I still have to can applesauce and tomatoes, which presents a totally different work flow than chores.  I can’t say I am looking forward to this part of process, the inside the kitchen part.  I prefer hauling feed bags to stirring bubbling pots.  I wish I loved canning.  I do love the satisfaction of eating the finished product, and so I will toil and trouble.

Bob has been living on his bicycle.  We even took it to Clifton Springs on our vacation this past weekend.  He rode to the park, Meeps took her balance bike… leaving Scott & I in the dust wondering where our babies had gone.

We are so blessed to live on such a big, beautiful lake.  We don’t take advantage of it nearly enough.

We finally got our water line put in to the goat shed and the new out building.  Next we need to connect fittings.  I hope this part of the process doesn’t take another year to complete, but I am thankful for the step in the right direction.  Not hauling water jugs in snowstorms is very appealing.

The children had no shortage of entertainment here this summer.  We spent countless hours perched on top of their play structure, watching crews work.  First we had new windows put in, which meant saws and big glass.  Then we had our outbuilding put up, which meant giant augers, cement trucks and a big bucket lift.  Then we had a massive tractor and tree spade arrive and stay for the day, clearing out the trees from inside the outbuilding.  Last was the water line, which brought the piece de resistance: The Mighty Excavator.  It made a 3′ deep trench which snaked all over the back lawn, much to the delight of the children.

The pleasure of heavy machinery!

(There are two children standing on the tracks on the left side, with tongues out and fingers in their eyes, dancing in ecstasy over the excavator).

Every year teaches us something new.  I have joked in the past that we know we are improving because we kill less stuff.  If unintentional death toll was actually the bar of success, we failed big time this year.

We only managed to get 65/100 chickens to butcher thanks to raccoons and heart attacks.  We were endlessly trapping coons, which while helpful, is ultimately not how one would prefer to spend ones morning, nor is finding the maimed poultry corpses in their wake.  It was a bad year to be a chicken on the Duncan Farm.  At least I didn’t STEP on any chickens this year.  We lost more in the beginning this year too (2% is average for us) to the point where Meeps pointed out a sickly looking baby chick and asked if she should “get a log”.  (To cull them).  Next year I will be extra cautious with travel during the brooder weeks and I will be even more vigilant with feed storage and quicker to break out the not live for very long traps.

I had to put down little Cindy Ray, whose birth I attended like a first time parent.  We recently had a vet out again to assess her mother Suki.  Suki has always been a suck, she is the lowest on the totem pole and loves to rest her head on my shoulder while I hug her.  Turns out Suks has pleurisy and is a chronic pneumonia carrier.  We have to put her down before we can even think of bringing another animal here, which we would be doing soon for winter breeding.  Next year I will stop hugging my goats.

I have put the love I have for my farm directly into my animals and forged relationships with them that I should not have.  I expected Suki would be a long standing fixture in our herd, based on nothing but my own desire to have her in my life.  It was a mistake on my part.  We can raise them in a manner we find ethically acceptable and still bask in the joy of their being without crossing over a line of attachment.

Hard lesson learned.

Delicious dinners at the Harbour Street Brasserie, where we get to play dress up like adults and enjoy perfection on a plate.

Tiring out the children with sunshine.  Happiness induced exhaustion.

Paddling in our Bananas Gorilla Mobile.  (The canoe is bright yellow).  I LOVE Lake Huron.

In other news, my parents are putting their awesome house back on the market.   If I had to live in town, I would live there in a minute.  It’s right on the lake, you could keep some chickens if you wanted, the lot is absolutely private and really big.

We’ve had lots of visitors lately, which has been wonderful.  This spring was really shit terrible in the morale department, having been made quite the fool of repeatedly  by people I thought were friends.   It has been hard to digest how desperate I was for comraderie.  Was I really that lonely?  Naive?  I realized I expect people not to like ME, but to BE like me; if I have a problem I am quick to flush it out.  But assuming makes an ‘ass’ out of ‘u’ and ‘me’ now, doesn’t it.

I have reconnected with old friends and made new friends this summer and it has been a very pleasant and rejuvenating experience.   We have continued to foster some wonderful relationships that I could not be happier about.  Bob and Maggie have been adopted by yet another set of grandparents, the love is multiplying.  Such a beautiful thing.

After nearly 5 years of babies and breastfeeding, I am settling back into my body, gaining independence from the children and rekindling the homestead fires too.   I am a very lucky woman.

[Sweaters courtesy of Philosopher's Wool]

(Repeat off key, x eleventy million).

Pigs have learned to drink from their automatic waterer. This is a huge blessing, it means no more hauling 200′ of hose to them 2x a day, or gallon after gallon of water in buckets.  Their wallow is impressive, and it looked like they might tunnel out of their fencing, but they seemed to have abandoned the project.  (We wound up naming them Pig, Pig and Pig this year).

I planted more flowers this year, I guess I was feeling industrious. They are in big pots and all along our balcony.  There are many pots this year: baskets of begonias, rosemary, lavender, leeks, lambs ears, chamomile, calendula, zinnias, lemon balm, sheep sorrel and basil all have their own pots, which I am actually remembering to water!

My potatoes are going berserk in their big tractor tires.  I mulch with straw so I don’t have to dig them out.

A row of calendula, which I use for salves and soaps.

My transplanted mulberry tree is still alive!  And doing great.  And I have also managed to keep my blueberry bushes alive.  Very exciting stuff.  Things are not yet dead.  VICTORY IS MINE!

My brassicas are plugging along.  We are growing brussel sprouts, cabbage and broccoli this year.

