Companion Farming. It is better than growing alone.

I have this weird fantasy where I secretly take pictures and videos of Captain America and I, and I edit them into a better commercial for FarmersOnly. You know, kind of like the Match and eHarmony ones, only with more cows. Oh and instead of the first date conversation being about our jobs it would be about what dead things the dogs drug into the yard lately (a whole deer head with eyes and all, thanks Susan…). Less giggling and more full out belly laughs. Fewer sly hair flips and more hands shaking and praying to not spill the wine. Heavy discussions about how many cows we wanted to have when we got older, or how much acreage we wanted to own. And the tagline for this? Companion Farming. It is better than growing alone.

 

Why Companion Farming you ask? A few months ago I was walking across one of Captain America’s fields carrying two bottles of tea; making a beeline straight for the tractor when it hit me. If I hadn’t drove the hour and a half to get there, and he had flipped the tractor or gotten kicked by a horse or whatever random farming accident, no one would even notice until it was too late.

 

The bottom dropped out of my stomach and I felt physically ill. I fought it down and hopped on up to make a few rounds as “tractor candy.” But it hasn’t been very far away from my thoughts ever since. As we made the rounds and small talk I found my thoughts wandering and toying with words, as they are frequently wont to do. I was thinking about how glad I was to be alive and in the relationship that I am in, and then I started being grateful for the opportunity to explore my hobbies and interests like companion planting, and I looked over at CA and thought to myself how lucky I was to have such a nice farming companion, and then the thought hit me. We were companion farming. I was put in his life to prevent him from an untimely tractor accident (or at least to cry a lot if it happened) and he was put into mine to help me too. Because let’s face it. In a few years I too would be farming alone.

 

Over the past few weeks my thoughts have been circling around this idea of companion farming as if it was an unruly cow and I REALLY wanted to pet her calf. Which is to say I will think hard on it and then lose interest only to come back a few days later and stare longingly at the cuddly little epiphany that is just barely out of my reach. Seriously, it is right there.

 

I have had a lot of thoughts that almost catch it.

 

We refer to loved ones, friends, romantic partners, and pets as companions. Ideally most of those relationships are symbiotic, and help each other, to create a better whole. To extend the idea of companion gardening into it, there are certain plants that grow well together giving support to sprawling vines or fighting off certain insects for their neighbors. Those companions don’t replace sunshine, soil, or water; but they go an awfully long way when it comes to boosting the liveliness and productivity of their sister plants. For example, squash can grow by itself, but it is much more susceptible to bugs without some radishes in its life. Much like I can grow by myself but am much more prone to bouts of depression without all of my companions around. Each one is specialized and good for certain things like conversation, hugs, devil’s advocacy, fun wild nights, shopping, or listening; much like certain companion plants are great for things like immune support, physical support, or even pest deterring.  

 

God is a gardener planting people in our lives to help us grow in certain ways. We must chose our friends as if they were companion plants (IE stay away from those black walnut friendships ‘cause nothing good will come of that [black walnut trees actually release a toxin into the ground that can kill rival plants]). Not everyone that will take from you also gives you back what you need. After all, what good is a little shade if you’re both starving and fighting for nitrogen? When selecting a mate you must choose someone that you not only grow well next to, but who also doesn’t steal too many of your nutrients, all the better if they add what you need back into the soil.

 

Any of those work? No? Well, heck. They don’t quite do it for me either. Maybe one day I will clutch that cuddly calf of insight and it will be as clear as day, but for right now it is still about as see through as lake water after a rainstorm. Geez, I am rocking the redneck analogies today. Sorry ‘bout that!

 

One way or another, I am so grateful to have my life so full of EXCELLENT companions.

 

And part of that is because of FarmersOnly. So watch out, Captain. It only makes sense that I should give a little back!

 

After all, who could resist a handsome farmer fake threatening
you with a knife as you snap pictures of him cutting bale strings for you?
C'mon! The ad will write itself!

