You’ve been spotted – don’t think she’s going to let you get away
Here she comes… who’s she?? It’s beatrice…
xxxxxxpet me ladyxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxor I’ll butt your knees
Come on lady, I don’t have all day – What are you waiting for??
This weekend, I had to break down and mow some grass. I admit it; I have developed a Scrooge-ish double hatred of mowing grass. First because now that I have cows to feed, grass = food. Mowing grass feels like throwing food away and I have a real issue with that. Second because I hate wasting gas on something that could easily be performed by hand or by animal and that bugs me too. It was some green, juicy grass; the men would have happily done that job.
But alas, that field isn’t fenced and won’t be for a while, so while it pained me to do it, I had to break down and mow. But that’s not really the story.
The story is Beatrice. Beatrice is one wacky heifer. I thought Honey was the one who would end up knocking me on my can one day. But next to Beatrice, Honey is darn near shy.
Talk about gawky & awkward … here’s honey in all her teen-aged glory. All the calves go through a homely phase between one and two years, but my goodness. With a leggy, all elbows and knees look like this, surely she’ll be a supermodel one day…
Honey went through a quad-chasing phase which was both funny and alarming, but she seems to have outgrown it. But even at her sassiest, Honey has a healthy respect for tractors, weed-whackers and other scary machinery. And the other “normal” calves? They stay far, far away from all that stuff.
Beatrice’s first week, she left the herd and her mom and chased the tractor all the way up the hill and to the gate after I delivered hay one morning. I had to get down and chase her away by flapping my arms, jumping around and yelling just so I could drive the tractor through the gate. And don’t think she took that without some head shaking sass.
The next unusual Beatrice encounter was when I had to take the weed-whacker and trim the grass under the electric fence. Most of the calves (and cows) are rightly fearful of me with this scary-looking noisy gadget and keep their distance. Not Beatrice. She actually chased after me and wanted to get her face right into the action. Very odd.
Yesterday was the first time the calves have seen the brush hog at work. It’s noisy. And most calves think it’s scary. Not you-know-who.
Beatrice saw that rig coming and ran right up to get a better look. She chased me all the way along the fence line and looked really sad when I turned and drove away. I can tell right now, pasture mowing will be a bit of a challenge with Beatrice around.
Are you talkin’ to me??
Remember Beatrice’s kidnapping incident? I may owe Zay an apology accusing her of kidnapping and all. As unlikely as it was, Beatrice is just the sort of girl to sneak out and party all night leaving her mom crazy with worry….. sorry Zaymonster!
I’m kind of excited about a few new things going on around here. I’ll admit I have never been all that fond of gardening chores. I think it’s the relentlessness. I enjoy gardening some days, and I find a job well done very satisfying. And then I’ve had enough for a while.
Today, the garden I slavishly weeded yesterday has weeds. Already. Overnight. Can you think of a better word than relentless? Thankless? Never-ending? Merciless?
Yet, each year something about the garden draws me in a little deeper. I have threatened to do this for a while, but resisted. Last year, I even went so far as to buy most of the supplies but didn’t get to the project in time.
But this year is the year. I’m leaving the kiddie pool and am headed definitively towards the deep end. Maybe too deep – we’ll see how long it takes before weeds are overtaking even my dreams…
What am I talking about? Starting my own seeds, silly! This year I’ll have veggies you can’t buy at the store… the secret to amazing pickles? it’s all about amazing cucumbers…
As ambivalent as I am about gardening, you know what I am wholeheartedly fond of? Good food.
Food from the kitchen garden hooked me. Get used to it and there’s no going back. Recipes now begin not at the grocery, but in the seed catalog. Like the old timers, I’m starting to plan things I want to cook a year or two in advance – because to have the right ingredients, I have to grow it myself.
I’m sure I’ve gone way overboard, but I’ll give it my best. I’m planning things that add pleasure to my winters, are fun to give as gifts, go well with my other favorite things like cheese and charcuterie and in general will add summer sunshine to dark snow-filled days.
And don’t think I’m planting just for myself. I’ve got a few treats in store for the Ladies too. Fodder beets and pumpkins anyone? I can’t wait to dish those out once fresh grass is a distant memory.
This quirky-sweet book, Eat More Dirt by Ellen Sandbeck, has been on my shelves for some time, and it’s always good grazing. I savor a morsel here and a bit there, then put it back and forget about it. I bought the book a while ago, sometime just after 9/11. Who knew then that I would be living on a farm with a bunch of funny bovine Ladies? Surely not me…
Today, this quote from the introduction really grabbed me, I suppose because it so well explains what’s been happening to me since we bought this farm:
“ We love that which we know intimately. No lover ever knew his beloved better than a gardener knows his garden. Learning to love a single small plot of earth is a good start toward learning to be protective of our beautiful little planet.”
But do I own this farm? Or does it own me? I’ll have to get back to you on that…
This is no kitchen garden – it’s a field! Freshly plowed, ready for disking & soon to be planted with corn, fodder beets and pumpkins plus a few surprises to come…
This post is part of Simple Lives Thursday. What’s that you ask? It’s an ambitious and enlightening collection of posts from bloggers all over about issues near and dear to my heart: real food and natural living. Check it out!
THINKING THURSDAY: SOMETHING TO PONDER IN THE WORLD OF FOOD AND FARMING.
Have you heard? The New York Times is calling all carnivores to tell them why we believe it is ethical to eat meat.
