The Green Thumbed Monster Lurks

Farmers are the guys who wrestle with nature, grappling for their living from the dirt. While their enterprises can range from an exotic bird petting zoo to hydroponically grown produce, they all have one thing in common. Land envy.

This morning G and I were munching through our generic brand musli and wheatabix and we got to the topic of spring grazing. These days, grass growing is quite a scientific thing. You must needs measure it all weekly and plan the "Grass wedge."


The grass wedge is a graph showing all your fields, and the "cover" of grass in them. When a field reaches so many tonnes per hectare you put the cows in. Ideally the fields are grazed systematically, using the wedge data, so you never run out of grass or let a good field go to seed. The big idea here is the more free grass your cattle they eat, the more money you make on your milk or beef or sheep.

Well, things don't just always go according to plan. Swans can land in your field and eat it all, your cows can churn your beautiful grass to mud (i.e. "poach" it), punk teenagers can crash their expensive sports cars right through the hedge and destroy most of your field, but most of all the elements are against you. No rain, too much rain, no sun, too much sun, mudslides, low calcium.... no wonder farmers are so negative. Thusly Gregg and I were haggling about getting sheep to graze 1/3 of the grass before the end of march.

"But Gregg, meal price is crazy! we need to get the grass going." Says I, the zealous newbie, who swallows all the latest research.

"Nah, I think we'll just leave that plan for next year. I would like the cows to eat it, but the weather report says the rain will stay till the End of March. I think I should be looking for land in the Ard region...munch munch... poaching in the autumn causes a 30% loss in grazing and poaching in the spring causes 20% loss. Our ground is just too wet." (Ard is district a few miles away, where the ground is perfectly dry according to Gregg.)

"Ha! Thou shalt not covet thine neighbors dirt!" I quipped in my Rachel Lynde voice.

"Och no, I'm perfectly happy to buy it off him." says Gregg with a contented smile. "I didn't say I wanted it for free!"

Me, of the country side.

Ah, the sight of men toiling...

Here we find G and R "Improving" the old dish cart they got from the dump. They are making it into a serviceable medical cart for the vet when he comes to test the herd. And why do they direct their attention to this humble task?

It is nearly time to PD (Pregnancy Detect) all the Girls. Poor things....
For people, this is actually kind of fun until the Doc insists that you need an amniocentesis. I won't go into detail about that particular procedure, but I can assure you, I turned out ok without mom doing one so hang it all, should it ever come down to having kids neither shall I.

The beeming mother gets to see the little guy or gal with it's tiny hands and bulging head, swooshing and oozing about, and at the end you get a picture print out. So Cute!

Look, there's the bump that will become its... uh... head??

In the veterinary world, you get to have the ultrasound thingy shoved where the sun don't shine and the vet looks at the real-time footage on a wee screen or a cool pair of video sunglasses. No pictures for us!In Gregg's barn, there is what you call a "herring bone crush". The girls are ushered in a row of 17 standing side by side, after milking when they aren't suspecting any funny business. They usually walk through the separating gate as a matter of course. The ones to the back must wonder why Fiona is holding them up.

Dexter the Vet thinks they do better in such a crush because they can be comforted by their sisters and can't see what the vet is up to. Needless to say there is a general hysteria amongst the cows marked by worried looks or a surprised "Moo??". Before they know what's happened the vet is onto the next cow. To be fair, they must be quite used to the sensation of things being rammed where the sun don't shine, but Let us think on more edifying things.

Having been smitten with a strange strain of Flu, I took the opportunity to read through "Anne of Green Gables". What an enchanting book! All these years I had dismissed it as girly nonsense with much mooning about and talking. No explosions, jail breaks, or spies... What is there to be interesting?? Mind, now that I've found my own most beloved, romance and moonlit nights are Very interesting. I look forward to finishing Anne of Avonlea and will ban my children (Should I be so blessed as to have them) from doing so until they are well over 20. Such enchanting nonsense would no doubt play havoc with their perception of reality. Now I am fully grown, with the ability to distinguish nonsense from truth, a bit of "sweetening" is probably in order.

I stand ready to defend myself! I will face all comers, who would not have me "deprive them". I staunchly hold to the idea that novels are bad for impressionable young ladies and their reading should be in the vein of the Greek dramas, The Black Stallion series, and the Book of Ecclesiastes.

Ahhh, the smell of money.

It's spring! Frogs are popping out of strange places, the daffodils are blooming, and the wee birdies are singing.

The other way you know it's past February 5th is the smell of slurry, which reeks its mighty stench from once verdant fields. The farmers finally have clearance to get rid of their poo. Mind, it's not their idea to do it all at once. It's the brain child of some guy who farms a desk for the government and wants to get credit for decreasing nitrates in the water.


Because all the farmers pour nitrates into our crystalline water, and oh my! The fish and the molluscs are dead! I didn't know there were any molluscs in the creeks they want to call rivers.

So, now Gregg is looking at the weather reports, sucking air through his teeth and as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. He's got to get the slurry out, or it will overflow, and there are precious few breaks in the weather to do it in! The other farmers have all been keeping an eye on eachother's silage ground, suspicious that someone might break the rules. If one does it, well, why not just spread the whole district and agree not to rat on each other?

