Friday, June 7, 2013
If it wasn't for the wildlife, I'd have no life at all...
Earlier this week, I was getting ready to get ready for work when I heard a tap-tapping noise. I listened for a bit, then heard it again. Tap tap tappity tap. It seemed to be coming from our bedroom.
"Now what?" I thought. (I may have also sighed. It's becoming a habit.)
I went to stand in the bedroom, waiting for a repetition. Silence. Then tap tap tap. I was looking around trying to trace the source when a movement at the window caught my eye.
There was a male goldfinch trying to come in the window. Through the glass. The tapping noise was his beak hitting the window pane, as he tried to push his way through whatever strange force field was holding him back. Tap tap tap. Tap tappity tap. He'd drop back and rest for a bit on a branch of the lilac bush just outside the window, then fly up and back at it.
Tap tap. Tap tappity tap. Tap tap tap tap tap.
Persistent little devil.
He kept it up for two hours.
He must have had a hellacious headache by that time. I considered texting Madman, who was already at work, but thought "Oh, no, he'll never believe this one..." I did tell him about it that night when I got home, and he just grinned and shook his head. Me and my exotic friends.
This morning, Mr Goldfinch was back. At 6:15am. This time Madman saw him, too, so it's not just me and my strange encounters.
Silly bird was still at it when we left for work.
I wonder if the weasel told him what a nice place we have...
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Anatomy of a Tootsie Bucket
Every year I set up a Tootsie Bucket with a cherry or pear tomato, and every year afterward I do a facepalm and remember that I was going to actually document it this time.
Hey, I finally remembered!
For the back story, see that first link where I explain how the bucket got its name. It's a self-watering container that my dad made me a kit for years ago, and I've been using it ever since.
And now I'm going to show you how to make one, too.
This is last year's bucket, with a Riesentraube cherry tomato planted in it. I set it handy to the deck, so I could grab a tomato or two on the way by.
So, let's roll up our sleeves and get started!
First you'll need a bucket. Mine is a five gallon pickle bucket, which you can sometimes get from your favorite restaurant for the asking. (If they garnish their plates with a pickle, they'll probably have a bunch of leftover buckets kicking around.) If all else fails, you can buy a bucket at the hardware store. Four gallon bucket, five gallon bucket, doesn't really matter. My dad has even used plastic storage tubs that he got a good deal on.
Drill a hole in the side about 5 inches up from the bottom.
Next you'll need some lengths of pvc pipe. (If you're lucky, you've got some scraps just laying around. Or one of your friends does. Ask around.) The longer piece is for the fill pipe and is the 1" diameter size - you'll need a piece that's a couple of inches longer than the bucket is tall. The shorter wider piece is 3" diameter and about 6" long. Dad cut a series of slits in one side of this (probably using the same chop saw that he used to cut the pipe itself.) Since you've still got the drill handy from drilling the hole in the bucket, you could just drill a bunch of holes in the pipe instead.
(And I'll point out here that I've been using these parts for many years now, so they're stained and grungy looking.)
Next you'll need some rocks. I use some that I originally picked out of our driveway. Every year I rinse them off and re-use them. You'll need enough to fill the bucket to a depth of 4-5 inches. Small rocks, pea gravel, whatever.
And since you've got rocks, you'll need paper and scissors as well, of course. (Sorry, no lizard or Spock.)
Cut the bottom off a brown paper bag, then cut out a circle as big around as your bucket. Don't sweat this too much - it doesn't have to be exact. I usually just cut a square roughly the right size, fold it into quarters, then into eighths, and cut off the pointy corners. Unfold and you've got a circle. Ish.
Now fold it up again because you forgot you actually needed a donut. Cut a hole in the center roughly 3" in diameter. Ish.
Now, some assembly required. Set the 3" pipe roughly centered in the bottom of the bucket. Stand the fill pipe up next to the edge. (Note: I discovered that it's a good idea to put the fill pipe somewhere near the hole in the side of the bucket. I'll explain why later.)
Carefully dump in your rocks around the pipes, leaving the 3" pipe empty.
