Faith's Kids: Class of 2012

Gustav and Gypsy, Class of 2012

It’s a Boy!  And a Girl!

I can’t begin to tell you how long I was waiting for those words, or something similar.

 For the past two years, my pretty Nubian goat, Faith, has been a picky breeder.  The first year on the farm (three years ago), she declined the buck’s invitation and gave herself the season off.  I could live with that; after all, she had just arrived at the farm and needed to adjust to life with Toggenburgs, having come from a purely Nubian environment.  I chalked her reticence up to culture shock, and gave her the grace of a year off.

 Last year, in a fit of pique, I decided to return her to her birthplace to be bred by a registered buck for purebred babies.  In October, when the rest of our herd came into heat, we packed her into the backseat of the truck and gave her a lift to see her fella, a beautiful Nubian buck named Jolt Cola.  Well, Faith and Jolt enjoyed each other’s company for nearly a month before they consummated their relationship.  My girl apparently believes in long courtships.  Happily, her month-long date eventually resulted in the most beautiful triplets you’ve ever seen; two girls and a boy, all born toward the end of the three week long March birthing period at the farm.  The fees associated with her breeding and upkeep during that time really stacked up, though the babies were adorable.  She was a terrible mother though, having never experienced the joys of nursing her own babies; the one she had before coming to the farm was taken as a bottle baby.

Fiona and Fauni Dell (Class of 2011, Bottle Babies)

This year, we’re planning on sending Miss Faith to live with a dear friend in Virginia in a month or two; my life circumstances are changing, and I won’t be able to spend as much time on the farm as I did in the past.  She was a mediocre milker last year, and her newest babies were destined to stay on the farm, though last year’s Nubian kids will join her in Virginia.  Since the farm is a dairy farm in addition to being an agricultural education center, we chose to breed her to one of the house bucks, an award winning Toggenburg whose daughters have superior udders.  Well.  Faith had different ideas.

Once again, Miss Faith played hard-to get for nearly a month.  The day before the bucks were removed from the breeding pasture, she finally succumbed to one of the boy’s charms; I suspect her courtship required dinner and dancing before he could be successful.  Miss Faith is the barn diva, after all.  She’s special.  With her Nubian intelligence and charm, she is fully aware of her feminine wiles and powers of persuasion.  Apparently Herve (or George, we’re not sure) was persuasive in his own right, because Faith finally ended up pregnant. 

 Twenty goats delivered before her.  Twins, triplets; the place was overrun with playful kids, milky mommas, and happy visitors.  Faith stayed pregnant.  The last Toggenburg delivered a week ago; Faith was too round to sleep well anymore, groaning when she breathed.  Her knees began to click.  She gave me the stink eye whenever I lifted her tail.  Everyone who came to visit gave her a pep-talk: “What are you waiting for, Faith?  Squeeeeezzzzzeeeee!”  She held out.  A Diva, even gravidly pregnant. 

Yesterday was the first day I milked the goats this year.  The boys had gone to market, a difficult day for everyone, and the new season of milking began.  It was a good feeling though, spending time with my girls again. My body ached from being out of practice, but even so, the warm round bellies and happy munching of grain brought back sweet memories.  I mourned Daisy, who we lost after a difficult delivery.  I brought Faith to the stand for some grain (and practice), even though she wasn’t showing any sign of giving birth.  Another pep-talk ensued.

Daisy

When I was finished, I had about an hour between milking and the beginning of our monthly board meeting, so I went out for a burger and a beer, and returned to the farm.  No dice.  Faith chewed her cud and smiled like the Mona Lisa.  I went to the meeting.

 A few hours later, on my way out, I stopped by for one last look, and there it was: the first tell-tale mucous.  Kathy checked her out, and proclaimed an imminent birth, so we waited…and waited.  I tried to nap in her guest room.  Couldn’t do it.  Went outside to check on her, and found Julie, another board member, sitting in the birthing stall with her.  I sacked out in the stall awhile; nothing.  Julie and I watched her vulva like nervous aunties.

Finally, at midnight, with my 5:30 am wake-up time looming and Faith looking inscrutable, I gave up and headed home.  Kathy was sleeping next to the baby monitor, and Faith wasn’t cooperating.  I needed to sleep. It was so hard to leave, but I knew she was in the best hands; Kathy is an experienced dairy woman and a human midwife.  Who better to assist the Baroness of the Barn?

