(20 points to whomever gets that movie reference!)

We adopted Ben just under a year ago.  We've both grown rather fond of the big doofus, even if he does damn near eat us out of house and home.  He's 2 1/2 now, which is apparently adolescence in dog years.

And boy howdy, does he show it.

A few months into winter this year, Ben picked up the unenviable habit of chasing cars.  He's also big on lying in the middle of the road, which is obviously problematic.  However, it's the car chasing that got him into trouble.  He doesn't chase all cars, but is definitely big on diesel trucks, which makes sense; his previous owners had one.  Ben's love of hanging out in the road has been reinforced by some of our neighbors, who will drive by, roll down the window, and reach out to pet him.  We love that our neighbors like him, but it's a bit of a problem.

Especially when I'm down in Denver and I get a call from Greg telling me that Animal Control has stopped by, due to complaints from some of the neighbors about Ben and his car-chasing habits.  Even more so when Ben chases the woman's car down the driveway. *sigh*  Hello, written warning.

The snow was too high to put him anywhere without some major overhaul, so we let him run for a few days.  Until, that is, I was awakened by the joint sounds of Ben barking and a car horn honking like mad.  My decision to pen him up was only reinforced by me calling Ben, having him turn to look at me and wag his tail, and then him joyfully taking off to chase another truck. 

I managed to wrangle open the snowed-in gate to the upper pen and tried to entice Ben to come in.  The closest I could get was the opposite side of the driveway, but when I tried to grab the scruff of his neck to lead him in, Ben just dropped to the ground and went limp.  Cue me dragging a completely passive 150-lb-or-so dog across the driveway, up a hill, and into the upper pen.  It was one hell of a workout, and Ben was filthy by the time I was done.

So, for the last couple of months, Ben has been relegated to the upper pen.  We know we need to get a trainer out here to work with him on collar and leash (at the very least), but the last several months have been apeshit 'round here.  And we're broke. *sigh*  So Ben has been hanging out in the pen, barking waaaay too much for our enjoyment, but otherwise doing just fine.

Last week, I got a call from a concerned neighbor regarding Ben and his lack of shelter.  I told her that we had plans to put our lean-to back up, but we'd had to wait until the snow melted enough.  I mentioned that I'd gone out there that morning, but the wood was too saturated with water for me to lift--and that I was leaving that afternoon to go to Denver for several days.  In addition, I told her about Ben's heavy double coat, that his breed was intended as an outdoor working dog, and really, he was just fine.  We'd had the bottom door of the hay shed open for him during the winter when it was really cold, but it was barely getting below freezing these nights.

However, when I got back from Denver, we'd received another call from Animal Control.  As suspected, the current complaints were about Ben's lack of shelter.  Greg tried to tell her about Ben being a working guard dog, to which she wanted to know what, exactly, he was guarding.  We also told her that we couldn't keep him in the lower pen with the goats or on the deck because he could jump out, so we kept him in the one place we could.  Despite the fact that Ben is the exact same mix-breed of dog that guards the sheep in the high country all winter long, Animal Control was only mollified at the promise of a shelter (horses, cattle, and sheep on open range don't get shelter, and Ben's got a longer, thicker double coat than any two of those species combined).  We got the lean-to up earlier this week, and I've seen him use it exactly once.  Most of the time, even when offered bare earth, Ben is perfectly content to lay in the snow.

And then there's the barking.  When I was in Denver, I picked up a static shock anti-bark dog collar after much consultation with a trainer and pet store manager.  I trimmed a little of the hair at Ben's throat this morning and fastened the collar on.  It sort-of worked for maybe 5 minutes, but has been fuck-all useful the rest of the day.  Looks like I'm going to have to break out the beard trimmer and have a go at the thick hair around his neck in order to get the collar to fit properly.

I wonder if I can get away with using Greg's. o.O

It's been a busy couple of months--it's mud season, and things haven't really slowed down at all.  We've a couple of interns that will be living with us this summer, but more about them later.

In the meantime, I wanted to share my response to a potential CSA member, asking about the increase in buy-in price from 2010 to 2011.  I think it's important that people realize just how much time and money goes into raising your own food, whether it's meat or plant-based.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Yes, the fee has increased; let me tell you a little bit about it and why.

Last year was the first year we sold our turkeys in a CSA format.  The year prior was the first time we'd had turkeys at all, and we expected a pretty sharp learning curve.  We started out with ten; only five survived til fall.  Last year, our survival rate increased to eight.

Between the first and second years, we had to expand our infrastructure.  The first year, a friend had loaned us a couple of small coops, which she took back the second year.  That meant that we had to have a larger coop built for the birds--neither myself nor Greg had the time or the skill level to build the frame for a coop that would be sturdy enough to outlast weather and resist predators.  All in all, we laid out a few hundred dollars in materials and labor, even though we found a local handman and used mostly recycled materials.  It was a necessary cost, but one that was greater than anticipated, and it came entirely out of our own pocket.

