I want a pile of soft warm laundry to fall into and swallow me whole. I want crunchy leaves beneath my feet, golden orange, red and brown. I want to see my breath. Vitality wafting in front of me tunneling into the sky. I want a crisp clear night sky with other worlds sparkling in the distance. We are big and we are small. I need this reminder.
I want a warm cup of tea, brimmed with frothy cream and sugar to warm my body and my soul. I want fuzzy snuggles and love I don’t have to beg for. I want to be quiet. I want to be.
God strengthen these hands and hold fast to this heart. God grant me peace. That though I may fail, I may not weep. That though I may fall, I will remember to stand again. That though I may doubt, I will have faith.
False. Look at these sweet zucchini squashes. Yum.
“Comparison is an act of violence against the self”-Iylana Vanzant
IT’S HARVEST TIME, Y’ALL! We’ve spent the past couple of days collecting things from the garden, mostly zucchini (which can grow to the size of your forearm if you don’t watch out!). Norma says the zucchini is ready to harvest when it’s about 6 inches in length. If it gets too big, she often has to throw it in with the dog food, or feed to Jenna (she’s one of the oddball angora goats). So I guess, in the case of gardening, bigger isn’t always better (for zucchini at least). The product of this harvest has been so delicious! We’ve had some form of zucchini for every meal the past couple of days (zucchini pancakes, stuffed zucchini, zucchini salad…). I’ll be honest in the fact that I wasn’t too fond of the vegetable when I first tried it, but after coming here I’ve been open to different things (Maybe even green beans….we’ll see). I think part of the thrill of eating is know that you planted it, watched it grow from little seedlings, and then got enjoy the taste of that harvest. It’s all apart of a special process. It also kind of makes you feel like an avatar, yielding the forces of nature for power.
We also had to harvest all of the onions (104 to be exact). With all of the rain we’ve had, we needed to get the onions out of the ground so they don’t rot. Onions are interesting in how they’re planted. Unlike most things, you don’t burry onions deep in the soil. For the best results you need to burry your onions just above the soil to allow the root system to dig itself into the ground. Onions are also very easy to start growing on your own and replant once you chop a bit off the top. Now, onions differ from zucchini in the perfect size for harvest. Onions don’t really have a size that makes the best for harvesting. And yes, now sometimes bigger is better.
Freshly harvested onions make delicious french onion soup!
Soon I should also be able to venture into the woods to collect some paw paws (a custard type fruit). I’ve never tried it, but I’ve been told that it is supreme. The fruit is also a frozen favorite of our late and great George Washington and Thomas Jefferson. I’m excited to give them a try. There are a lot of great pieces of wildlife out here that are great for harvesting. Norma and I collected some wild raspberries the other day (delicious!). The locals are also fond of venturing into the deep woods and mountains to find ginseng (used in energy drinks and medicine), they call it “sing-sing”, and the act of collecting it “sangin”. Ginseng roots can go for as low as $200/lbs at the beginning of the season to about $700/lbs towards the end of the season. The locals are also skilled at finding morel mushrooms, but only know it by the name “dry-land-fish”. People in the mountains here are way more attuned to nature and are raised from a very young age to find certain elements in nature. I’ve had fun learning about them, but am not very good at finding them myself.
I’ve been gone from here for a while and have plenty to catch up on. Stayed tuned, friends.
“A small rudder makes a huge ship turn wherever the pilot chooses to go, even though the winds are strong. In the same way, the tongue is a small thing that makes grand speeches. But a tiny spark can set a great forest on fire.” -James 3:4-5
Working on this very isolated farm has been an exercise in quiet. As many people know, I’m am gifted with a massive skill of verbosity, a skill that’s a little amiss on the farm. But that’s good for me. It’s easy for me to blabber on without actually listening to what I say. In the mountains, you have fantastic acoustics and a reverberation that makes not hearing what you say impossible. Also, the goats and other farm animals couldn’t care less about what you say unless it’s attached to food. Animals operate very differently from humans. Humans generally seek attention and confirmation that whatever they’re doing is substantial. Here, the animal that brings the most attention to himself/herself, loses out on food.
Isn’t that right, Leroy? No one wants to miss out on food.