 Well, on the way to school this morning, I got the call: a baby boy had been born!  Faith was cleaning him.  All was well.    NURSING?  Miss Faith, the Diva, must have learned a thing or two from her herd-mates.  10 more minutes, and her daughter was born with a little help from Kathy.  The calls kept coming until my first class arrived, and all was well. 

Faith, the Prettiest Girl in the Barn, has found her maternal side; it becomes her.

Fauni Dell

This afternoon, after I finished milking the 24 Flint Hill Goaty-Babes, I decided to visit with the kids awhile.  They were sleepy and adorable, and all too ready to socialize. Frank has grown a bit aloof, though he still comes for a nose scratch if he sees his sisters talking with me.  Fiona is vocal and opinionated; she has a pouty sort of call that reminds me so much of her mother, my first goat (this time around!) Faith.  Fairly (our adopted daughter, the only Toggenberg in my familial herd) always comes to me for a cuddle and a suck on my fingers, though last time, she chomped down and drew blood, so she's officially finger weaned.  She was always such a frantic nurser; perhaps because I had to tube her to bring her back to life after her mother abandoned her.  One doesn't forget that feeling of starvation.  Ever.

And then there's Miss Fauni Dell.  Fauni was the middle birth of Faith's triplets, and I had given her up for dead.  She presented sideways, and Kathy pulled her that way after trying everything else she could (after I did the same).  Little Fauni's head turned to the side as she was born, and we feared the worst; I had given Kathy the go ahead to just pull her to save Faith's life.  I thought she'd have a broken neck; but she was small, and had no permanent injuries.  She slept with her head to that same side for the first few weeks of her life ( I bottle fed the triplets and little Fairly), but she was up and running with her sibs in record time.  And now she thinks I'm her Mama.

Fauni came out to play awhile tonight.  I brought her out of the kids' stall (they stayed in because of the heat today), and put her on the ground for a few minutes.  I stepped away, and she followed me.  I took 5 steps, and she followed me more.  Then we sat in the hammock, watered the garden, walked down to her goat-Mama's stall, and she followed me.  Talking the entire time. Maaaa.  Conversational.

We both heard Fiona complaining back in the kids' stall.  Fauni even answered her a few times.  I'm wondering if my little herd will follow me en masse; that's a game I'll attempt to play later this week, when I'm ready to videotape them. :::::LIVE UPDATE::::: CLICK HERE

Until then, I'm happy to be much loved by my little Fauni Dell, the wonder goat; our little miracle, who has Much To Do.  And I'm hoping that by the time she's ready to be a Mama herself, I'll have a place of my own to keep her in, and I can know her family even better that I know her.  My sweet little girl, who Was Meant To Be.

Fauni Dell Attends Her First Opening

I know I don't usually blog about my school functions, but I'm going to bend my rules just a bit today.  Today was the opening of our annual school art show, which is a community and school event held at a local historical site, the Heller Homestead.  I've drawn the homestead; my notecards serve as a fundraiser for framing our students' work.  If I can locate a scan of the art, I'll insert it later.

There were several other events going on today; there was a craft show, a flower/plant sale, food, and a Civil War encampment.  I thought that a little goatie girl would be a perfectly fine addition to the hoo-ha, so I bundled her into the S-10, and away we went.

Fauni and a Friend

Miss Fauni Dell was a debutante. Everyone loved her, from the moment we arrived.  Students were happy to hold her, and she climbed on several of them.  One little boy said he just LOVED goats (I know how he feels!).  Several adults shared stories, and spent time stroking her.  Between grass sampling sessions and snuzzles, Miss Fauni Dell sat calmly in my lap and chewed her little baby cud happily, ever the lady. We even found a woman who had a little herd who came from Fauni's parents' herd!  Small world! Cousins!

The local digital press was there.  If we become overnight sensations, I'll update; but if not, all I can say is that today, I "let my freak flag fly" so to speak.  And it made me so happy.

:::::::::::::NEWS FLASH:::::::::::

Fauni Dell Made the News!  Hellertown Patch: Read All
About It!

I'm not a fancy dresser; I don't use makeup, or wear heels, or color my hair.  I don't care if you do...I just don't understand why people do it, so I don't.  My colleagues do.  I'm an island.  I'm OK with that.

I let the guilt go today, and dressed my way, and brought my goat.  I feel whole.  Good day. I'll sleep soundly tonight.

