PG or not PG - That is the Question

Buttermilk and the Girls. South of the Gnat Line. Copyright 2014

When I was a little girl, I was often scolded for pointing - especially when I observed a woman who was preggers.  My mother would just about die a thousand deaths, grab my index finger and lecture me with, "Young ladies do *NOT* point!" 

Since I am an only child (and a curious one), you can well imagine my fascination with other families who had children and their Momma was expecting [again].  My mother told me many times that when she was growing up, Nana called it being "PG" (almost in a whisper). That when any woman was "PG" she did not go out of the house after she was showing. Wide-eyed, I imagined the word pregnant - and it's condition - was something that existed in the realm of scandalous.

Fast forward to Chapter 50+ and my now life with sheep.

Last March, we acquired our first official flock of sheep (ewes).  This does not include Buttermilk; Buttermilk is my bottle baby who came home with me in November of 2012 just hours after he was born and found abandoned in the barn of his birth.  He's just my pet sheep - er, third born. (Shhhh. Please don't tell him - not only does he believe I'm his Momma, he believes he is an Ovine stud.)

Where was I?

The ewes. Right.

We borrowed a ram and hoped to successfully breed our ewes for what we have planned to be our first lambing season this Spring.  This was to be our first ever attempt at animal husbandry.

The ram arrived at the end of October.  The ram had an extended stay with the girls.  The ram departed the Dirt Road Farm in January.

It is now March.

I readily admit, I am an anxious sheep owner. Since no one bore witness to the actual "husbandry act", not only am I pondering in my head, "Did the visiting ram do his job..." I managed to reinstate my childhood bad habit: the one of pointing.  I've also been reduced to bribing them with treats so I can rub and feel their tummies - thumping them like a watermelon.  I stand and stare looking for any change in their milk stations; I even squat and crawl on all fours to try and see up underneath them for any evidence of "PG".

I've read the "What to Expect When You're Expecting" book for all things Sheep and oddly enough, there are no hints or real time information on how to know if a ewe is preggers until the lamb is basically falling out of her backside.

There's a tell-tale sign.

Since I prefer a little more heads up and "the sheep book" was of zero help, I moved on to Google where all modern-day farmer wannabes get their most up-to-date and reliable information. I must have typed forty different search versions of "How do I know if my sheep are pregnant?" Apparently, Al Gore's internet doesn't have much pregnant sheep experience or at least no one is sharing the scandalous details online. I considered searching: "How do I know that the man-ram did his job?" But I gave up instead.

As we eagerly await the first day of Spring - having survived Snowpocalypse, the ice storm that followed taking our power for some days along with it, the Valentine's Day earthquake and the on-again, off-again cold/warm days of early March, I find myself in the pasture continuing to point my index finger, now having added squatting and staring to the mix. While I have only their best interests at heart, the girls are not real big on my efforts. They all glare at me and look as if they would love to collectively scold me as my Mother often had to.

Patience, while a virtue, is not my strongest personality trait. (sigh)  However, I have no choice but to wait for Spring's official arrival and see in the weeks ahead if, in fact, the man-ram performed his gallant duty and the girls will be gifting us with our first lambing season.

HKJ

South of the Gnat Line

Copyright  © 2014

All Rights Reserved.

Snowpocalypse 2014

Snowpocalypse 2014, a set on Flickr.

Despite my having to serve Crow Casserole over my disbelief of a "snow-slam" - I enjoyed the 24 plus hours of scenery and wanted to share this year's snow that arrived here at the Dirt Road Farm.

Meteors Are Falling From the Sky

February 13, 2010 - Dixie, Granny Rox & Mildred during the last snow

here at the Dirt Road Farm!

They may as well be.

Fewer things strike fear and stupidity into the hearts and neurotransmitters of Southerners than that dreaded winter forecast that screams out the "S-word."

Do I  need to spell it out for you?

S-N-O-W.

There. I said it.

It's a weather expletive in my giant book of all words bad.

All Southern children love it because the very moment the word develops into a minuscule whisper, the schools will send the kids home early and just up and close for the remainder of the week.

And as if we need one more thing for the balance of our countrymen to poke fun of us over, this time seems to be no exception.

By 4 o'clock this afternoon, all the local schools in the 6 county area had announced school closures for the next 3 days. (Parents, I shall commence praying….)

My Facebook and Twitter feeds are shrieking the "S-word" - one after another.

Dare I imagine the milk and bread isles at our little IGA?

Photo By L. A. Jenkins
This photo was taken at the Wal-Mart in Grovetown, Georgia at 7 p.m.
I. Kid. You. Not.

And if it really does snow followed by the usual community shut-down, we could easily experience a population explosion by October! (can you spell 'scandalous' ?)