(And I got to this point with this the other day, then had to bail because a sudden thunderstorm blew in. I ran into the house just in time for the power to go out. High winds, rain, crash boom zap. You know. Spring. So the rest of the photos were taken today, as I finally got back to the project. There's about an inch of water in the bottom of the bucket in the following photo, leftover from the storm. I decided there was no point in dumping it out, since I'd just be filling the bottom of the bucket with water later anyway.)
Now, take that circle (ish) that you cut out earlier and push it down into the bucket, fitting the center hole around the 3" pipe and tucking the edge around the fill pipe. (You could cut out an area for the fill pipe, but it's really not worth the trouble.)
At this point, you can dump some time-release fertilizer on top of the paper circle. I thought I had some, but couldn't find it, so I skipped that step. It's optional anyway. It just means that I'll water with a fertilizer solution now and then over the summer, instead.)
Now, mix up a big bowl of dirt. I used a combination of garden soil and compost, about half and half. Use what you've got - garden soil with potting mix, compost, whatever.
And this next part is very important. If you're small like me, set the bucket where you're going to want it to be for the rest of the summer. It's about to get very heavy, and unless you've got someone strong to move it for you, you're going to be stuck with it In. That. Spot.
Fill up your bucket. Don't pack it down - just fluff it in. Stop about an inch or so from the top.
Now we put the cover on. I use a circle (ish) of black plastic that is on its 4th year or so. It's enough bigger than the top of the bucket that it hangs down 4 or 5 inches all around. There's an X cut for the fill pipe to fit through, and an X in the center for the plant to fit through. Tie it down with a couple of turns of string. I used jute twine, but anything will work. Twine, string, rubber bands. Whatever you've got. Duct tape would probably work, too.
The view from the top.
Now slap a tomato plant in there and you're good to go.
Now, grab the garden hose, fill with water through the fill pipe until you see water starting to drip out the hole in the side of the bucket. And that's why I advised you to put the fill pipe near the hole - so you could see what was going on. (I didn't do that the first year - I had to keep peeking around to the back of the bucket to see if it was full yet.)
Tada!
This year, I've got a Sweet 100 cherry tomato that I bought at Agway, since we didn't get any heirloom cherry tomatoes started.
But I'm still going to call it a Tootsie Bucket, since Sweet 100 Bucket just doesn't have the same ring to it...
Hey, I finally remembered!
For the back story, see that first link where I explain how the bucket got its name. It's a self-watering container that my dad made me a kit for years ago, and I've been using it ever since.
And now I'm going to show you how to make one, too.
This is last year's bucket, with a Riesentraube cherry tomato planted in it. I set it handy to the deck, so I could grab a tomato or two on the way by.
So, let's roll up our sleeves and get started!
First you'll need a bucket. Mine is a five gallon pickle bucket, which you can sometimes get from your favorite restaurant for the asking. (If they garnish their plates with a pickle, they'll probably have a bunch of leftover buckets kicking around.) If all else fails, you can buy a bucket at the hardware store. Four gallon bucket, five gallon bucket, doesn't really matter. My dad has even used plastic storage tubs that he got a good deal on.
Drill a hole in the side about 5 inches up from the bottom.
Next you'll need some lengths of pvc pipe. (If you're lucky, you've got some scraps just laying around. Or one of your friends does. Ask around.) The longer piece is for the fill pipe and is the 1" diameter size - you'll need a piece that's a couple of inches longer than the bucket is tall. The shorter wider piece is 3" diameter and about 6" long. Dad cut a series of slits in one side of this (probably using the same chop saw that he used to cut the pipe itself.) Since you've still got the drill handy from drilling the hole in the bucket, you could just drill a bunch of holes in the pipe instead.
(And I'll point out here that I've been using these parts for many years now, so they're stained and grungy looking.)
Next you'll need some rocks. I use some that I originally picked out of our driveway. Every year I rinse them off and re-use them. You'll need enough to fill the bucket to a depth of 4-5 inches. Small rocks, pea gravel, whatever.
And since you've got rocks, you'll need paper and scissors as well, of course. (Sorry, no lizard or Spock.)
Cut the bottom off a brown paper bag, then cut out a circle as big around as your bucket. Don't sweat this too much - it doesn't have to be exact. I usually just cut a square roughly the right size, fold it into quarters, then into eighths, and cut off the pointy corners. Unfold and you've got a circle. Ish.
Now fold it up again because you forgot you actually needed a donut. Cut a hole in the center roughly 3" in diameter. Ish.