I read a funny little tale in the Irish Farmer's journal, about how one little farmer was "sticking it to the man". He had a slurry tank on his truck, and decided to drive around town as he didn't have time to take it off. Then it occured to him that his obnoxious townie neighbor was always watching. So, he innocently continued to drive past the guys house with the tanker. What do you know, but the inspectors came! A few times in fact, until they rang up the farmer. "Look," said the irritated inspector,"We know you aren't spreading, would you quit driving around with the tanker? our phone has been ringing off the hook." Apparently he did not.

It's 2012! Oh no!

Well, here it is, nearly the end of January! Such interesting things are going on in the world, like the American elections and the playing out of the Arab Spring, as more countries under the thumb of Islam or an evil dictator go crazy.

Our "free" nation is funding the taliban through the work of Islamic "cultural centers." There are even areas of England that operate under Sharia law. Muslim (or Moslem, whatever you want to call it) party hopes to have a Muslim MP in office pretty soon.

My Mom was worried about the communists coming to get the peaceful Canadians. She read us "Tortured for Christ", by Pastor Richard Wormbrand at the breakfast table until even she had to admit it was much too graphic. "Kids, you need to face the reality of persecution, because the communists might take over in your generation." And now, here I see burquas and suspicious looking characters with crocheted beanie caps all over the place. I see blonde, blue eyed girls putting on the symbol of repression and eeeeevil because they have swallowed the lie.

I have been reading the "Meaning of the Glorious Koran". I see in these texts a lot of what is written in genesis, but written in such a way as to seem as second hand info. There are vindicive little texts about his wicked relatives who thought he was a nut and "spread thorns in his way". Most of all, it denys the divinity of Christ, while affirming that he was a great prophet, and nothing more. It also taps into the blood lust, demanding that all who do not obey are killed off. Alla is capricious, only half promising reward to those who are righteous. He seems not to care about his creation, doing things just because he can. There is no help from Alla unless you are doing everything right. The prophet can not help you; he just tells people what to do. There is no formal witness of his character and calling from Alla; he was illiterate.

I ask you this; if The Prophet could have read the old testament as it was at that time, would his Alla be so uncaring? Would he have taken the direction of the coercive "Angel", or might he have been able to lay hold of God's testimony and refute the "angel", pointing to the coming messiah who would lay his life down for his heritage and take it up again, to fulfil God's gracious, loving, plan for the redemption of mankind?

Would The Prophet have come to know Jesus The Christ personally, not as "that guy I heard about from the jews"? At any rate, Satan has gone one better than communism. With Islam, the penalty for leaving is death. Islam has made it around the world, while communism is fenced in. In this blog, called "Bare naked Islam", I find the non-christian take on the rise of Islam.

For a way to help and the christian take on persecution, here is the Open Doors site.

I will give thanks, and pray for the church under attack; Christ told us if they hated him, they will hate those who follow him. But if Jehovah, the Lord of Hosts is for us, who can be against us?

The Holiday Special

Ahh, the Holidays. With all the radio stations blasting their annoying christmas music, the shops telling you that your family members care more about the stuff you give them and your love, the booze mongers telling you that you need booze to make life extraordinary, and the school teachers trying to convince your child that Santa does exist and punishing the unfortunate child who loudly broadcasts the truth, all those warm fuzzy feelings you had as a three year old come back.

For me, the first christmas I really recall was the one in which all my Leyenhorst cousins came to Lamont. The big trees on the boulevard outside our house were full of the big, old fashioned lights. The snow was up to my waist and the house was crammed with kids, Uncles, Aunts, and Daryl Todd Marina. For those who know him, may they be truly thankful. For those who don't, w
ell, I'm not going into detail. It was the greatest christmas with the rest of the family!

This year, in my own house, I discovered that I was the only one who would do anything about it.
When the first snow fell, I made snowflakes and stuck them on the mantle. Then around the 22nd, Gregg got the tree. I went outside and whacked at the holly bush, juniper and the back of the christmas tree. (Who looks back there anyway?) While the sweet island sounds of the Aloha party mix blasted from the CD player me, myself, and I decorated the house. We even tried to make cookies! Granted, somebody put too much butter in them, but oh well.

Here you see mom's present to me; a string of musical lighted disco balls! They are all the rage out here, and I found individual balls at Sainsburies!

It either grew up on a hill or by the free way, but it's our tree! Gregg fixed it's wayward orientations with four blocks of wood. It turned out quite nicely with the awesome light bulb lights we found for 5 pounds at B & Q. Here you see a string of them on the banister.

This was my first christmas away from home EVER. I did not even go to Canada! No Y2K rations from Dad, no madly wrapping stuff Mom hid in every corner of the house, no pinging clementines off each other's heads. As I sat by our tree, I was thinking about all the fun we'd had over the years... All the times we went out to listen to L playing the carillon (bell tower, subzero temperatures) and all the wee Cornish hens we'd torn to bits. Aunt M and Aunt T made probably hundreds of pounds of jello salad!