Stranger things: it was 65 degrees on the front porch this morning while I drank my coffee, rocked in my rocking chair and blinked my eyes open while the sun warmed my face.

So in the next 24 hour window of time, I'm fully expected to believe that up to 4 inches of snow will arrive here at the Dirt Road Farm to greet me first thing in the morning… 

That ain't even funny.

At. all.

Y'all know I don't do mornings.

And now I just broke my "ain't rule"…what's this coming to?

Sounds like I need to be more cautious when citing the Dirt Road Snow Globe for matters of geography.

While I shudder at the thought of snowfall, it's not that I am anti-snow fun.  I watch the Winter X-Games and plan to watch the Winter Olympics.  I'm a fan of Carrot Top, er wait,  Shaun White!  If I want to see and experience snow, I am fully capable of traveling to the snow regions UP in the NORTH - the Northern territory that is.

But this is the ever-loving Deep South, People.  We simply don't. do. snow!

And besides, snow was not in Gone With the Wind.

Therefore, snow is a myth.

A diva named Scarlett said so.

HKJ

South of the Gnat Line

Copyright  © 2014

All Rights Reserved.

Thanksgiving Thanks

It's hard to believe that I just flipped the calendar June-ago and now it's Thanksgiving day. How did that happen?

No matter what - so much to be thankful for!

Happy Thanksgiving!

Whiskey, patiently waiting for me to leave the kitchen!

Whiskey!

....hoping he's not spotted!

My personal assistant volunteering to be taste-tester!

Wishing safe travels and many blessings this Thanksgiving holiday and always!

hkj

From the Dirt Road News Desk

With October winding down and the arrival of November at our doorstep, I thought it time to give a few updates from the Dirt Road snow globe.

What say you?

A week or so ago, I discovered we had new neighbors in the north pasture.  I have eagerly awaited the opportunity to seize a Kodak moment.

Here they are:

The white donkey is a male ("Jack") and the traditional brown donkey is a female ("Jenny"). Until I can make time to call Mr. Stanley to inquire about their official names, "Jack" & "Jenny" it will be.

They are rooming with the 30+ Black Angus cows & calves in the north pasture(s) and I couldn't be happier about it. Fingers crossed they give the coyotes (roaming four-legged pestilence of the Dirt Road mammal world) a full blown run for their money....or rather existence!

It is a Southern tradition when new neighbors move in, we rush to greet them with accolades of welcomes and shower them with foodies.  So I am working very hard to welcome them and ultimately, gain their trust by spoiling them with alfalfa cubes whenever I see them.  I think it may be working since today when they heard me talking with the sheep and eventually *saw* me, they began hee-honking with what seemed to be excitement ("....hey lady, you brought us some treats again, right?"). {insert winking}

In other news, a new ram has arrived at the Dirt Road Farm to be a suitor for the girls.  He's just visiting for a couple of months in order to help the farm set up lamb-housekeeping in 5-6 months.  He wasn't exactly thrilled when corralled for pick up and transport to the Dirt Road.  In fact, the little ram made it very clear that he did NOT like the likes of me by stomping his front foot.

Repeatedly.

And refusing to exit the vehicle.

I finally had to wrestle him out of the Goat Tote and physically place him in the pasture with his temporary harem of ewes.  It took him all of three seconds to realize he'd died and gone to ewes-gone-wild Heaven with nine new babes to romance.  I hope he enjoys his stay - quickly; he has until mid-December to get his romance on and then he will return to his home in Monticello.

Meanwhile, Buttermilk is somewhat confused and seemed to be suffering from hurt feelings earlier today - as all his gal pals have been all. about. the visiting ram.  So I took measures this afternoon to console and treat him to some - sheep treats (not sold at your local PetsMart - but there are such things that exist).

I'm already beginning to wonder (or is it worry?) about how to convince the visiting ram to voluntarily load onto the truck for his journey back home.

Somehow, I am not foreseeing voluntary in his vocabulary.  It should likely prove to be interesting....

And finally....

The cotton fields are being harvested.  

The fields I've watched grow all summer and mature into Fall - walked through and marveled over - will soon be sparse and barren - waiting for Winter's arrival.  Such is the ebb and flow of the seasons that surround the Dirt Road.

All Saints Day is upon us and shortly thereafter will be Thanksgiving, the rush of shopping, gift giving and celebrating Christmas. In 62 days, a new year will begin to unfold.

In closing this all too newsworthy update...

It's been a year.

HKJ

South of the Gnat Line

Copyright  © 2013

All Rights Reserved.

Fragrance of the Spring Season...

During these late days of Spring leading up to the first days of Summer, I love sleeping with the windows open. Hearing the night sounds easily lull me to sleep.....

until....the bouquet of the resident skunk's *poot* drifted in and settled all over me at 2 a.m.

