What Brings You Joy?

This is Belle.  She's our Great Pyrenees dog.  Right off the top of my head I can think of only one other creature with the adjective "Great" before its name.  That would be the Great White Shark.  If you had the adjective "great" preceding your name, you might be tempted to become prideful, but Belle isn't like that.  She's not pretentious or grandiose in the way she carries herself.  She's just Belle.  She's a people person and enjoys spending time with us.

Take the other morning, for example.  I was trying to study for our Sunday School lesson on the back patio.  Belle wanted in on the study.  She's so big that when she gets near, there's no room for any study materials.  How could you turn that face away, though?  I think she's smiling, but that just may be me assuming things.  She seems happy, anyway.

Our study in on the Book of Acts, and it is talking about the explosive growth of the early church, brought about by the Holy Spirit and the change that came over the apostles due to the Spirit's power, changing them from fearful men who denied Him to bold witnesses of His power and deity.  They became witnesses of who Christ is and what He's done for you and me.  As believers, we're called to be His witnesses as well in a world that is growing ever darker.  It seems hard, and I won't lie, sometimes it is hard, but we're not to do it in our own power.  In fact, we can't do it in our own power.  He will embolden us.

We drove 3 1/2 hours to North Houston the other night to share a meal and fellowship with 3 other couples.  Tricia has a high school group that she's in touch with, so it was the four girls and their husbands in attendance.  We visited and ate a great meal and enjoyed one another's company for several hours just conversing across the table.  One of the girls asked a question as we sat around the table.  She and her husband had once been missionaries in Israel.  She wanted everyone to consider and communicate to the rest of the group something in their lives that brings them great joy.

I like "ice breaker" types of questions like that.  We have a list of them that we keep on our kitchen table.  Instead of small talk, it is interesting to get deeper and probe to really get to know people and what makes them tick, what's important to them, what they value.  When the question was asked, my mind immediately went the something that had occurred the night before.  I'll show you the photo first:

The sun was going down.  The field directly across the street from our house is a big hay field.  The owners of the field had cut the hay the day before and fluffed it.  A baler was brought in and they made round bales.  You could smell the cut hay as the aroma wafted across the landscape.  On an otherwise hot day, the cool of the evening was settling in and the sun sunk low in the western sky.  The very hand of God was painting a masterpiece on a big canvas.  Tricia and I were walking down the road taking in the spectacular view.  I happened to have my phone and snapped a photo as we stopped to admire it.  

Back to the answer of the question.  What brings you joy?  Tricia's turn was first and she described what I described in the preceding paragraph.  She took my answer!  It is uncanny how we are so alike in our thoughts sometimes (and then how different we can be at other times, ha ha!)  I often talk about simple pleasures in life.  Looking at a pastoral landscape like this just brings me joy and peace and happiness.

You know what I missed, though?  I missed an opportunity to point to the Creator.  To give credit and glory to the Master Painter who painted that masterpiece in the sky.  Lord, forgive me for that.  I don't ever want to seem "preachy," but I don't want to ever miss that opportunity again.  In everything, we should point to God and give Him the glory.  That remarkable sunset didn't just happen.  God put us in that exact location to view a beautiful moment.  We didn't need to travel anywhere or spend any money.  We have a benevolent God who gave us exactly what we need.  We have a wonderful Savior in Jesus, a great family, people who love us.  We have air in our lungs and another day to enjoy His blessings. 

"And there is salvation in no one else; for there is no other name under heaven that has been given among mankind by which we must be saved." Acts 4:12

 

A Downtown Excursion

I'm not much on traveling.  It's been at least two decades since I've flown on an airplane.  I guess I'm just a home body.  It's not that I don't enjoy seeing new sights.  I do.  I just like being home, and I like sleeping in my own bed.  I'm happy there.  I can be myself there.  We like to explore things around in our own backyard.

One day last week I came in for lunch and asked the wife if she'd like to go to town for dessert and coffee.  Has anyone in the history of the world ever turned down dessert and coffee?  I didn't think so.  Main Street in Jennings has been seeing a resurgence of sorts.  We went to a little bakery called Southern Crumbs and ordered two coffees with some half and half and split a slice of Chantilly Cheesecake.

Instead of eating outside on the patio chair like we did the last time we were here, we walked down Main Street in a southerly direction until we came to the corner of Main and Market Streets.  On that corner is a building that is 103 years old called the Heywood Building.  It is interesting architecturally and the city's Industrial Development Board recently used a grant to restore the building into an outdoor meeting place.  The building has housed a lot of different enterprises over the years and was the local campaign headquarters for the JFK presidential race in 1960.

They restored the façade of the building, interesting brick work and black glass and added umbrellas and tables.  It was the perfect place to enjoy our coffee and dessert.  Tricia begged me "not to put her in the blog, so I obliged (sort of).  If you look through the fountain, you can see her enjoying her coffee in the background.

Jennings is a long way away from New York City, but I think there's a building there called the Flatiron Building that has this same shape.  I think it is kind of cool looking.

