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Muddy Valley Farm

~ Life on a tiny west coast hobby farm

Muddy Valley Farm

Author Archives: Jodi

Rain

08 Saturday Sep 2018

Posted by Jodi in Farm Life, Seasons, Weather

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I arose yesterday morning at six to the patter of raindrops on the skylight. First September rain! Early this year! Yay!

For some people, rain is just another four letter word. But the warm, fragrant end-of-season showers that break our summer drought are greeted with delight here in our muddy valley. Picking up on the general excitement, our children have been known, in years past, to don their swimsuits and perform a celebratory rain dance, thin heels stamping the yellow grass below gushing downspouts.

The rain refills the cisterns that satisfy our thirsty gardens. It washes away August’s thick yellow dust, brightening every surface. It nudges our valleybottom creek awake, to sleepily murmur her displeasure at finding herself filled with crispy alder leaves, as the first thin trickles of moisture wind their way down her parched trench. Soon she’ll be roaring along, adding her background commentary to all our valley’s going-ons and lulling us to sleep each night.

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Rain. Every leaf, flower, fruit, and living creature, including me, breathes a deep sigh of contentment in the clean moisture-laden air. The hawthorn berries, flying under the radar till their rosy little faces were rinsed clean, fairly pop with colour, glowing bright red against a shiny backdrop of wet leaves. The soft dry grass luxuriously soaks in the shallow puddles and begins to blush with green from the roots on up, as it lazily considers a fall growth spurt.

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This year’s chickens, some never having seen water falling from the sky in their entire short lives, run confusedly around, wet and bedraggled, relishing this new experience. They will snuggle close together tonight and dry off, no doubt dreaming about the creepy crawly smorgasbord the change in weather is serving up.

The frogs were singing last night for the first time since spring as I drifted off to sleep. It seems that all nature is rejoicing along with me at the end of our dry season.

And this morning? More delight! Fog! Sneaking in overnight on stealthly feet to wrap our valley in mysterious grey shadows. Fog subdues our world. It muffles the barnyard squacks and rumblings and makes the hawthorn berries glow even brighter, as they do their earnest best to brighten the soft gloom.

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Smoky Summer Road Trip

19 Sunday Aug 2018

Posted by Jodi in Seasons, Weather, Wildlife

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Home from a smoky 2500 km road trip across BC. North to Little Fort and Deka Lake. East to Golden. South to Canal Flats. Forced up north again by fire-blocked roads, retracing our steps back almost to Kamloops. South at Sicamous, through the Okanagan to Keremeos, and west on the Hope Princeton to Vancouver, the ferry, and home.

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It was a never-to-be-forgotten experience. Surreal. Visibility varying from 100 metres up to a km or two at most. Mountain tops dissolving into thin air. Smouldering hillsides attended by thwacking helicopters toting watery loads. The forest, from hoary oldsters to little saplings, standing silently, roots clenched in the soil, sorrowing while their brothers’ ashes swirl through their branches. Farmsteads hunkered down in the valley-bottoms, sprinklers spitting defiance at the angry skies. The highway unfurling ahead into a smoky beige mist. Red sun, red moon, no stars.

 

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The world stopped a km or two away, no matter how fast or far we went. The closest mountain barely discernible, the next a hinted outline, and beyond, nothingness.

Where were the grand vistas, the serried ranks of mountains framing our route, the rich green valleys and sparkling blue waters? Only a memory, in my mind’s eye. 😢

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Chance’s New Bone

03 Friday Aug 2018

Posted by Jodi in Chance

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I brought a beef shank bone home from the feed store last week for Chance. He hadn’t had a new one for a while and it was time. I had to wait to give it to him till the weekend though, when the bigger dogs would be away camping. He’d lose it in five minutes flat with them around. So I snuck it into the house and tucked it away behind a pile of mending on my sewing table.

