Winter on the Farm

It is wet and cold now. There are days of bright sunshine when we run outside and soak it up, even when the air is chilled and our noses turn pink. Mostly it is cloudy, overcast, and rainy. Of course, temperatures don't dip below thirty degrees Fahrenheit and it doesn't snow here, so "winter" is used loosely here, but to us it is a far cry from a California summer where everything is just lovely and perfect outside and to stay in seems like sacrilege. So, we made a promise to ourselves that we would get out in it every day and bring at least one thing back to put up on our nature board.

Even Frida now understands the going out process and brings us each article of clothing she will need especially: coat, shoes, hat. With Keats, it's almost always a frustrating process with reminders of patience and "You don't have your boots on yet." That boy loves stomping in puddles and they are everywhere this time of year. The ground is squishy and the creeks are high. He stomps and trudges through fresh and muddy puddles alike, coming out soaked and smiling ear to ear. We've learned to bring two strollers with us now as Keats quickly realizes that it's not actually comfortable to walk in boots filled with water. We need to get him some waders!

We still haven't found any good quality boots in Frida's size so her puddle stomping days will have to be in the coming rainy months when she reaches a toddler's size five (her feet are tiny). For now, Keats helps her by pushing her through the puddles in her stroller. They both squeal as the water splashes up.

Frida more and more wants to be out of the stroller and walking about just like her big brother. She is good about holding hands which makes it easier to steer her away from tricky spots on the path. It takes us about an hour to walk the entire forty-acre farm at a leisurely (read: baby step) pace, but that's without stopping too much to see the animals and play, so usually we're out and about for at least two and a half hours if not three. During the rest of the year, the kids get two farm walks a day: one with me in the morning and one with Birch once he gets home from work, but with the sun going down so early, they're only getting one in these days. If Birch gets home with some time left before dark, the kids go out with him to the basketball court next to our place and play kickball. I am so grateful to Birch for these breaks. On the busiest of days, a break means I can finally wash some dishes or vacuum the floor. On lazier days, I can take some time for myself to watch something, write, READ, or even... gasp... take a long bath. When the day hasn't been too wearing, I go out with the rest of the family and play. It's nice to get a break from the kids, but that usually means more time away from Birch so I go out with them when I can, if only to get a strong arm wrapped around my waist for just a moment or to hook arms and hold hands while the kids entertain themselves a bit.

The farm changes quite a bit from season to season. Some of the larger willow trees are cut back after the fall harvest while the smaller trees and bushes are left to bud and then harvested to make more decorative fences and things. We've watched this process only twice since we began our time here on the farm and have pieced together what we could from our distant observations. I'll have to ask about it more the next time I see the owners. The farm has so many things going on, there is always something being done. Hustle and bustle is a way of life here, but there is a great rhythm to it. The busyness here is different than that of the city or even the suburbs. The country is a special place. The work here is hard and constant but it has the appearance of leisure. Riding around in tractors and forklifts, herding sheep with a pack of dogs, feeding pigs... it all seems so idyllic. To me. Some people look at us like we're crazy when we tell them what we enjoy. You should have seen my sister's face when I told her Birch wanted a whole hog for Christmas. Let me clarify that I do mean "idyllic," not easy, not always fun, but idyllic. Farming in this way seems to us to be the perfect marriage of doing what interests us and acting on the principles that are important to us in order to make our world a little better.

This place is a wonderland to us. Seeing it everyday, coming home to it everyday, watching it change and evolve right before our eyes is all absolutely stunning. We see so much wildlife everyday. I count all the different seasonal birds, take note of who stays year-round, and watch for other wildlife like coyotes, bobcats, deer, and the very occasional mountain lion. We hear frogs and crickets every night. We have daily visitors such as owls, hawks, kites, egrets, and herons. Ducks and geese land in the flooded field across the road. We see tracks from raccoons, badgers, and so many more. Often we find the remains of animals in various states of decomposition. Keats is curious and compassionate, so we discuss what might have happened to the animal and what might happen to it now that it has passed on. It's a good opportunity to introduce him to the topic in a way that isn't overly traumatic. When we lost Harlequin, our rabbit, Keats was still quite young and couldn't really understand it. He just waited at Harlequin's cage for him to come out. Birch and I would see this and tear up. Not knowing what to say, I told him that Harlequin had "gone bye-bye." It worked, but it felt a bit like cheating. Now that Keats is older, I feel like he needs a better understanding of death and loss. I've always been afraid of death and even more afraid of others dying. My very first memory is standing next to my aunt right after she passed away. I can see her face very clearly, not her face as she was in life, but the strange face that appears after we die. I've seen it too often. I've seen too many relatives, too many friends pass away and I can only hope that my children will have a better understanding of the event than I. 