While we tried to make the Chantilly Cheesecake last as we sipped on our coffee, we watched some kids walk across the street from an Art Camp.  We continued our conversation under a lazy June summer sun.  The umbrella on the table made it nice.  Hat tip to the community leaders who saved an old piece of history.  

In a mere six minutes, we were back home.  Not bad for an adventurous excursion for someone who likes to stay close to home.  More adventures await!

Runnin' The Traps

Late the other afternoon Tricia and I got on our bicycles and rode a couple of miles west down our road.  It was a nice afternoon.  We stopped at the edge of a pasture and watched a cow in labor give birth to a little calf.  Cottontail rabbits were hopping this way and that across the road.  We came upon a crawfish boat at the edge of a pond.  It made a nice photo against the sunset and brought back some old memories.

In the early 80's my grandfather bought an aluminum pull boat and some traps for me and I crawfished and sold the catch to people in Oberlin for their crawfish boils.  There were very few people crawfishing back then.  Today, it's a bigger cash crop than rice for lots and lots of farmers.

Fast forward a couple of decades and I was back on the farm in Oberlin and crawfishing a little better than 120 acres of crawfish.  The boat was powered by a Honda engine.  You steer it with your feet with pedals on the floor.  A hydraulic pump turned a wheel in the back that pushed you through the water.  The reason that you steered with your feet is that you needed both hands for picking up the trap, emptying it out in the tray, and rebaiting it.  

All this was done on the run.  You never stopped the boat.  It seemed like a lot to do, but once you got in the rhythm, it was easy.  When the water was cold, you used fish bait.  That required you to chop up the fish into pieces in the morning.  The blood attracted the crawfish into the trap.  Fish bait was a stinky deal.  Blood and guts would get all over you.  Once the water temperature hit about 70 degrees, you switched to cubed bait.  No more chopping up fish and it didn't stink as bad.

Crawfishing was fun because you could see the money coming into the boat.  You knew what the price per pound was and could calculate your revenue and expenses as you caught.  Sometimes you caught more than crawfish.  Snakes liked to get in the traps.  You'd pick up a trap and dump it in the tray and come face to face with a big snake looking at you!  I kept a shovel in the boat and I'd chop up the snake and use it for bait.  (It's a dog eat dog world)

There were competitors out there trying to catch the crawfish, too.  Raccoons learned to nocturnally run my traps.  They'd swim out and reach their arms into the trap and eat the crawfish, leaving just the heads in the trap for me to find the next morning.  Oftentimes, they'd turn the traps over sideways.  I couldn't see the traps and I'd run over them with the boat, ruining an $8 trap for each one I'd hit.  I would set some traps and try to catch and kill the coons and would hunt for them, shooting them out of trees where they would be napping all full of crawfish.

The season ran from December until June, give or take.  In winter it would be SO cold, with ice on the water sometimes.  In summer it would be SO hot!  As it warmed up, it became hard to keep water in the ponds.  Crawfish like to burrow in the levees and that caused leaks.  Nutria and muskrats would cut the levees, too.  You'd arrive the next morning to fish and the levee would be dry.

I'd sell my catch to boil & go restaurants in Kinder, Hathaway, and Jennings.  Prices were high early in the season, but you weren't catching much.  As the weather warmed, the catch got better, but the prices dropped.  You learned everything you wanted to know about supply and demand.  Good Friday was the high point of the season and then prices dropped off a cliff.  I kept meticulous records, documenting the thousands and thousands of pounds we'd catch.

As summer approached, we began catching crawfish not to sell, but to restock.  We would 'seed' other ponds with crawfish for next year.  After seeding them, you'd slowly let the water out.  As the water level went down, the crawfish would burrow into the ground, down to the water table.  In October, when you would re-flood the pond, the crawfish would come out of their burrows with their young and the whole process would start again.

Crawfishing was a lot of fun!

Nearing the End of the Blueberry Harvest of 2024

In the past we've enjoyed a little grove of blueberry bushes in the back hard.  There were three lines of four bushes.  The boys, Tricia, and I would carry out empty Daisy Sour Cream containers and encircle the bushes, picking the blueberries.  At first, we'd only pick the ones that were dark blue.  However, we learned that blueberries will ripen after being picked.  That left some 'wiggle room' in picking.  If you accidently picked one that was still red, well, no big deal.  Once you wash them and left them in the sink in the colander, the red ones would turn blue overnight.

Over time, we lost blueberry bushes for whatever reason.  Last year we suffered a drought.  Despite watering the best we could, we watched with sadness as the blueberry bushes' leaves turned red and died.  Out of the 12 original bushes we started with, in 2024 we only have four remaining.  Fortunately, those four bushes have grown bigger and essentially make up in production for the bushes we lost.  We're nearing the end of the harvest now.  Each day we pick so that the birds don't steal the crop.  It looks like we'll put up a little better than 4 gallons of blueberries.  That's not too shabby.  We eat a lot of them as we pick, too.