Leroy, of course, is the worst example of this. He’s the pushiest, always looking for attention and love (see above photo) and also gets food pretty easily considering his size. The animals aren’t too keen on sharing, therefore, when one is distracted the others are quick to get the food. Boastfulness is not a trait in the animal kingdom that is bred for survival.
Miss Abby exhibiting her grand skill of coyness. (dramatic profile shot)
Hanging with this “trip of goats” (Smithsonain fun fact! http://nationalzoo.si.edu/animals/kidsfarm/inthebarn/goats/factsheet.cfm) has been a lesson in simplicity. Love and food. What else is there? (They do not like the deworming process.) And quiet. Most importantly, quiet. I think in a world where everyone is talking and yelling, quiet is a very undervalued trait.
Embracing the quiet and taking the time to actually shut my mouth has allowed me to take in more of whats around me. For example, the past couple of days have brought rolling thunderstorms (which has made consistent farm work challenging). Unlike in the coastal areas and suburban areas, you can hear the storms rolling. And when the thunder roars in the distance, it surrounds the mountain booming like you’re trapped in a battlefield. It’s a little terrifying, but also incredibly beautiful.
Isn’t it beautiful?
The past couple of days I’ve been rather restless and wordless, but once I settled back in the quiet things came together. Embrace the quiet.
“Just because you’ve had enough doesn’t mean you wanted too much.”-Dean Young
The life-span of the Pipevine Swallowtail (pictured above) is 17 hours. These two I found laying themselves to rest in the mud out by the barn. You become accustomed to noting the natural life cycles around here. My bathroom has become a mini bug hotel (as I have no AC, I keep my windows open). My shower in particular has become the home of spiders (harmless ones. Do those exist? I’m just taking Norma’s word for it). For the past couple of days I’ve watched a daddy long-leg (I’ve named Marcello) mosey his way up the wall and across the window and down the wall and over to the sink. Well, I hopped in the shower today to find the darling Marcello caught in Musetta’s web (Totally a coincidence. I’m on a Puccini kick). It was a little sad to see (and a little gratifying because, well, it’s one less bug). This is how it goes.
You get used to the bugs flying around and crawling all over the place out here. I’ve certainly gotten over the swatting of bugs and the running from snakes (black snakes that is). I have this 3-winged moth, Colline, that’s been haunting me every night. He shows up about story time and floats around the muffled glow of my kindle. I think he’s a fan of Terry Tempest Williams. I’ve learned to be okay with the bugs around me, they do no harm (most of the time, except for those pesky sweat bees. THE WORST.) I’ve learned not to be too hasty to swat. I save myself a lot of energy that way. I guess I kind of understand how cows handle the constant flies around them. This is life. Learn to coexist.
We can all take a lesson from that. With all of the recent tragedies (Trayvon Martin Case, Cory Monteith, etc.), it’s important to remember they we live in a crowded world. Tragedies are constantly happening. But so are good things.
I think it’s no coincidence that so many chaotic things are happening in July. This is the month of American Independence (July 4th, for my European readers. Love you, Nan, Papa, & Uncle Nigel!), and Bastille Day (Today, actually [July 14]. Party like it’s 1790, woo!), for our French revolutionaries. People get hot and bothered in July. I make all of my worst decisions in July. I also make some of my most daring decisions. Sometimes they turn out okay. Things settle, eventually.
Right now, I’m trying to keep calm and let things float past (even though my element is definitely fire). I’m trying to keep my hot-head in check. And I’m trying to learn from our sweet Boston Terrier, Della. Della’s 3 steps to happiness: 1)Find friend. 2)Love friend. 3)Be happy.
Maybe we should all be like Della.
In other news, the keets (baby guineas) are getting to be so big!
Sweet little frand.
I’ll leave you with this tonight:
Tonight I pray that peace may find you,
and put your worried head to rest.
Lie flat and breathe.
I pray that the present fills the void
in your empty and heavy heart,
if just for the night.
I pray that your shallow breaths, deepen,
and your racing heart slows.
I pray you realize tomorrow will come.
Lonely may stay awhile.
But life fills these voids.
Let the silence keep you company,
do not be beaten into to the darkness
by the fear of it.
Silence carries no troubles with it.
Silence is weightless.
Silence is whole.
Accept your wholeness.
