Black is the new... black?

Round Alaina

One of the many things that Windy Knob Farms prides itself in is its attention to details in breeding.  Having a background in the sciences and teaching genetics to high school students has paid dividends when it comes to selection and breeding programs with my sheep.  I will go as far as to say I am obsessed with the genetic possibilities.  While some mothers lay in labor hanging on the excitement of what lamb will pop out, I am yelling numbers at them and saying 'cmon 50% chance of a codon 171 with 25% chance badger faced ewe!  And yes. I do find that funny.

Last year there was one single black sheep on the farm.  Our amazing Alaina.  Her fleece is tremendous and to think its naturally colored that dark of black is truly amazing.  I hoped to bring that black color around in our flock, but time and time again I was getting variegated blacks and grays rather than solid black.  Until last spring when we had one black ram lamb our of Lisa.  His name was Peterson, after my favorite Peterson Park in Northport.

He of course became a keeper.  And I couldnt wait to use him in the flock breeidng managment, which I did this past fall. 

Helga only minutes old

Fast foward to last Tuesday, when Alaina became the first Ewe in labor and low and behold TWIN BLACK EWE LAMBS!  Wahoo!  I felt like Rosalyn Franklin, like I discovered something, not like Watson and Crick who just stole the idea.

Then came Rosalyns Baby.  A black ram.  Ella's Lamb? Black ram.   Holy cow people- I have black lambs running around all over the place!    Uh nice job Peterson.  Black is a gene that is hard to come by, but once you understand it and manage it in your flock, it truly is quite valuable and appearently predictable. 

Proud mom and her twins Ursula and Helga

We are now halfway in our lambing season, and things have gone quite well thus far.  Please visit us at http://www.windyknobfarms.com/ where you can contact us to be placed on our list for desired breeding stock of both registered and naturally colored Corriedales.    By the way, the theme this year is a throwback to our heritage.  This year you will find traditional slovak and german names.  Pavol, Bratislav Fritz and Helga just to name a few!

Barn Door.

It's hard to believe lambing season is upon us.  The weather somehow is a cross between late October and early March, topped with the dark nights and mornings of January; confusing to say the least.  With or without a foot of snow on the ground, the ewes of Windy Knob are about to begin lambing season.  Normally early March, this year we shifted the season a few weeks earlier in an effort to time the lamb growth with the pastures prime season.  We just so happened to pick a mild winter to do so, but trust me, I'm knocking on wood and counting on the worst just to be sure we're ready.  Though still a week and a half a way, the lambing jugs were all assembled and fresh straw spread all around in anticipation of the next best thing to Christmas.

There is a lot that goes into properly preparing for the lamb arrivals.  Simple things like ear tags, docking bands and iodine are all necessary components for a sucessful season.  And while I feel much more confident heading into the season, I do find myself a bit lackidazical about the prepartation.  My Type A personality that had everything lined up and organized a month ahead of time, has somehow been replaced by the oh yeah,  almost forgot that, alter ego. 


Other preparations include increased calorie loads for the ewes the last few weeks before delivery.  The rams across the hall at WKF dormatory are left with the not so exciting usual flakes of hay, however the coeds are so full in the belly with their lambs, they can't quite get the nutrition necessary to maintain their health and those of the lambs inside.  We supplement their hay with upwards of a pound of grain per day.  And let me tell you, as crazy as it sounds, I have to remind myself it's sheep food; these oats and grains covered in molasses smells so sweet! To tell you the truth, I swear it looks like the granola bars in my lunch. 


Mary Jo awaits her buffet



The sunshine today brings a smile to my face.  It's one of those days where farm chores couldn't be more welcomed.  Putzing across the mud soaked driveway, dropping bales of hay from the upper loft, and spending some time with the girls in the paddock; not bad for an afternoon's work.   Mary Jo, our ambassador of peace (and food) waits in line as she associates my presence with a trough full of grain. 