That evening I was relaxing in my chair with my tablet when a sharp bark demanded my attention. Chance was sitting at my feet, staring intently at me. “What do you want?” I asked him. His head snapped right, nose pointing at my office, then back to me. That’s how he points, with his nose.

Geez, I thought, he has already sniffed out that bone! It’s still wrapped in plastic too! I told him no, not till the weekend, and went back to reading.

Over the next couple of days, he kept trying to get that bone. He had never laid eyes on it, but he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it was there. He tried to climb up and get it, but he was too short.

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He tried to tunnel up to it from below, but the table was too thick.

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Finally, finally, it was the weekend and he was the only dog around. “Do you want your new bone?” I asked him excitedly. His look left no room for doubt. Of course he wanted that bone, he had been waiting for DAYS!

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Comfy Boots

26 Thursday Jul 2018

Posted by Jodi in Farm Life

≈ 2 Comments

I think my Muck boots are finally done for. The most comfy, springy boots I have ever owned, they still cushion each step like a cloud. Toasty warm and waterproof in the rain/ice/snow, airy in the warmer weather, I love how they go on and off hands free with the help of the back door boot jack. But they are disintegrating.

 

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After more than five years of daily use, the neoprene is as parched as the Gobi desert and the seams are splitting. Left boot sprang its first leak this past spring but I coped. It IS possible to get through most puddles with one good boot and a little invention.

With no puddles in the barnyard for a while now, and none expected anytime soon, I know I can make this pair last a couple more months. But in October, or maybe November, whenever the rains start in earnest, I will have to retire my faithful old footwear and pull out the shiny new pair I got online, exactly the same style, size and colour as the old ones. “Why fix what ain’t broken?” I thought as I ordered them.

I am looking forward to pulling out my new boots. When I think of them, waiting in their box in the laundry room, I get a hint of that same shivery excited feeling I used to get as a small child, when Mom would give me September’s new school shoes. Happiness can truly be as uncomplicated as a new pair of shoes, no matter what age you are.

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I Pulled My Garlic

21 Saturday Jul 2018

Posted by Jodi in Farm Life, Farm Produce, Gardening, Seasons

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We have been in our muddy valley now for more than twenty years, and last week, as I do each July, I pulled my garlic.

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I hung it to dry in the carport and in a couple weeks I will sort it, clean it, save the best 100 bulbs for seed, and share the rest, about 450 bulbs, among my immediate family’s three households. We usually collectively run out just before I pull the next year’s crop. My family never buys garlic.

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I gift bulbs to friends, and extended family, and usually donate a few to whichever young gardeners are starting their own garlic patches that year. Sometimes I tie it on to Christmas gifts; garlic bows. Everybody I know loves garlic.

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In October, I plant my garlic, always in a different spot than last year. Garlic likes a fresh bed each year as much as I like fresh bed sheets each week.

Garlic is easy to grow, the hardest part for me always is getting the timing right. In remembering to plant in October, not a typical garden planting time to my way of thinking. Sometimes Halloween sneaks right by and I find myself planting in November, but my garlic never seems to mind.

I mulch with plenty of leaves, manure and a sprinkling of wood ash, fence against bug-hunting chicken claws and clumsy horse, donkey and deer hooves (no one eats it, they just dig it up or step on it), then leave it alone to work its natural magic.

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By December, spindly new shoots are poking bravely through the leaf litter, pale green and spiky, and before I know it we are well into the new year and my garlic is a couple feet tall. 

In late spring, when the scapes (flower buds) appear, I nip them off as quick as I can. This encourages big bulbs. Fresh scapes are delicious in any dish that likes garlic and as I fill my big basket, I savour the smell and taste of the spicy hot juice dripping freely from the cut stems, raining on my hands and boot tops. Spring tonic. Some years I pulverize and freeze scapes in big flat patties, then break off frozen green chunks all year long to add to sauces and rub on roasts. Other years I chop them and freeze in big bags, so I can throw handfuls into whatever I am cooking. I always have too many scapes, so the chickens get some too.

