Land of the Free. Home of the Brave

July 4, 2008

Happy 4th of July !!! Enjoy your families and your freedoms.

No Grain No Pain

July 3, 2009

Like many other dairy farmers Keith had always fed grain as part of our dairy herds diet. When we decided to seek organic certification we of course had to feed certified organic grain. Took a while for the cows to adapt to the change. Cows like things to taste the same. Similar to toddlers, a change in texture can mean a rebellion. Then after meeting with the folks at Traders Point Creamery (TPC) in Zionsville Indiana , we decided NO GRAIN was the way to go.

We made THIS new change at the perfect time; just as the cows were getting out to new spring pastures. Our milk production did drop as expected but not for long and not as much as we had feared. One problem we did not plan for, was how to get the cows into the parlor for milking. Before, it was the grain that enticed them. A little more reading, some phone calls to TPC and bingo-bango-bongo we discovered molasses. A sweet treat that provides a little extra energy for our bovines.

It took more phone calls to find a supplier for organic molasses in bulk and the winner was Zook Molasses Company in Pennslyvania. They sell us the "Zook Gook" in large plastic totes and deliver it to TPC where we pick it up with a borrowed trailer. (Thanks again Ken Kurtenbaugh)

At first the cows were afraid of the liquid black stuff being dribbled into their feed bin but soon they grew accustomed and lately have been requesting pancakes to go with their syrup. Never enough for those girls. Never enough. Yesterday we made the 6 hour round trip to Zionsville to pick up another load of molasses. The ride is long but TPC is always a great place to visit. Check them out at traderspointcreamery.com

Don't Tread on Me

July 2, 2009 NAIS

Thomas Jefferson said it best,

"A government big enough to give you everything you want, is strong enough to take everything you have ."

NAIS , the National Animal Identification System Illustrates this perfectly. Put simply, NAIS is the USDA's proposed plan to identify every single livestock animal in the United States. Incidently, the proposed plan was never voted into law by Congress and was supposed to be a three step "voluntary program". The law requires that each animal will be tagged or microchipped and their movement will be tracked, logged and reported to our government. The benefit is for the huge factory farms only as they will be allowed to do single ID's for large group of animals. Small farmers like us , households who raise 4-H animals, and homesteaders raising meat for their own use, will have to identify AND TAG every single farm animal. Yes, that means every chicken, every duck, every pig, every pony. Even Aunt Bessie with her one egg a day chicken will have to register her home as a "farm premise", obtain a premise ID, tag or microchip her Chicken Little, file the paperwork, and pay the fees.

There are no exceptions under the NAIS plan if passed in its current form.The USDA slipped this through the back door and past several states before residents were aware it was happening. Wisconsin was blind-sided in 2006 and residents are working desperately to have the law repealed. The cost of tagging and recording all these animals, their owners, and the farms they come from will be cost prohibitive to the average farmer, causing even more family farms to close their barn doors for good. Additional program costs will eventually be passed onto YOU, in the form of higher food prices to start, and other methods of finance reimbursement to the government not yet defined of course. Think increased taxes.

Educate yourself about NAIS. Get involved. Write your representative. Go to NoNAIS.org.
DO SOMETHING NOW . SAVE OUR FARMS !

Special Thanks to Mom Parrish

July 1, 2009 Keiths birthday

Special thanks to my mother-in-law Lois who 47 years ago gave birth to her seventh child, her last child, her baby, who grew up to become my wonderful husband and our farms expert herdsman.

Hot Child Full of Pity

June26, 2009

Holy sweat glands Batman ! Another day over 95 degrees. Fifth day in a row. We keep getting up earlier to try and beat the waves of stifling heat here in Central Illinois but about 1/2 way through morning chores it hits us again. The knowledge that it is indeed...summer. Less than 10 days ago we had lots of cool rain and needed jackets to be outside. Now we're wearing white trash garb all day long. (I can say "white trash" because I come from a long line of very proud white trash, most still swiggin' on the Mountain Dew in between trips to the junkyards of Southern Indiana)

Our daily uniform consists of as little as possible, and by the time we are washing up buckets and milkers in the tank room well after dark, most of our clothing has been shucked off and left hanging on the tank room door.

Now before your greedy little heads start thinking "Woo Hoo we could be making some big money on the rural calender couple", remember; whatever skin is no longer covered by clothing is definitely covered with fly specks, mosquito bites and artistic manure smears. The cows love us sooooo much they like to mark us. Still thinking impure thoughts ? I didn't think so.

Cow Pies: Not just for breakfast anymore.

