Replacing the Irreplaceable

Judy Garland and Katharine Hepburn appear at Farmlandia!

 

 

 

Flurries come at me like crazy.

Not the soft white kind. The oh-my-god-everything-needs-to-be-done-right-now-and-for-cheap kind. The and-this-is-why-I-drink kind...

Ahhhh!


Last weekend threw all our plans into disarray. We've been preparing for a huge gathering at the house for the Fourth of July - and not just on the actual holiday. The Thursday night until the Sunday night. Plus, the 4th is Ella's birthday and the 5th is her big sister's birthday.

We've planned games and experiments and food and fireworks and short trips and everything you can think of. Oh yeah...and 95% of our guests are staying with us.


...the entire time.


...seriously.

We've been doing tons of work...




Sans wallpaper



Dining Room

 

Dining Room after wallpaper was removed.
Bob surveys our accomplishment.

For the last two months, we've been slowly getting things done.

I take that back...


From last year's event until now, we've been getting a LOT of things done, but they are things you can't see, like getting the HVAC units replaced because both of them went out the day before last year's event.

First layer of Kilz

Nice...


First layer of
chalkboard paint

Night falls as the project
continues on Day 5

There are things they can see, but don't think about, like fixing lighting, and fencing, and having tree limbs removed that were destroyed in the last winter storm.

And there's construction on the apartment above our garage as we add a new full bathroom and turn it into a Man Cave.

There are also the things they can see, like redoing our dining room so the walls no longer have wallpaper but a super fun black chalkboard top.



The darkened dining room



Seasoning the chalkboard walls

Our first semi-permanent sign

My First Practical Use of the Chalkboard Paint

However, over the last two weeks, Rachel, Big Daddy, and I have been going over the budget with a fine toothed comb, looking at when money is coming in, where it is going out, what's reasonable, and what's really something we would only allow a 12-year-old to do after we've down major Xanax and considered a meth addiction a benefit.

Mostly those discussions revolved around the fireworks budget...(kidding, Big Daddy...[but they did] )

But, I digress...



When Audrey died, we were much less prepared than I originally thought we were, not just emotionally, but financially. We hadn't really thought about what it would do to the makeup of our tiny herd and what we'd have to do to compensate for that underpreparedness.

Kate is convinced Sam needs
her help fixing the fence

While in the middle of grief and nightly visits to the liquor cabinet, we finally came up with a last minute plan to split our responsibilities across the upcoming, packed weekend and attempt to get everything done.

Rachel, Ella, and I would rent a car and head East back to Fields of Grace to pick out a new companion for Kate, while Big Daddy took Scout and Kate to the vet, then meet his folks in Chattanooga to hand back one of our young nieces (oh yeah, we also had Little Miss Awesome visiting with us and she needed to get back in time so she could make the events planned for her at home.)

After we all reconvened at home on Saturday, we would turn around, head to my cousin's house to celebrate her son's college graduation and finding a spectacular job, albeit in another state.



...and that was just Saturday.

...in our copious free time.

We were lucky enough that our original breeder had three extra doelings she could sell us. Ella went about picking out here favorite - a doeling that looks a bit like a tiny antelope.

While it took the four of us - the breeder, Ella, Rachel, and me - to corner Miss Judy and get her situated into the car (granted, she was like some cartoon goat, her legs splayed out, trying to avoid being pushed into the car. It was like a weird episode of "Cops for Goats.")

Miss Judy Garland!

Judy thinks we're high and can't understand why we want to touch her. She'd much rather be alone or play with Kate. Sadly, Kate is glomming onto Judy's way of thinking and is starting to shy away from us - unless we arrive with raisins. Then it's a whoooooole other ballgame.


We've become little slaves to these girls, begging for attention they have no intention of giving us, and then having them look at us with a Gordon Ramsey sneer when we show up with food, as though we had misplaced a hay stick and really, hadn't we ought to know better by now?


But, then just as quickly, they will hip hop around the farm, Kate kicking her back heels together, channeling Gene Kelly in her swift dance moves and utter joy.

...maybe she'll rub off on Judy after all.

 

Judy and Kate pretending
they're in the Andes mountains

 

 

With only two full weeks left before everyone descends upon us and the drunken Cards Against Humanity games start, we've too much to do.

Sam's finished ripping up the carpet in his room that Princess Buttercup the Boxer started when the thunderstorms began. The bare floor requires a fast covering, but one we can replace piecemeal if Miss Scaredy Boots starts digging for China from the second floor again. So, off to the salvage flooring store we go.