Winter can have the appearance of a mass death among all things, but looking closely, I can see life pushing forward, growing stronger, and making its way to being even more brilliant than it was the previous year. 2012 was the winter of my marriage. It was hard. It seemed like too many things were falling apart. Birch and I didn't love each other any less than the day we got married, but our days became relentlessly filled with frustration, sorrow, and exhaustion. We've learned our lesson now. We're pulling ourselves back up. I can only hope we have the resilience of the farm that takes what it is given and makes itself stronger and more beautiful than it has ever been. I know we can do it. I've told some friends and family that Birch and I are struggling and they immediately become quite worried. Don't be. Birch and I are fine, we are in love, we are committed to each other and to our life together. Some days are harder than others; some years are harder than others. I'm so very happy that a new year has begun, that Birch and I have summoned up and renewed our energy, and that we have such caring individuals all around us who help us to be who we want. Who knows, this may be another hard year for us, but I already feel stronger as my roots sink deeper into the earth here on the farm.

Happy New Year!

Sparkle And Shine New Year's Card

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And There It Goes

I'm so grateful that we got to end this terrible year with Christmas, family, and friends. I know many people who have felt the same about this year. Honestly, it was all just too much for me and I am counting on the magic renewal of a new year. That's how it works, right? Everything is just instantly better as the clock strikes 12:01 a.m. on January 1st? No? Of course it does! Huzzah.

There's much I could say about it all, but I'm not ready. I am grateful for all the good that regularly sneaked in, squeaked, and quietly rocked me on top of the waves of horror, shock, and pure Sad. I am grateful for the peace I felt at Christmastime. I was not the giant stressball I usually have been the last few years. This year, I was just grateful to wake up and watch my children open their presents. I was grateful to be able to provide a Christmas that lived up to my boys' hopes. I was grateful to feel ease even as water rose up the stairs of our porch and know that me and my family had many places to go should the flood destroy the floor of our home. I'm grateful that it didn't. I'm grateful that little Frida's eczema started to get better after being prescribed a new medication. I'm grateful that things are starting to come together and calm down at home. I am grateful for the promise of more frequent dates with my man and more time alone to do the things that fuel who I'd like to become and be. I am grateful for hot coffee in the morning and hot gifted chai at night. I am grateful for The Talking Heads, David Bowie, and Thomas the Train. I am grateful for farmers. I am grateful for my new phone and my new car. I am grateful for all the people in this world that show so much love even in the face of so much hate.

I am grateful for my children. I am grateful for my dog. I am grateful for my backyard flock. I am grateful for the farm I'm lucky enough to live on. I'm grateful for the town, for the coast, for the marsh. I am grateful for my husband.

I am grateful for all the beauty I experience every day and for the times I am lucky enough to capture it.

Frida fluffing and sniffing Grandma Fox's tree.

 

 
We started our Christmas celebrations by finding our tree at Rancho Siempre Verde just down the coast from us. They grow several different varieties all mixed together and provide marshmallows for roasting as well as a wreath-making station, tree swings, tractor rides, and some amazingly huge xylophones. This year we went as traditional as we ever have by chopping down a 10-foot Douglas fir, though we went for a sparse tree that really brought the feel of the imperfect perfect woods indoors. Though it was a freezing day with rain coming down like mad, we enjoyed the time with Birch's family and the fresh air we love so much here on the coast.
 

As Christmas drew near, we took the kids on a super-secret Christmas Adventure Mission down south to Santa Cruz where we rode the special Thomas Train! Keats and Frida both spotted Father Christmas, though both were more mystified and confused than excited. To his credit, he was very casual and didn't force them into anything. He just sat down next to them, gave them each a gift, posed for a photo, then moved on. Keats really enjoyed playing with the train tables and stamps. The rest of the planned activities were a bit much for him so we headed inside away from the freezing rain and wind to play in the arcade. Keats was most infatuated with the claw machine and the popcorn game. Frida was happy to play with all the prizes and Birch was a little too excited to finally claim the stegosaurus as his own. I was excited to find my favorite arcade game: Rampage! In the end, we were glad and ready to leave, but it was fun and a great time for Keats.

 

As we left, we discovered that Pescadero was flooding. We rushed home, packed up our things for the second time, put up the furniture as high as we could, and headed to a lovely cabin provided by our landlords to wait out the storm. The next morning, we were very happy to discover our home dry and the water already receding back. Though the water had reached higher than the previous flood earlier in the month, we still made it through and were able to celebrate Christmas Eve and Day at home as planned with all our decorations, our treats, and our beautiful tree.  