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Garlic is the one crop I plant every single year without fail. It’s a perennial ritual, and, because I am me, as I plant, my mind goes for a wander. I reflect. On all the good and all the bad. All the stuff I saw coming a mile away and all the stuff I did not. And I wonder what scenes will play out this year by the time I pull my garlic, nine or ten months hence? Every year brings a few surprises, that’s for sure. Some good, and some not so much. But I’ve been lucky, more good than bad comes our way most years. 

“To every thing (turn turn turn) there is a season (turn turn turn), and a time to every purpose under heaven.”

Remember that old tune? My tall university student uncle left his Byrds tape behind after a summery leather-sandalled visit to our house on Darwin Avenue, in ‘69 or so. I listened to it lots as a preteen, playing it on my ‘portable’ cassette deck the size of a Kleenex box, before casting it aside for Led Zeppelin and the Stones. 

It comes to mind each year, as I hopefully, thoughtfully, plant my garlic.

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Tiny Chicken Finishes the Job

13 Friday Jul 2018

Posted by Jodi in Chickens, Farm Life

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I am pleased to announce that Tiny hatched out all four of the eggs Miss Welsummer abandoned; two Legbars, a boy and a girl, and two black Copper Marans, sex unknown. Good job Tiny!

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Three healthy chicks had arrived by yesterday, but the little latecomer, a Marans who hatched sometime in the night, has spraddle leg. I have seen this before, it seems to happen sometimes with late hatchers, and if caught early, can be completely cured. Is it the late hatching that does it? Or does it delay hatching? Who knows.

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So off to the incubator room we went, little Marans and I, she protesting at the top of her voice, to apply a bandaid splint. Chances are good that she will make a full recovery.

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Happiness is…a Full Hayloft

10 Tuesday Jul 2018

Posted by Jodi in Equines, Farm Improvements

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Nom nom nom, tasty new hay! The equines are pretty happy to have switched over to this year’s fragrant green crop. And we’re pretty happy to have a barn loft full of the stuff, capably grown and correctly cut, dried and baled by a local gentleman farmer with a very green thumb. Enough to take us through to next July for sure.

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The last few 2017 bales had turned yellow and dusty, as expected for year old hay. But no mold on the old hay this year for the first time in 20 years, a real accomplishment in our coastal rainforest climate. Why? It’s that new ridge vent the Acadian Customs boys installed last year with our barn’s nice new roof. Better ventilation (oh, and no more leaks!) has made all the difference!

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Tiny Chicken Saves the Day

02 Monday Jul 2018

Posted by Jodi in Chickens, Farm Produce

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Some hens never feel the need to raise a family, while other hens do and are great mothers. Then there are the “wanna-be’s”, who feel the urge but do a poor job of executing. They’re just a pain.

A proven broody is a valuable commodity around our muddy valley. Not only does she do all the work, she will usually accept any number of extra chicks quietly slipped under her after dark. As those of you who have spent any time at all scraping stinky chick poop out of basement brooders will agree, that’s a real plus!

Non-broody hens are pretty fine too, they don’t take time off like broodies do, they just keep popping out those delicious farm fresh eggs. In fact, I prefer that most of my hens be non-broody. I only need so many, especially because I find it impossible to say no to a wanna-be.

People “break” broodies all the time – discouraging them until they give up the idea of motherhood entirely. They house broodies in breezy wire cages hung from the ceiling, to cool off their nether regions; or plunge them in cool water several times a day. But I can never bring myself to deliberately break a brood. It just seems unfair to me, to let some hens raise families and others not. Every hen should have the opportunity to fulfill her procreative purpose.

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I doubt the chickens have as keen a sense of justice and equality as I do, but the wanna-be’s certainly benefit from my impracticality on this subject. A tried and true crazy chicken lady, I give everyone a chance. Or two.