We've got ladders in dining rooms and drop cloths on bare floors and paint buckets in kitchens and shower kits in hallways and a bunch of animals that insist that our path is exactly where the best spot in the entire house is to lie down.

...exactly.

(The chances of this statement being true are tripled if we are carrying something and quadrupled if we are carrying something that blocks our view. If we're walking down stairs, just consider it a foregone conclusion. We have a camera at the base of the stairs that records everything, the theory being that something will be good enough to capture then post on YouTube. It's sort of a backup financial plan.)


Anyway, more to do...more to do...



 
As an aside, when I search for my blog to add more posts, I sometimes stumble on one that a young woman named Alice (Green Hectares,) started when she took a trip to Portugal for a few weeks, fell in love with the land and her own prince, and they started a small farm.

Things we had to deal with - loss, guilt, lack of knowledge, more guilt - it seems we all feel this at times when we start these new lifestyles. It's no difference in Portugal.

Take a read of her blog. She is a very interesting writer and certainly very compelling.

Maybe we'll even get to meet her next year when we journey to Europe.

copyright - All rights to the work posted on this site are retained by Cass Van Gelder. If you'd like to use some of my work, please ask. To do so, the permissions must be spelled out in writing...from me...I mean it. I have horribly mean cats; don't make me use them.

Finding the Grace to Help Your Own Heart

Burying a beloved animal, whether pet or otherwise, weighs on a soul. The act of digging into hard ground to make a permanent bed folds me in half. I cannot think of her without feeling the lifeless weight of her in my arms.

But these things are expected, the final acts of letting go of a vibrant part of a family. What's unexpected are the small things that prick and sting as your heart is trying to heal.

Audrey on Ella's lap at the vet's office last month



Kate and Audrey checking out the backyard for the first time

Soon after laying our sweet Audrey into the ground, we called the veterinary's office to let them know what had happened. They had been working with her and with us so diligently over the last few months - and even that morning - that we felt it important to let them know.

We all moved into the back yard, hoping to comfort Audrey's sister, Kate, who had not stopped calling for her all morning. Kate had seemed curious earlier in the day when we let the chickens free range, so we decided to move Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather in with her to keep her company.


Kate and Audrey their first day in their new home

About the time we turned around, the skies opened up and started dumping fat drops of rain all around us. Rachel, Ella, and I were stuck in the covered goat pen, waiting for it to pass, while Big Daddy and Scout ran back and forth under the two giant cedar trees, dodging the wetness as best as possible,

Scout proved she had no interest in staying warm and dry when she purposefully walked right out into the heart of the rain, then pranced right back under the tree beside Big Daddy and, as a favor to him in her mind, shook vigorously.

Of course...




After the storm passed and we moved the chickens (to which Kate became curious enough to keep sniffing their butts,) we went back inside. Everything had been such a blur, we hadn't bothered to clean as we went. Audrey's raisins were still lying on the kitchen counter. Bits of hay were spread about where we had brought a handful in and drop pieces as we walked. Water still pooled on the edge of the bathtub from where we drew her a warm bath to bring her temperature back up.

Big Daddy looked around the room and said, "I don't know about ya'll, but I'm going to be drinking tonight."

Then he loaded us all into the truck and headed to the Kroger's to get our version of comfort foods - cheeses, crackers, fruits, and hard cider (he was already stocked up on Crown Royal Monarch.)

As we sat around watching whatever would distract the majority of us, we ate, tried to laugh, and occasionally sunk into a quietness that resulted in tears. Hours later, we went to bed knowing none of us would sleep right.

By morning, we knew we had a new problem.

Kate's loneliness only grew. The chickens entertained her, but she would still cry out constantly. We had to find a companion and fast, something we had not financially or logistically prepared for.

I poured through my Facebook groups specializing in Nigerian Dwarf goats, both raising and selling. Unable to reach our original breeder, I searched ones close by. Dead end after dead end kept appearing.

Since Nigerian Dwarf goats can be bred year-round, many breeders plan out their year far in advance. In many cases, we had either just missed the latest round or would have to wait another 2-3 months.

A small network began working on our behalf to track down someone who might have a registered doeling to sell.

Through all this, Big Daddy and I decided we needed to consider getting a third goat, just in case this occurred again. Considering we hadn't even gotten to the birthing part of their lives when things could become risky, we needed to be more practical.

We decided to check out the doelings brought to the county fairs in our areas and even consider going back to the South Carolina State Fair to see if there were potentials. We wanted to avoid racing around and risking making a poor choice because we were time-pressed.

The next morning, I realized we needed to contact the American Dairy Goat Association to file papers about Audrey's passing. I signed into my account, only to find their website was down until next week because of a site upgrade. Of course.