Now, some assembly required. Set the 3" pipe roughly centered in the bottom of the bucket. Stand the fill pipe up next to the edge. (Note: I discovered that it's a good idea to put the fill pipe somewhere near the hole in the side of the bucket. I'll explain why later.)
Carefully dump in your rocks around the pipes, leaving the 3" pipe empty.
(And I got to this point with this the other day, then had to bail because a sudden thunderstorm blew in. I ran into the house just in time for the power to go out. High winds, rain, crash boom zap. You know. Spring. So the rest of the photos were taken today, as I finally got back to the project. There's about an inch of water in the bottom of the bucket in the following photo, leftover from the storm. I decided there was no point in dumping it out, since I'd just be filling the bottom of the bucket with water later anyway.)
Now, take that circle (ish) that you cut out earlier and push it down into the bucket, fitting the center hole around the 3" pipe and tucking the edge around the fill pipe. (You could cut out an area for the fill pipe, but it's really not worth the trouble.)
At this point, you can dump some time-release fertilizer on top of the paper circle. I thought I had some, but couldn't find it, so I skipped that step. It's optional anyway. It just means that I'll water with a fertilizer solution now and then over the summer, instead.)
Now, mix up a big bowl of dirt. I used a combination of garden soil and compost, about half and half. Use what you've got - garden soil with potting mix, compost, whatever.
And this next part is very important. If you're small like me, set the bucket where you're going to want it to be for the rest of the summer. It's about to get very heavy, and unless you've got someone strong to move it for you, you're going to be stuck with it In. That. Spot.
Fill up your bucket. Don't pack it down - just fluff it in. Stop about an inch or so from the top.
Now we put the cover on. I use a circle (ish) of black plastic that is on its 4th year or so. It's enough bigger than the top of the bucket that it hangs down 4 or 5 inches all around. There's an X cut for the fill pipe to fit through, and an X in the center for the plant to fit through. Tie it down with a couple of turns of string. I used jute twine, but anything will work. Twine, string, rubber bands. Whatever you've got. Duct tape would probably work, too.
The view from the top.
Now slap a tomato plant in there and you're good to go.
Now, grab the garden hose, fill with water through the fill pipe until you see water starting to drip out the hole in the side of the bucket. And that's why I advised you to put the fill pipe near the hole - so you could see what was going on. (I didn't do that the first year - I had to keep peeking around to the back of the bucket to see if it was full yet.)
Tada!
This year, I've got a Sweet 100 cherry tomato that I bought at Agway, since we didn't get any heirloom cherry tomatoes started.
But I'm still going to call it a Tootsie Bucket, since Sweet 100 Bucket just doesn't have the same ring to it...
Monday, May 27, 2013
Hey! It finally quit raining!
But the sheep are on the new pasture, with plenty of grass to take their attention, and Abigail wouldn't come over with her lamb.
This was the best picture I could get.
At least you can see the black legs and tail, and the raccoon mask.
I think he looks like he's wearing musketeer boots...
This was the best picture I could get.
I think he looks like he's wearing musketeer boots...
Saturday, May 25, 2013
And that makes five.
I've been taking my camera out each morning when I do chores, hoping that Abigail would finally get on with it and have that lamb. Day after day, no lamb. She just kept getting bulgier and bulgier with no end in sight. Not off her feed. Not pawing the ground.
Nothing.
This morning, I forgot to grab the camera on the way out the door.
Yeah.
I was pitching hay and talking to the girls when I realized there was a strange lamb walking around in the shelter, and Abigail was standing there with a puzzled look on her face.
I ran back inside, texted Madman (who was at work), grabbed the camera, and ran back out. By that time, the lamb had lain down, so I couldn't get a good picture, but here's for starters, anyway.
It's still a little gunky and yellow. Abigail isn't like her sister, Tiny, who licked her lamb spotless. ("My lamb is gonna be shiny!") Abigail is more like her mother, Onyx, who gives some token licks and says "Hey, good enough."
I had to go to work, but I figured I'd get some more pictures when I got home. But by that time, it was pouring rain, I was tired, and just couldn't face going out with the camera in a 40 degree rain.
The lamb is adorable - black tail and legs, black polka dots (including one giant one) on its back, white ears and face with a black raccoon mask.