Since this is a topic front and center in my mind nearly every day and I planned to discuss it with you anyway, how about right now?
The stingy 600 word limit was a real hardship for a chatty girl like myself; hopefully Word’s word count tool is accurate! I sent my blood, sweat and tears off into the electronic sunset, and from there, who knows?
Weigh in with your opinions in the comments below, but do play nice. I’m anxious to hear your thoughts on the matter.
So, here it is; my big New York Times minute:
This question of whether it is ethical to eat meat cannot be deeply understood by anyone with clean hands.
My point? A formal decree from above is not coming. Fancy panel of judges or no, there isn’t a single right answer to this dilemma. Like death itself, we each have to wrestle this contradiction alone. The real ethical question?
Will we humble ourselves by taking a ruthlessly honest look at the toll our lives extract from others? My guess is we’d rather shield ourselves from introspection with dueling data, finger-pointing and clever bumper-sticker retorts.
Nature has an uncomplicated relationship with death. Nobody, two-legged or four is spared. We try hard to find a loophole, and Nature humors us. But she never lets us hide from her truth for long.
To Nature, death is just part of life. Creatures are born, creatures die. The dead feed the living and the living eventually become the dead. Nature builds in harsh but perfect circles, not the logjams and cul-de-sacs we construct to avoid uncomfortable truths.
Remember the scene in the movie Cold Mountain where the old lady kills the goat? The loving kindness the Goat-lady gave that trusting goat as she pierced its heart is a stunning moment. Is it cruel betrayal or the heartfelt kindness of a true shepherd? That goat didn’t suffer one bit, but sweetly laid down its head in eternal sleep, feeling safe in the trusted shelter of the Goat-lady’s lap.
Somehow, the intentionality of the Goat-Lady’s act really jams our brains. The abrupt killing contradicts the peaceful mercy of that death. The dichotomy rocks our certainty. We’d rather cover our eyes.
I raise cattle with love and tenderness, and I admit I cry every time I deliver one to slaughter. I don’t like slick words like “harvested” or “processed”. I prefer the unvarnished facts. A cow was killed because I decided it would be so. I won’t shirk my sadness or culpability with a perky elevator speech selling the rightness of my decision.
My beautiful, one-and-a-half-inch thick piece of well-raised beef is carefully cooked: rare with a perfectly browned crust. I eat my steak mindfully with gratitude and pleasure. That steak is meaningful to me. I appreciate its full, bittersweet cost and I don’t waste a single scrap. It’s delicious.
Recently, I plowed a field so I could plant some Monsanto-free organic vegetables. A commendable act most Vegans would agree. In doing so, I disturbed nests of bunnies and a home some peace-loving groundhogs have enjoyed for some time. It was traumatic for those little creatures, and the hawks that trawl my pastures were elated. Thanks to my vegetables, there was a new all you can eat buffet in town. I didn’t kill anything myself, but I knew creatures would be living there. They live everywhere. Ethical?
We need to step away from our computers, books and chattering brains and deepen our understanding of Nature’s ways. Only by maintaining a distant, academic understanding of Nature can you believe in the moral superiority of tofu.
When someone comes up with a real, actionable plan to free the animals, not rely on industrial foods and feed the soil in a sustainable way, my mind is open. Today, the most ethical thing I can do is provide a joyful, carefree life for my meat.
In this way, and only this way, I say yes. It is ethical to eat meat. Life is grand, messy, confusing business. I accept my assignment of hands-on, eyes-open, deliberate participation.
That’s as ethical as it gets.
Monday Moo-sings: In which we share random farm happenings, snapshots & recipes
xOnly one way to take Beatrice’s picture: catch her when she’s sleeping…
“There is only one thing about which I shall have no regrets when my life ends. I have savored to the full all the small, daily joys. The bright sunshine on the breakfast table; the smell of the air at dusk; the sound of the clock ticking; the light rains that start gently after midnight; the hour when the family come home; Sunday-evening tea before the fire! I have never missed one moment of beauty, not ever taken it for granted. Spring, summer, autumn, or winter. I wish I had failed as little in other ways.”
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx-Agnes Sligh Turnbull
Play, eat, sleep, repeat. These kids definitely savor to the full all the small, daily joys.
Babies like to nap together on a big pile of hay. Bovine daycare for frazzled Moms.
Fritz & Google rise & shine
Suzette is a perfect lady, always polite and demure
Max says a good power nap and a few big stretches works wonders
Why do we call him Google? No idea except he’s kind of funny. Check out those teeth!
Bess says just because she’s a year old now doesn’t mean she isn’t funny anymore…
Well Bess, I can’t deny the truth in that. You ARE a funny girl. OK people, you have your mission. What small, daily joys have you appreciated?
How can you be grumpy in the face of this much joy?
I admit I was in a bit of a hurry this morning and not pleased about this everlasting mud. I was rushing to get the hay delivered while the ground was at least a tiny bit frozen.
Despite my hurry, I couldn’t help but stop and appreciate this little pleasure.
She’s one happy heifer with a busy schedule full of running, jumping & discovering
Our newest little one hasn’t seen the hay delivery yet. In fact, she hasn’t seen anything before and each discovery seems to be a new delight for this playful and happy-natured girl.
Now you see her…xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxNow you don’t. Pretty quick….
Inspector Honey at work. did You think she was going to mind her own business?
Only the hardest heart would not be lifted…