Making My Mark

The concept of mark-making may have different meanings to some of my colleagues than others.  As an artist, mark-making refers to the visual representation of our particular chosen medium; now that I think of it, that may be a very good definition for anyone considering what it means to "make their mark".

For instance, I spent a good part of my day doing research for my (ultimate) graduate thesis.  That'll be a significant mark made in my life, as it will culminate one more educational life-experience and open the doors to others.  My particular research is focused upon the place a member of my extended family holds in history, so it has particular meaning to me; I feel the importance of doing this research and writing correctly.  Research and writing are my medium of choice in this instance.

Of course, teaching is a long-term process of mark-making; we teachers have the opportunity to affect so many lives!  Though I don't comment upon my teaching profession in this blog, it's very important to me, and the impact I have on the kids who need me gives me a feeling of great worth (right next to a feeling of great humility).  Though our government apparently doesn't share my sentiments, my intrinsic understanding of the impact one teacher can have on the life of a student at the right time, and under the right circumstances is obvious to me.  I lived it myself, both as a student, and as a teacher.  In that case, my media are pedagogy, artistic knowledge, and compassion.

What I do share with you is my garden: another place where I can coax my little seeds to grow.  It's springtime, and yesterday was the first solidly sunny and warm Saturday we've had this year.  My media are soil, labor, tools and seeds, and the mark I make will feed us throughout the coming seasons, and will provide a source of inspiration and thoughtfulness to me throughout the year.

A Blank Canvas

Like any work of art, we begin with a blank canvas.  We can control the quality of our canvas, and the craftsmanship we use, but there is always a beginning, a middle, and an end.  This wheel-barrel received a generous helping of well-composted horse manure this year.  A good canvas for the kale that will grow there soon.

Planning Ahead: Asparagus

This tiny asparagus shoot is the result of the planting I did last year.  As a second-year sprout, it's thin and small.  Each year will add girth and fecundity.  Some projects take longer than others, but they're usually worth the wait. There's nothing quite as good as asparagus.

Redcap Bed


Another bed that will take some patience is the hosta redcap bed I started this spring.  If I planned it correctly, I should have a harvest by fall.  As a lover of all things mushroomy, I have high hopes for this culinary masterpiece.  My work here is mostly done; the shade provided by the ornamental pear trees and hostas should allow the little fungi to do their thing.  I have such a tiny garden at home; the shade and ornamental shade-loving plants weren't pulling their weight.

The End of an Era


The whiskey barrel you see behind the plastic planter, has literally disintegrated.  It is currently the home of several garlic bulbs that I planted last fall, and as such will limp along until they're harvested.  In the meantime, both it and the new planter have been sewn with spinach, an early season crop.  When both the garlic and spinach are harvested, the whiskey barrel will also be harvested, and its soil used elsewhere.  This year's cherry tomatoes, a back-door favorite, will live in the new planter, complete with new, composted soil.  I expect a great harvest, based upon the harvest enjoyed by my friend Stephanie (who gave me the compost!).  The lavender plants, in the small pots beside it, are already showing signs of life.

Horseradish

One of my three remaining barrels is home to this year's horseradish shoots, which I'll be excited to watch grow.  I expect to companion plant some collards or chard with them as well, as this is a shady space.  The base of the barrel (and those next to it) have become my outdoor culinary herb area.  I started some thyme, parsley and sage today.  The rosemary is still indoors.  My medicinal herbs are primarily perennial; the various mints grow enthusiastically wherever I start them; the others (too many to name) are tucked in among the vegetables and trees.

Mint: A Fragrant Opportunist

Herbs are naturally enthusiastic.  I love that about them.  They're the street-kids of the plant world, and manage to thrive where they land.  I've placed several varieties right next to my picnic table, so I can enjoy them when I have my infrequent moments of repose in the yard.  Speaking of repose:



The Captain's Chair



And I'm the captain.  The third barrel is to the left, rear of my vintage lawn chair (salvaged from a curbside on trash day a few years ago). Strawberries grow around the barrel's base.  The white lattice behind it still supports an ornamental vine that hides my "lower 40"...a narrow alley between the hedge and the shed, where my scraps go.  There are two hostas that are sprouting behind the chair, and to the right of it, a clump of feverfew is getting a good start.  You can't see it, but it's flanked by lemon balm and spearmint.  And there's a rhubarb plant somewhere in there.

