This is a signal boost for a very good friend of mine who is making AMAZING stuff! Go and look at it! DOOO EEEET!
We’ve been working to get the garden back under control after events left it in the dust earlier this summer. The lanes between the raised beds are narrow and so overgrown that not even the chickens will brave them. Since the riding mower won’t fit and I don’t feel like pushing the other mower or dealing with the noise of the string trimmer, I got my other favorite gardening tool out.
Behold, the Austrian style scythe, fitted with a long grass blade. Picture is lifted from the Scythe Supply website. They rock.
This tool is a balanced, efficient, surprisingly enjoyable way to quickly get grass and light weeds under control. Don’t ask it to handle woody plants or growth that is ridiculously dense- it won’t cut correctly or the pile of cut greens will prevent other sections from being correctly cut. The technique takes a bit of practice but very little effort is involved once the technique is mastered.
Here’s where it gets kind of funny. Until this morning, this is what Mom had always called a scythe. Picture from the Tractor Supply website because apparently this is a scythe in the US.
Folks, this is a grass whip. Most 20th and 21st century Americans still call this a scythe for no reason other than it’s the closest thing to it we’ve really got here. The true American scythe is a heavy, steam curved chunk of hickory with a stamp cut slab of a blade. I like to pretend that they don’t exist.
Now, there’s really no comparison between the Austrian scythe and the POS grass whip that gets sold as a ‘healthy/green/ecofriendly/etc’ way to trim your grass here in the US. I think they only sell the grass whip because if that’s all that Americans think is available as an alternative, they’ll keep buying the gas mowers. Don’t get me wrong, the idea of mowing my entire yard, or the hay field, or any other large area for that matter, without the aid of dead dinosaurs is kind of frightening. But at least I can do the little jobs with the scythe, right? Let me make it clear that I’m using the real scythe, not the grass whip. The real scythe is a balanced, efficient tool. The grass whip is kind of like swinging a goat around by its tail and hoping it bites off what you want it to. It’s laborious and messy and actually takes more room to swing than the real scythe.
If you’re looking into one of these options and you were thinking about just buying the cheap grass whip to see if this method will work for you (yeah, did that)… DON’T. Watch the excellent EgoTube videos, talk to someone that has one, and either buy a real scythe or keep using the dead dinos because the grass whip is a waste of money.
I receive zero compensation for this post. I just wish I hadn’t spent the money on the grass whip and want to save someone else from that mistake. Try swinging a goat around first- if you don’t like it, then you won’t like the grass whip. Really. Don’t buy one.
I’mma go finish my scything in the garden now.
That henceforth a group of groundhogs shall be known as a dirge, because that is what you will be singing for your garden when they show up. Bless the neighbor uncle willing to trade produce for eggs.
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It was a late evening like almost any other this time of year, cool with a damp wind that smells of earth and promises rain later. All the stock were sound asleep in their coop, hutches, or sheds. Nothing to indicate the presence of a potential predator.
Around 0230 (I know because I had to check twice…) I was dragged suddenly and unceremoniously out of sleep by the frantic whining and snarling of a very concerned mastiff. She was having something akin to a panic attack, I think, and after about 30 seconds of confusion (which is a very long time when you’re in the middle of it) I heard it. A barking bobcat.
Now wait a minute, bobcats don’t bark, right? Well, yeah they do. They bark as a way of testing the edges of their territory and to call out/size up and even invite (in certain circumstances) other bobcats. I’m not sure if I heard another one or not but once I realized what it was I knew I had to take a walk outside.
Now wait another minute… you went outside with a wildcat prowling? A- it was calling, not prowling. B- It’s a bobcat. Epekos is bigger, although the smaller cat would probably win in a fight between the two. The dog is large but the little bobcats are basically distilled viciousness blended with crazy if you push them to a fight. They’d much rather run, and may we all be truly thankful. So, weighing my chickens and rabbits and goat kids on one hand and possibly pissing off a nasty little cat on the other I grabbed my playing field leveler and walked outside.
Yes, I went outside and gave that cat a piece of my mind at full volume. Told it to heck off with all that noise and go eat the neighbors’ chickens instead.
You… yelled at it? And it worked? Yep, I was in a yelling match with a bobcat at 0230 this morning. Remember, bobcats are scary fighters but ONLY IF YOU CORNER THEM. At the sound of a challenge, each successive call was further and further away. Which is a good thing because if the first call was more than 30 feet from the henhouse I’d be surprised.
I *like* the local wildlife, even the wildlife that is potentially problematic. I’ve almost gotten used to hearing the coyote pack across the river. So far they haven’t made it to this side but it’s only a matter of time. Between the two, I’d rather have the bobcat. At least they’re still afraid of humans. We’re lucky enough to have some decent wood sward around the farms and between the useful, arable parts of the farms so while we can’t support very many of these predators they can coexist here, at least in small numbers. They stay away from the livestock and eat the rats, mice, moles, squirrels, snakes, and stray cats (FarmCat will be spending the night inside from now on.) instead. You could say that we have a truce. I wouldn’t have bothered this one at all except that it was getting too close to the chicken coop, and they’re more or less helpless, especially at night. Maybe the bobcat will decide that it likes the wooded strips around the farm, and all of the vermin that the farm attracts, and will stick around on the margins. It would keep the rats and wild rabbits and groundhogs under control AND keep the coyote pack at bay. I’m OK with this.