Unfortunately, it's a boy.
*sigh*
I was really really hoping it would be a girl. But somebody had to break the string of girl lambs we'd had so far, I guess. (I'd just been joking with Madman last night that Abigail would screw it up by having twin ram lambs. I only missed it by one...)
Here's a picture of Goldie's little girl that I took yesterday. And it looks like Goldie is going to continue in her history of being a helicopter mom. She follows her lamb around like a shadow, and chases the other lambs away when they come to ask if Sweetikins can come out to play.
I caught this picture when Goldie and the other moms were busy eating, and the lambs were all happily bouncing and dancing and racing each other. Though Goldie soon put a stop to that when she suddenly realized her lamb was out there having fun.
"You sit your woolly butt right down there while I eat my breakfast. Don't pay any attention to those hooligans - they'll only get you into trouble."
Did you know that lambs can sigh?
Nothing.
This morning, I forgot to grab the camera on the way out the door.
Yeah.
I was pitching hay and talking to the girls when I realized there was a strange lamb walking around in the shelter, and Abigail was standing there with a puzzled look on her face.
It's still a little gunky and yellow. Abigail isn't like her sister, Tiny, who licked her lamb spotless. ("My lamb is gonna be shiny!") Abigail is more like her mother, Onyx, who gives some token licks and says "Hey, good enough."
I had to go to work, but I figured I'd get some more pictures when I got home. But by that time, it was pouring rain, I was tired, and just couldn't face going out with the camera in a 40 degree rain.
The lamb is adorable - black tail and legs, black polka dots (including one giant one) on its back, white ears and face with a black raccoon mask.
Unfortunately, it's a boy.
*sigh*
I was really really hoping it would be a girl. But somebody had to break the string of girl lambs we'd had so far, I guess. (I'd just been joking with Madman last night that Abigail would screw it up by having twin ram lambs. I only missed it by one...)
Here's a picture of Goldie's little girl that I took yesterday. And it looks like Goldie is going to continue in her history of being a helicopter mom. She follows her lamb around like a shadow, and chases the other lambs away when they come to ask if Sweetikins can come out to play.
"You sit your woolly butt right down there while I eat my breakfast. Don't pay any attention to those hooligans - they'll only get you into trouble."
Did you know that lambs can sigh?
Monday, May 20, 2013
Well, let's add 'midwife' to my resume...
Of the sheepy persuasion, anyway.
I grew up with sheep. When I was a kid, my folks raised Suffolks, and we had quite a good-sized flock. Mom was the Chief Midwife during lambing season, heading out every couple of hours to check on ewes and drag them into the barn from whatever snowbank they had decided to lamb in. I sat more than one vigil with her back in those days, waiting for a lamb, helping the ewe through a rough time.
But that was over 40 years ago.
Goldie had a hard time.
I knew when I went out to feed the sheep this morning that she was very very close to lambing. Not only did she eat almost nothing (which is totally unlike her), she'd been quiet. Normally she's leading the chorus of "The sun has been up for a whole 5 minutes, so where's breakfast?" with great enthusiasm and volume.
So a quiet Goldie is a spooky Goldie.
I checked her several times over the course of the morning and early afternoon. She was doing a lot of pacing and pawing of the straw in their shelter - sure signs of impending lamb. But there must be something in the air this year, since all the sheep are having their lambs in the daytime, instead of at night like they're supposed to. Soon she was making a noise that spoke clearly "I'm experiencing some discomfort," and a sac of amniotic fluid had appeared. That meant the lamb was due any minute..
But "I'm experiencing some discomfort" turned into "Giving birth really sucks" and still there was no lamb. I was staying just out of sight, peeking at her to gauge how things were progressing without letting my presence upset her. (Skittish, our Goldie is. Not a people sheep at all.) When the sounds turned into "Holy shit, someone help me!" I went for a closer look.
Now normally, it's best not to intervene. You can do more harm than good, without meaning to. It's hard, but sometimes the best thing to do is just stand and watch. And normally, sheep don't need any help. But this wasn't one of those occasions.
Goldie, who should have been laying down and getting on with it at this point, was still on her feet and pacing. And bellowing. Worse, I could see a lamb head sticking out behind her, but no sign of legs. Normal presentation is the front hooves first, followed by the nose, then here comes the rest of the lamb.
