch with a shovel and some tarps and then watch the pasture getting watered or drained just like that. Part of the west pasture has been under 4-8" of water since I moved here (> a month!), so I blockaded a box dam, unblocked a culvert, added a tarp curtain, and thirty minutes later that poor oxygen-starved (and increasingly stinky) patch of pasture was emerging from the depths! I drained another section simply with a few chunks of mud - yipee! Turns out rudimentary ditch/flood irrigation is not rocket science, so a shovel, some tarps, and a basic grasp of the theory of gravity got me pretty far out there! It's still far from perfect of course, and I need to get the tractor out there to redo some ditches. Grading would be great too, but I don't want to go down the plowing/sowing road when we've got a pretty healthy population of perennial grasses. 50 cows come tomorrow for a 1-2 week vaca in our lovely back 50. They should do wonders on that neglected land, and will give us a rough idea of the property's hay potential as well.

Other exciting news - today I cooked one of our chickens for dinner, which was a satisfying first! They're 16 days from slaughter still, but this one broke a leg (and dislocated a hip?) and needed an early retirement. We haven't yet set up any proper facilities, but there's a cone or two in the shed and the 350's tailgate made a great processing table - with a clean cutting board of course. Finding a sharp knife proved tricky (mine's been cutting electric fencing and twine for too many weeks), so I ended up using a box cutter blade for the important part. Plucking really was easier with this mutant half-naked breed, and I nailed the evisceration for once (Shannon, you'd be so proud!). Anyway, the chicken turned out pretty good, but not as tender as I was hoping. Cecil certainly didn't complain about his giblets though!

I'm really happy to report that after their first night of traumatic freedom, the cornish cross chicks are now enjoying a delightful quality of life in the pasture. The 200 remaining almost-chickens are exploring the grass, pecking around, and definitely having a lovely time. The above chick is clearly reveling in the distant beauty of Basalt Mountain (that's an awestruck expression if ever I've seen one!)

Here's some of the flock relaxing by the snack bar in their shady cabana. We're having a heck of a time keeping that snack bar fully stocked though; these guys are going through forty pounds of feed a day! Still, they're definitely much cuter when not accompanied by the stench of their chick stalls, and they have grown into their gangly feet and filled out with feathers a bit so they're nearly pretty.

To save time and labor filling their waterers twice a day (gorging on chick feed makes 'um thirsty), I created a water gap when I moved the electric fencing by repositioning the pen over a wet ditch. These chicks are nothing if not brainless (I'm certain they've long since shit out any intelligence), and were threatening to dehydrate and die as not a one followed my trail of waterers to the fourth one floating in the ditch. I attempted some training with the carrot and stick method by slowly walking a waterer to the ditch and leading a small group of thirsty chicks (foolishly thinking they had capacity for connecting the journey to the drink and later leading their comrades - hah!). When this was clearly failing, I got a tad frustrated and began grabbing any chicks trying to drink out of a waterer and tossing them into the ditch. Still, not a trace of learning, and a not a sole returning to the ditch after their initial drink. Arrrrgh! Their stupidity would be the death of them. Then - Aha! - I realized that if I simply removed all waterers (they were just standing by the empty ones waiting for Poseidon to refill them rather than hunting for a better source), and lifted one on a stump to make it easily visible in the middle of the ditch, they would head in the right direction, find they were standing in the water, and come to the correct conclusion that water now comes from the ground and not a galvanized cylinder...

TaDa!