A couple weeks ago, two year old Welsummer hen went broody for the first time. I already had more than a dozen hens either setting or raising young, plus I know that older wanna-be’s are often extra hopeless, but I pushed away my reservations and set her up anyway on a few Legbar and Marans eggs. She stuck like glue for the first twelve days, but started to get restless over the weekend. Today when I opened her broody box to feed and water, she flew the coop.

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There was a chance she only wanted to stretch her legs, to escape for a little sun like Daisy Mae in Dr. Seuss’s ‘Horton Hatches the Egg’, and that she’d return to her eggs after her holiday. But the broody box is a restricted entry facility, so I carefully moved her eggs next door to an open nest box. Maybe that would tempt her back to what she had already invested two weeks in. I knew the eggs would likely be fine no matter how much she dithered, I have seen hens let half-baked eggs get cold for up to 24 hours in mid-winter, and still got a decent hatch. Chickens are pretty amazing that way.

Hours later I returned to find Welsummer still hanging out in the sun, casually flipping dust through her feathers with her pal Lavender Orpington. “Well that’s that, she isn’t interested” I thought, feeling bad for the poor little chicks still a week away from hatch. But when I peeked into the nest box, there WAS a broody hen diligently setting on those eggs, my half-pint Tiny Chicken, an OEGB no bigger than a pigeon.

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With a look of intent concentration on her little face, she had flattened herself out to her utmost to cover those six eggs. That’s when I remembered that Tiny had been trying to set the past few days, but having no spare box to set her up in, I had been in denial about my little broody #14, and just kept scooping her up off whatever eggs she had gathered that day and setting her down outside the coop.

“Well,” I thought, “awesome, it looks like Tiny has saved the day,” and I carefully moved the eggs, and then Tiny, over into the broody box. An experienced mama, Tiny settled down right away again, the good little thing.

Tonight I candled, and removed two quitters, leaving her with a more manageable four eggs. In about a week, if all goes well, Tiny should get her reward!

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Chickens 4 Dayz…

20 Wednesday Jun 2018

Posted by Jodi in Chickens, Farm Life, Seasons

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So many broody hens in our muddy valley, and two more ladies declared their intentions today, veteran Alsty and newbie Welsummer.

A full quarter of our year round chicken population is engaged in procreation right now. That makes it tough for our egg customers, broody hens stop laying. We have:

– Four Silkie hens raising chicks – White Silkie 1 and White Silkie 2 who each have a brood, and Brown and Black Silkies  co-mothering their second batch this year, 

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– A Swedish Flower raising her lone chick in the coop with the flock. (That one was a complete shock, I lifted her up one day and a chick fell out of her feather petticoat), 

– A Marans in the barn setting on eggs, 

– Another Marans who has just finished raising babies and gone back to her flock, 

– Sparkles the Auracana, who has just done likewise,

– Brownie the chocolate Cochin, almost finished raising her first brood of the year.

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– A Silver Sussex in the laying coop, about to hatch a passel of Legbars, and 

– A Barred Rock in a broody box, deep in her setting trance. I prod her each day to make sure she is still with us, and she growls in return. Broodies get so grouchy.

That’s eleven, plus these two new ones makes a baker’s dozen.

Where the heck am I going to put Alsty and Welsummer? Is it time for some chicken infrastructure updates? Uh oh, maybe…stay tuned!

Silverudd’s Blå Chicken

09 Saturday Jun 2018

Posted by Jodi in Chickens, Farm Life

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Funny name for a chicken breed eh? This feisty little Swede comes in three colours, blue (Blå), black and blue splashed white. The Bb gene controlling their colour has been bred into lots of chicken breeds. Blue chickens are pretty, plus it’s fun to breed for colour.