We've got trouble.
I ran inside to wash up - hands and arms to the elbow (because I might have to stick an arm in and fish for legs) - and ran back out.
Even though I approached her slowly and carefully, and even though she was clearly in huge distress, Goldie wouldn't let me get anywhere near her. I kept softly crooning her name, trying to get close, but she would move out of reach as quickly as she could. I didn't want to scare her any worse than she already was, so I finally stopped moving around and just kept quietly talking to her.
I think finally she decided that I wasn't the scariest thing in her life, and approached me. I could see at that point that there was one hoof sticking out a couple of inches, but no sign of the other leg, and both legs should have been out further than the lamb's nose.
The lamb looked like it was dead - strangled, probably, or just too crushed by the birth-gone-wrong. Its eyes were lifeless and glazed.
I could hear my mother's voice in my head - "Okay, you've lost the lamb. Now save the ewe."
Goldie was still crying and her eyes were wild, but she seemed to accept that I was there to help. I gently grabbed hold of the head and exposed leg in one hand, and tried to fish around for the other leg, but she was straining too hard for me to do anything.
"Okay, girl," I said as she flopped herself down. "You push, I'll pull, and we'll get this done."
And we did.
Once the shoulders cleared, the lamb popped right out onto the straw.
And amazingly, it kicked!
It wasn't dead!
I quickly cleared its nose and mouth of mucus, and let Goldie get on with the business of licking her little bundle of joy clean.
I can't begin to express my relief at the sight of that little one raising its head.
I hung around to see if it would be able to stand. That's where the non-intervention is advisable. In assisting, all kinds of damage can be inadvertently done to the lamb - leg or joint damage, spinal damage - or to the ewe.
If a lamb can't stand, it can't nurse. If it can't nurse, it dies.
It took a while - the poor little thing had a really rough entry - but finally it struggled to its feet.
And bigtime phew again!
.
Still don't know if it's a boy or girl - it was way too gaumy at first to check, and now I'm staying clear to let Goldie calm back down and bond with her lamb. Just because I was her BFF when she was in extremis is no reason for her to really trust me now.
I'll get a peek soon, though.
I grew up with sheep. When I was a kid, my folks raised Suffolks, and we had quite a good-sized flock. Mom was the Chief Midwife during lambing season, heading out every couple of hours to check on ewes and drag them into the barn from whatever snowbank they had decided to lamb in. I sat more than one vigil with her back in those days, waiting for a lamb, helping the ewe through a rough time.
But that was over 40 years ago.
Goldie had a hard time.
I knew when I went out to feed the sheep this morning that she was very very close to lambing. Not only did she eat almost nothing (which is totally unlike her), she'd been quiet. Normally she's leading the chorus of "The sun has been up for a whole 5 minutes, so where's breakfast?" with great enthusiasm and volume.
So a quiet Goldie is a spooky Goldie.
I checked her several times over the course of the morning and early afternoon. She was doing a lot of pacing and pawing of the straw in their shelter - sure signs of impending lamb. But there must be something in the air this year, since all the sheep are having their lambs in the daytime, instead of at night like they're supposed to. Soon she was making a noise that spoke clearly "I'm experiencing some discomfort," and a sac of amniotic fluid had appeared. That meant the lamb was due any minute..
But "I'm experiencing some discomfort" turned into "Giving birth really sucks" and still there was no lamb. I was staying just out of sight, peeking at her to gauge how things were progressing without letting my presence upset her. (Skittish, our Goldie is. Not a people sheep at all.) When the sounds turned into "Holy shit, someone help me!" I went for a closer look.
Now normally, it's best not to intervene. You can do more harm than good, without meaning to. It's hard, but sometimes the best thing to do is just stand and watch. And normally, sheep don't need any help. But this wasn't one of those occasions.
Goldie, who should have been laying down and getting on with it at this point, was still on her feet and pacing. And bellowing. Worse, I could see a lamb head sticking out behind her, but no sign of legs. Normal presentation is the front hooves first, followed by the nose, then here comes the rest of the lamb.
We've got trouble.
I ran inside to wash up - hands and arms to the elbow (because I might have to stick an arm in and fish for legs) - and ran back out.