We generally go out in the late afternoon to pick.  The brutal sun has relented somewhat and the sun filters through the live oak leaves with muted sunlight.  The nosy goats come around to curiously look at the blueberry picking activity, hoping that they'll be the beneficiaries of some treat.  We've spoiled them in that regard, giving them the ends of cucumbers and other vegetable peelings.

Due to the generous rainfall this year, the berries are plump.  Despite our best efforts, the birds do eat their fair share.  That's okay.  They have to make a living, too.  

Toward the latter part of June, we reach the peak of the bell curve on blueberry yield.  The amount harvested gets smaller and smaller by the day.  Soon it won't be worth the time to go pick.  At that point, we'll let the cardinals and the mockingbirds and the bluejays harvest the rest of them for us.

Once the season is done, I'll re-mulch around the base of the bushes.  Some of our chickens get out of the pasture and into the yard from time to time.  When they do, they like to scratch the mulch at the base of the blueberry bushes to find bugs and worms.  It's better for the bushes to keep them mulched, so I'll work hard to fix the hen's scratching.  Later, we'll prune the blueberry bushes.  Russ will help me in that endeavor.  I'm not an experienced pruner.

Finally, I'd like to replenish our blueberry grove to make up for those that died.  The most inexpensive way to do that is to take some cuttings.  That's my new project before next spring.  I'll try to get some cuttings off of some of the existing bushes and get them rooted.  I'll keep you posted with our progress.

I Must Be Turning Into an Old Softie

This is the 45 foot bed that I call the 'garden in the side yard.'  The grass is growing up around it because the last time I tried to mow, our honeybees tore me up!  Next time, I'll be mowing in my bee suit, trust me.  This is where we recently harvested our Irish potatoes.  We've been eating those delicious potatoes.  Here is a baking tray of some split, buttered potatoes, seasoned with sea salt, pepper and fresh cut rosemary.  Oh my!

So now that the potatoes are harvested, what to do with that soil?  Well at this point, there are a few ideas.  More corn?  I don't think so.  Here's what I decided.  Several years ago, I was hardcore about one thing.  No flowers.  We're only planting things in the garden that we can eat.  Tricia can plant flowers in pots on the patio.  The garden?  It's for growing things for eating.  Besides, sugar snap peas and other vegetables have flowers...

And then, something happened.  I began to soften up to the idea of making the garden a thing of beauty.  Why is could nourish your eyes and soul as well as providing sustenance for your taste buds and belly, right?  That heart of stone was transformed into a heart of flesh.  The Bible verse speaks of that below, but it's not talking about flowers in the garden.

A new heart also will I give you, and a new spirit will I put within you: and I will take away the stony heart out of your flesh, and I will give you an heart of flesh.  And I will put my spirit within you, and cause you to walk in my statutes, and ye shall keep my judgments, and do them.  Ezekiel 36:26-27

That Scripture is talking about a spiritual change.  I have had a spiritual change, but I just had a change of heart about flowers in the garden.  So in the 'garden in the side yard,' I'm planting 3 rows.  You can see them roughly laid out below:

On the first row on the right, I'm planting some zinnias.  They are multicolored and beautiful and I saved them from dried flowers we grew back in 2018.  It's time to do something with them.  I planted them close together in the event that the seeds are old and germination percent a little low.  We'll see...

The second row.  The second row will be occupied by some Lemon Queen Sunflower Seeds.  I saved these from some flowers we grew as well.  The seeds themselves are sort of small, not like the sunflower seeds you eat.  These were scattered across the row in the middle.

To show you what Lemon Queen Sunflowers look like, here you go.  This one is coming up volunteer in the garden right now.  It makes a big head on top and then a bunch of others on the side.  It brightens up the place, for sure.  How can you be sad looking at a flower like this?

Now don't go thinking I've lost it and have become an old softie and I'll replace cucumbers with daisies or other such foolishness.  The third row will be something we can EAT.  Purple Hull Peas!  I saved a bunch of seeds last year and it's time to get these in the ground.

Purple hulls thrive in the heat.  They scoff at the summer.  They'll produce plenty for us.  While the zinnias pop with color and the sunflowers tower over the garden in the side yard with happiness, the purple hull peas, in utilitarian purpose, will bloom and produce peas that we can shell and cook with some tasso and serve over white rice.  We'll enjoy every bite.  We may enjoy eating them while looking at a vase containing cut zinnias and sunflowers.  

It Ain't Worth Fighting About

Everyone has heard of black-eyed peas.  Black-eyed peas are an old favorite.  I've eaten them and enjoyed them since I was very young.  A couple of winters ago when it was too cold and the weather was too wet to even think about gardening, well, you do what gardeners do in the winter.  You think about the spring garden.  AND you peruse seed catalogs, looking for that new crop that you'd like to try.  That's when I turned the page and saw it.