I sent a quick message on their contact link in hopes of hearing something sooner.

Within a few hours, a message arrived. They were very sorry for our loss, especially with Audrey being so young. All I needed to do was take her registry letter, write "DEAD" across the page, sign it, and mail it to them.

I was taken aback.

It was like they had asked me to nonchalantly scribble across her birth certificate and mail it in, virtually erasing her from ever existing.

I found myself sitting at my desk, tears welling up again. I knew there would be uncomfortable tasks when any one of our animals died, but I hadn't prepared for my reactions.

I felt foolish.

I picked at myself, mentally telling myself I was overreacting, processing this at the rate of a child rather than a grown adult.

I made myself more miserable for not allowing myself to simply feel how attached I was to Audrey. I made fun of myself for doing the very things I set out to do - to care for animals with love and grace.

I made fun of myself in ways I had expected outsiders would, but none had.

Everyone who had heard responded with love and caring and support and an overabundance of understanding, relaying their stories of loss and heartbreak.

I treated myself worse than anyone had even thought to.

I chanted softly to myself, hoping for the grace to care for my own heart the way I cared for the ones around me.




Last night, a relief message came in from our original breeder. Supportive and sympathetic, she offered to help with locating a new doeling, including ones in her own herd.

While the details are being worked out, we've mapped out a fluid plan to get there this weekend if need be, even getting a loan against our 401ks to make this happen.

Like everyone, we have to do everything and anything to support those around us, two-legged, four-legged, or otherwise.

 
copyright - All rights to the work posted on this site are retained by Cass Van Gelder. If you'd like to use some of my work, please ask. To do so, the permissions must be spelled out in writing...from me...I mean it. I have horribly mean cats; don't make me use them.

Audrey and Katharine Hepburn - Little Goat Doelings

I've taken a  break from writing because once we brought home our two little doeling twins, it's been one thing after another.

Firstly, the good stuff: we drove up several time to a wonderful Nigerian Dwarf goat breeder in Sevierville, TN - Fields of Grace. She takes fantastic care of the goats and for newbies like us, she has been providing tons of support. She is super fantastic and understanding, and, in our case, patient.



My little Katharine Hepburn doeling - about 4 days old

 

 

Fields of Grace curious resident

 

We spent lots of time researching and trying to figure out what type of goats made sense for us.

Nigerian Dwarf goats were finally our pick because of their sweet milk, their size, and year-round ability to breed and give birth. Some types of goats have more restrictive timeframes, which might have caused problems for us later. We needed to be able to work with the timing, in case one year we needed to change it.

Samwell, the Great Pyrenees/Andalusian puppy...that's right. He's a puppy  

 

Our fiery redhead is called Katharine Hepburn after one of my favorite actors. The little black and white one we named Audrey Hepburn, though we knew there would be many people that would remind us the real actresses were not sisters...

um...yeah. I know...I have Google.


We all loved how sweet the two of them were, slipping easily through the bars of their new pen - back to Tractor Supply for us.

They could be herded around, but they were not ready to let us do anything bizarre like pick them up. That was until we discover raisins. Suddenly, we all had new best friends. Even now, Kate follows Big Daddy around hoping he'll have a few he's forgotten to give her.


Our little Audrey Hepburn too busy playing to be bothered being petted
 

Within a few weeks, though, we noticed Audrey was her happy self. When the new puppy, Scout, came around, she hardly noticed him, as though she were on drugs. She was lethargic and only ate if you brought it to her mouth.

We were still trying to track down a goat vet - hard to find anywhere, so I read what I could and tried to give her things to help boost her immune system. Finally, we tracked down a livestock vet in the next town over. And both vets at this clinic had own goats themselves.

After a quick test, we found both goats had coccidia. We've been told it's fairly common amongst young goats. They were put on an antibiotic and we fed them lots of B12-enriched water. Audrey's tiny frame was only 5.5 lbs.

Kate got better right away and took every chance to bound around the pen. Audrey still struggled, but seemed to be improving.




Green in their ears from their tattoos

Then one day, Audrey couldn't stand up on her own. I was noticing she was losing weight though she ate like crazy. Soon afterwards, she started have diarrhea or scours. We took her back in. This time it was tapeworm.

That meant a week of iron supplements, dewormer, B12, a heated room, and lot of cuddling.

After about four days indoors, she seemed better and started standing on her own again. She was still a little weak, but very much improved. We were told there wasn't much we could do to help her along other than give her supportive supplements like the iron and the B12.

Though she struggled to stand most days and sometimes got stuck on her front knees, she seemed to be getting stronger.