I pray you let your heart forgive you.
I pray you let your heart forgive others.
I pray your mind hangs up its tattered coat, and leaves its
“When silence is a choice, it is an unnerving presence. When silence is imposed, it is censorship.”-Terry Tempest Williams [When Women Were Birds: Fifty-four Variations on Voice]
[DISCLAIMER: REFERS TO THE ANATOMICALLY CORRECT TERM FOR THE FEMALE REPRODUCTIVE ORGAN.]
I woke up in a rather cantankerous [GRE-word, woo!] mood this morning. I woke up wanting to fight someone. Set something on fire. Break things. It wasn’t until I was knee-deep in weeds, asserting all of my aggression, that I realized why [I know, I know, you’re saying: “Gee, Victoria, you spend a lot of time weeding!”, YOU HAVE NO IDEA].
ABSOLUTELY. NO. IDEA.
Some mornings are like this. I wake up, grab some coffee, and scroll through The Atlantic or The New York Times (and yes, Buzzfeed too. You have to laugh to keep from crying, am I right?). The news lately has been downright depressing, mostly isolated to the US. For some reason, I, like most of my generation, seem to be part of the chosen group my government is trying to screw over. I woke up this morning and said: “Wow, I graduate in 309 days, with thousands of dollars in student loan debt and now a 6.8% interest rate on those loans AND because I was also stupidly born female, I probably won’t have rights to my own vagina come the end of the year. Man, I have so much going for me.” (Is that a ridiculously long run-on? Probably. I’m American educated, what do you expect?)
I needed to get out my aggression, so I took to the weeds. Weed-whacker in hand and a fired up rant in mind, I tore through the garden in an extermination craze. I pulled, and chopped, and hoed. My masterpiece was a shredded salad that lined the brick barrier between the garden and the yard. I heard a Prairie Home Companion story recently about the necessity of garden tools to prevent homicide; frankly, I’d have to agree with Mr. Keillor (Here’s another reason why we need gardening tools: http://www.geekosystem.com/weeding-with-fire/). I felt better after blitzkrieging this lawn, but I still felt this gnawing in my stomach. Why was I so bleeding mad? I sat covered in yard debris under the blazing sun counting my breaths, wracking my brain. Then it hit me.
People are in Egypt yelling in the streets, getting shot, terrorized, and raped. I’m tucked safely away on a mountainside expressing my anger and outrage through social media outlets. What can I do to change things?
As many of you know, I came up here to retreat from politics. After working on a number of campaigns for the democratic party, I needed to clear my head. I needed to make sure that I was actually getting things done and not just feeding into a corrupt system based on buying votes and nepotism. It’s easy to get burned out on politics when the focus is statistics, votes, and words. When working on these campaigns I always enjoyed talking to people, hearing their stories, and trying to figure out a way to help them. We’ve lost this sense of philanthropy in government today. Instead we bat back and forth over party lines, ignoring the real problems. We isolate minority groups to restrict and control. I get it. People like control. People like labels. It’s human nature. But in this process, we’ve lost control of the actual means of democracy.
Differing views is good. It’s healthy. It’s natural. Without opposing views we wouldn’t have the Bill of Rights (Federalists and Antifederalists, anyone?). We’re founded on battling viewpoints under the great umbrella of American ideas to battle tyranny and achieve freedom (Or tax evasion. I’m biased.). There comes a time, however, where we need to put aside partisan views and actually apply some thought and consideration to the people. How does putting stricter restrictions on birth control and abortion, but cutting food stamp programs help anyone? My suggestion to Congress would be to make a list of the bills they’re sponsoring and then evaluate them on the basis of these questions: 1) Would an ass hole agree with this?, 2)Am I doing this just because I hate the opposing view?, 3)Will this actually help anyone?. If the answers are as follows: 1) yes, 2) YES!!, & 3)NO. Then do not pass the bill. Do not sponsor that bill.
This is naive. I know this is naive.
Lately, between bluegrass music books, I’ve been reading When Women Were Birds: Fifty-Four Variations on Voice. In this book Terry Tempest Williams explores her own voice through the stories and voice of her mother (who left her shelves of empty journals when she died). This is a poetic exploration of how to find and subsequently use your voice and build off the voices that have broken the silence before you. I think Williams does an excellent job of evaluating the element of voice. I’ve found a lot of comfort in her words lately. I think this adventure on the farm has been an exercise in finding my own voice. Why do I do the things I do? Do I enjoy any of it? Am I doing any of this for me?