I was just describing lambing season to a friend of mine.  It's the only time, where getting up at 2am has its perks- starts with throwing on the Carhartt jacket, somehow still stiff after several years of use, and stepping into my oversized snow boots; never tying the laces, only tucking them inside at best.  I reach for the door handle, grasping the air several times because my eyes still haven't adjusted quite yet.  I stumble down the stairs and head towards the barn where the glow from the porch light is now out of reach.  Down the sloped driveway, where the only way I know I'm avoiding the drop off is if I hear gravel under my boots, meaning I'm still on course.  If it is a good night, the moon will be reflecting off the snow, enough that the barn door handle has a luster that shines a little brighter then the old wood of the door itself.  At this point there is a bit of anticipation, where I put my hand on the handle, take a deep breath and slide the metal rollers down along the track.

If the trip is worth its troubles, I know right away.

Quietly, I shuffle past the parked tractor and listen for the bellowing of the newest, youngest Windy Knob-er.   Now I rush over to the stall and peek over, getting my first glimpse at the lambs that had been delivered since the previous barn check only a few hours ago. 



Maternity ward at Windy Knob



What color? What pattern?  How many?  Boy or Girl?  All questions answered within a pick up and a few roll overs.  Momma ewe will be watching my every move; instincts tell her no, but somehow she knows I'm not there for trouble.  A swipe of iodine on the belly's navel, and perhaps a cut of the cord, I then weigh the lambs and record who's who.  I usually end the greeting with a "good job mom." 

One last glance over my shoulder before turning off the lights.  I'm off to bed; see you ladies at 6.

Occupy the Bathroom.

The grout is old and could use replacing. We had already done a “touch up” job on the bathroom, it looked “nice” (shutter, cringe). Basic, but nice. The grout though, needed some work. The plan was to scrape out the old grout, maybe retile the shower and move on to lambing season which is four weeks and counting.

And then I got this.

The room went from functional full bathroom to large closet at best in no time flat.
Scrape, pull, lift, swing, slam, smack and thud. Done.   And yes, thats masking tape on the old existing windows to model the 3 x 1 divided lights, because that's how I roll. 
So now, apparently, we are redoing the bathroom.

You know I love this stuff. I thrive off of it. The designs, the materials, the look, the authenticity. I love researching the period and the purpose of the items. I’ve graduated from just mimicing a photo of some classic timeless room, to now pushing it a bit; going for something unique and creative. But I will always love the period details.

A friend of mine recently went through a massive renovation of her house. A big beautiful California home with Arts and Crafts details. We communicated via facebook; sharing ideas and feedback along with citing catalog page numbers of the items that appeared in each of our perspective remodels. Like therapy, we came to realize our obsessions with restoration and remodeling. Anyway, she suggested I read a book titled House, written by Michael Ruhlman who is known more for his culinary expertise than restoration.

A book about remodeling old homes! IN!

The book is great in that it sums up the anticipation of shopping for a home, negotiations, the scary inspection and then goes on to talk about the process of his family’s purchase of an old Cleveland home. He then goes on to research all the previous owners and their stories. Somewhere in between those two storylines however, he cleverly dropped a bomb on me.

“What was so strange about work on the house once the contractors were gone was how unpredictable it became. We have far more to do in our lives than there’s time for. I will never be able to read all the books I want to, write all the stories, cook all the dishes, see all the movies I want to see, let alone have enough time with my children and wife, not to mention the places we might go, new work we might pursue. So, given limited time, I determined to be organized about life, always have a plan, always to be accomplishing something. What drove me crazy was that it was impossible to plan on this house. The house did it for you—suddenly it ate your weekend. It demanded your attention, as if it were a living creature, as if it had a plan of its own.”

It was awesome to read someone else’s words that expressed my thoughts exactly. I don’t have children but I do run a farm; no wife, but share a home. I don’t write, but I don’t have contractors either damn it! So there are some congruent lines we share. But it’s the truth that he writes. This house consumes me. I let it, but that’s not the point. I am beginning to feel like it defines me, and yet oddly enough, I’m okay with that. As mentioned earlier, a simple grout job turns into half a cast iron tub and pile of debris. Shoot, even my shower walls are gone (imagine a nice stand up glass surround – will. be. amazing.).

I’m heading towards my four year anniversary here at the ‘knob, and I’m just now starting to figure it out. To roll with it. To drop the type A, plan everything and be organized speal, and just roll with it. Now whether I am capable of that realization will be what determines if I’m in this house six months from now. But it is worth a shot because places like this don’t come about often in a lifetime.