 

 
We watched Charlie Brown's Christmas and A Christmas Story on Christmas Eve and put Keats to bed. For the first time in three weeks, Keats slept all night in his own bed, knowing that Father Christmas wouldn't come if he didn't sleep in his bed all by himself all night long. (A little deception that was extremely useful. He slept three nights in a row all by himself.) Birch and I prepared for Christmas morning and fell asleep.

Nothing quite prepared Birch and I for the bliss of Christmas morning. Since our bedroom was still in uproar since the flood, we slept on a spare mattress in the living room, under the tree. Waking up snuggled amidst our warm, flannel covers and sheets set us up for a lovely morning. Frida woke up first and we played trains as quietly as we could. Keats slept in (!) and came out dazed and with a bit of a cold around eight-thirty. It took a bit to remind him that it was Christmas morning, but once it was clear, we opened presents all sitting on our snuggly bed. Keats most loved his Thomas engine and new underwear (here's to that enthusiasm lasting into potty-training). Frida was infatuated with her Schleich Guernsey cow family. As usual, Birch insisted on no presents from me this year (because I'm his present... wa-waa), so I got him a new can opener which he LOVED (he's owned the one we were using since college). I left Birch a not-so-subtle hint of an open shopping cart on his desktop and he bought me a beautiful top from Anthropologie that I'm obsessed with. It is so comfortable and the fit is lovely. I'm considering spending my Christmas money on a couple more in different prints. I need to build my wardrobe... badly.

Our Christmas continued with both sets of grandparents and we received even more goodies. Keats and Frida made out like bandits! The two family Christmases are so different from each other, it's nice. On one side, Chinese food take-out, minimal gifts, and lots of serious discussion and laughter. On the other, a homemade banquet, a plethora of thoughtful gifts, and lots of chaotic expressions of love and laughter. I love Christmas and the transition it has made in my life since my own childhood to now. I am grateful for my family and how our relationship keeps evolving as the years pass.

With four full days of Christmas under our belts, on arriving back home, I immediately set to rearranging the kids' room to accommodate all the new things. We're putting together boxes of purged toys and things to donate/toss depending on their state of awesomeness. I am so grateful for the generosity of both of our families. Every year is so lovely (and emotional; I broke down a couple times in the arms of my relatives).

So here is to a brand new year with renewed energy and patience. I hope to include lots of trips to delicious bakeries, more trips to fun places, more laughing, and far more gentleness and peace. I hope I can master myself once again and become the mother, wife, friend, daughter, and sister I hope to be. I hope to understand more and to be better understood. I wish for the world to calm down, take stock, and be grateful for what it has and strive harder to make itself a better place to live. I hope to hear more stories of love, peace, and understanding. I hope to be an instrument in the betterment of our world. It is a beautiful place, let's make it even more so.

Learning and Living on the Farm

We've been going out every chance we've been given. The weather is off and on raining and we're gearing up for flood season. The farm gets mucky but Keats loves to play in all the puddles, even the foot-deep ones. He stands in the middle with the water up to his waist peering in at all the leaves, swaying grasses, and bugs he can find. It's no wonder that Frida's first words were, "What's that?" as it is one of her older brother's favorite phrases as he explores the world around him. Both of my little ones are so adventurous and curious about everything they see and hear. It's this fascination with all things new that make having kids so much fun. As adults, we often forget the novelty and wonder in so many of the objects and happenings around us. A water strider swishing its way across the surface of a puddle, to Keats, is like finding the ultimate treasure. He invariably comes back from this outings cold and soaked, in dire need of a warm bath and perhaps a small cup of hot cider, too, or his very favorite: "a special, warm drink" which is merely milk, hot water, and a miniscule amount of raw honey. He loves to sip this sitting on the porch while Birch and I hang up his dinosaur raincoat and undress Frida.

 

Our dry, sunny walks around the farm are full of new life as well. Several litters of piglets have been born the last two months, either Large Blacks or Large Black crosses. The Large Black is a heritage breed and fairly rare in the United States. It is prized for its docile nature and mothering skills. They do extremely well on pastures and grow up to about seven hundred pounds (females). A mature boar can be about eight hundred pounds. The farm started off with two piglets raised them to be the wonderful mothers they are. The owners of the farm then acquired two boars from up north and started the breeding process. True to country style, they've taken in several various animals from the excess of other farms, including the white sow above. Birch and I are both learning a lot from the farm and our own research. Birch has grown a great affinity for pigs and his tasty adventures in the kitchen have spurred on his hope of becoming a pig farmer and charcutier. The more we discuss this with the owners, the more hope we have in accomplishing this goal. Perhaps they will even be the catalyst we need and hoped for, enlisting Birch in the butchering process, etc. We are so grateful to have friends so willing to pass on their knowledge to us. 