By deciding to work on the farm and not look for an internship in D.C. or some stuffy office, I exercised my ability to chose and to trust in my decisions. It has allowed me some time to think about what I really enjoy. I love history. I love that history is about people. I love that history is filled with stories of heroism, heartache, revolutions, and change. People drive this change. And people fascinate me. I guess that’s how I fell into politics. Despite people’s cruelty and animalistic tendencies, I believe that there is good and misunderstanding buried beneath it. I have a surprising amount of faith in people and a surprising amount of faith in believing that we can create change.
Who knows, maybe I’ll end up here? I quite enjoy this swamp.
Which is why after hours upon hours of meditation, reluctance, and so much fighting, I think I’m called to work in some capacity with politics. Not everyone is given the ability of communication (or the ability to make an ass of themselves and laugh it off). I realize that have some talents in communication and working with people (which I actually enjoy). And maybe, just maybe, I can make a difference (I’m not one easily discouraged). I have decided to work the system, instead of against it.
If I have children, I want them to live in a world that fosters love (whatever love they want), health, tolerance, and pride. And I want to say I had something to do with that.
I am resolved (as resolved as a 21 year old can possibly be. beer me.).
While you roll your eyes at this post, take some time to listen to Sam Cooke and his classic “A Change is Gonna Come”. It’s what I’m feeling right now.
P.S. If you have suggestions for public administration programs and like programs throw ’em at me.
P.P.S. What does this post have to do with farming? Well, nothing I guess except, maybe, with farming you have to have faith to plant seeds, watch them grow, keep them watered. With politics you plant ideas and you have to have some faith to keep those alive.
“Outside of a dog, a book is a man’s best friend. Inside of a dog it’s too dark to read.”-Groucho Marx
The nightlife here gets pretty rowdy. For as quiet as it is here, it also gets surprisingly loud. A very different kind of loud, that city folks aren’t used to. But seriously, it gets loud at night and any sort of rustle in the night sets the dogs off. Above is a picture of Griff, his job is to care for and protect the goats. You might not be able to tell from the photo, but in real life, he’s MASSIVE. He’s also rather shy (but he’s warmed up a bit to me). Usually he’s the first to call the night crawlers to the attention of the rest of the farm. Griff has no sensitivity to hours. Even though he’s very loud, he’s also very gentle and when he deems something to not be a threat he often just wanders away. This happens a lot with the deer on the property. He stays down by the barn, but his message reaches his allies on the porch very clearly. Which sets off Bitsy…
Bitsy. She’ll bite your leg off.
What Bitsy lacks in mass, she makes up for in loudness. She’s a bit quirky. She’s also a rescue dog. Bitsy was used specifically for breeding purposes and was kept in a cage most of her life. She’s still weary of closed spaces. Bitsy has to be in control of the love she gives and gets. She won’t let you pet her, instead she’ll run up lick your hand a couple of times and run away. Mountains don’t scare her at all, she’ll race the goats to the top when she get’s a chance. Bitsy is incredibly happy here, like all of the animals. Duncastle farms serves as almost an island of misfit toys. Majority of the animals here have tragic backstories of abuse, cages, and neglect and all of them have found an enormous amount of love here. They carry that love loudly into the night, however. Any movement in the night wakes them and forces them into protection mode. Whatever the size, whatever the noise, I know I’m fortified (albeit VERY tired) by a wall of dogs.
Jake. Strengths: sleeping, lounging, and general laziness. Weakness: hotspots and tires.
The ever elusive Garbo, and best friend Bitsy.
The sweet, but very camera shy, Boston Terrier, Dellareese.
