North Side-Continued

Well...we've had some delays. The weather didn't cooperate this weekend for us. Reinforcing the scaffolding also took a lot more work than planned. But you really don't want to be that high up with a support hanging by one nail.

This morning I had to run to town to get another gallon of stain. This afternoon I used the sunny weather to pre-stain a bunch of long boards. When we work on the peaks it is nice to not have to return to that height to stain everything.

Last night, Clancy called me out to see the view of the house shown in the second photo. I cried. It was the first time in all these years that I have seen this angle of the house with siding and without scaffolding. I think it looks beautiful-even with the construction mess.

Sally

I don't like to think about it, but my Sally is getting old. She's at least 11 years old, maybe more. We don't know exactly because she was a stray my aunt Lori rescued from alongside a road.

Greta is funny. Meg is outgoing. But Sally is the best dog we have ever had. She reads our minds. She's completely loyal. She worries about us worse than a mother hen. She always seeks to please. She also has lovely manners.

Our staircase has a turn in it. Sal claimed the landing as her own when we first moved into our house. She peers down at our family life from her vantage point until something interests her enough to bring her clicking down the stairs. Greta and Meg do not disturb her favorite place. The boys love the idea that she is watching out for them if they come down in the night for a drink of water.

Thankfully, Sally is still very spry. She is always game for a walk or a tussle with Meg. The other dogs do not cross her authority. She takes her job of guarding the farm very seriously. Though she favors guarding the landing more and more. She likes her tie-dyed bean bag there. But who would blame an 11 year old dog for that.

Yesterday, while I was helping Clancy side the house, I noticed a chipmunk brazenly eating from the chicken feeder out in the yard. Greta was lounging on the porch and we tried to send her after it. She took note of the little varmint. She pricked her ears when it bounded away via the nearby dog kennel. She returned to her lounging. So much for that.

About an hour later we noticed the chipmunk was back at the feeder. This time Sally was lounging on the porch. I pointed out the rodent to her and she was off like a bullet. The chipmunk dove for the safety of a pile of lumber. But Sal's snout was only a hair's breadth behind it and she jerked the little beast out from it's hole. In one fluid motion she flipped it into the air, snapped it's backbone in one bite and brought it to my feet. Amazing. She must still feel pretty good if she can move that quickly.

I wish she would always be with us. Sally is the dog that taught me how much I love dogs. I can't even pretend that she didn't train me. Each dog that has been a part of my life has been dear to me. But I know Sally is the first dog to teach me that I am dear to her. She is special in ways I cannot describe. I can't teach another dog to be like her. Her presence is simply a gift from God-and from my aunt Lori who trusted me with her.

North Side

This is the north side of the house as of noon today. Winds are gusting up to 30 miles an hour so Clancy is taking a bit of time to add reinforcement to some of our scaffolding. Hopefully by this evening I can snap a photo that shows some progress. Rains are supposed to move into our area by tonight.

Trumpeter Swans

Today couldn't be more beautiful: blue sky, drifts of brown crunchy leaves piled up against every windbreak...

The swans were floating just off the shoreline of Boston Lake this morning. They moved farther out into open water as I approached to take their photo. Too bad I only had my ancient digital cam-corder on hand. Trumpeters are exquisitely beautiful, and that was not exactly captured with this shot.

More beautiful than its gracefulness is the voice of the Trumpeter. These swans do call out quite loudly when they are alarmed or when they greet incoming swans, or fly over the farm. But they talk to each other quietly out on the lake as well. The honk is so subtle that it seems one shouldn't be able to hear it. Except that its purity rings through the air like the clearest chime of a bell.

The whispers of swans to each other can't fully be described. I scarcely believed in its reality the first time I heard it. All I have been able to liken it to in my own mind is the sound attributed to angles' trumpets in the Bible...heard from the distance of heaven.

Rai Min

This little gal is my Spring '07 keeper lamb. Her name is Rai Min. If she develops into the type of ewe I want in my flock, next year I will register her as Boston Lake Rai Min.

Even though she is a chunk of a lamb (almost as big as her yearling half-sisters) Rai Min will not be joining a breeding pen this fall. She and her dam will take the season off together in their own pen, and then they will join the ewe flock after the rams are pulled out.

