“You give me much good counsel,” he said aloud. “I’m tired of it.”Ernest Hemingway, The Old Man and the Sea
The hoophouse roof was whipping in the wind and the building’s framework hummed and shuddered while I held onto the corner of the tarp, scrabbling to keep my feet under me, to prevent the roof lifting me with it. I had the end of a parted anchor cable wrapped around my hand. I could feel capillaries busting in my finger tips, but after a few minutes the loss of circulation made my hand go numb. If I released the cable, the entire covering was liable to tear free as the wind would sequentially overload each of the anchors down the line.
“Be patient, hand,” he said. “I do this for you.”
I had arrived home from a trip to the hardware store to find the cover of pigs’ hoophouse torn free from its anchors. The windward side was billowing up several feet above the metal framework. The nearest weather observation point in Hessville shows that the wind at that time was gusting up to 70 mph and holding steady around 35-40 mph. I ran into the house to call Rachel and then grabbed a handful of straps and some fence wire, and rushed back out.
“I may not be as strong as I think,” the old man said. “But I know many tricks and I have resolution.”
Once Rachel came out we worked together to slip a ratcheting cargo strap around the end of the cable and we winched the tarp back down. It isn’t a repair that is certain to hold, and this storm is still blasting us with stronger winds forecast overnight. But it is battened down for now.
The wind is our friend, anyway, he thought. Then he added, sometimes.
Santiago’s monologues in The Old Man and the Sea resonate with our experiences farming. We end up in ridiculously lopsided scenarios, faced with elemental forces. We identify with his predicament, poking around the bottom of the skiff trying to kill a shark with just a fishing knife and some scraps of wood.
Now is no time to think of what you do not have. Think of what you can do with what there is.
As hard as it is to face these situations, there is an exhilaration from having improvised a way out of a near-disaster. Avoiding near-disasters altogether might be a wiser way to live, but I haven’t learned the knack of doing that yet.
I think the Great DiMaggio would be proud of me today.
The ducks have come out of their winter break as the weather has warmed up and they are laying eggs again. I’ve added duck eggs back to the inventory. The “sort of” disclaimer is because we only have a small flock of ducks, so the quantities available are limited.
In the mild season, our farm is all about moving animals to grass. In the winter, it flips and we’re moving stored grass to the animals in the form of hay bales. I hate the term “superfoods” because of the snake oil connotations, but for the critters on the farm there’s no denying that grass is the superfood. It is an abundant, renewable, locally-sourced superfood at that.
I prefer the summers when we’re moving herds and flocks between pastures. But I also enjoy these cold, brilliant days when I can get off the tractor and stand quietly among the cattle, listening to them contentedly eating hay.
I hate trucks.
I hate tractors.
I hate depending on machines that break.
Today the pickup truck’s transmission or transfer case (still undetermined) banged and then failed as I parked the borrowed stock trailer (our stock trailer has a gaping crack in the aluminum subframe) after a trip to the slaughterhouse. That’s also the plow truck, so it failed at an inopportune time. The only consolation was that the big bang happened as the truck was backing the trailer into the parking spot, not when it was out on the road in the middle of today’s snowstorm.
Just for catharsis, let me enumerate my current list of necessary equipment repairs. Doing this work in the gravel driveway is never fun, but repairing equipment outdoors in winter is the worst.
There are plenty of other repairs, but this is the hot list:
- Pickup truck needs either a new transmission or a new transfer case. I think transfer case, but I’m not sure yet.
- New tires on pickup truck so I can get the overdue inspection completed. It has a crack in the manifold (again!), but I think I can get through inspection with that.
- Delivery van needs new ball joints on the left and a realignment. Also needs new front tires since the bad joints have worn the tires unevenly.
- Delivery van shows some seepage on the differential. Need to see if it has lost any fluid.
- Minivan needs a new alternator. The head gasket is leaking oil onto the alternator. So it really needs a new head gasket.