I work hard. Probably “too much” in that it gets the best of me sometimes. But life is way too short to sit tight, at least the way I see it. Like the author said, have a plan and always be accomplishing things; truly where it’s at for me. Now, I hear the church choir licking their thumbs to flip pages, and yes I know accomplishments aren’t applicable in every case of success. I’m just saying here; right now- for me. When I have a world of options, and I find myself getting overwhelmed with all that is around me, I can start by finishing this right here.

And that ladies and gentlemen, I believe is called a metaphor.

Since the last time I wrote, we have a new adoptee on the farm.  Her name is Ada, and she is a 5 month old shepherd mix.  I will write more about her and all the other animals this year develops, and of course lambing season is around the corner.  I promise not to bore you with house remodels every time.  Thanks for the support, I need a kick in the pants from time to time.  Nice to know you guys read this, and care enough to let me know. 

Passing the title.

 

Strangely enough, the Indian Summer had me feeling like it was still August; while the workload of school, home projects and the farm brought me back to reality and all that comes with late fall.  The breeding pairs are just about finishing up their second cycles, which meant it was about time to say goodbye to Johnny, our founding ram here at Windy Knob.  He is quite the presence, his fleece and confirmation were both of the utmost quality, but his "it" factor (along with his 260 pound frame) left visitors saying "whoa" whenever they saw him for the first time.  There is nothing to be sad about, Johnny is going to continue his Kingdom on another farm.  His bloodline had been mixed throughout our farm now, and his "prince" George, leaves me confident in the future Corriedales here at the Knob.  Johnny you will always be the first ram, thanks to you bud.  And to think, if you told me three years ago I'd get attached to a sheep; I'd a said you were crazy. 

The farm continues to thrive.  As we speak, some fifty odd pounds of our fleeces are being washed and processed locally and spun into all varieties of yarn and the finest of white lambs roving.  We hope to have it back in time for Christmas, send an email if you'd like to be updated, or put in a reserve order today.   Our superior grass fed lamb was processed back in September and we sold out within a week! We just can't keep products around here these days.  There are far worse problems to have I suppose.  Honestly, we are humbled by how well things have gone for the farm and are quite proud to see the hard work pay off.  Of course I know our high quality products are the finest around.  It's just nice to know our customers think so too. 

If you are interested in raw fleeces we have two available from our fall shearings.  One is a true black fleece from Alaina, and the other in a beautiful Cinnamon Moorit fleece.  Please view our website at http://www.windyknobfarms.com/ for more information.   

Everywhere a sheep sheep

Old Mcdonald had a farm, E I, what the, oh.

This is the time of year where the sheep are spread out across the farm into their breeding "pairs."  Some rams are lucky enough to have four ewes, other rams might only have one.  Because we are using five rams, there are five different breeding groups.  Four is usually the max,, but due to some unique circumstances this year, we are using five.  That means five different fences to move around, five different groups to keep contained, five different water buckets, salt buckets, etc.  It is a lot.

All for the sake of bloodlines and maintaining the colors. 

There are days when I get to sit and watch the farm while lounging poolside, but I haven't seen any of those lately.  The farm has been kicking my butt.  Just in the last two weeks we have had the sheep shorn, taken 50 pounds of wool to have cleaned and processed into yarn, taken lambs to butcher, sold said lambs and arrange all the breeding pairs.  I'm ready for poolside again, though those who know me well, know that is a fictional place in my mind that place doesn't really exist for me.  

I will work backwards for this story.  Solanium is a chemical that turns green when exposed to sunlight.  If taken in a high enough dosage, it can be quite poisonous to humans.  It is a dormant chemical found in potatoes.  So.  If one were to dig up an entire row of his Yukon gold potatoes, which happened to be a bountiful crop this year, and then say, forget about them for a week (while he worked on other things), his entire crop of potatoes would then turn green due to the sunlight activated Solanium.  Thus spending almost four months of garden work only to end up with toxic taters.  Awesome.

Sheep shearing, fleeces, yarn, grass fed lamb, breeding: check.