And it makes you think about what makes tradition and family the way they are. With my new family, G and I are trying to combine our past traditions. Not very likely though; S's and L's have so many different ideas about things. For instance, here you see the entire clan enjoying games and opening their stockings, or just sitting and being.

You'll note, no doubt the cute hats? I thought it was splendid! What could be more fun than wearing hats? I was wearing the Bah humbug hat, but that is another story. All day, we played games and ate stuff, like chocolate oranges and turkey. Back home, this many people in one room means veritable cacophony. Between heated debate and opera songs, just 3 Lannings in one room is enough to account for at least 6 Somervilles.

The cyndrilical items you see on the table are called Crackers. They contain a small charge which goes "SNAP" and a joke and a wee paper hat.

This year they did a "secret santa" name draw. They all thought it was getting "quite mad" with all the paper going on. Tom had thought his job would be a bit easier, as he is the official present hander outer. It all went quite well, and it was agreed that we should repeat it.

Here we are singing songs! What fun! Joel played the piano, and everyone gathered 'round. Danny Boy, when Irish Eyes are smiling, and The Mountains of Mourne made up part of the programme.

The other big tradition is Mum's Day Off. On boxing day, she goes on strike. This has been going on for a good long while, but the men seem surprised every time. Then she and Anne watch Anne of Green Gables. This year was different; Pride and Prejudice was on the telly!! Moans and groans from the menfolk arose in the land, but at the end of it all, (Started at 12 and ran till 10:30pm!!) the men were focused on the flickering screen, waiting to see what Darcy would do about Wickham. Around the time when Elizabeth and Jane are being bummed about Bingly not visiting cheapside, Mum actually started saying "If anyone wants to change the channel they can.."

So, next year, maybe we will début our christmas cookies. I made them into ornaments, but unfortunately, they got soft and fell off the tree. Oops. Gregg has also come down with his annual christmas cold. The poor thing has a sore throat, and lies upon his bed of suffering blowing his nose every so often. (To be fair, he did get up at 6am, to do his farming thing. And he's getting his farm quality assurance thing done.) Little does he know, I've made garlic soup that happens to have chicken in it for him. Another oops. I guess three cloves was one to many.

So, to all a happy new year! I love you, sweet family.

G's big deal.

Yeah, so G is officially the farm manager of the year. Hee hee hee... he's very good at farming.

The Winter Fair

If there's one tradition dear to country people, universal to the human experience, it is the essential country "fair". In the beloved series "Little House on the Prairie" by Laura Ingalls Wilder, they brought quilts and whatnot, to show and ate old fashioned treats like sugar on a stick. The fair still hasn't changed; even though John Bunion gives fairs bad press in "The Dangerous Journey", they are a lot of fun.

For a dairy farmer, a fair just for dairy stuff is even better. There you can find all the men you need to talk to, from foot treatment for interdigitaldermatitis, to the guy who sets up milking parlours, it's all there.

In the show ring, there were perfectly manicured bovine supermodels being manhandled around the verdant sawdust. See how even their back lines are? See the flowing, silky tails? see how beautifully white their hides are? Lies! All lies!

The awful truth is that they've been shaved bald (except for a faux hawk along the back, so it looks even) and they are stick-on weaves on their tails! Primped and powdered into something that looks like it lives on television, these cows usually live in mucky barns, and their tails are shaved to avoid collecting a mace shaped mass of poo.

The worst part, the farming community is farming mostly on looks and volume of output! They don't pay attention to the actual function of the cow. EG, the holstien will produce lots of milk, but it's feet can't support it's incredible bulk. So many of the poor dears end up lame, with symptoms similar to bariatric people. They are bred to look tall and rangy. Their legs are too straight to allow a natural gait! No mobility means it gets to the feed slower, and thus has less time to graze leading to stress on the cow. Oh, one could go on and on about the evils of breeding for looks.

But enough of that. Check this out: robotic milkers!

It was really weird seeing it swoop around; oddly enough, it did not do a very good job at detecting the little fake udder. (Note the cream-colored square thing?) But nonetheless, it was pretty cool.

As for getting treats, all the stands had a tin of Cadbury Roses TM sweeties, and the dairy conglomerates, banks, newspapers, and the DARD (I'll introduce you all later) had a "cuppa" for everyone. We even got wee buns out of the deal!

What a day for spotting the competition! The farmers turned out in strength, everyone making a day of it. From our discussion group, I met up with at least 4 members! Like G and I, other farming couples were having a romantic "date", puttering about seeing the sights and talking to people. I am still amazed how farmers communicate at all. (Well, they are really good about babies, who's dating, and who got married...)

G, for instance, knows I like the idea of a brush for the cows. All the youtube clips make it look so fun! So, G and I toddle up to the guy. Barry has a winning smile, and he and G start to chat. They cover the weather, the family, stock prices at mart, farming conditions in their areas, the nitrate regulations from the DARD, a few random gripes, and finally G asks about the brush, Barry utters something about figures, and G nods. "Eh well," says G. "Keep it in mind" says Barry. We then pick up the leaflet, and that was that.

But, no matter how it all gets done, G is really good at what he does. Next post, G's big deal will fill you in on why.