My husband constructed the planter from an old door two years ago, and after several false starts, I finally got a trumpet vine started in the right corner of it.  I have a few Jerusalem artichokes planted there (if the squirrels didn't get them), and some elderberries from last year.  Yes, I know they'll be big.  It's an experiment.  Though you can barely see it, there's an antique bell above the bed: a nod to my in-laws, who had it at their home in Oyster Bay, and used it to call Peter and his sister in from the woods.  What a life!

Stinging Nettle

There are those plants which shouldn't be cultivated in close spaces; one shouldn't attempt to raise a mustang or a tiger in the city.  So, in honor of those wild things that defy my intensive attempts at an urban masterpiece, I've included my new culinary addition for the spring: stinging nettle.  She grows nearby, and waits for me there.  I've decided to let her roam free; I'll come to her.  The story of our first cooking experience (I've dried her for tea) will follow shortly.

Spring commences; our most creative time.  We plant the seeds for a prosperous tomorrow, and if we're wise, we enjoy the work as much as the harvest.  We observe the growth, and it makes us smile...and hope.  Like a painting; like a student; like a garden.  Welcome, spring!

Faith's Kids

The Old Dog, the New Kid, and the Long Drive Home

Well, apparently you CAN teach an old dog a few new tricks.

The Nubian doelings (Faun and Fiona), though small, are doing well.  Their appetite is beginning to become more vigorous, an important part of barn life.  As it's been since moments after their birth, their brother, Frankie is leading the little Nubian herd in terms of vitality.  His loud, insistent cries cannot be ignored at feeding time, just like his mama Faith's.  Nubians do have distinctive voices!

Last night, when I arrived at the barn after school, little Frank bounced over to greet me, yelling all the way to the stall gate.  He screamed for dinner while I milked Faith, screamed while I got hay, and then drank an entire 16 oz. bottle of his mama's milk.  And I still heard screaming, which sounded just like him; therein lies the REAL story for today.

Nubian voices are piercing; the little voice I heard was equally piercing, so I followed it to its source: a fairly large Toggenberg kid was under the manger, apparently unable to extract itself.  I pulled her out, and set her under her dam to nurse...and she fell over.  He rear legs were immobile and cold, stiff to the touch.  After trying to work them a bit, I concluded that she must have been injured in the stall somehow; those clammy, wet legs were lifeless. I bundled her in my coat, and she occasionally let out a bleat, getting weaker now; her head flopped to the side.

After showing Kathy the kid, and discussing the situation, we came to the conclusion that she must have had her back broken sometime during the day; she had been a vigorous eater just yesterday!  We opted to do the humane thing, so I wrapped her in a towel, placed her on the seat of my truck, and headed for the vet; I nearly turned back once, as she had become unresponsive.  I thought nature had taken its course, but a flutter of her eyes told me differently.

When I arrived at the veterinary clinic, the vet happened to be in the lobby.  I told him who I was, and that we had called ahead.  He asked me to put her on the floor so he could take a look.  He lifted her up, and though she didn't move her legs and fell right over, her tail waggled; this was NOT a broken back!  This baby had been neglected by her dam for just one day, and had come very close to death.  Apparently, when malnourished, a newborn kid will have trouble maintaining its body temperature in cold weather.  Our baby was slowly dying right before my eyes...but there was hope.

The doctor taught me how to use a gastric tube to feed her.  I have never done this before, but when circumstances demand it, we can do nearly anything to preserve these little lives, can't we?  He told me it was crucial to get her temperature back to normal, and to get warm milk into her belly.  I bundled her up, got into my truck, and headed out.

I knew that everyone at the farm thought she was a goner, and I was desperate to tell them otherwise, so I did what I know is wrong to do: I used my cell phone while I was driving.  I had a starving, hypothermic kid beside me, the means of saving her, and no time to spare.  I thought it was warranted.  Apparently the police officer who saw me try to make that call thought otherwise; luckily, he was in an exit lane at the time, but he did cut through a parking lot to tail me...and tail me he did, for the next 8 miles; he was wily; he exited and reentered on a second short ramp, then paced himself just behind me...but I saw him back there and behaved myself.  With one hand on the kid, and my eye on my rear view mirror, I quit trying to call the farm and headed for home (just under the speed limit!), where I knew I had the time and supplies I needed.  I ditched the officer about a mile before I arrived, and blew into the house, kid-in-coat, to begin working on her.

.....to be continued... (photos to follow)

Kiddles

Fiona and Frankie