June 23, 2009

When I was 8 we moved from the north side of Chicago to the rinky-dink village of Warrenville. I quickly made friends with two sisters, Barb and Pauline. Their parents owned a small dairy farm. They taught this city girl how to drink raw milk from a laddle dipped into the steel milk can, and how to "bronk-ride" 400 lb calves. On cool spring days when we played "Bonanza" in the pastures, they taught me the best way to warm up my bare feet was to bury them in a fresh hot cow pie. I thought I was just playing. I had no idea I was growing a healthy immune system.

I have been an RN for 24 years. In an average 12 hr shift I wash my hands at least 50 times, before and after every single patient contact. I do it because it is hospital policy and because I am exposed on a daily basis to a slew of infectious diseases, most resulting from the ever-expanding overuse of antibiotics in our country. I wash my hands to protect myself, my family and my patients. But on the farm...its a very different story.

On an average day I handle a lot of goop. Calf bottles that get pushed out of their holders and then get picked up by me will have slimy calf spit on the nipple and maybe some manure on the sides. Chicken eggs come out clean some days, other days are spotted with whatever the chicken had on her feet prior to laying. It usually isn't glitter. Cows love to dance when the weather is cool which can result in poo-flung hair if you are standing too close. You name it, we've stepped in it, fallen in it, accidently tasted it. (Hey, if your mouth is open when the cows are dancing...)


My husband and I believe strongly that the more germs you are exposed to the healthier you will be in the long run. Less infections, less sick time, less recovery time. Studies have validated this belief especially in regards to children. One pet good, two...even better. Its not that we don't wash at home. Certainly we do before meals, and before cooking and we ensure our cows and equipment are clean before and after milking. But we don't hit the hyper button when a grandkid kisses a goat, hugs a duckling or gets a little calf drool on their hands. Life is for living and farms get messy.

Write when you get work !!!!

June 22, 2009

Yesterday was Fathers Day and as is usual for our family at any event, we often end the day in the dining room or living room practicing the strange tradition of...talking. One of the topics we landed on was the decline in real communication in this era of cell phones, emails, Blackberries, texting, voice mail and yes even BLOGS. We vented about our feelings in regards to being cut off mid sentence when the person you are speaking to face to face , suddenly decides to abort the conversation in order to answer his Clamshell, his obnoxious call waiting signal , or even worse... to begin a texting war that includes you not.

When I was a teen, it was not unusual for me to have a fight with my folks and then threaten to run away. Did my parents beg and plead with me to stay ? Did they warn me of the dangers in the outside world and remind me of their unending love and support available only in the bosom of their home ? Naaaa. They said, "Don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out !"

Face to face communication. They key to strong family relationships.

We also lamented (well my kids mentioned it, I was the "lamenting" one), the loss of real letters. The little treasures we used to find in our mailboxes . Both my parents were excellent letter writers. My mother would fill several pages with news of breaking down cars, trials at work, home repair nightmares. Day to day stuff. My fathers' letters often covered the same topics but in a completely different way. First of all his envelopes were covered with his artwork. Maybe done with marker, or chalk or crayon. Whatever he had available and in reach of the kitchen table. He would sketch little trains and cars shuttling mail across the country, Postmen looking for my mailbox in jungles or other rough terrain. His letters were equally colorful. He made fun of his daily financial struggles, the eejits he had to deal with and he spoke with great affection for my siblings. My brother may have lost his temper the night before and thrown a chair across the room chipping the Mother Mary statue one more time, but in my fathers letter he would say, "your brother really lit up the house last night with his antics !"



When our oldest son was in the Navy, and especially when he was out on the USS Abraham Lincoln in the Pacific Ocean, writing letters was the means of sanity retention for this mamma. From MY kitchen table, all the way out across miles and miles of water and then into his hands were feelings that could never have been well expressed with abbreviations like MUSM and 459 4EAE. When he was able to write back, my heart would leap at the site of the return address when I first glanced it in our rural mailbox. Somedays I would riiiiiiiiip it open on the spot and read it standing right in the middle of the road. Other days I would take time to make some fresh coffee savoring the letter and the hot beverage at the same time.

My favorite letter writer is a woman in her 80's. Mom R. When I was 19 and way troubled, she invited me to live with her and her family. I stayed for 3 months. I left her Northern Illinois home in the middle of the night and hitchhiked to SD . Within days of arriving she sent the first letter. I wrote back. Then she, then I. THIRTY-ONE YEARS LATER we are still writing. Several times a year. She has 8 children, multiple grandchildren, multiple multiple great grandchildren and yet she finds time to write to me.

So, gather up your cartridge pens, find a little paper and get to work. Write a letter to someone you love today. Don't forget the stamp and the wax seal with your initials on the back flap.