The Apple Plague of 2013

A few weeks ago you saw pictures of Grace and Company processing apples. We're still trying to figure out what to do with them all.  Last month, Grace canned
- 17 quarts of apple pie filling
- 13 quarts of apple cobbler
- 73 quarts of applesauce
- 48 pints of apple jam and jelly

And that was from apples within reasonable reach. Last week I set up six-feet of scaffolding and harvested these buckets plus one more that made its way through the juicer:

Today, with David's help, we added another layer of scaffolding.

And in two-hour's time, this was the bounty from 1 (one) tree:

We're about appled out. We're running out of ideas, jars, freezer space, sugar... and the trees still look like this:

Tree One (yellow delicious?)

Tree Two (red, crisp apples)

Seriously. That's what's still left after all this time. The ground below doesn't look much better.

We've lost count of bucket after buckets we've fed the sheep and chickens and cow, oh my. There's a tote of apples in the back of the vehicle to take to church tomorrow, but many of our neighbors suffer the same fate.

As someone said, if you don't have apples this year you don't have enough friends. Need apples? Find a friend. Need a friend? Ask for apples. You never know how many fruity folks you'll find. Could lead to a doctor shortage? Hmmm....

Winter Adventures: Mastitis, Mink, and Midnight Madness

The Big Guy went to Colorado for a few days to visit his mom and brother.  While he was gone, our ewe who lost one of the triplets got mastitis.  What we don't have are pictures of Laura milking the ewe's bad teat and bottle feeding the little ones or my cornering #108 every morning for a lovely dose of penicillin.  What we do have are pictures of the crew eating breakfast.

  The Big Guy came home to a fresh layer of snow--if he'd been traveling home from Chicago, he wouldn't have made it for a day or two.  It was really very beautiful...and heavy.

That week we trapped a mink in the barn.  If adolescent boys are ever in doubt, this is a good instance of your scent giving you away.  A shower or distance (either one) would have kept this bad boy out of the hoosegow.



Then, late Friday night, as the snow was melting, Neighbor Dave called, wondering if we knew any reason for there to be traffic to and from Mrs. Hawley's.  No, not to our knowledge.  He called the sheriff.  Matthew and I jumped in one of the big trucks and made our way toward the river where we found 5 teen-aged girls, stuck.  Their little car apparently didn't "think it could."  And it didn't. Why a carload of young ladies would be on a dirt road no one had traveled or plowed would be a mystery--if we hadn't been teenagers ourselves.

I gave them my cell phone number and we went home.  Realizing their friends couldn't come to their aid and (perhaps) they were unwilling to call parents, they called us.  The Big Guy started the tractor and we rocked our way down the highway, pulling over long enough for the sheriff to pass. We got out at the crossroads, shook hands with the sheriff, towed the girls out, shook hands with the sheriff again and left as he approached their car, asking for insurance and I.D.'s. By 1:00 a.m. our world settled down.

The Rescuer

We sure hope spring is on the way. Winter's about outworn it's welcome. May the adventures continue in your lives as well, blessed with the goodness only God can provide.



Christmas Blitz and Visitors

We've played in the snow,

decorated the tree,

modeled Christmas gifts,

baked and eaten Christmas delights.

For the recipe, click this link.

And then, after the glitz and blitz had settled, it was time to get to work. 
David Tometich made a trip to shear our sheep. 

Shearing the last of the sheep.

No one but a shepherd understands why we shear them in winter, but its for a number of reasons (not all of them are privy to me, either).  Our ewes are bred to have lambs when it's still cold and no matter who you are or how cold it is, a dingle-berry-infested environment does not make for happy, healthy babies.  Also, a cold sheep will seek shelter from harsh weather.  They're not the brightest animals in the world, so if they register the actual temperature, there's a chance we'll find new lambs in a protected place during a classic mid-west ice storm.

David Tometich and the Big Guy weighing the wool.

Do we keep the wool? No.  We don't have a market or the ability to process it correctly.  David Tometich pays us for the wool.  We pay him to shear.  It's a win-win proposition, but we end up with healthy, clean sheep as our compensation.

That same day we were thrilled to have Zoe Martin, a field representative from Iowa Farmer Today,  interview Grace for a feature article this next month.

We'll let you know when and where it comes out--and we haven't forgotten to let you in on the secret in the hay bale, we just haven't gotten to it yet (Believe it!  Or not!).

After the interview, the Big Guy came to the house to sample goodies and get a report.  If the experience can be measured by Grace's after-interview demeanor, it was a huge success.  Thank you, Zoe!

Today, with family visiting from Colorado and a hopeful expectation of the Boyfriend, we are planning to break open the bale--and resume work on the new office (pictures coming soon to a blog near you).

Hay is Not Enough

Since the last posting, Christmas has come and gone with all its festivity and merriment. Now, back to life on the farm....

We received enough snow last night to merit a snow day from school. Once the snow slowed down, David cleared the drive with the tractor and blade. In an effort to shake our children from the house, we soundly cut the umbilical cord to electronic devices. I modeled how to prepare for the great out-of-doors and began shoveling sidewalks.

The snow was light and powdery, perfect for shoveling. Discontent with a narrow ribbon of path, I cut a wide swath--feeling richer for it. By the time I  reached the barn, Matthew joined me.

"What's up with the sheep?" I asked. "They're bawling over by the pasture. Do we still have apples?"
"They're big blocks of ice over there. The sheep eat what they can get." I went to investigate. Sure enough.


The sheep looked hopeful, bawling at random intervals. My good shepherd response motivated me to check their food supply at the barn. Out back was plenty of hay buried under snow. I went to the front of the barn and returned, pitchfork in hand, to open the encrusted bales.


"He-e-e-re, sheep!" I called, chortling the "here" sheep-style. They didn't respond. Pitchfork in hand I followed their trail around the machine shed and over to the orchard. With an "C'mon, girls," they recognized themselves and heeded my call, nearly running me over in their haste.

They did not like their hay. They were not at all impressed with my labor or thoughtfulness. They didn't even pause to sniff the overturned loaves. They stopped, regarded me stupidly, and would have returned to the empty pasture had I not tempted them further into the barn. C'est la vie. They would rather pick from the manure-littered floor than eat from bounty.


In any case, the walks and driveway are clear, the animals are fed--and the three girls who didn't go outside have cooked up highly creative plans that will take the next 2 weeks to accomplish! For my part, I was rewarded with the sight of our home, heavily laden with snow.


Welcome to our Winter Wonderland.