Everyone likes black-eyed peas.  And everyone likes butter beans.  What if you combined the two?  Why, it would be like mixing chocolate and peanut butter and inventing the peanut butter cup.  There within the pages of the Baker Creek  Heirloom Seed Company catalog was "Black Eyed Butter Beans."  It is an heirloom crop out of Alabama, and I just had to order some.  We tried a small plot of them last year and were pleased.  I saved a bunch of the seeds and planted more this year.  They are enjoying the hot weather and frequent rain showers and are producing prolifically.

Every other day I pick a basketful and sit on the back patio and shell the blackeyed butter beans.  Forget about sitting in front of the TV or scrolling through social media.  I pulled up "Just My Imagination" by the Temptations and began shelling peas.  Now, that's entertainment!  I know some would roll their eyes at that, but hey, everyone has their preferences, right?  More on that in a minute.

Black-eyed butterbeans are just what they sound like.  It's as if someone took a black-eyed pea and squashed them all flat.

Tricia cooked them up in a pot and made a pan of homemade cornbread.  This right here is some good southern cooking.  Just when they were done, I pulled out four or five cups and used the immersion blender to blend up the black-eyed butterbeans into a 'gravy' of sorts and then ladled it over some hot white rice and put some buttered cornbread on the side.  Let's say grace and EAT!

A little bowl of heaven

The photo above is just the way I like it.  I was about to blend up the rest of the pot when Tricia put a halt to that idea.  You see, Tricia likes to eat them "unprocessed" like you see in the pot below.

I don't think they are bad eaten like that.  I would just rather them mashed up.  I think they stick to your ribs better my way.  The fancy way to do it is with an immersion blender, but cooked right, you can just mash them up with a spoon on the side of the pot with the same outcome.  However, Tricia insisted that I leave her butterbeans whole and had me remove mine and mash them up in a separate container.  She said something to the effect of "Those aren't butterbeans anymore.  They're mashed up bean paste."

Reminds me of Jack Sprat could eat no fat, His wife could eat no lean.  So in betwixt the both of them they licked the platter clean."  And we did.  We finished off the black eyed butter beans in short order.  She had it her way, and I had them mine.  It's all good, and it ain't worth fighting about...

Volunteering to Shell Volunteer Peas

There's something special about things that come up volunteer in the garden.  Volunteer means you didn't plant it, but it came up from seed the following year.  Right now we have several volunteer crops growing, including basil, cilantro, tomatoes, tomatillos, peppers, peanuts and Ozark Razorback Peas.  Ozark Razorback Peas are an old heirloom crop from Arkansas.

In a corner of the garden at the base of the cucumber trellis and where the cilantro was growing in abundance, some Ozark Razorback peas sprouted and quickly spread over a portion of the garden encouraged by the hot weather and frequent rains.  Yellow blooms quickly filled the plants.

The ripening peas stand at attention atop the stalks, making it easy to pass by and twist them off and put into the harvest basket.  I learned quickly that you can't simply pull them or you risk breaking off a productive portion of the plant.  Twisting the peas enable you to break the ripened peas off the stalk with ease.  I like to pick them when they are brown or at least yellow, simply because when they are dry, they're easier to shell.  But they ripen quickly.  Those fat, green pods you see below will be yellow tomorrow and brown the very next day.

See what I mean about the peas standing at attention?  Almost as if to say, "Pick me."  Even though it is a very small patch of volunteer peas, I make it my business to pass by it each day and pick the ripened peas.

Ozark Razorback peas are red and white with a speckled coat.  They are a pretty pea - that's for sure.

I'll be sure to let a few ripen on the plant and dry out so that I'm able to put some of these seeds away for safekeeping.  It would me a shame to depend on the volunteer crop to come in and then it never does next year.

One thing is for sure, I love shelling peas.  It's one of the most relaxing, pleasurable things you can do.  I like to sit on the back patio in the late afternoon and shell them into a bowl.  The peas popping into the bowl make a happy little noise I've come to appreciate.  Just this weekend, I planted another Southern Cowpea into the side garden: Purple Hull Peas.  I'll also be planting some Blackeyed Peas as well.

Happy Father's Day 2024

My sis and brother-in-law hosted Father's Day at their home in Kinder.  It was a nice time of delicious food and wonderful fellowship with people we love.  What could be better?  We sat around the table, talking and essentially solving all the world's problems.  It was an energetic and thought-provoking conversation, for sure.

We always forget to take pictures, but not this time.  As we were walking out and about to load up to head home, we remembered!  Here's a photo of me and my Dad.  So proud to be his son!

Me & Dad

When we got home, I went out to the barn and gathered eggs.  The boys were about to head home.  Benjamin just moved in with Russ, so they are roommates now.  I guess landlord and tenant is the correct term.  Tricia suggested a photo to commemorate the day.  In true "Dad-form" I'm rocking Crocs and black socks!  (How embarrassing!)

Russ, Me and Benjamin

So blessed to be their Dad!  Happy Father's Day to all you father's out there.  Keep the faith and keep pressing forward...