My reasons for not breeding ewe lambs here at Boston Lake Farm are based on our resources and my gut feeling. I really want to see that second fleece coming in before I decide whether or not to retain a ewe for breeding. Our weather is harsh and our soil is poor in mineral content. My lambs develop at a slower pace than lambs at other farms I've visited. A full year and a half of growth before the first pregnancy gives me a chance to evaluate a sheep for size, final conformation, fleece, temperament, and thriftiness under my conditions. Since my farm is only three years old, my breeding ewes are still the foundation ewes I bought from other farms. Boston Lake's first registered lambs (Sian and Delyth) will be bred this fall. My dream is to one day have the flock name, Boston Lake, represent a Shetland sheep that fits my ideal as well as thrives on my farm land with minimum input. I don't expect that to happen over night, but I do dream about it almost every night.

Rai Min is quite a bit bigger than her twin brother, Tormey. He had some setbacks as a young lamb. First he contracted Lyme's Disease which kept him from eating until he felt better. Then I pulled him off his dam a little early to keep his sire company while Kavan's broken horn healed. Then he contracted a non-contagious form of pneumonia. Since he was in a large outdoor pen at the time, we think it was from inhaling something (manual) or maybe just from all the stress in his life. Kavan was pretty good with him, but the little guy certainly did get the short end of the stick in his daily life. His pathetic little situation came to a head the day I put him and Kavan out on grass near the other two rams. To prove his masculinity to the rams across the way, Kavan ran poor Tormey ragged and mounted him several times. Quite literally, Tormey was flattened by the weight of the larger ram. He was pulled from the situation immediately and could hardly walk. Back in his own pen, he got special attention and recovered in a few days. However, the trauma of that event with Tormey cemented my decision to not breed ewe lambs. I know if ewe lambs are big and strong enough they can do it. And if they get extra feed during their pregnancy they can do it. But even though I'm very pleased with Rai Min's growth for the summer-I don't think she is ready for an adult ram. I don't have a ramling to pair her with. I'm not really sure of how soft her second fleece will be. And I do not have space and facilities to feed her separately all winter long.

Slow practices, such as not breeding ewe lambs actually make a lot of sense for a small farm like mine. At least for a small farm with my goals. It reduces the number of lambs I have each spring, which in turn reduces the amount of lambing space I have to prepare for. I only need extra pens for that short time span of breeding season. Otherwise, there is one ewe pen and one ram pen. Going slowly also reduces the number of lambs I have to make decisions about every year. I haven't developed a market for my lambs yet. So far I've been able to keep the best and eat the ones that don't match my standards. My Shetlands don't bring in much money this way, but they do contribute greatly as homestead livestock. They are my beautiful pets, my interesting genetic project, my wool providers, my lawn mowers, and one of my meat supplies. Quite a contribution for a non-income-generating venture.

Rai Min will have her first chance to contribute to my flock goals next fall. She has awesome conformation and a tiny tail. Her ear set and her bite are excellent. She carries moorit recessive. And even though I was not wild about her birth coat, she is softer than I expected last time I had a chance to pet her. She was also quite crimpy, which was a pleasant surprise as well. If Rai Min can produce a lamb with her good conformation and growth ability, as well as a softer fleece than her own, she will probably replace her dam in the flock. That is my hope for her.

South and West

Here's what the house looked like on Thursday. We've done quite a bit more work to the North side, which you can't see from this angle,since then. I'll take a picture of that when it's finished.

Autumn Glory

My favorite season is in full color: AUTUMN. This photo is looking across our hayfield. I took it last Thursday while it was very windy and raining leaves. I think Autumn is even more temporal than Spring. Each day less and less is golden. Each day more vitality is lost for the year. With Spring, each day unfolds the promise further. Autumn requires us to say goodbye.

Today the wind is blowing again and whole trees are bare now. The Ash and Basswood are the first to fall. The Aspens are still green. When most of the other trees have lost their beautiful leaves, the Aspens will stun the barren dun-colored landscape with brilliant yellow. As they shed their color it looks like gold coins are falling from the sky.

Each day I can see farther into the forest. The atmosphere thins and the air becomes crisp. No wonder civilizations considered Autumn to be the one time of year when the veil between this world and then next is the most transparent. As the chlorophyll dies in each leaf, more light can pass through. Foliage seems lit from within. As the density of the forest decreases, we can see through that which could not be penetrated by light or view before.

My birthday is approaching. I naturally begin to reflect upon my life before I turn a year older. Maybe it is the season. It seems all of Nature is gathering herself to the quiet refuge of slumber. But before she rests, Nature says her prayers and praises God.