- Tractor is overdue for a fluid change.
- Tractor has a crack in the quick attach bracket that needs to be welded. Now that I’m using it for pushing snow because the plow truck is disabled, I need to be careful not to overstress the broken weld.
- Tractor’s seat sensor froze and failed. I’ve got it hotwired, but I need to replace the safety sensor.
- Tiller I use to stir the chicken bedding has a bad tire that needs a tube.
- Hen’s feed wagon has an ancient mobile home tire that is off the rim. Need a new tire.
- ATV needs a lot of work – fix 4×4 switch, replace front ball joint, fix brakes, figure out coolant overheating problems, etc. I can procrastinate a little on this, but it needs to be in good running condition by spring since Rachel uses it every day for hauling fences and other grazing supplies.
- Evaporator fan in one of the walk in freezers is broken. There’s a second fan on the coil, but I need to get the broken one fixed.
In a well-managed business I’d focus on doing farm work and I’d hire mechanics to fix things. I really ought to get to that point. But it is hard to pay mechanics $90 per hour when the farm still hasn’t turned a profit or paid us a cent. I have a feeling that practicing the behaviors of successful businesses even if I don’t have a successful business might help me get to a successful place with my business.
Still, it is hard to accept that I’m at the point where I can’t do all my own work if I also hope to have the time to do all the other farm work. I’m stuck on this as part of my self-identity. Honestly, building a farm from scratch seems to be more about giving up on hopes and dreams than it is about living the dream. Perhaps that’s the downer view from a nadir vantage, but that’s about the way things seem to measure up on days like this.
Long-johns top and bottom, heavy socks, flannel shirt, overalls,
steel-toed work boots, sweater, canvas coat, toque, mittens: on.
Out past grape arbor and garden shed, into the woods.
Sun just coming through the trees. There really is such a thing
as Homer’s rosy-fingered dawn. And here it is, this morning.
Down hill, across brook, up hill, and into the stand of white pine
and red maple where I’m cutting firewood. Open up workbox,
take out chain saw, gas, bar oil, kneel down, gas up saw, add
bar oil to the reservoir, stand up, mittens off, strap on and buckle
chaps from waist to toe, hard hat helmet: on. Ear protectors: down,
face screen: down, push in compression release, pull out choke,
pull on starter cord, once, twice, go. Stall. Pull out choke, pull on
starter cord, once, twice, go. Push in choke. Mittens: back on.
Cloud of two-cycle exhaust smoke wafting into the morning air
and I, looking like a medieval Japanese warrior, wade through
blue smoke, knee-deep snow, revving the chain saw as I go,
headed for that doomed, unknowing maple tree.
From Happy Life by David Budbill, 2011.
When I used to remodel houses, I allowed myself the time to be a perfectionist. These days I’m dealing with too many projects to obsess with detail. The hectic schedule requires that many things be slapped together just to move on to the next task. But I am most pleased when I can take the time to think through and execute a design that includes details that matter to me.
The chicken brooder trailer needed a door. It has a full overhead door on the back, but it also needed an easily opened door for the daily feeding chores. I needed a door that is easy to open, even for the kids, and easy to shut securely to keep out all the creeping, crawling, and flying animals that love to eat chicken. But I also wanted a door that was big enough to easily clean out the brooder at the end of each batch.
I cut the door panels using an aluminum-rated blade, spraying lubricant
liberally all the while because the insulation in the panels prevented the blade from dissipating heat. I bent some flashing around each of the panel edges to reduce the risk of snagging clothes on the way through the door. On the hinge side I used a piano hinge salvaged from the turkey trailer project. The door latch is standard and I added top and bottom barrel latches to secure the door when it is used in overhead mode. The bottom panel remained in place because I need to prevent the chicks from escaping when the door opens.
With the door closed and latched it still works as it was originally designed as an overhead door. For wider door panels, cutting this section would have reduced the strength, but I don’t think I’ll need to add any reinforcement for such a short span.