Squash is starting to flower.  Spaghetti squash and pumpkins this year.  I see no need to grow zucchini as people seem to drop it off by the bag full, happy to be rid of it.

Growing sweet potatoes for the first time this year, they seem very happy so far.

I have roughly 60 tomato plants.  I figure that ought to leave enough for the horn worms and children to pillage, and still put some away.

Scott and I celebrated our 5th wedding anniversary.  I love him so much and am so lucky to have someone who loves me, as I am.  We had hoped to take a honeymoon this year, but with the farm in full swing we did not have the time.  Hopefully this means we’ll have a 10 year anniversary honeymoon blow out.  I genuinely look forward to every minute, every year I will get to spend with my husband.

I had no idea when we first happened to kiss, after all of those years, that this… this big beautiful life we have together… would explode into fruition.  We welcomed into our home another beautiful piece from Jason Tennant to celebrate our love and remind us that peace is the way.

Having recently weeded our emotional garden, I look forward to a year ahead of new growth and glory.  We must thin to create space for the full potential of our creations.

My little Meeps turned 3.  Unreal.  We lit off fireworks and ate a chocolate cake that weighed as much as she weighs.  Life is bursting with bounty, full of joy.

We are so blessed.

We are still having predator problems. We have caught several raccoons in our not live for very long trap.  But one (at least) is still scaling easily up the 4+ foot tall turkey brooder doors to snack on animal feed, thankfully remaining unaware that on the other side of the flimsy wood is a baby turkey buffet.  And this morning I went out to discover this, the chicken would have been pulled through the 2″ gap between the metal bar and the ground.  Half chewed pelvis, feathers and a foot.  Terrific.  Good thing the kids are having a sleepover this eve, because I know what Scott and I will be up to all night long.

Everything else is super.  Our pre-loved cover-all type building is going up quick and easy, thanks to a super work crew.  “Ground Up Contracting” is rocking the monkey.  Pigs are growing (and eating) like teenagers.  The laying hens were let out to wander the yard, promptly destroyed my strawberries and several flower & herb plots and have been grounded until harvest.  The kids were ecstatic for the Teddy Bear Parade, and we are all super stoked for tonight: the first pipe band parade of the year (a weekly event here).

Just waiting for some decent weather, I’ve done chores the last several times in the rain, which is getting a bit wearing.  Bring on SUMMER, please!

Also, the pigs have come.  They are Berkshire/Tamworth, the black one is female, the other are male.  This is what happens when you have two artistic, non-farmers pick out piglets: “Hmmm, I think I like the spotted ones!”  Yup.  That’s us.

Last years’ pigs were named after rappers (Pig Daddy Kane and Piggy Smalls).  Thinking something more Shakespearean this year?  Hamlet Piglet and…. this is where you come in.  Please suggest names for our new merry trio!

We stopped in at the Fine Fettle after swimming to pick up some Panda Licorice and tea (rooibus).  A woman and her young son (5-7 years I’m guessing) passed us on the sidewalk.  The child broke into a run, as children do.  Safely, on the sidewalk.  The mother panics and shrieks: “Stop!  Stop running!  You might hurt yourself!”

Oh, honey.
Say that out loud to yourself, slower.
Say it again.

On the way home from town, we paused on the road by an Old Order neighbour’s farm.  His 7 year old son was working his field, leading a team of 5 horses.  With no adult in sight, not that he needs one, I’ve watched this kid learn to drive since he was Bob’s age.   I’m proud to know that kid.

What has happened to modern parenting?

If, like me, you would like to shake the woman sucking the joy and life skills out of her child; or perhaps if you are that parent, but would prefer not to be; I highly recommend checking out this book:
Free Range Kids by L. Skenazy.

In a similar vein, I just finished reading:
NurtureShock by P. Bronson and Ashley Merryman and it was also a very worthwhile read.

Things are really picking up speed here.  I’ve been enjoying working with the children using a Brilliant Minds Montessori Math Kit, starting seeds with them, fixing up the pig pen.  They love having jobs.  We’ll be bringing piglets home any day now, I am very excited.  I’ve been doing a spot of work for the local Penetangore Watershed Committee (go check out the display in the library!)  Tomorrow over 1 tonne of food will arrive to my house to be sorted and reconciled for our buying club.  (Thank you in advance, Lisa!)  We’ve got our summer car back on the road, are about to tackle getting a building permit for our new out building, and are in the midst of a spring clean.

Pictures of: Bob & Mags in their new Lucha masks; Bob taking a good spill off the dirt pile (finally riding his bike outside; he rode it all winter long inside our house); 2 pictures from a lovely walk in Inverhuron; happy sheep at Philosopher’s Wool; my beautiful boy.

Ps. You have to fall down to learn how to get back up.  Let’s not rob our children of this lesson.

Pig Daddy Kane and Piggy Smalls went to the butcher this morning.  Our heritage Berkshire pigs, raised on pasture with a soccer ball to call their own… those two had a great time here. They got all the ear scratches and 5 star slops two pigs could ask for.  I feel strongly that if we are going to eat meat, we need to make sure it comes from animals who get to act like the animals they are, who get to safely enjoy their lives, eat food that I would eat and that they die at the most capable hands, as quickly as possible.  The only way I know how to do this is by raising it myself, and patronizing small abattoirs.  And so this is what we do.

It would be easier if I could write “Ho, ho!  Isn’t it just super!  Bring on the bacon!”  While I do feel that way, it’s complicated.  I am also saddened that their vibrant lives are over.  I hope they were more curious than scared.  I hope I’m doing the right thing.  I’ll always remember them, our first pigs.

Thank you, boys.