We All Need Somebody To Lean On

The second is this: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these.”  Mark 12:31 NASB

Neighbors.  We have some good ones.  Always so caring and generous and kind.  The Bible has a lot to say about neighbors.  In fact, The Parable of the Good Samaritan, is an answer to the question, "Who is my neighbor?"  It is easy to put limits on who our neighbor is and it is easy to provide a multitude of excuses for why this person cannot be considered our neighbor.  Jesus cleared it up by saying that our neighbor is anyone in our proximity with whom we can share the love of God.

I'm sure you can think of examples of when you've experienced someone being a good neighbor.  I'm thinking of two examples with a farming context that come to mind that I can share.

When I was farming with my Dad back in the year 2000, times were tough - input costs of the crop were sky high and prices for your harvested crop were low.  People were in a pinch.  I remember as a grown man crying in my crawfish boat, wondering how the bills were going to get paid?  How was I going to support my family?  It was hard for everyone.

But there was a certain brotherhood in farming.  If a tractor broke down, well, you'd drive to your neighboring farmer's shop and borrow his.  If you were stuck in the mud, you'd flag down the farmer down the road and he'd come with a tractor and a chain and pull you out.  Harvest time was always a little stressful.  The crop was ripening in the field and bad weather sets in, bringing the harvest to a halt.  A combine breaks and requires major work that sets you behind.  What to do?

At about 11 AM when the dew had burned off the rice, you'd look down the road and here comes the neighboring farmer in his combine, with his workers driving a tractor and cart and truck following close behind.  They would give you a day's work or whatever it took to get you out of a bind.  They wouldn't accept pay.  At the end of the day, you'd fill their tanks with diesel and they'd drive off into the sunset like the hero with the white hat.  It was a sacrifice of their time, their money, their labor, but they did it because they were honorable men that had great love for their neighbor.  You'd do the same for them, too, and when the opportunity arose, you did.

I remember I was renting a farm a little south of Oberlin.  Dad was helping me get my crop in.  A terrible storm arose and lightning struck my Dad's combine in the field while he was sitting in it.  A scary situation, for sure.  As I recall, the cab filled with electrical smoke and it fried the circuit boards in the electronics, requiring expensive and time consuming repairs.  Lots of things were going wrong.  We were falling behind.

My brother-in-law's Dad farmed south of Kinder, easily ten miles away.  He heard of our plight and drove his combine on a busy road ten miles up Highway 165 to come help me.  It put a big lump in my throat when I saw that John Deere turning down the dirt road to come help us.  How do you repay that kind of service?  The words, "Thank you," seem so lacking, so trivial, so useless in such times.  The recipient of something like that (I'm speaking from experience), feels so ill-equipped even to respond.  The fact that I'm remembering these examples two and a half decades later speaks volumes about the impact that neighbors have had on my life.  It's things you never ever forget.

The fact of the matter is neighbors don't do things for neighbors for a thank you or for a full tank of diesel or a plate lunch or a cold Dr. Pepper.  It's an expression of love, of selfless service to a fellow human being.  It's lending a helping hand to someone who needs it.  Taking responsibility for the well-being of another and living out the words of Christ, loving your neighbor as yourself.  I have had a lot of people in my life that have modeled that type of behavior.  Giants, in my eyes.  I hope to be able to live up to their example.

Hotel Belle

Our Great Pyrenees, Belle, likes to roam.  It's in her nature.  It's who she is.  She is a livestock guardian dog and thus, she has a territory to protect.  Our dilemma is that we live close to the busy road where the speed limit is 55, but that's just a suggestion.  Belle has been known to get out on the road and we don't want to lose her.  I fairly routinely see white fur from Great Pyrenees dogs wedged in the torn front bumper covers of vehicles I inspect and write repair estimates on in my job.  The last thing I want to happen is for Belle to end up like that.  That would be a tragedy for our girl.

During the day we let her roam and she stays within sight.  She likes to crawl under the cattle trailer and nap in the cool dirt.  But at night, we put her on a tie out cable as that's when she likes to go on maneuvers.  She has become real adept at pulling off her collar and escaping.  To our dismay, in the morning we find the cable attached to a red collar, but there's no dog in the collar.  Tricia purchased a fancy harness that goes over her whole torso.  That will do the trick!  Nope.  She got out the first night.  We tightened it down to the tightest adjustment there was.  Here's what we found in the morning:

We don't want to lose her and there's no way we can think of to keep her in and safe from the road at night.  She jumps over the pasture fence like she's an Olympic hurdler.  So we sat down and did some research and ordered a kennel for her.  It's 8 foot long, 4 foot wide and 6 foot tall.  It came in the mail.  I'm a little disappointed in it.  Its fabrication is a Made in China deal and it's just more lightweight than I was counting on, but you get what you pay for, I reckon.  It took a little time to put it together, but we got it done.  We rested it on the slab that we had laid years ago for a dog pen.

