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Posts Tagged ‘Maine’

HOMEGROWN Life: Remembering Dollie

Wednesday, January 27th, 2016

 

HOMEGROWN LifeHave you ever known someone who just made you feel good to be around them? Like a kind old aunt who in her gentle way, had a presence that brought out the best in the people she met.

That’s what my Dollie was like. Except Dollie wasn’t a kind old aunt, she was a goat. I lost Dollie on January 7th. There’s a big hole in the barn without her.

Now, when I open the barn door, expecting to see her face light up and greet me, she’s not there.

Dollie had a way about her from the time she came to live at Bittersweet. She was a two-year-old then. She was born on a farm in Washington, Maine, part of Pixie Day’s herd. Dollie was always a little smaller than the other girls in the herd. She had a gentle nature, and the combination of the two meant she got pushed around a bit. After she delivered twin boys in her second year, Pixie decided she would be happier living on another farm, so she contacted Brian at Seabreeze Farm to ask if he knew someone who would give her a home. Brian contacted me. I had just started my herd with two goats from Seabreeze, my Frannie and Barnie. I called Pixie and went to take a look at her. It was love at first sight.

Dollie came home to Bittersweet and I gave her a stall to herself. She was pretty scared. She hadn’t been handled much and I realized she just needed space to adjust to her new home. For the next four months, I spent time letting her get familiar with her new surroundings, and me. It took time but finally she stopped running into a corner of the stall when I opened the gate. We went from her not wanting to be touched, to daily brushings and time playing with the little ones. Eventually, she assumed the position of “herd Queen”, being the oldest.

Still, she was always gentle, never pushing anyone away when treats were given, always allowing the little ones to have their way. I think she always remembered what it was like to be bullied in her original herd. As the years went by, she liked coming out of the big stall to enjoy her twice daily ration of grain and sit with new little ones in the next stall. They would gently push their foreheads together, share bits of grain and hay and sometimes, at least it seemed to me, talk to each other. She was like that gentle old Aunt you know who was always happy to share bits of candy from her apron pocket.

Dollie lived at Bittersweet for five years. During that time, she gave me two sets of twins, two boys and two girls. Shellie is her baby from two years ago. She’ll have babies of her own next spring. Shellie is very much like her Mother. She too has a gentle way about her. She plays with the babies, always waits patiently for her food. Sometimes, when Frannie decides she needs a few more pats, Shellie will look at me as if to say, it’s ok, I’ll wait.

This was the last Christmas I had with Dollie. On Christmas morning, I sat in her stall with her head in my lap and we listened to Christmas carols on the radio. Their station is always set to WBACH. It was the most peaceful Christmas I’ve ever spent, and I smiled at the irony of it. Twelve days later, I was calling my friend Duke to help me put Dollie to bed in her final place. She’s in the pasture, where each day I can visit, say good morning and then go out to the barn to greet her herd mates.

They say if you want to learn how to treat your fellow human beings, spend some time with animals. I know mine have taught me a lot. Dollie’s gentle ways and kindness towards her herd mates is an example. She had a quiet presence, but her manner and gentleness shouted a big lesson in how to make it through this life with humility, grace and compassion.

I miss you Dollie. There’s a big hole in the barn without you. I thank you for the five years we had together. You’re gone far too soon and I’m sure if we had more time, there would be so much more you could teach me. I’ll miss our talks and our giggles at Frannie’s antics, especially times when she thought she’d dethrone you from being “herd Queen”. You’ll always be my Queen of the barn. And, in the spring, if Shellie has a girl, we’ll name your granddaughter after you. I’ll be thinking about our times together when you gave birth to babes with me by our side. It will be Bittersweet. But, I’ll never really be without my Dollie.

MORE FROM DYAN:

HOMEGROWN-life-dyan-150x150Dyan Redick calls herself “an accidental farmer with a purpose.” Bittersweet Heritage Farm, located on the St. George peninsula of Maine, is a certified Maine State Dairy offering cheeses made with milk from a registered Saanen goat herd, a seasonal farm stand full of wool from a Romney cross flock, goat milk soap, lavender woolens, and whatever else strikes Dyan’s fancy. Her farm is also an extension of her belief that we should all gain a better understanding of our food sources, our connection to where we live, and to the animals with whom we share the earth.