This rag-tag crew of darling puppies keep the farm on lock down (and sometimes awake). The night can be a scary thing, ask the guineas (YES, I HEAR YOU). But it’s also incredibly beautiful. On a dark night you can see billions of stars and it’s hard to separate the ground from the sky. The lightning bugs in the trees create this beautiful drapery of speckled light. I’ll miss that when I return to the cities. I agree with Norma when she says there’s nothing worst than killing a lightning bug because the do nothing but glimmer in the darkness. I guess it’s the same thesis as How To Kill A Mockingbird (Happy 53rd birthday, today, btw.). We don’t have these kind of sights and sounds in the city. The lightning bugs start to rise up from the ground around 8 at night, right at dusk, and they gradually work their way up into the trees. I wish I had a way of capturing this wonder and sharing it with you, but some things are better experienced first hand. I’m grateful I have the time to enjoy these things. Maybe we do have them in city, I wouldn’t know. I don’t have the time to check.
You definitely become comfortable with nature out here (yes, even the spiders in the shower). This part of the world is so insulated from the hustle and bustle of the big city. This calm and quiet is like an enormous sigh of relief.
“For the rest of my life, whenever the sky’s grey, I’ll remember the blue’s still there above the clouds, and the sun’s still shining.”- Pauline Fisk
Storms throw everything askew. In the mountains, things shift, sometimes too much rain leads to a mudslide. Rain brings new life to the weeds you’ve recently spent hours upon hours whacking up or pulling out of the garden. Suddenly everything is crowded again.
The rain did allow us some time to de-worm the goats and trim their hooves (the Bore goats needed it more than the kikos, by far). So, I guess rain can also sometimes lead to you bucking around twelve goats. I had the lovely job of “wrastlin'” them and grabbing their horns so that Norma could trim their hooves (I’m not sure which one of us had the better end of the deal). Despite some struggle from the randier ones, I think they mostly had a sense that we were trying to help them for the better, even though, it might’ve caused poor Abby a panic attack. Ultimately, this was my most intimate and wild task yet, here on the farm. I don’t know how Norma does it by herself. I’m a little worse for the wear, but if there comes a time for me to ride a bull, I think I might be up for the task.
Remember when I said rain gives weeds new life? Yeah. I wasn’t joking. I mean, like, Jurassic Park life. They’re everywhere. I now fully understand the saying “growing like weeds”. I guess that’s the thing about weeds, they come back. Again, and again, and again. But, you have to weed. YOU. HAVE. TO. WEED. I think this goes for life to (transition to life metaphor). In the constant reevaluation of your life, you need to weed out the bad things (i.e. habits, hairdos, people, etc…), sometimes you’ll revisit these things. And against your strong opposition, they’ll spring back up. Be strong, friends. Weeds strangle the nourishment. Weeds stunt your growth. Weeds steal the fruits of your labor. (End lifemetaphor.)But seriously, pulling weeds BLOWS. However, the fruits of your labor? Totally worth it. [See bellow.]
Parsley.
Dill.
Onions.
Today we went into Bristol, TN. There we ran into some “interesting” characters. Some men who felt the need to, on a Tuesday morning at 8 AM, protest a women’s clinic. First, I was surprised that there was even a women’s clinic out here. Second, who has that much free time? I think God might have some ideas on what might be a better use of your time than protest. But what do I know? I’m Presbyterian, heaven is a place, I’ll get to when I get to, the path may be unconventional, but it’s a destination. I think we as a society become to consumed with waging wars, judging people who have different paths than us, and controlling things that scare us. Instead of taking someone by the hand and having a frank discussion, we chose to yell and hold signs. Abortion is controversial. You know what else is? Founding a new nation. We’re established on the bricks of controversy and rebellion.
Meanwhile, outside of protesting what rights women do and don’t have to their bodies, there’s revolutions going on. Nation’s eager to pave the way to opportunities they’ve never had before. It’s exciting stuff folks. While the storms are raging and the rain is coming down, people are taking to the streets screaming through the storm clouds for change. Egypt is setting precedence for the rest of the Arab world and our world. They’re showing that democracy has some flaws and sometimes we need to take a good hard look at that. It also shows that people have the power. I pray every night for the safety of these protestors. I haven’t, in my short life, come across an issue I feel so passionate about that I’d throw my life on the line. That sort of dedication is admirable. I pray they get some relief, but like all revolutions, they come in cycles, radical to moderate, to counter-revolution, to radical to moderate, etc…, and I don’t see it ending any time soon. I hope their storms clear.