Garden skills: needs improvement.

Poo-kins and Poo-chinnis

We have had a garden here since the first year we moved in, 2008.  It's quadrupled in size and has some success stories (as with failures of course), and has become quite fruitful (tempted to say vegetableful here, but won't).  Last fall we had pumpkins growing, but they never seemed to reach full size, and just ended up sheep treats in October.

As a result, this year we decided not to grow any pumpkins in the garden; however the sheep had other plans.

July days were tearing off the calendar wall when we noticed some plants sprouting in the barn paddock.  They were right outside the stalls where the sheep hang out all winter long.  It was amusing, and interesting all at the same time.  Just where did these plants come from? Could it be? Naw, really? The seeds...  they passed right on through and sprouted in the overly-fertile soil despite getting trampled on by the sheep?  Really?  The pumpkins and zuchinni seeds they had eaten over the winter passed through their intestines, survived the winter and spring and germinated into this:

Indeed they did.  Now fast foward to mid August (mere weeks away from returning to school) and the sheep's side garden project (no sprays, weeding or row planting mind you) has not only taken off, but well surpassed anything any human have growing on the farm.  The zukes are giant! As if they are some rare breed of giant squash, and the pumpkins are plentiful (though small and a bit late... sheep, lets get with the program next year. 

None the less, the sheep have shown me up this year with there "anything you can do, we can do better" garden.  Now the moral dilemma, the products of their garden... do I get to eat them or the sheep?

Everything finds its place.

It's hot. No, like really hot.  Car thermometer read 98 degrees, but you have to compensate for the humidity.  That makes it feel like 130 degrees, or something I swear.  And the old house architecture with a boiler system and no room for central air, I hate it.  This old house stuff is for the birds.  Today anyway.

Everything finds its place.  I feel that is a double sided statement for me right now.  One from a point of gratitude outside and the other as a saving grace inside.  I'll try my best to explain.

I feel very grateful for everything that is around me right now.  I walk to my barn in the morning and smell the straw and the sheep of course, see the chickens putzing around, and my great dane often in tow, and I think my gosh this is a life most people couldn't conjure up if they sat down to think about it, and I get to live it each and every day!  Windy Knob Farms, started as a research weekend reading about livestock, and njow just recently we have had incredible success in sales to the point that  have sold out of nearly everyhing I have including lambs, breeding stock, yarn, fleece and rugs.  I just am truly blessed with how well things have gone so far.  Just in the last few weeks I've seen our lambs go on to be yoopers, cheeseheads and mudhens just to name a few (c'mon trivia buffs, where'd they go to?).  One miraculous story takes a lamb from a July barbque (as in "guest of honor") in which an awkward situation becomes a learning situation for me in working with the public and sales.  Hours after the pick up I received a phone call from a neighbor who runs an animal santuary for rescured and retired livetock.  This sheep went from stall to car, to barbque, back into a car and to the life of her dreams. 

Her new rightful owners are absolutely in love with this little lamb of 9 lives, and we even recieved a new picture of her hanging with her new pasture mate, a 1000 pound heifer named Sunshine.  It's a long frustrating story that has a happy ending and that is all that matters at this point right?  But you talk about a lucky (destined) little lamb! 

I just finished restoring a medical cabinet from the 30's that turned out to be a project and a half.  I bought it in an old barn in North Carolina earlier this summer and now I see it in my bathroom every morning.  Rusty and in a pile of junk, to center piece of a bathroom.  Funny how things find their place; sometimes as if it's just automatic or destined.  

The other sense of finding place is the sense found from within.  A view in which I constantly search for finding "place" which is good to have in trying to be creative and define who I am as a person.  Stagnant is something I will never have to worry about as I constantly seek to determine what it is I desire to do and where I want to be.  But there is a fine, fine line between overdrive and overdone.  A line between soul searching and perpetual discontent; healthy and heartache, you get the point by now of course.  Everything around me seems to find its place, and yet I feel as though I am stuck still fighting to get the square wooden peg though the round hole.  You laugh, but seriously, I won't stop once I get my mind made up.  And dang it, that peg will go there.  Meanwhile, the world goes by, and damn it's beautiful;  If I would only let it do its thing.