But as Saturday came, she was barely able to hold her own head up. Her breathing was erratic and shallow. We called the vet and he said to get her in right away.

He took her temperature, shook the thermometer, tried again, then went for another one. He shook the second one, let it stay a little longer, but got wide-eyed when he pulled it out.

"I thought there was something wrong with my thermometer's battery," he said. "But her temperature is consistent. It's only 91.3."


Arrived home - Kate and Audrey

To put this in perspective, a goat's regular temperature should be 102-103. At 91.3, it was like if we had a temperature of 87 degrees.

"It's not consistent with sustaining life," he told us. "You need to be prepared."

He gave her a shot of steroids, an antibiotic, and some intense B12. "We should know something within 2-4 hours," he said. He told us to put her out in the sun so she could warm up and keep an eye on her.

While we waited to be picked up, we sat with her on the front lawn, getting excited when she nibbled on some of her food, but just as quickly, she became uninterested.

Once home, we situated her in the full sun while Kate free ranged with the chickens and tried to entertain us all. We got excited again when Audrey began nibbling on raisins, but just as quickly, she was disinterested.

Elsa, our 14-year-old daughter, took Audrey inside, wrapping her in a warm towel and feeding her B12 water with a medicine plunger. The vet had recommended some JumpStart Plus from Tractor Supply, so we raced out to get it.

One mile away from the house, Elsa called, sobbing uncontrollably. Audrey had stopped breathing and they couldn't get her to respond.

By the time we walked back in, the poor little thing was gone.


She had rallied so many times, we all believed she'd come back from this, too. It's was heartbreaking to know she couldn't.

I carried her still-warm, but lifeless body back into the tree-covered section of our land. Big Daddy took a shovel and, in spite of the oncoming rain, dug deep into the ground. We spread straw for her new bed, laid her down, a little extra for under her head, covered her to make sure she'd be warm where she was going. While we chanted for her, they covered her back up. Behind us, we could hear Kate pitifully bleating for poor little Audrey.



It's barely been 24 hours. None of us can shake it just yet, but we have to. We have to take care of Kate and find her a companion quickly.

Goats are extremely social, and without one, she may slowly become so stressed that her immune system might be compromised. 

We knew there would be death when we started this. We knew that allowing these tiny things into our hearts we risked cracking the thin shells around our hearts. We knew some might think our love for them was too great for animals, particularly farm animals, but we knew we could not love them less just because they would provide us a way to sustain our lives.

Maybe we are not cut out for this. Maybe we will never be the people who are comfortable with them dying. Maybe we will never be hard enough to simply continue on, mark them off a roster, and move on to the next. But I like that we're not like that. I like that we care for them as much as they provide for us. I like that their contribution does not lessen them in our eyes.

And maybe...maybe this is the way it should be done.

Sweet little Audrey Hepburn

copyright - All rights to the work posted on this site are retained by Cass Van Gelder. If you'd like to use some of my work, please ask. To do so, the permissions must be spelled out in writing...from me...I mean it. I have horribly mean cats; don't make me use them.

"Coop"ed Up

We've probably looked at 1000 chicken coops...easily. We considered buying one, but the thought of $3000 for a home for eggs didn't seem in proportion.

We thought about building one ourselves, but the time involved would be ridiculous...at least for us.

 

We looked at hacks on how to build something doable, but every time there was something that made it impossible for us.

 

Eventually, we tracked down a chicken tractor on craigslist.

 

Now, chicken tractors are new for me. Basically, it's a chicken coop on wheels. A lot of urban farmers use them, especially when they have an HOA breathing down their necks about the chickens. It seems that because it has wheels and isn't stationary, then it doesn't count as a proper structure, and therefore allowable in many places.

We were opting for one because we wanted the birds to be able to move about the large yard and snag yummy, gross pests we did not need but they loved.

 

Merryweather is always the first at everything

The infamous chicken tractor

We ended up with a lovely triangle chicken tractor with built-in features the original owner decided were must-haves. There's a little door to open for filling the feeder. There's a built-in hanger for water dishes and hanging cabbage (apparently, this is a thing with chickens. Ours LOVE cabbage. We can leave a head out there in the morning and by the evening there is a grisly-looking stump of a stem left, resembling leftover bones.)

 

Meet Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather

All this seemed to work because one week ago, we began to have handfuls of eggs. ISA Browns are known to produce something like 300 eggs a year...each.

 

 

Bob and Scout are clearly interested in the new chickens

The chickens love the extra pumpkins and squash

Merrywether making herself comfortable on the roof

 

 

 



 

 

 

copyright - All rights to the work posted on this site are retained by Cass Van Gelder. If you'd like to use some of my work, please ask. To do so, the permissions must be spelled out in writing...from me...I mean it. I have horribly mean cats; don't make me use them.