Me being me I decided to soothe my curiosity and see if there are any particular magical/superstitious/folkloric associations with bobcats. That got interesting. Apparently they bring the wisdom of knowing when to be silent, when to strike, and how to strike true. They also indicate that it’s time to take some time for yourself, as they are strictly solitary hunters.
Well… I really do need a vacation. But I already knew that.
((Edit because yes, it COULD have been a vixen scream from a fox… but I’ve heard those before and while they’re a special kind of spooky in the dead of the night, this call was a bit deeper and rougher sounding. I’m pretty sure it was, in fact, a bobcat.))
Hey there internet, long time no see. I’ll spare you all the stressful details about difficulties with baby rabbits and absconding beehives and focus on the current conundrum. I have 16 dozen sale-worthy eggs in my sales fridge right now.
That’s a lot of eggs.
But there are another 9 dozen non sale worthy eggs in the other fridge, our every day family groceries fridge. And that’s a problem. Let’s take a look.
Here is two days’ worth of fresh, free range farm eggs. Impressive, innit?
Let’s get a close up of this farm fresh egg goodness, just because we can. Our girls do a mighty fine job. Appreciate the eggs, I’ll wait. OK, all done? Let’s move on.
This right here is a bonafide AA Large Egg. It’s perfect, despite having come out of a chicken’s butt. What, you did know where eggs come from, right? This thing is perfect, but look back at the last couple of pictures. How many of those 4 dozen eggs are perfect? I’ll give you a hint: Not many. In fact nearly half of these will be rejected because they are oddly shaped, stained, or too small for my local market to want. Like these next photos.
On the left, a lumpy egg. On the right, what we refer to as a torpedo. They taste just fine, there’s not a single practical thing wrong with them…. but they are technically Grade B and can not be sold. If I was commercial I’d have to figure out which hens are doing this consistently and remove them from the flock, then replace them with pullets that would hopefully lay Grade A or AA eggs. These eggs are waste, from a market perspective. I think they make pretty good omelets, sandwiches, and salad personally.
Or this one. This egg is stained and no amount of soluble safe soap scrubbing is going to remove those stains. Shell is porous and it’s been muddy. Muddy chicken feet in the nest equals stained eggs…. but you want your eggs free range, right? Again, this egg will taste just fine fried up with breakfast. But I can’t sell it to you. Fortunately I can keep *most* of these from happening by keeping the nests full of fresh clean bedding. Unless the weather has been terrible stains aren’t normally an issue.
So here’s the scary part. I’ve screened, date stamped (with food safe ink). weighed and sorted the whole haul. Now, given that the weather was really mucky and there are more stained eggs than normal, this does look worse than normal. It’s usually about 30%. But with the staining, half of this haul has to be rejected, some are misshapen, some are stained, some are too small to sell with any success because the local market wants big eggs and only big eggs. Seems pretty bad, huh? Well, it’s not as bad as it seems and here’s where we get to my REAL point. Keep scrolling.
Buying your eggs locally goes a long way toward reducing TOTAL waste. Even though I can only sell you the eggs that make the grade- literally, they have to be Grade A or AA to sell- the rest of the eggs aren’t actually wasted here. There’s no law anywhere saying that I can’t eat the Grade B eggs myself, or use them to supplement feed for the four legged security system. What do you suspect a large scale producer does with the eggs they can’t sell? Yup. Trash heap.
For me this has just been one more piece of evidence in the pile for needing to move as much as possible in our everyday supply system back to small scale, local sources. Yes, it’s more expensive. Or is it?
The rest of the girls have done their thing and Top Hat surprised us with a second kid! (They usually come one right after the other, there were some issues going on with the second one but through significant human effort he and his brother and their mother are all doing just fine.)
On to the pictures!
This is the absolute star of this year’s show, Uru’s baby girl from the 28th of February. She’s just perfect, and she’s the only other girl in the entire bunch!
Here’s Uru with her two, one perfect little girl and one perfect little cream colored boy. She may not be as impressive as her sister Flash but her kids are always AWESOME.
This is Uru’s grandbaby, out of Sheba who is Uru’s daughter by the previous (now retired and gone) buck. Sheba had us all a little worried since she had her first kid waaaay too soon (there was an escape involved…) but she delivered twins and had them on their feet and nursing and was cleaning them off in record time.
This is Sheba’s second baby- he’s stunning!
Flash had some seriously flashy twin boys this year! One looks like he’s going to be a bright chestnut like her and the other is really hard to describe- hopefully I can get a picture of him soon. He’s black with patches of brown/black brindle-like coloring! I’ve never seen anything like it!
Remember Top Hat and her big single? Turns out she had big TWINS. The second boy was malpresented and she needed some help to get him turned about the right way so she could deliver him. The poor guy had been stuck so long he was blue, but yours truly is not bad at this goat raising thing and was able to get the little guy breathing again. A few days after his very difficult birth he’s out in the field with mama and doing just fine.
Final count is ten boys, two girls out of six does. It’s way too early to tell the keepers from the meatloaf yet, so for now we’ll just sit back and enjoy watching the little guys. TV is for people who don’t have goats to watch.