Yeah, it did.

And I've been WIDE. Awake. ever since.

Meanwhile, look who I discovered in the sheep barn this morning.....

Obituary for a Farm Cat

With all the indicators in place: temps, gnats and pollen – spring has formally arrived and for good here in the Deep South.   And like every spring, everything is awakening and is new: new growth and new life all around us.  With this, I am always entertained by our farm menagerie as they too, seem to be as excited with the change of season. Our “working cats” in particular seem exceptionally frisky with all that is stirring and vivid memories of Whiskers come to mind – she was the fiercest and most prosperous of all our barn cats.

Ever.

Originally written and posted in May 2009 when she departed our lives, here is her obit., in loving memory.

 ___________________________________________

OBITUARY FOR A FARM CAT

The Dirt Road Farm is grieving a great loss with the passing of Whiskers, the Farm's 5-year old black and white, tuxedo barn cat. Though not the eldest, Whiskers was regarded as the Matriarch of the Farm’s feline pride.

Born in the early spring of 2004, she was adopted by the Farm along with her 3 litter-mates in May of 2004. Affectionately known as “Ma` Ma`”, she was the quintessential farm cat. While lovingly devoted and loyal, Whiskers was fiercely independent and the open pastures remained her preferred domain; she was never to be a house cat.

A proud mother of two litters of kittens and skilled as a master huntress, Whiskers was best known for her tenacious mousing. She took great pride in her work – all too often sharing her prized kills with her beloved humans.

She lost the first of her nine lives to a mad swarm of wasps that had nested behind a window shutter on the Farm’s front porch requiring days of Benadryl treatments eventually seeing her closed eyes and softball sized head return to normal. The next of her nine lives was taken by the garage door leaving her with a fractured tail. The 3rd loss was a narrow escape after being locked inside the Farm truck on a long, long hot summer’s day. Her 4th life claimed from a possible coyote or wild dog having treed her resulting in serious injuries to a hind leg. But it would be an untreatable and fatal blood disease that would ultimately conquer what remained of her lives now leaving a huge hole in the hearts of her human family.

On May 26, 2009, Whiskers was laid to rest in the shade of the Oak and Pecan trees that cascade over the large granite outcroppings on the upper 26 acres of the Dirt Road Farm where she loved to watch and hunt from. She was buried alongside her first born son, Oscar-Duke of Meyer. She is predeceased by her sisters Misty and Diva, her brother, Professor Button, her daughter, Possum and her son, Oscar as well as other nieces and nephews including the Brer Brothers: Brer Fox, Brer Bear and Brer Rabbit, triplets born to her sister, Misty. She is survived by her two daughters Miss Georgia “Peaches” and Savannah Lucille (“Lucy”), nephews St. “Simon” La Rue and Rev. “Billy Bob” Clyde, nieces Skidaway and Charlotte, great nephew One-eyed “Rowdy” and great niece Princess “Patches”. Max, the eldest of the Dirt Road Farm’s cats and of no familial relationship to the deceased, remains indifferent to the passing of Whiskers.

She will be greatly missed seen frolicking and pouncing in the upper pastures as well as hearing her raspy mews expressing thank you’s for an early morning’s saucer of milk. This writer will deeply miss her all too familiar, gentle rubs against her legs while gathering eggs in the hen house – the comfort of her purring companionship while weeding the garden. But I know that somewhere her spirit lives on here along the Dirt Road…. and while on my early morning walks, I will likely feel her presence woven within the breezes that surround me along my trodden path.

…..just beyond my footsteps in the earliest morning sunlight, perhaps I’ll catch a glimpse of a distant silhouette of an elegant cat sitting proudly atop an aging fence post and it will bring a renewed sense of comfort reminding me of a farm cat’s lifelong devotion and unconditional love for me.

___________________________________________

Post Script:

Following the burial of Whiskers on the upper 26 acres of the Dirt Road Farm, the writer was driving the Farm’s truck back to the house and, due to an unprecedented amount of recent rainfall, miss-navigated the pasture and became stuck in an all too wet low area requiring a long walk back to the house and having her truck rescued by the tractor.

It just wasn’t her day.

HKJ

Copyright © 2009, 2013

All Rights Reserved.

Back Door Discoveries

Just outside the back door of the screened porch, I was greeted by a newly hatched turtle....

Sounds of the Dirt Road

Saturday morning sounds around the Dirt Road Farm:


Distant neighbors driving cattle;

the call of my lamb;

bleating of the goats leaving the barn;

chickens conducting their morning routines;

softness of a distant train announcing its passage through;

and overhead the silence of the moving gray skies... 

The skies - they narrate the day.