PHOTOS: DYAN REDICK

HOMEGROWN Life: Farming Roots

Wednesday, December 2nd, 2015

032712-HOMEGROWN-LIFE-BLUEMy Father’s family came from Oklahoma and Texas where they farmed thousands of acres. Daddy’s Mother moved the family East so his oldest brother could have an operation in Boston, one that would allow him to walk – something up until the age of 14, he had never done. They settled in Lexington, Massachusetts, the surgery was successful, and they set to farming blueberries in the 1930’s. Later, my cousin would sell the homestead and move to Vermont where he would begin to farm 168 acres. Today, almost 40 years later, he’s there, farming goats. A lot of goats. 800 of them. Dairy. The largest dairy goat farm in the US. The land is in trust to guarantee it will remain a farm forever.

My Great Grandfather Brennan settled in Massachusetts. He was a produce merchant at Faneuil Hall. He and my Great Grandmother raised 13 children on a farm in Revere, 10 of those children dying before they reached their 20’s. Three more were born 10 years later. Two of those were my Grandmother and her sister, my Great “Auntie Mil”, who moved to Lexington, Massachusetts after my Great Grandfather Brennan died. I spent my summers, with these two women, on Cape Cod, where they eventually settled. We’d sit around the kitchen table at night, playing cards, and they’d talk about growing up on the farm in Revere.

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Their Mother “put up” all kinds of jams and jellies from the fruit trees on the farm. They always said they never ate any of it as it was for “company” which seemed to be in abundance as the farm was dubbed “The Do Drop Inn.” One cousin apparently “dropped in” and was finally told her stay was over a year later. I have a basket, one I found as a teenager, in my Grandmother’s attic in the Cape house, that was used by my Great Grandfather Brennan to carry kittens to the neighbor’s houses. Growing up outside Washington, D.C., my Father expressed his farming roots in what could only be described as a “victory garden.” A typical suburban house lot was converted to a backyard orchard and vegetable garden complete with compost pile. Later, when I was in high school, we moved “to the country”.

I got to pick out my bedroom in our new house. I chose the one overlooking the Beall dairy farm stretching out across the ridge below. I could hear the cows mooing as they waited for the gates to be opened at milking time. Daddy’s “victory garden” grew and every kind of vegetable imaginable appeared on the table. Apples, peaches, pears, apricots, cherries, strawberries, raspberries surrounded the freshly planted lawn. Compost took on a whole new meaning when the day before we moved in, Daddy had 2 loads of manure delivered from the farm next door. Instead of unpacking boxes, we spent that first weekend hand spreading the odiferous mass across what would become the lushest lawn and the best garden in the neighborhood. My poor Mother, who shared neither my Father’s enthusiasm nor his love of gardening, just kept apologizing to the neighbors.

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I guess one could say farming is in my blood. It sure seems that way as I don’t consider it a way to make a living, but a way to make a life. A life guided by the seasons, one that’s filled with chance meetings of some of most salt of the earth people I know. Whether they dig in the dirt or muck barns, it seems to me, farmers have a sense of what’s important in this life, maybe more than most. People who’ll give you the shirt off their back and their last minute of time to help out when you need it most. Folks who’s pride and joy is saving an animal’s life when some people would ask why bother. People who bring in and harbor a 16 year old ewe in the barn just because it will make them more comfortable in their senior years.

I owe my love of keeping closer to the land to both sides of my family with roots stretching from the wide open fields of Oklahoma to the Emerald Isle. When things go awry, translation….not according to my plan, when weary bones have me wondering about putting one foot in front of the other for another day, I think of how quitting is not an option. They didn’t.

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At times when bones are weary and just putting one foot in front of the other seems to be a big chore itself, I head to the barn. Sitting on the milk stand, listening to the gentle movement, the slow steady breathing of the animals, hearing the horn signal at the lighthouse as a steady fog makes it way to shore, sets my mind back to a better place, one of gratitude. I’ve come home to my roots and and they just happen to be planted at a place by the sea. I’m grateful for that too.

When I hear that horn, I can almost see my Great Grandfather Brennan standing on the bow of a ship, moving to a new place and a better chance at making a life of farming. I chose to make mine at the edge of a rocky shore, surrounded by the wind, the sea and some beasts who fill my life with laughter and joy, new best friends, and a family of folks who call themselves farmers.

MORE FROM DYAN:

HOMEGROWN-life-dyan-150x150Dyan Redick calls herself “an accidental farmer with a purpose.” Bittersweet Heritage Farm, located on the St. George peninsula of Maine, is a certified Maine State Dairy offering cheeses made with milk from a registered Saanen goat herd, a seasonal farm stand full of wool from a Romney cross flock, goat milk soap, lavender woolens, and whatever else strikes Dyan’s fancy. Her farm is also an extension of her belief that we should all gain a better understanding of our food sources, our connection to where we live, and to the animals with whom we share the earth.