The test of everything is in the use, but I’m optimistic that this door will be one of the features that make this our best brooder yet. It was a good challenge to step through the design and then to find that it worked as well as it did.
It all needs is a good scrubbing before putting it into service, but I’ll wait until I’m finished making construction messes first.
While I was working on the new chicken brooder trailer the flock of ducks marched up the hill, enjoying the bright, warm day and especially enjoying the snowmelt puddles. They primarily focused on splashing and bathing in the puddles, but when they grew tired of that they would switch over to snow bathing as well. They quickly wriggle through the snow to work it into their feathers, and then the ducks would shake it back off. Here’s a clip:
Ever since the year before we started our farm, I’ve made it a point to attend one farming conference annually. This year I went all out and attended two, both this week.
Farming conferences involve all the usual things you’d expect from any other conference: squeally microphones, polite but forced applause after each presentation, people standing around a projector trying to connect it to a laptop, and of course lots of coffee. Blah coffee in the morning, and burnt coffee for afternoon break.
On Monday and Tuesday I attended the American Pastured Poultry Producers Association meeting and on Saturday I was at the Cornell Winter Green-Up Grazing conference. At the beginning of my farming career I went to these sorts of meetings to learn basic farming fundamentals. Now I’m there principally to talk to people. I’ve got my list of people to see for specific questions, but beyond that I try to meet at least a few strangers. I’m often amazed by the variety of situations and backgrounds at these events. The general feeling of these meetings includes a refreshing openness to share plans and ideas. Farmers don’t have trade secrets, rather they trade their secrets.
Now I’m back to the farm and I’m all done with conferences for another year. The next objective is to buckle down to finishing the chicken, turkey, cattle, and pig planning for 2019 and early 2020. Although we’re in the depths of winter, spring is coming, and we have a lot of new projects to have ready by then. As always, I’m intimidated by the scale of the plans we have for this year, but I’m also feeling enthusiastic to meet the challenges.
We just received an old reefer trailer for our next chicken brooder. We’ve been using shipping containers for the last two years, and while we’ve been happy with most aspects of their performance, we found that their lack of insulation causes problems with moisture condensing on the inside surfaces and raining down, especially for the early spring batches of chickens when the ambient temperatures are coldest. This reefer box has three inches of insulation in the walls and ceiling and two inches in the floor rather than the bare steel of the shipping containers. (There are insulated shipping containers available, but the costs are about three or four times the price of these salvage trailers, and the shipping containers are eight feet shorter.)
This is a storage grade trailer so the interior walls are shabby, the FRP is sagging, the reefer unit is gone, and there is hole in the floor where a forklift wheel punched through. But despite its rough condition, it should make a great brooder. I’m hopeful that the thick insulation will provide enough of a thermal break to prevent the moisture problems that plagued our shipping container brooders. Our summers don’t get especially hot, but I expect that the insulation will also help to prevent overheating on the warmest days.
If the trailer proves to be useful, I’d consider cutting off the landing gear and axles and placing the trailer at ground level. But for now I’d like to keep the unit mobile since I need to move the trailer later this year after I can get a bulldozer to prepare a more level spot. For now I’ll just cobble together a portable set of stairs.
We’ll continue using our forty foot shipping container as a brooder, but the twenty foot container is going to be repurposed as a storage shed.
We’ve added sage breakfast sausage patties to our lineup. Allie and I made “breakfast” sandwiches for lunch (why limit good food to the hegemony of prescribed mealtime orthodoxy?) and of course we went overboard with the layering. We barely could squeeze them tight enough to get a bite. But overdoing it is part of the joy of sandwiches.
This is a fully locally-sourced meal and it pretty much checks every box in my definition of comfort food. Wrong Direction Farm eggs and sausage patties, North Country Creamery Havarti cheese, Kriemhild butter on toasted Psychedelicatessen plain bagels.