Timmmberrrr!

Storms... ice...snow...

 

 

As many of you've heard, the elements pounded us. My head feels more damaged than our land, which when you see the pictures, you'll understand is major.

 

When we bought the property several months back, we knew there was major maintenance needed. Everything from electrical issues to building faux pas kept us busy. Luckily, we hired a superb tree guy who came out and took care of all the overgrown, old-growth trees, trimming them away from the house and the garages. Because when the ice storm started, there was nothing we could do.

 

After years in Las Vegas (even though we did have more snow there than outsiders would ever believe,) we looked forward to snow days and snow men. We all ran around, throwing snow balls as the fat flakes fell on our cheeks.

 

 

Ella in her CatLamb hat



Kale and Turnip Greens!

I, of course, went into crazy-cook-everything-in-the-house-before-it-all-goes-bad-and-we're-attacked-by-snow-zombies mode. I cooked up all the kale, turnip greens, potatoes (yes, Mr. Former President, that's when you use the 'e' in "potatoes."), sweet onions, rutabagas, with a blood orange-tinged fresh olive oil.


Fast forward a little and you'd have sampled my butternut squash bisque (which I forgot to take pictures of.)


You can see from the pictures, I'm a big fan of spice collections like Herbs de Provence. The Savory Spice carries tons of special salts beyond the kind for pork - like Parisian salt, with hints of lavender.



Red Potatoes, Rutabagas, Onions, and Sweet Potatoes

About halfway through the day, Big Daddy and I walked out on the deck to watch the snow fall for the first time on our property since we'd bought it. With the ice falling, the highway sounds had dulled. The quiet crept around us like a swirling fog, ice rain tinkling on the wood of the deck. Then we heard it.

Far off to our right, we heard a pistol crack of sound, fireworks, or toy guns. But then the ache of the weight gave way to the groans of the trees and we watched in horror as one of the neighbor's towering trees' limbs lumbered, then collapsed, tumbling against the ones below it, adding more weight, adding more ice, twisting and pulling it down, tangling with each other, ripping down the entire side of the tree.

Within moments, the popping and cracking and groaning was coming from all sides of us. Before we had time to rush back inside to safety, we watch one of our own tall cedars split at the very top, each side splintering down the middle as if a giant axe had chopped it clean.

 

We waited inside, distracting ourselves with old movies, watching the screen flicker when the wind blew hard against the house. Every so often, we heard gunshots that didn't come from the TV, the sounds of the collapsing limbs.

 

 

 

The first of the Fallen (the fence is six feet tall)

 

With about 60+ trees scattered about, we lucked out; none were uprooted and only about 11 were affected. The Two Lovers - as dubbed by our tree guy because the two trees were so intertwined that if we removed one, the other would die - suffered the worst of it. On the hickory tree, a large limb still hangs precariously with 95% of its base split. The cedar appeared to have limited damage until I walked around to the other side. It looked like Paul Bunyan had come along and stripped the bark and branches.

 

The "Two Lovers", now split and falling



The "Two Lovers" from the back side







Our driveway looked like a battlefield, blocked by icy dead limbs, too heavy to carry or move. For five days, we stayed inside, waiting for it to stop, being bombarded by ice, then snow, then rain, then ice, then snow, until what you loved about each was lost.

I couldn't even bring myself to write about it, at first, or at least, until now. However, last weekend, we travelled up near Clarkrange, TN, where the storm hit so hard, roads were impassable not just because of the ice, but because hundreds upon hundreds of trees blocked the highways. When we arrived, they had only just restored power - after more than a week. 

As I write this, newscaster are warning us to head home. More is coming.

It's funny how what delighted me as a child - the snowflakes and the lightness and the sliding and the brightness - have given way to what concerns me as an adult - the sliding, the wrecks, being stranded, damage. But what falls away I guess is unnecessary - in the end, at least.


Please be careful out there.

(The rest are pictures and two very short videos of the flooded Duck River.)

Casualties from the ice war 





 

 








 



One limb that ran the length of our house

 

 

 

Duck River - dam overflowing

Duck River - Flooded bankside

Duck River - trees stuck on dam

Duck River - Flood waters

Duck River - swirling and flooded

 

Duck River - during the summer, we're able to drive and park under the bridge on the beach

 

 

copyright - All rights to the work posted on this site are retained by Cass Van Gelder. If you'd like to use some of my work, please ask. To do so, the permissions must be spelled out in writing...from me...I mean it. I have horribly mean cats; don't make me use them.