PHOTOS: DYAN REDICK

HOMEGROWN Life: Farmer Dyan’s Spring To-Dos

Wednesday, April 22nd, 2015

 

HOMEGROWN LifeWith spring officially here, days are filled with a billion and one things on the to-do list. How to pick and choose which comes first is always a challenge.

There’s the ancient fallen apple tree, one I’ve been waiting to take scions from in an attempt to propagate more of this unidentified fruit. The taste of these apples is a combination of fruit and flower. There are many apple trees on this property, but this one in particular produces a fruit I’ve not found in any store or farm stand.

There’s the pond, finally uncovered from the wrath of winter’s snow and ice. Each spring, I drain as much of it down as possible to start fresh with clear water and a bag full of new inhabitants in the form of algae eaters. The ducks are particularly happy when this chore is finished.

There’s the pine tree that landed across the fence and into another apple tree. It went down in a gust on a winter day when storms were blowing up over the Gulf of Maine and right across the farm. The sheep have been enjoying bark from it’s limbs and trunk all winter, using it as a mineral and vitamin supplement to keep them going through the long, dark months.

Romeo & Ariel

Then, there are the garden beds. My kitchen garden, the one right outside the new back door, has softened and seems ready to accept the hoe. Its dirt is a deep, dark brown. I’m adding the ashes from the fireplace and heading to the sheep compost pile to add carts full of sheepy richness. It will be ready to accept this year’s crop of basils and parsley. Can you really have too much? I’ve enjoyed Lemon and Thai Pesto all winter. Each time I open a jar, I’m reminded of warm summer days. It helps when the snows are blowing sideways and the temps are, once again, down in the teens.

There’s the dairy barn. Overwintering for this building means deep compost, all needing hand forking out. It’s a big job. I usually wait until the nights are a bit warmer, just to give the girls some nice bedding under them during the transition from winter to spring. In the fall, we start with a couple inches of fresh soft shavings. The girls do the rest throughout the winter, pulling hay from their racks and laying it where they need it. Goats are fussy eaters. They selectively eliminate the bits out of the hay they either don’t like the taste of, don’t have the particular nutrition in it they need, or just because they want a softer, drier bed. No matter. I indulge them, and their feet and legs benefit from not standing on a cold hard surface all winter.

Barnie & Sea Princess munching apple branches

There is a method to our madness in farming. It comes in many forms. Everybody seems to have their own, but it always seems to come down to the same thing: it’s a lot of work. The reward comes in the form of lazy summer days with gardens bursting at the seams with fresh vegetables and herbs. While we work away in spring, uncovering and freshening beds, pruning and trimming to let sunshine in for bigger juicier apples and other fruits, cleaning and wiping and painting and hauling and digging out from winter, the spring sunshine warms our backs and lightens our hearts.

At Bittersweet, Romeo is growing into his amazing lamby self. He is enjoying days playing in the pasture with Ariel, our other great lamb from last spring. He’s romping about, doing that springy lamby thing with Buttermilk. Seeing each other from behind the old pine tree or from across the spread, they run to greet each other. Just before they literally run into each other, they stop in their tracks, gently lower their heads, and touch each other on the forehead. Connections.

Romeo lap cuddling

Romeo and I are soon visiting Story Hour at our Jackson Memorial Library here in St. George to read the tiny book he inspired me to write. The message is about building confidence in kids. I’ve found a farm to be a place where that can happen.

In a few short weeks, goat kids will arrive. Frannie is up first and her big Mama belly is starting to grow at the seams.

Frannie & her baby bump

She’s lazier now, slower to get up and down. In her gentle motherly way, she looks at me with her big doe eyes and comes to my side. She leans against my leg and once again, I pat her head and remind her, I’ll be there for her when the time comes. Connections. I don’t know who benefits from it more, her or me.

Welcome spring! We’ve waited a long time for your arrival. Thanks for coming back to visit, even if it’s only for a short while.

MORE FROM DYAN:
Raising Romeo, a Love Story
Farmer Dyan Gets a Four-Legged Valentine
A Bittersweet Month on the Farm
Lambing, Loss, and the Cycle of Renewal

HOMEGROWN-life-dyan-150x150Dyan Redick calls herself “an accidental farmer with a purpose.” Bittersweet Heritage Farm, located on the St. George peninsula of Maine, is a certified Maine State Dairy offering cheeses made with milk from a registered Saanen goat herd, a seasonal farm stand full of wool from a Romney cross flock, goat milk soap, lavender woolens, and whatever else strikes Dyan’s fancy. Her farm is also an extension of her belief that we should all gain a better understanding of our food sources, our connection to where we live, and to the animals with whom we share the earth.

PHOTOS: DYAN REDICK