 

 

Our chickens and ducks, now numbering twenty-one all together, have had a few trying months with the move, the rain, and a couple of lost "friends." We finally decided to slaughter Shogun, one of our Ameraucauna roosters, as he was continuously attacking Keats (and me) and we felt that we had one too many roosters for our number of hens. Birch took him over to our friends, a couple who started their own pasture-raised poultry farm here in Pescadero, Early Bird Ranch, and they showed Birch how to go about the entire process. He ended up slaughtering seventeen chickens that day in exchange for the knowledge, equipment, and opportunity. Sending Shogun off that day was a little rough for me as I felt twangs of guilt, but I reminded myself that this was part of his purpose for us. Why we had raised and fed him each day and taken such great pains to make all our chickens happy and comfortable in their lives. We enjoy eating meat, but we feel very strongly that the meat we eat should exclusively come from animals humanely treated both in life and in death. We are grateful to him for providing us with a bit more experience and ultimately a wonderful meal. I feel myself tip-toeing around that subject, but that is what happened to Shogun and what will happen to many more of our birds, even the ones with names. And that is alright. We didn't buy them as chicks for pets. We purchased them with the goal of daily eggs, occasional meat, and endless entertainment and education.

Our ducks, it should be noted, are pets. They are Indian Black Runner ducks and are best prized for their pest management, a skill we plan on utilizing in our garden once it is up and running. We have one drake and two hens. We are beginning to be able to tell them apart. The drake is a bit taller, has a green bill, and iridescent foliage all over his body. One of the hens has a greenish-black bill and is all black while the other hen has an all-black bill and several white feathers speckled across her neck and chest. We are still considering names and may purchase two Blue Runner ducklings early next year along with our next crop of chicks. 

We've been to the beach several times a week, sometimes even just for a few moments before sunset, and each time we go we feel refreshed and free from the burden of the day. We've been visiting tidepools more and exploring different beaches up and down the coast from us. Keats is learning all about these new strange creatures that live in the water. We love hearing him say anemone, mussel, sea otter, kelp, and barnacle. He's a master at pointing out starfish, even the ones so cleverly camouflaged that even I almost step on them at times. I have a hard time teaching him to always watch the water, but he's learning it and remembers most times. I'm always on high alert, so for now, I'm watchful enough for us. My own mother told me a story that when I was about two, she actually saved me from an incoming piece of driftwood. She ran up and grabbed me up just in time and was whacked right across her shins. The wood would have surely knocked me down and at the very least could have given me a serious bruise across my chest. That story has stuck with me throughout my life as I know that it could have been much worse than a mere bruise. I know people laugh at our protectiveness sometimes, but I try to give parents the benefit of the doubt when it comes to safety. They know their kids, what they are apt to do or not do in a sketchy situation, where they are lacking and where they are sufficient. We've been asked when we'll let Keats go surfing and my response is always "Not for several more years." We get laughed at for that, but hey, he won't even let me put water over his head in the bathtub. I think swimming and surfing in the ocean is several steps away. For now, we are more than happy to explore the shore.

 

Finally, we celebrated Frida's very first birthday with a party. Her birthday came up so quickly, we could hardly believe it. She is such a sweet little thing. She is absolutely infatuated with animals and loves to dance. She is more than generous with hugs and kisses. She learns things very quickly and is quite adventurous, though she is shy around a lot of people. She is so different from her brother in so many ways and I love to watch her playing with him. He tells her about all the different pictures in books and has taught her the great wonder of cars and trucks (much to his annoyance, as now she loves to play with his toys). She follows Keats around like a shadow, but enjoys the hour or two alone with us before he wakes up and after he goes to bed. One of these days I'll put my foot down and put her to bed at the same time as him, but we're still putting together her crib so that's a few days off yet.

Autumn Reigns

It's been a very long time since my last entry. Summer has ended and the coast's largest pumpkins have been weighed. Our days are a mix of rain and breezy sunshine, with the dark of night coming on suddenly and earlier. The nights are crisp and we see the stars shifting.

We're settling in at home. The move proving to us, once again, that we'd like to be without so much cumbersome Stuff. It blocks passageways and sits untouched for weeks or months. It is passed time to say goodbye to those things inexplicably held onto as we look at more days inside---cozy but NOT crowded. Finding the time can be difficult, but that excuse has outworn its welcome. Time for a Fall cleaning before we drudge in so many leaves and so much mud and wet that we can no longer judge what's clean and what's not.