 

 

Barnyard Tales Chapter 7: Kinky Cows

“He strode through the gate with an aura of confidence. His taunt muscles rippled beneath his skin, making it dance with power. His jet black hair shone in the bright spring sunlight. His scent was divine; a mix of sweat and pheromones that bespoke more masculinity than words ever could. It wafted towards me on the breeze and commanded my attention. I raised my head and stared, my mouth agape, as my sisters did the same. He was by far the finest specimen of a male I, or any of us, had ever seen. He walked slowly down the hill towards us with a grace and ease that I didn’t know anyone could possess.

It had been months since any of us had seen a male old enough to arouse interest, but here was one. And oh what a one he was!

I’m not sure who started moving first. Was it me? Was it Beulah? I guess it doesn’t matter anymore really. As one we raced across the field towards the male of our dreams. We weren’t jealous, really. I knew that there would be a second place in the race for his affections, but none of that mattered. We would let him sort it out once we got there.”

Excerpt from “The Bull of My Dreams, a Memoir” by Crooked Cow

You might believe that the above quote is an overstatement, but as I watched the sexy hunk of beef that was the rent-a-bull stride off the trailer and into the pasture I swear to you that the above paragraphs describe what the cows felt. Their head’s lifted in unison. Recognition flowed through them like an electric current. As a herd they immediately ran to meet their new beau an began licking him from head to hoof.

Licking him like a freaking lollipop. I kid you not. Those old girls are kinky like that.

And the bull? I could swear he did a chin tilt, “’Sup ladies.” He was THAT confident.

Needless to say we had a bumper crop of calves that year…

Meet Peep

I lifted broody hen and what did I find beneath? A fuzzy little yellow chick who peeped his bitty head off at me.

I have to admit, I fell in love. I held him all the way over to his new home at Captain America's house. At less than 24 hours old he is already spoiled rotten.

I kinda hope some siblings hatch, or I will have the world's most babies bird!

What is it about the chickens?

Last spring we got chicks. They grew into some fine young chickens and everything has been going great. Well, other than getting almost nine eggs EVERY DAY. I eat breakfast with my grandpa most mornings, so it isn’t like I am even home to try to keep up with the egg onslaught. The only good thing about it has been that we do not immediately wash the eggs, which allows them to keep well for extended periods of time outside of a refrigerator. The bad part of that is that I get a little lazy with gathering the eggs.

About a month ago that caught up with me. It had been a few days and when I went to gather them up I noticed a hen in a nesting box. I thought nothing of it, assuming that she was just laying and so I went about my merry. Two or three days later the same thing happened, and again I thought nothing of it. The third time around I realized the error of my ways. Yup. You guessed it. I have a wonderfully bitey mother hen. She went broody on me and now bites at me every time she sees me. Every. Time. Given my inherent fear of poultry I had just been letting her sit rather than agitate her. That worked great until last Friday when mom told me that I had to throw her eggs out.

Saturday Captain America and I spent all day installing new floors in my home and then went to a wedding. I had a few glasses of wine and was feeling pretty darn happy as we drove home and got started on the feeding. Like the dutiful daughter that I am I started out tossing away the very unhappy hen’s eggs. That’s when things got weird. Is it the beak induced welts that make it traumatic? The frantic clucking? You might guess so, but you’d be absolutely wrong. No, no, what made it one of the most traumatic things off my life was breaking an egg and seeing a semi-formed chick struggling out at me trying to breathe, trying to survive; and knowing that I had just destroyed its little chicken life. I left it broken and alone in the cold with my heart broken by crushing guilt and grief. I managed to not cry, which was a feat in itself.

As we walked back to my house from the farm I told the good Captain that I was going to change my stance on abortions; that having just witnessed, just CAUSED, a late term chicken abortion I was pretty sure that I do not support them now. He laughed a little. I don’t think he knew how much it had messed me up, but that’s okay. He was going to find out.

We went inside to get ready for bed. I brushed my teeth and walked into my bedroom where I saw on the floor, you guessed it a chicken feather.

Now I don’t want to say that I broke down, but when CA walked into the room he did find me curled in a fetal position around the chicken feather with a grief stricken look on my face. I was nearly catatonic over the damned feather. I think I looked at him with tear laced eyes and tried to explain to him that the chickens, or God, were punishing me for my crimes against them. I am not sure what happened next; but I think he ignored my frantic mumbling, hugged me and put me to bed. He might have also promised to kill any livestock from now on. Which given the situation was remarkably considerate.

