tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131404772024-08-29T12:45:01.602-05:00Who knew life could be this much fun?LauraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05336528418488620670noreply@blogger.comBlogger221125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13140477.post-38208365141942674992009-01-02T17:57:00.002-06:002009-01-02T18:58:48.885-06:00

The first babies of 2009 here on our farm are these twin calves. Rosie, the young Jersey cow, gave birth sometime after 3 a.m. on New Year's Day. By nightfall, they'd already had their first adventure. You can read about it here at the new blog location -- www.thelandofmoo.comThe Land of Moo isn't much different than the Real Dirt blog, except for the new layout and some behind-the-scenes

LauraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05336528418488620670noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13140477.post-50033354650586200132008-09-17T07:18:00.005-05:002008-09-17T08:41:40.696-05:00

It's morning. It's time to eat. They've been waiting for hours. HOURS! They don't get much, just a can of sweet feed to share between the four of them. There's plenty of grass for them out in the pasture. I feed them that bit of grain to keep them tame and cooperative, always willing to follow me if I'm carrying that magic shiny can full of grain. Or a bucket. Or if I'm just walking through the

LauraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05336528418488620670noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13140477.post-83736118259409495152008-09-15T12:26:00.004-05:002008-09-15T13:27:23.348-05:00

I really had intended to sell the entire litter of pups. I'd have kept every one of them if I listened to my heart instead of my head. But that would be way more dogs than any farm needs. Besides, they were great pups who each deserved their own farms and families to take care of when they grew up. Still . . . when the transportation arrangements for Freckles fell through and Freckles' buyer had

LauraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05336528418488620670noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13140477.post-5544128539958866812008-09-09T09:26:00.002-05:002008-09-09T09:41:51.661-05:00

I know that a hurricane is a fearful thing – my grandparents spent their last decade or so in a beach community on the Florida panhandle. They evacuated for hurricanes and rode out tropical storms in their little block house, and they described each ordeal in great detail, pictures included. I have great sympathy for those in Gustav’s path, and Hanna’s, and now Ivan and all the future storms that

LauraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05336528418488620670noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13140477.post-68941571840413541092008-05-30T14:55:00.013-05:002008-12-10T17:51:33.679-06:00

This box turtle has been a frequent summer visitor to the front porch of the farmhouse the last two summers --- and we've been watching for it this year and wondering if it survived the winter. Its cracked, battered shell makes it easily recognizable. The grown dogs recognized it and paid no attention as it crawled across the concrete toward the dog food dish. The puppies were a bit more

LauraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05336528418488620670noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13140477.post-67444758400589052652008-05-19T18:50:00.000-05:002008-12-10T17:51:36.467-06:00

I realized that the puppies are six weeks old now, and I've been hoarding all that puppy goodness to myself. I apologize. That was so selfish of me. To make up for it, I'll introduce you to the gang and tell you a little about each. Some general information first:7 puppies total, including two females and five malesBoth parents are American Working Farmcollies, and both really do work here on the

LauraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05336528418488620670noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13140477.post-34125015874310981502008-04-30T13:20:00.003-05:002008-12-10T17:51:40.034-06:00

Last week, I spotted my first morel of the season. Here it is, a moderately sized, half-attached morel. I snapped a quick picture, and that was the last one I thought to take because when I start finding morels, the last thing on my mind is the camera. I revert to the childish delight of a four-year-old on an Easter Egg hunt. I found much prettier ones -- impressive clusters and stately lone

LauraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05336528418488620670noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13140477.post-83177045745567016892008-04-29T12:11:00.004-05:002008-12-10T17:51:40.765-06:00

Their eyes are wide open, and they've found their voices. They bark. They whine. They growl as they awkwardly wrestle and try to pounce. They haven't much finesse yet, but they're cute while they practice playing. They still spend a lot of time sleeping, too. Notice how intensely both pups are focussed on the bit of black puppy tail -- you can't see it in the photo, but this black one, like

LauraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05336528418488620670noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13140477.post-33103436076840157662008-04-23T19:15:00.006-05:002008-12-10T17:51:40.938-06:00