There’s a lot going on in the world. We live in times that are turbulent and loud and scary. Tornadoes and hurricanes and thunderstorms roll in daily. This is life. Instead of getting caught up in the storms and the darkness, wait it out, and see what pops up afterwards. Keep your garden open. Let the rain come down and soak in the storms. Then, only then, after it’s soaked it in, should you weed out the opposition. Listen to the thundering storms and the rain coming down. You might learn something.
“Travel far enough, you meet yourself” -David Mitchell
So, I’ve returned to the farm after a sabbatical over the Independence Day holiday. I now feel as though I’ve traveld all of the far reaches of North Carolina and Virginia in the past week. I’ve gone up and down mountains, through hills and valleys, across interstates and state roads, and was even halted on the road because of a mudslide. Meanwhile, it appears that most of the East Coast is under water (I’m glad I’ve taken to high ground for the summer).
Through the torrential downpour, I travelled to UNC Chapel Hill where I threw myself into the archives and the stories of hillbilly, old-time, and bluegrass musicians. I ran into some interesting characters and fell in love with Dorsey Dixon from Darlington, SC. He’s worked in just about every cotton mill on the eastern seaboard up to NY. He had a refreshing out look on life and gained a lot of that from his travels, where he hitch-hiked everywhere. I think it’s important to travel on your own. You get a better feel for your own independence (even if it means crying in the NC welcome center for an extra dime to use the pay-phone). [Fun Fact: Pay-phones still exist.] You get a lot more out of the experience when you’re a stranger in a new place, detached and observant. You see a lot more, take in a lot more, feel a lot more. It’s fun to be a fly on the wall in a new town. I certainly had fun with that.
I think I made a lot of head way on my research and gain new appreciation for some fun new musicians. Listening to the interviews and pulling their stories together, just felt right. I think that’s the fun of archival work, getting lost in someone else’s story (and getting caught up in some sassy correspondence… one signed “and with that, I think I’ll have a martini.”).
The Old Well. UNC-Chapel Hill. Chapel Hill, NC 2013.
I also travelled to Blacksburg, VA to stay with a lovely friend and eat some pie on Independence day (What’s more American than that?!). We watched Independence Day (a movie that’s all about staring dramatically at the sky or at a bunch of screens). I loved being with some academics at the table and at the party. I think it only further solidified my ambition to head to graduate school (fingers-crossed!).
Finally, I made my way back to the farm, where I was met with an immense amount of love from my goat friends (even when I had to tackle them to de-worm them). Today we travelled to Abingdon, VA to see the Barter Theater where Gregory Peck got his start (after a day of trimming goat hooves). The theater was beautiful and had a wall of so many different stars from John Spencer (Leo from the West Wing. RIP.) and Kevin Spacey (who I just ADORE).
Barter Theater. Abingdon, VA 2013
Hey, that’s me!
Last year Garden & Gun magazine named Abingdon, VA the most creative town in the South. With good reason! I ran into all sorts of fun characters and sweet inspiration. I fell in love in this delightful yarn shop. So much warmth. So much color!
A Likely Yarn.
Currently I’m working on an afghan, but it’ll probably turn out to be a very warm chunky scarf because this is some hella-expensive yarn. So far, the project is snuggly, which I’m okay with.
Anyway, back to the drudgery of farm work. Must kill ALL the weeds!