Needless to say I did not kill the rest of the eggs on Sunday, and when I went to pick them up to try to do it yesterday one of them started peeping at me. I’m done. She can have chicks.

Mom is going to kill me.

Playing Catch Up

Hello world! I’m sorry for the delay in posting this. Life has been nonstop go, go, go! The change in the season and in the relationship status has been fantastic, but not without their own challenges. Mostly time. I don’t know where it all goes!

My grandpa has asked me to help him mow, which takes a couple hours out of my weeks now. I think he is trying to start and no hole golf course. To mow his whole yard would easily take ten hours or more. It is pretty intense. I like the ability to do it for him though, and it gives me some much needed down time!

The garden has been producing wonderfully. Squash bugs seem to hate radishes. But even with that the squash season is going to be done soon. That’s okay though, because I have more than enough zucchini in my belly and my freezer to keep me going awhile! The corn is done too, and I am planning on making freezer corn tomorrow. If anyone has any need for cucumbers let me know! I have A LOT of cucumbers! I meant to blog about pickle making, but I haven’t had the time yet. Don’t worry though. Soon you’ll have a step by step dill pickle recipe that’ll knock your socks off! I have made a ton of pickles. (Okay, not a ton, just like 20lbs worth. But it feels like a ton!) Captain America and I borrowed my grandpa’s pressure canner over the weekend and canned a couple pints of tomatoes and okra and goat too. The tomatoes are really starting to run rampant so I’m going to be making several more jars of marinara, salsa, and stewed tomato in the coming weeks. Then maybe I will have a little time to get back to the herbal jellies that I love! I tell you, with produce and easy meals this handy I almost can’t wait until winter! Provided Captain America likes what happened to the canned venison and goat we are planning on canning some of the beef that he will be butchering too. If you haven’t ever had canned beef you are missing out. It looks gross, but oh my gosh it is delicious! And it makes its own gravy! Dump a jar into a pot and boil it with corn starch and you have the most tender beef and gravy you could imagine. Add some noodles and dinner is served! As if my freakish excitement about home canned goods wasn’t enough before now that I have an “assistant” it has gotten even more intense.

As if he wasn’t wonderful enough before; just add his ability to magically seal the pressure cooker, or help chop vegetables, or make wine while the canner is going. I’ve never had help with canning before, so it is pretty novel. That extra set of hands makes everything go smoother! It is really great to teach him about canning and then turn around and have him teach me about wine making. And here I thought he was spectacular just seeing him clear my fence rows, with a chainsaw, shirtless. I’m still torn between that and watching him roll out biscuit dough to make “kraut burgers” as to which was hotter.

The boy deserves a calendar. Hot dang. No wonder I have so little downtime. Thank God for FarmersOnly! Anyway, recipes are forthcoming. I will try to not stay away too long this time. But there are horses to ride, and memories to make, so I probably will be down to once every two weeks or so for regular updates and sporadic intense blogging sessions for recipes.

PS: The Captain America 12 month shirtless farm chore calendar is being held up in editing. Because he would kill me if I made it a thing ;). But it is still tempting as all get out!

Life

I am exhausted. I am energized. I am up at 6 starting a load of laundry, pulling weeds and picking tomatoes. I am late to work because I get distracted by the bees meandering around my mint plants and my perfect moment of joy, being in tune with the universe, makes me not care one bit. I take a break to have breakfast with my grandpa and tell him about my day so far. We talk about his childhood and how much quieter things were when all he had to worry about was whether or not the harness was mended. I revel in being a part of his story. I am home at lunch with the dryer going, dusting counter tops, vacuuming my floor, chopping watermelon to throw in the food dehydrator with one hand and eating a sandwich with the other. After work I’m on the mower at my grandpa’s for two and a half hours before coming straight home to hop on a different mower to mow around paddocks until dark and then feed horses and chickens and stumble up the driveway under the most brilliant moon I have ever seen to take a quick shower and grab dinner before I turn around to finish up watering the horses to the sound of a tree frog chorus. Then it is home again to chop tomatoes and chat with my loved ones for an hour or two before falling blissfully exhausted into bed and waking up to start in again.

This is my life, and it is perfect.

Which came first?

In our case it was definitely the chickens!