This morning I found this brown thrasher (Toxostoma rufum) in the corn barrel in the feed room. It stared at me, but didn't move. My father says that's typical thrasher behavior. 'They're weird birds,' he said. It even waited for me to jog to the house, grab a camera and jog back. Or maybe it thought it blended in - a new use for corn, camouflage for color-blind birds. (Note: scientists suspect

LauraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05336528418488620670noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13140477.post-50588520114763579652008-04-21T20:54:00.002-05:002008-12-10T17:51:41.213-06:00

Hippo's the one on the right. He's the largest male, the largest altogether of the litter. He was the first to open his eyes, and he's usually the first one headed for mama when she enters the room. The little female pup next to him has the sweetest face, and if she's awake she yips at me when I step into the room. All the pups have their eyes open and can scoot pretty quickly now that they

LauraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05336528418488620670noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13140477.post-26079115990861348582008-04-18T18:44:00.002-05:002008-12-10T17:51:41.404-06:00

The common violet is one of my favorite spring flowers. It's fragrant, pretty, tough and prolific. What's not to love? This particularly sturdy violet pushed its way through a layer of sand deposited a couple weeks ago when the creek overran its banks and flooded the crossing we use to access the back fields. A few other plants dot the mud and sand there, but none that are half so beautiful

LauraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05336528418488620670noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13140477.post-78975549252370700672008-04-17T07:41:00.003-05:002008-12-10T17:51:41.597-06:00

Same puppy as pictured here, but twice the size now. I wish I'd weighed them all that first day, just for curiosity's sake, and so I could say with statistical authority, 'yes, it's a proven fact. They've doubled in weight.' Oh well. You'll just have to trust me. We've been calling this one 'Hippo.' He was born the largest and has maintained that status with his blind but unerring sense of

LauraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05336528418488620670noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13140477.post-1050559613637116472008-04-14T11:08:00.004-05:002008-12-10T17:51:41.783-06:00

Last night we had a hard frost, and it nipped a few tender plants and blossoms. As the sun eased over the horizon, I trudged out to the orchard, camera in hand to document the damage. The warmth of the morning sunlight already was melting the frost crystals from the blooms, so the damage wasn't as bad as it might have been had the temperatures dipped even lower and the frost lingered.This young

LauraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05336528418488620670noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13140477.post-54016582896905752992008-04-13T12:26:00.005-05:002008-12-10T17:51:42.068-06:00

Meet Spraddles. This American Buff gosling is about a week old now and having trouble with its legs. Spraddle-legs or splay-legs is a condition often caused when a new hatchling can't get good footing to stand up well. No doubt that's what happened to this little guy (gal?). It's probably my fault, too. Here's what happened. I checked the incubator as usual before bedtime and noted the tiny

LauraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05336528418488620670noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13140477.post-62668920862881516382008-04-10T19:35:00.003-05:002008-12-10T17:51:42.209-06:00

The genius husband swiped the largest pup of the litter for a while and let it nap on his belly. Puppies make such sweet, happy sounds when they're warm and comfy. Mama Dinah's beginning to relax a bit and spent some time helping us outdoors with chores. She even found the energy for a short romp in the yard with the other dogs. Dinah's good for about twenty minutes outdoors, and then she

LauraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05336528418488620670noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13140477.post-13301210920538112712008-04-09T17:04:00.003-05:002008-12-10T17:51:42.381-06:00

Winifred Goose & her best buddy rooster, out for an afternoon stroll through the woods. The rooster is one of a half-dozen look-alikes that hatched out year before last. He was destined for the soup pot until Winifred picked him as her best friend forever. She followed him around, honking, nagging, persisting . . . she was the worst kind of stalker. At first, the rooster seemed pretty

LauraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05336528418488620670noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13140477.post-86611002738609536112008-04-08T16:59:00.004-05:002008-12-10T17:51:43.130-06:00

All 7 puppies in a pile, sleeping . . . Mama Dinah's outside, taking care of business.Notice the white tipped tail on the puppy below. I love those white tips, and most of this litter has that marking. The brown one in the pair below has markings like its grand-dam, who was Bebe's littermate. (Which in people terms means Bebe is Mama Dinah's aunt) Bebe's probably the most well-rounded

LauraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05336528418488620670noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13140477.post-45852877839067225942008-04-08T12:45:00.002-05:002008-12-10T17:51:43.385-06:00

At last count, there were seven. The rest are tucked against her belly, dozing and enjoying a bit of milk. I think she's finished. I hope she's finished. I'll take more photos later. Right now, I hate to risk waking them.

LauraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05336528418488620670noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13140477.post-26235788956827911062008-04-04T08:31:00.004-05:002008-12-10T17:51:43.747-06:00

This winter's tatsoi (mustard greens) crop is in full bloom in the greenhouse. The leaves are no longer yummy, but I've left the plants to flower because the blossoms make me smile whenever I step inside. The seed saver in the neighborhood is hoping there's enough insect activity in the greenhouse now to sufficiently pollinate them and suggested I do a bit of hand pollination just in case. No, I

LauraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05336528418488620670noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13140477.post-9292704618429223882008-04-03T10:15:00.002-05:002008-12-10T17:51:44.217-06:00

Champion collards, planted in the greenhouse September, 2007. Collards, like most brassicas, are biennial - that is, they go to seed their second year. Collards don't keep calendars. They had their warm season and winter, and now it's warm again. So it's the second year by plant reconning.It looks like little side shoot of broccoli, doesn't it? The taste is more bitter than I like though,

LauraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05336528418488620670noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13140477.post-42155030595258285352008-04-02T14:30:00.001-05:002008-12-10T17:51:44.533-06:00

This is Ingrid's first season as a nesting mother, and she's taking her job seriously. Thirty days, on the nest, incubating and protecting those eggs . . . err . . . those egg-shaped gourds that look a lot like the eggs Ingrid laid, except browner. (Scroll back a few days for the reason she has gourds in the nest.)Don't mess with Ingrid. She'll yank your glove right off. Just ask my son. That's

LauraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05336528418488620670noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13140477.post-88477319189160309692008-04-01T15:28:00.009-05:002008-12-10T17:51:48.779-06:00

It rained hard much of the day yesterday, with wind, lightning, thunder, and some hail to keep things interesting. It was a good day to be a duck -- those idiots played outside all day. Their only concession was to tuck their heads under their wings when the hail started. (They could have waddled into the barn, but they have tiny duck brains and apparently didn't think of it.)A short while after

LauraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05336528418488620670noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13140477.post-21363082520364284792008-03-29T08:39:00.003-05:002008-12-10T17:51:49.581-06:00

Lately, everywhere I turn, everything I do, I see pairings. Nature all around me is courting and matching up. Maybe it’s just the season, spring springing and all that. Maybe it’s because I’ve written a few romances and my mind is attuned to that sort of thing. Whatever the case, spring seems to be the season for love. Just yesterday, I learned of an engagement in the immediate family.I'm smiling

LauraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05336528418488620670noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13140477.post-55299630444870177552008-03-20T09:49:00.009-05:002008-12-10T17:51:50.196-06:00

We've had quite a lot of rain lately, which created much more run-off than our little creek usually carries. A lot of debris washed down from the woods, and a couple trees that have been leaning over the embankment fell right in. Branches caught on fallen logs, new and old, and the mess piled up overnight into a series of natural dams like the one above. They're not pretty, but I'm resisting the

LauraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05336528418488620670noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13140477.post-1446437111362142052008-03-18T15:21:00.004-05:002008-12-10T17:51:50.397-06:00

Sure, they're friendly now. A few hours ago, when I added the gosling to the brooder, the 3 ducklings freaked. Eeek! Gigantor! It took them half an hour to work up the nerve to check him (her?) out - aka peck his head. That's how ducklings get acquainted, peck, peck, nibble. Guess they discovered the gosling's a big mass of warm - great for snuggling.The American Buff gosling (in the middle, in

LauraPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05336528418488620670noreply@blogger.com3