Evening came and we coaxed Belle into her hotel.  I don't think she's fond of the lodging.  She'd rather have her freedom at night, but her roaming and barking is aggravating the neighbors, no doubt.

We let her get acclimated to her new lodging and then moved in her water dish.  We were concerned due to her "Houdini-like" ability to escape all forms of restraint, but the kennel is too heavy for her to lift.  She can't dig under it.  The tarp is fastened tightly to the top so we don't think she can go over it.  Let's see what happens.

The next morning she was still in the kennel!  I worked on putting the old doghouse together and put new shingles on the roof.  Then we put the doghouse in the kennel in the event it would rain overnight, well, she'd be high and dry.  Tonight I walked outside and heard a loud noise.  I walked over to the kennel and Belle was on TOP of the doghouse.  Just like Ol' Snoopy.  I think she was surveying the surroundings and plotting a way of escape like "The Shawshank Redemption" or "Papillon." 

Hopefully, the Belle Hotel will work.  During the day she's as free as a bird, but at night, we'd sleep better if our 'bird' is in her cage.

A Bee in Your Bonnet

Embarking into the world of beekeeping has been interesting, to say the least.  We've learned so much and the organization of the bee's colony is something to behold.  I've got to be honest with you when I say that I enjoyed the hobby more last year than this year.  Why is that, you ask?  Well, we caught another swarm and we made a split, so the two hives we had last year are now four hives.  You can see them over my right shoulder in the photo below.

The population of each of the colonies has exploded.  A queen can lay up to 2,000 eggs per day.  With those hatching each day, suddenly you find yourself having to add boxes so they have room for their brood and of course fill up boxes and boxes of honey.

Last year, the bees were kind.  We could go out and lift the lids off of the boxes without a suit on, without gloves on, and observe activity.  Comb being drawn out.  Looking at eggs and larvae.  Trying to find the queen.  Seeing the difference between all the workers and the larger drones.  We'd go out and get into the hives weekly and marvel at the changes occurring.  

With the expansion of their population and more brood and more honey, things changed - in a drastic way.  Our bees that were once kind are now annoyed, cantankerous and protective.  If you get near their boxes, they buzz your head, a forceful warning that you're encroaching on their property and you'd best leave.

So the flow began this year, beginning with white Dutch clover and privet and now Chinese tallow trees.  That means honeybees are bringing back lots and lots of nectar the the hives.  Last year we had a drought, so I only mowed three times the whole year!  The bees never bothered me.  This year we've had lots of rain and the grass grows almost as fast as the rate of inflation.  I cranked up the mower, knowing full well that the bees were cranky.  "I will respect their territory and will only mow far away from them," I said.

I was a generous distance from them, mowing my merry heart away, when I saw something in my peripheral vision.  I mistook it for grass cuttings flying out of the mower.  Oh, how I wish that's what it was.  Suddenly, something began to hit me in the back of the head.  I brushed it away.  That's when the first of several stings got me on the back of the neck and on my back and in my hair, stinging me on my scalp.

To pour salt on the wound, one bee flew around and got me right on the eyelid!  That was the icing on the cake, right there.  I jumped off of the lawnmower and ran to the back door, swatting, waving my arms, looking like a fool for all the neighbors to see.  I didn't care.  The bees were in hot pursuit.  I could hear them and feel them as they continued to sting me.  I ran in the back door and some followed me indoors.  I got a flyswatter and dispatched them to honeybee heaven with the quickness.

The next morning my left eye was completely swollen shut!  That eye teared up the whole morning.  It goes without saying to say that I'm not quite as fond of our bees as I once was.  The bloom is off the rose.  From now on in the sweltering heat, I'll be mowing with my bee suit on.  We'll be pulling honey in another month.  Maybe when they don't have as much honey to protect, they'll go back to being docile, gentle, friendly bees once again.  

Lunch at the Camp

There was an old house at the farm headquarters we called "The Camp."  It was wood frame with a front porch facing a very dusty road and a back porch that faced the catfish pond.  The back porch contained an interesting decoration.  On rafters above the back porch steps, there was a pair of raccoon feet nailed up there.  I'm assuming someone had caught a raccoon, killed it and nailed its feet to the rafters to skin the bandit more easily.  Those feet adorned the camp rafters for years.

Inside the four walls of the camp, it was nothing fancy.  There was a window unit that got the little camp very cool and comfortable.  We'd seek refuge from the heat in the camp and have lunch, trying to ignore the aroma of dead mice and rats.  That camp attracted those pesky rodents from everywhere and we'd put out rat poison to kill them dead.  There was a small microwave and a TV in the camp.  Dad and I would warm up TV dinners in the microwave and watch 7 News where we'd learn about the upcoming weather.  The microwave would buzz, letting us know that the microwave fish sticks & potato TV dinner was ready.  A generous glob of ketchup made the lunch semi-palatable and a cold Dr. Pepper would help wash it down.  There was a big tin container sitting on the table that often had homemade oatmeal cookies in it.