“In order to see birds it is necessary to become a part of the silence.”-Robert Lynd
There’s a different kind of silence on the mountainside. Nature’s always murmuring about something. The guinea fowls, especially, are not too keen on silence (especially if a bear sets off a motion sensor light and wakes them up. The sounds are enough to startle anything away). Before I came here, I had no idea what a guinea fowl was (pictured above), and I certainly wasn’t expecting to come across these almost prehistoric dinosaur type creatures to surround my car upon arrival. One on one a guinea isn’t too terrifying (a bit odd, yes, but you could probably take him), however, guineas pack together when they think they’re going to get fed and rumble down the mountain like a pack of storm troopers. THAT, is actually quite terrifying. Despite their odd looks, quirky demeanor, and very boisterous noises, they’re rather sweet (in a way a wild bird can be sweet, I wouldn’t try to pick one up and pet it like a dog. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED). They’re curious in some of their actions. On the farm they run all over the mountainside and feed in the grass, in doing this, they help get rid of the ticks (to keep them off dogs, cats, and humans). According to Norma, they have been very useful in this because this place used to be a hotbed of tic activity. Guineas are also quite fond of their reflection, for as odd looking as they are, they’re rather vain (I guess they’re similar to their human counter-parts in that respect). Upon my arrival, Norma told me that we should be expecting 36 keets (baby guineas) because a Mama guinea got upset when Norma was taking the eggs at night. The task of removing guinea eggs is actually pretty funny. You have to go when the Mama has set off into wilderness for the day and then you have to collect the eggs with a spoon (so all those church party games do come in handy, ha!). Guineas are very fierce in the protection of their eggs. They’ll watch them all day and all night, never leaving for food or water, and when faced with a threat will fight to the death. I suppose that’s rather admirable, however, it means this particular Guinea Mama gets all sorts of special treatment so she doesn’t die in the hen house (which might upset the hens…I’ll get to them later). After the eggs hatch, the Guinea Mama loses all motherly instinct and leaves them to fend for themselves, which doesn’t always turn out for good. Well recently, our Guinea Mama decided she no longer want to sit on her eggs. After sitting on her eggs for weeks, I suppose she just got bored with the idea of motherhood. We’re still trying to figure out why. Sometimes nature can be unpredictable (either way, it gets me out of cleaning out the chicken coop, at least for a while!). [FUN FACT: Guinea eggs are very rich and are the best in baking cakes. Good luck breaking them open though, tough as nails.]
Finn, the rooster about town. #poultryswag
Finn runs this hen house.
The chickens are a precious as you might presume (Also not to be picked up and cuddled). They make much more muffled sounds (EXCEPT FOR FINN. YES, I HEAR YOU), cooing until they lay an egg. The mother hens are rather proud of their eggs, and Finn is too (even though he has nothing to do with the process most of the time). Before I came here, I’ll admit, I knew nothing about chickens and the egg process. Apparently chickens don’t need roosters to lay eggs (unfertilized). But Finn is proud either way. He’s very sympathetic to the hens when they start laying the eggs. He howls and runs immediately to the hen house to root his hen along. It’s really rather sweet. For as much swagger as Finn has, he is surprisingly bullied by the hens (who often steal his food). Still, he proudly saunters through the tall grass and makes everyone aware of his presence. I appreciate his confidence (I don’t appreciate his wake up calls).
What always surprises me here, is how well the animals get along. They all go about and do their own thing. If only we could take a page from their book.
Goodnight, friends!
P.S. If you’re still listening, internet world, I’m currently coveting some SC peaches. I promise I’ll never leave the state during the summer again.
“The grass is greener where you water it.”- Neil Barrington
Everyone leaves a path. Sometimes these paths are more worn down, some paths are more direct, and some paths are far from the ordinary. Today was a day of forging paths: Senator Wendy Davis’ filibuster in Texas followed by two monumental decisions from the Supreme Court. There’s still to be work done.
On this farm, I’ve taken particular notice to the paths that are forged through the woods. If you’re looking straight ahead and hiking through the woods, you hardly notice the tiny pathways beaten through the woods, but if you look down you see the paths left by the deer. We’ve left a path on our way up the mountain every morning and the goats certainly leave their paths daily. The paths around here particularly interest me because of the enormous feat of creating a path on the mountainside. Many of you know that part of my summer research is on the creation of the Blue Ridge Parkway and it’s impact on these rural mountain communities. In this research, I have found how difficult it was to create these roads that lead to these beautiful sites, not just because of the terrain, but also because of the people. Rural mountain people are a fierce breed. None too quick to give over their land and their livelihood for the purpose of path-making.The opposition that faced the workers, the change that faced the mountain communities, and the sheer amount of man power and labor that went into carving up the mountainside is simply mind-boggling. Creating paths, especially around here, is not an easy task, but one that was accomplished. One that was necessary. These pathways take us to many beautiful sights, they bring people together, they allow us to communicate.
The path the Supreme Court laid out today is just the beginning. We have a lot of ground breaking and road-laying ahead of us. We face opposition to the change. We face barriers constructed to block the path, but we’ll carry through, because ultimately, the path that lays before us means nothing compared to the path we’ll leave behind us.
All Quiet on the Virginia Mountainside 