The kids are growing up, both in their own ways. Keats' imagination has come out since his older cousin's visit from England. Her near constant humming and dancing has rubbed off on him and it is so fun to see. He pretends that his different fingers are various people and places them gently into his cars to race or to drive to the beach. He gave Frida's dog stuffie a diaper change this afternoon and has really made some leaps forward on his fake phone call skills. Frida is walking and has added a few words to her one-phrase vocabulary that has monopolized her speech for the few months. Her first word? She didn't have one. She skipped right on ahead to "What's that?" She has now found that a tad limiting and has added Olive, Keats, Daddy, Thanks, and Yum-yum. She still feels that crying and turning bright red is sufficient when getting MY attention, so Mama/Mommy has not made its debut as of yet. She is eating most things we give her, most notably, a hunk of smoked pork freshly sliced from the whole animal at a local BBQ on the farm. She was sucking and chewing on it the entire duration of the party. It was fantastic. Sadly, I'm almost sure she's allergic to cow's milk as she's broken out in hives a couple of times after playing with what Keats spilled. Both occurrences were outside, however, so I may be overlooking another common denominator. Birch and I were discussing the possibilities of goat and sheep butters, concluding that they must be disgusting or too low in fats. Anyone out there know? Luckily, there are plenty of vegan alternatives around here and lots of knowledgeable farmers, too.

I really do love living here. We still yearn for a small farm of our own and Birch's meat dreams have graduated to a local charcuterie. I'm still unsure of my aspirations in life but a shop up for lease has caught my eye and reignited my desire for a kind of girly paradise shop. Think a small, local version of Walmart/Target. Ha! That's a somewhat odd description, but imagine your favorite, quaint little fill-in-the-blank shops and now smoosh and mix them together into a small shop you could peruse while visiting a lovely farming town on your way down the coast. You pick out a picnic blanket, that Schleich cow family you've been meaning to buy, a few packets of heirloom tomato seeds, and perhaps handing the kids over to Daddy while you sneak a surprise lingerie set for next Months' date night. Oh, and of course, you'll make a note of the mugs, plates, and designer fabrics for your next visit. Did I mention we have story time and lectures/classes for the local community? Oh, dreams... I especially like the part where we're open Thursday through Monday. And so I battle the ever-dueling need to follow my aspirations and the haunting pressure of Anxiety. In this particular case, the anxious worry is well-founded as there is so much to hurdle and tackle. Business plans, loans, child care, lease agreements, and I'm not even sure what else. It may be too much when viewed along with Birch's hopes for himself and that opens up a huge can of worms...

Putting all that aside and firmly in its place, we are settling into what we are and where we are right now. White-tailed kites and sharp-shinned hawks fly and hover over the field opposite us as the farmer drives his tractor across, readying the field for winter planting. The sheep eat the yellowing leaves from the low willow branches. The chickens have molted and are fluffing up once again as the nights drop with chill and frost. Apples simmer in a pot on the stove and we're finding fresh grapefruit in our CSA boxes. Birch is making pumpkin green curry again and we're licking our lips at the thought of scratch-chicken soup and white bean stew with pork. We'll see how our new home fairs in the coming months of rain, cold, and flooding. Should be an interesting ride. Let's see if I get any craft time, shall we?

We are a family of four renting a home on a farm on the coast.

  

Welcome Home

We are now in the new house. Phew. It has been over a month and we're nowhere near settled or moved completely in but there is now a strong sense of Home eminating from the textured wood walls. The books are in shelves, toys are in bins, and clothes are mostly in drawers. The kitchen flow is still working itself out as is our new chore chart/schedule, but that will be dealt with.

This month barely held me together. Stress built as if the road crews outside our window were purposefully pouring tar and asphalt over me each day. My one escape from my own spastic thoughts was my collection of Laura Ingalls Wilder stories. I whirled through them lovingly but also desperately. I needed to be out of my head and when the last sentence charged through and ended, I was left with myself and it was frightening. Suddenly I realized I wasn't just stressed or overtired or frustrated. I was depressed. Really, clinically depressed. Usually that wouldn't scare me but I discovered that my ability to recognize it (and therefore deal with it properly) was gone. I could too easily explain the anxious Sad away. My life felt too hectic. There were so many variables that could be contributing (and definitely were) to my unrelenting oppressive mood. Realizing those variables were not the root cause lifted my mood, making me realize that what was going on could be alleviated or even eradicated completely.

So, I keep trying (and looking for a therapist).