Before heading back out to work in the fields, we'd talk and read magazines.  This was before the mind virus of the cell phone was invented and before the Internet.  Dad would get a number of farm publications like Progressive Farmer, Rice Farming Magazine, and my favorite, Delta Farm Press out of Clarksdale, MS.  I'd flip back to the end of the magazine where a gentleman named Mabry Anderson wrote a column called, "Outdoor Observations."  He told stories of hunting and fishing and exploring the outdoors that always piqued my interest.  I actually found a link that contained some excerpts of his writing that brought a smile to my face.  Click to read:  Mr. Mabry

That old camp has long since been torn down, but the memories of it are etched in my memory like so many things of long ago.  Perhaps I'll nail some raccoon feet to the rafters above my porch in tribute to the old camp, but I don't think my wife would appreciate the gesture.

Progress Report on LuLu

In the middle of the long, hot summer last year, LuLu gave birth to her first calf, Nicky.  Calving in the worst possible time of year wasn't bad enough.  We happened to be in a drought.  We had no grass.  LuLu was in stress from labor and delivery and had no strength.  We babied her and her calf.  We ran water hoses to try to keep one small patch of pasture alive with bermuda grass.  We drenched her with molasses and gave her a calcium supplement.  

In all truth, we thought that we were going to lose her.  Slowly, she rebounded.  She and Nicky, although stressed, made it.  This year, the grass in the pasture is growing as we've had lots more rain than last year.  LuLu is a small cow and isn't a particularly large producer of milk like our other cows.  We get between a half gallon to a gallon each day.  She seems to have perfected the art of holding back her milk for her calf.  She is able, somehow, to not let her milk drop for us.  She's real tricky like that.

It's hot in the barn so we keep the fans running while she eats.  That helps in two ways:  It cools us and her down and it blows the mosquitoes away.

You can see we have some hay twine wrapped around her rear end that holds her tail out of the way.  LuLu will show her annoyance at us, if you don't wrap her tail, by swishing us in the face with her tail.  Although that's not such a bad thing, it is not an enjoyable experience if her tail is wet with dew or urine.

We hobble one of her back legs to a cleat on the 4x4.  That keeps her from kicking the bucket.  We've learned that lesson the hard way, having milked mostly a full bucket and then having her kick it over and spill the whole thing!  Hence the old saying, "You can't cry over spilled milk."  She isn't the type cow to kick you to hurt you, so that's a good thing.

We are talking about weaning Nicky within the next month.  That will take some of the stress off of LuLu for the peak summer months.  Plus, he's a big galoot and able to make it on grass as he approaches his one year birthday.  We'll be focusing on getting LuLu re-bred and Elsie bred to yield spring calves in 2025.

The Barter Economy

I have a buddy who has always kept bees.  Even long before he got us involved with that addictive hobby.  Each week he would trade us 2 pints of his honey for our two gallons of fresh milk.  We had this arrangement for years.  I'm sure you are wondering, "What in the world did you do with all that honey?"  Well, we ate it and saved a bunch of it.  Honey will last forever.  It was a great arrangement.  The barter economy.  Two parties making a deal and both happy with the proceeds.  At that time, I was scared of bees and had no intention of keeping them.  My buddy did not want to wake up and milk cows everyday.  It worked for both of us.  

We no longer have that barter arrangement going, but we have another one that works for both of us.  Unfortunately, our friend no longer has laying hens.  Hawks, owls and other predators ate every last one of them.  What is one to do without fresh country eggs?  I don't know how you live without them.  We eat dozens and dozens of them.  Although he no longer has hens laying eggs, our friend has some land down by the bayou that is prime location for chanterelle mushrooms.  In the spring or early summer, after a rain, you can walk through the woods that slope down to the bayou and see the golden yellow chanterelles pushing up through the leaves that line the forest floor.  It doesn't take long to fill up a paper bag with them.  They smell faintly of apricots and they are so delicious to eat.

The other day we came home and found a paper bag by our door.  Upon opening it and seeing the contents, we knew exactly what they were and who they were from.  Chanterelles!  We quickly cleaned them up.

We dried them and cut them into bite-sized pieces.

Then we sautéed them in a cast iron skillet with some butter.

Tricia has recently discovered a new use (for us) for sour dough bread.  She makes sour dough pizza crusts that she lines with tomato sauce, cheese, fresh cut onions, peppers and fresh chanterelle mushrooms and then bakes them in the oven.

When these come out of the oven, I'm telling you, it's time to eat and these pizzas disappear in no time at all.  So good!

The barter economy is alive and well.  We got a nice mess of chanterelle mushrooms that we ate for supper and for those we traded our friend some fresh country eggs from our hens.  Everyone's happy.  No cash changed hands and no taxes paid or collected.  

2024 Meat Birds By the Numbers

Each year after the butchering event, we compile data and look at the numbers.  Although I'm a Finance major, I don't care for numbers much.  I'd much rather listen to and tell stories or read books or listen to interesting podcasts.  However, numbers actually tell a story.  I firmly believe in budgeting.  I don't believe in purchasing something unless you can afford it.  Wouldn't things be different if our government would ask the question, "Can we afford this?" before spending money on boondoggles that rob people's futures and livelihoods?  Off on a tangent, I'm sorry.