This year, there is more infrastructure that will require expansion--namely, portable electric fencing to allow the birds to free-range.  This should greatly cut back on feed costs, but it's an up-front investment of (at bare minimum) nearly $500-600 or so.  There are also feeders that need replacing, a larger brooding box (the ones we've used for the last two years have been woefully insufficient, even at such a small level), and so on.  I don't charge for water, bedding, or my time feeding, watering, fetching supplies, cleaning the coop, checking the birds, or any of the other details that most people don't think about.

The remainder of the cost is reflected in the butchering process.  Last year, due to time constraints, I had to take them to Brothers Processing so members would have their turkeys in time for Thanksgiving.  As a result, there was an extra fee that all the members had to pay.  

However, as I stood there and watched my birds die, I didn't like the distancing effect that it had.  The men who were performing the slaughter, scalding, plucking, and eviscerating were good at their jobs and very efficient, but there was no heart to it, no soul.  I raised these birds from 2-day-old chicks, hand fed them via syringe during their first several hours with me, took responsibility for their lives--keeping them warm, fed, watered, safe from predation, and so forth--and it felt far too easy to have someone else do the real dirty work.  

The first year we'd had turkeys, they had all been home-butchered.  It's harder, both physically and emotionally, but I believe that it should be hard.  It should be difficult to look a living being in the eye and make the decision to take its life, even in the name of feeding oneself and one's family.  

So we stand in a foot of snow, fingers fumbling in the cold, our noses running and breath coming hard.  Our shoulders and arms ache from lifting the weight of a 35-lb bird on and off the rack to the table to the cooler.  We wait as blood runs out and death throes subside before moving in to quickly strip the cooling carcass of its plumage, trying to get all the little pinfeathers without tearing the skin.

Three birds in a day is hard work.  And you know what?  No one wants to help.  People are too squeamish, or have done enough of it before, and are glad to pay someone else to do that work.  

But with more than a couple of birds a day, we simply can't do it all without assistance.  However, the way the law is written, I cannot charge a butchering fee when it's done at home.  I cannot even sell you a processed turkey.  No, what you get is a live bird . . . processed for you as a convenience.  This year, I will have to hire help, but I cannot charge extra for it.  So what I have done is build the fee into the buy-in price; if people are willing to come help with the process--not even do the actual killing, just help with the plucking and cleaning--we will credit $15 towards next year's bird.

I would like to see people be more active and aware of their food sources, of what it really means to raise an animal, kill it, and eat it.  It is literally one of the most sacred, intimate things we can do--turning the body of another life form into the very cells of our being--but I have yet to find a lot of people who are willing to go that far.  We encouraged members to come visit the farm last year; only a single person did, and she lives 3 houses down the road.

Honestly, we don't make any money off of this.  We're lucky if we break even and maybe have a bird or two to put in the freezer ourselves.  Farming takes a lot of hard work and a goodly amount of money, but Greg and I do it because we believe it's important to know where our food comes from.  We believe that it brings us closer to the land, to nature, and it makes us value life--all life--to a greater degree.  We are more in tune with the turning of the seasons, with the variations of the weather, with the foxes that prowl the edges of the trees looking for an easy meal.  In turn, we hope to foster some of that and pass it on to our members.
I realize that this is a much longer email than I'm sure you expected, but the answer to your question is not a simple one.  It can be simplified, yes, but as mentioned, we feel strongly about what we do and why we do it.  I hope the explanation has helped you understand a bit more about where we are coming from.

I've been cleaning since, um, 9 am or so this morning.  The last couple of hours have involved me peeling, coring, and cutting apples with The Violator, via Darling Nikki.  I have something like 7 trays of apple slices drying, one crock-pot full of apple butter-to-be (amaretto, creme de cacoa, cinnamon, ginger, orange, and a wee bit of vanilla).

There are still a distressingly large amount of apples left in the box.  *SIGH*  Next, I think, will be an apple butter with cranberry, ginger, and Chinese 5-spice.  If the ginger-cranberry sauce is still good, of course.

Down in Denver, I got a call from Greg.  The gist of it was this:
   
                        Um.  Your turkey laid an egg, and I don't know what to do.

Like I do? o.O

Apparently, he put the egg in a Rubbermaid bin with some sawdust and put the heat lamp on it, as both turkeys were completely ignoring it.  Guess it's time to research homemade incubators!  In talking with my friend John, he asked, "What makes you think it's fertile?"

Um . . . the ongoing presence of giant fucking male turkey in the same coop as the female?  The obnoxious teenage calling and strutting?

Upon further reflection, it's unlikely that the egg is viable, due to the fact that it's February (and thus still cold and snowy as fuck) and that the hen doesn't seem to have any maternal inclinations whatsoever.

Know what this means?

BREAKFAST!

So.  Aside from swearing at goats and chasing turkeys, I (Erica) am a massage therapist.

In school, they talk about some of the downsides of having a home office:  you have to beware of the phone ringing, or the dog barking.

However, they never mentioned the downside to having a tom turkey totally going off as a possible detraction for clients.

O lord, how is this my life?

>.<

You know what sucks?

Spilling half a bucket of water all over yourself in below-zero weather. While post-holing up to your knees in snow.  While it goes down your already-damp boots.

You know what really sucks?

Having all that happen at the beginning of chores, rather than the end.

>.<

This laundry used to be clean.

Now it's covered with cat hair.

*sigh*