Even though I approached her slowly and carefully, and even though she was clearly in huge distress, Goldie wouldn't let me get anywhere near her. I kept softly crooning her name, trying to get close, but she would move out of reach as quickly as she could. I didn't want to scare her any worse than she already was, so I finally stopped moving around and just kept quietly talking to her.
I think finally she decided that I wasn't the scariest thing in her life, and approached me. I could see at that point that there was one hoof sticking out a couple of inches, but no sign of the other leg, and both legs should have been out further than the lamb's nose.
The lamb looked like it was dead - strangled, probably, or just too crushed by the birth-gone-wrong. Its eyes were lifeless and glazed.
I could hear my mother's voice in my head - "Okay, you've lost the lamb. Now save the ewe."
Goldie was still crying and her eyes were wild, but she seemed to accept that I was there to help. I gently grabbed hold of the head and exposed leg in one hand, and tried to fish around for the other leg, but she was straining too hard for me to do anything.
"Okay, girl," I said as she flopped herself down. "You push, I'll pull, and we'll get this done."
And we did.
Once the shoulders cleared, the lamb popped right out onto the straw.
And amazingly, it kicked!
It wasn't dead!
I quickly cleared its nose and mouth of mucus, and let Goldie get on with the business of licking her little bundle of joy clean.
I can't begin to express my relief at the sight of that little one raising its head.
I hung around to see if it would be able to stand. That's where the non-intervention is advisable. In assisting, all kinds of damage can be inadvertently done to the lamb - leg or joint damage, spinal damage - or to the ewe.
If a lamb can't stand, it can't nurse. If it can't nurse, it dies.
It took a while - the poor little thing had a really rough entry - but finally it struggled to its feet.
And bigtime phew again!
.
Still don't know if it's a boy or girl - it was way too gaumy at first to check, and now I'm staying clear to let Goldie calm back down and bond with her lamb. Just because I was her BFF when she was in extremis is no reason for her to really trust me now.
I'll get a peek soon, though.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
You knew there'd be more lamb pictures, right?
One of Onyx's babies came up to investigate the strange lady squatting amongst the sheep.
And I managed to sneak up behind this little girl and scritch her under the ear. She enjoyed the scritching right up until the moment that she realized she didn't know what was going on and looked over her shoulder. Then she bolted to a couple of feet away and gave me such a Look..
.
We had a great time at NH S&W, looking at all the wonderful fiber. I kept visualizing the multiple bags of fleece waiting for me at home in order to restrain myself from buying more fiber.
But this was the big find:
Saturday, May 11, 2013
Make that eleven...
I had a surprise this morning when I went out to feed the sheep. I thought Goldie would be next, but I was way off.
That's Tiny with her brand new lamb. And literally brand new - she's about 15 minutes old in this picture, and already on her feet. (When you're born to be prey, learning to walk as soon as possible is a really big deal. Learn to run, live to breed.)
I'd really thought Goldie would be next, and that Tiny would be last, judging by their relative tummy and udder bulges.
Tiny looks like she's going to be a good mama. She was licking and licking and licking this lamb, getting it all cleaned up. At one point, the lamb got herself dirty, and Tiny sighed and started over...
It was hard to tear myself away, but it was NH Sheep and Wool today, and my daughter and I needed to hit the road. (This is my Mother's Day treat every year - my girl takes me to NH S&W and we have a wonderful day ogling all the colors and textures and magic.)
So Happy Mother's Day, all, from all of us here including the newest mother, Tiny.
That's Tiny with her brand new lamb. And literally brand new - she's about 15 minutes old in this picture, and already on her feet. (When you're born to be prey, learning to walk as soon as possible is a really big deal. Learn to run, live to breed.)
I'd really thought Goldie would be next, and that Tiny would be last, judging by their relative tummy and udder bulges.
Tiny looks like she's going to be a good mama. She was licking and licking and licking this lamb, getting it all cleaned up. At one point, the lamb got herself dirty, and Tiny sighed and started over...
It was hard to tear myself away, but it was NH Sheep and Wool today, and my daughter and I needed to hit the road. (This is my Mother's Day treat every year - my girl takes me to NH S&W and we have a wonderful day ogling all the colors and textures and magic.)
So Happy Mother's Day, all, from all of us here including the newest mother, Tiny.
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