If you've followed us during our annual meat bird project, we weigh the birds weekly to see if they are growing and if they are going to hit our target weight within the specified time.  Things must be measurable so you can determine if you've succeeded in whatever your endeavor is.  Raising birds for slaughter is no different.

Prior to cutting up our birds, bagging and putting them into the deep freeze, we weigh them.  The crude tally below tells the story:

We butchered 32 birds.  The total carcass weight was 159.1 pounds yielding an average bird weight of 4.97 pounds.  The largest bird was 7.25 pounds and the runt of the litter was 4 pounds.  Actually, this year was a good year as far as weight.  A six pound bird usually yields a 4 pound carcass.  That's what we shoot for.  The fact that our smallest bird was our goal tells you that from a carcass weight standpoint, it was a good year.  

The other good thing was we had 0.00 mortality.  No birds died!  Usually, some die.  Normally, some of the baby chicks are weak and others crowd them and suffocate them.  That didn't happen this year.  They were all healthy and strong from the start.  If they do die, you want them to die very young so that you don't have a lot of feed invested.  We were fortunate this year as all lived until slaughter.

The next form we use gives details that we just find are interesting like days at slaughter, costs, etc.

It cost $319.35 or $10 per bird to get the bird to slaughter.  That includes costs of the baby chicks, feed, supplies.  Note that the chicken tractor is fully depreciated.  Our cost per pound is $2.01.  Quick comparison shopping shows our birds are cheaper than at Whole Foods (comparable bird), but Wal Mart Tyson Whole Chicken beats the pants off of ours in the price war.  Textbook example of economies of scale.   

Lastly, here is our feed cost itemized:

Over the eight weeks, we purchased a total of 10 sacks of Chick Grower at a total cost of $179.15.  There are some other factors that don't really factor in the analysis.  First, we think our birds are healthier.  They were out on grass in the sunshine.  No antibiotics.  No hormones.  No medicines.  No vaccines.  I think (until the day they died) they were happy birds.  Their blood, feathers, and guts no doubt improved the garden soil.  Finally, it's a great family project.  We can all work together to achieve a common goal, and we'll all enjoy great, healthy meals all year long.  These intangibles don't really show up in the accounting, but they're important, nonetheless.

The Potato Harvest - 2024

I had been waiting for the perfect time to dig potatoes.  The perfect time never comes.  We got out to the garden in the side yard last week before all the rains started to dig them up.  We use some garden forks to do the job.  They are shown two photos lower.  They are like pitch forks, but with thicker tines.  Here is what's left of the potato patch.  The potato plants have long since matured and sort of melted into the mulch.  It was a little hard to find where they were, and as a result, I forked right through a couple of them.  For the most part, however, we had no issues.

We worked our way all the way down the 45 foot potato patch.  My wife helped me dig them.  She also covered the soil back up with mulch once the potatoes were dug up.  That keeps the weeds from overtaking the patch.  You can see the digging forks we use right below. You can also see the wagon with the potatoes in it.  

We were disappointed in the yield.  I think we mostly got two potatoes per plant.  That's not very good, in my opinion.  The potato plants started off good, but the leaves soon turned yellow and they never thrived.  In typical day late and a dollar short fashion, I took soil samples mid-way through the crop and just got the results back.  The side yard garden is "optimal" or "extremely high" in all areas, except one.  That would be sulfur.  The soil is LOW in sulfur.  I looked at the symptoms of low sulfur in potatoes and its just what we experienced.

NOW I know what to do to experience a bumper crop of taters next year!  On the bright side, we are going to be eating some potatoes this year.  And if you could see Tricia's face, you'd see she's happy, because the potatoes are all dug and the job is done.

Although I wish the wagon was full, they are nice looking new potatoes in a wide variety of sizes.  You can see in the lower left hand side of the photo one of the potatoes that I stuck the digging fork right through.  It won't go to waste.  I'll wash it up and we'll eat it.

Here's a nice potato that is freshly dug.  It fits nicely in the palm of my hand.  We use potatoes this size to make a recipe called Crash Hot Potatoes.  It simply contains rosemary, kosher salt, black pepper, olive oil and parmesan.  Boy, is it good!

But this size potato right here is the cat daddy.  If you get a handful of these and cut them in half and cook them with butter with a mess of snap beans, well, that's good eating!  I think that will probably be on the menu at the Marriage Supper of the Lamb as a side dish.

The potato harvest is in.  Literally in.  We brought them into the parlor to begin curing on our rack right beside the onions, because why the heck not!

I'll be planting purple hull peas, sunflowers and zinnias in the garden in the side yard and will figure out how to amend the soil there with a proper amount of sulfur.  We'll try to plant a fall crop of potatoes to see if we realize better yields.