Breed any two blue (Bb) birds together and you will get 25% black (BB), 25% blue splashed white (bb) and 50% blue (Bb). Blue birds have two copies of the Bb gene (heterozygous), blacks and splashes have one (homozygous). Breed two blacks together, get all black chicks. Breed two splashes, get all splash chicks. Or breed a black with a splash and get all blues. Mesmerizing, isn’t it?

Besides that fun colour shifting gene, Silverudd’s Blues get a blue/green egg gene (from their Cream Legbar blood) and lay-lots-of-eggs genes from their Rhode Island Red, New Hampshire and Swedish Leghorn blood.

What’s not to like about a cool little green-legged chicken that comes in three colours and lays a ton of pretty green speckled with brown eggs? Nuthin, that’s what!

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Twelve weeks old and their sex has been obvious for a while now.

Martin Silverudd, a Swedish monk and chicken aficionado, started developing the breed in the 1960s. Many amazing and wonderful things got their start in the 1960s, including me. My grandpa was named Martin too, but that is where the similarities between me and Mr. Silverudd’s hens end.

Martin Silverudd developed other breeds as well, including one called the Isbar (ice-bar), before he died in the 1980s. Sometime in the 1990s, the Swedes who were breeding his productive green egg layers started calling them Isbar Blues, and that is the name the breed was imported into North America with.

Now, the main problem with the name Isbar is the ‘bar’ part. These chickens have no barring anywhere on their sleek little bodies. Keeping ‘bar’ in the name would never do.

So in 2016 some chickeny folks, over at the Svenska Kulturhönsföreningen (Swedish Culture Poultry Association), decided to officially rename the breed. Mr. Silverudd had called it the Svensk Grönäggsvärpare (Swedish greenegglayer), but that was too generic they felt and would never do either.

After much discussion, the Association members voted for Silverudd’s Blue, to memorialize the breeder of this by now globally sought-after chicken. That’s surely a cultural poultry milestone if ever I heard one!

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I won an auction for a dozen Silverudd’s Blue hatching eggs this spring, and after shipping the eggs from Alberta managed a pretty good hatch, although a few of the chicks died off mysteriously one after the other during their first week after hatch. I read that a certain amount of early mortality is common with this rare breed, the gene pool is limited. I ended up with a blue pair and a splash pair for sure and maybe a black or two although I haven’t yet done a firm count. They move fast.

I hatched my Silverudd’s Blues with a batch of Silver Double Laced Barnevelders (this year’s “must have” breed, judging by the insane prices they are going for – $100 for a pullet!) and I’ve kept the Silver* group together. I find keeping hatches as flocks helps everyone feel secure. Chickens really do bond with their hatch mates.

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Silverudd’s Blue Pullet and Cockerel and Silver Double Laced Barnevelders Pullet and Cockerel

This flock represents my 2018 trial breeds. I’m just watching them grow and getting to know them. Eventually I will have to cull the roosters, but I will keep the hens together long term so I can see how they get on, and decide if I might like to breed them in the future.

So much of choosing breeds for me is about personality and then performance. I have raised lots of breeds over my chicken keeping career, really disliking some and loving others. I think, so far, that I like these Silverudd’s Blues pretty much.

For one thing, they are cheap to feed. I have never seen any breed as good at foraging! Every time they find another huge worm, which they excitedly split amongst themselves and gobble down with glee, I think “great job! Less protein for me to have to buy!” They free range from morning to night, and seldom eat from the free choice feed hanger.

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They are small too, built like thrifty leghorns, so their feed to egg ratio should be super efficient, especially given their formidable egg-laying reputation. I will find out in a few more months, when they start to lay. And finally, they are quiet. I can’t abide a whiney chicken (Ancona, we’re talking about you!). I will find out soon if the roosters are as quiet as the hens (as will my neighbours…sorry in advance, neighbours).

I am enjoying my very pretty very pricey Barnevelders too, although they seem a little flighty. Lots of people just love their “Barnies”, so I am looking forward to finding out what all the fuss is about there, as they grow up and their personalities really start to shine.

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