Clio O'Gorman | A Dog Named Christmas

Clio O'Gorman | A Dog Named Christmas

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Zombie and Kitty Cat

This year, the kids made their own Hallowe'en costumes, for which I was very proud. We didn't have to buy a thing. Aidan saw the Zombieland movie with Uncy a few weeks ago, so he wanted to be a Zombie. I helped him choose old clothes that didn't fit him anymore which wasn't hard because he has stretched out and grown out of most of his things this past summer. He needed to rip them and make them dirty, so he used his clothes to play tug of war with Emerson (10 month Bernese Mountain dog puppy). To add the dirt, he also poured a glass of water on the ground where they were playing together. Instant Zombie clothes for school. Because he was worried about the dress code at school he didn't rip the pants, but when he got home from school, he also ripped the pants and added the fake blood to shirt. Brianna used the face paint kit to make his face look scary and streaky. With Aidan's incredible acting skills he pulled the whole thing off eerily. I noticed in the picture that his shirt had been buttoned up improperly and commended him on how that made it look even better...but he said he hadn't done that on purpose.

Brianna wanted to be a Cat this year. Last March, she was in a figure skating show called "Broadway on Ice" and she was in the Cats finale as one of the brightly coloured cats. I had made her a fluffy white tail, ears, arm and leg cuffs. She re-used those and put them on different clothes. She added her own expertly painted nose and whiskers and fancy eye make-up and she was done. Here she is striking a sassy kitty cat pose. Living in the country, especially where we do means that we sadly don't get any trick or treaters. Luckily they have good friends that invite them over to their neighbourhoods, so they enjoyed their Hallowe'en very much.

First Snow

Aidan and Brianna were thrilled to see the first snow fall of the year. It snowed in the morning, but didn't really stay on the ground, then it turned to rain, and then as the kids returned home from school and night began to fall, the rain turned back into snow...big fluffy flakes of snow. Brianna shrieked when she saw the snow staying on the ground, and went riffling through the bins of winter clothing to play outside. She grabbed Aidan and Emerson to join in the fun of snowball fights. They came in soaking wet, with rosy cheeks and had a hot chocolate to warm up. Clio was not interested at all in the snow.

Twist mystery solved!

Twist, my yearling ram, got out several times again in the following days. I'd get out in the morning and he'd come running at me from the driveway. Armed with hammer, fence staples and new wire, I set out to the back of their enclosure and started to put an extra wire along the top of the fence, about another foot higher to increase the fence height. I got a short side done before I moved to the back. I went and inspected the place that was loose in the fencing attached to a tree. I secured the fence as best I could with fence staples when I noticed white wool stuck to the fence near the bottom. A clue!? The rams were at the fence line watching what I was doing, getting pet through the fence. Then, right in front of my eyes, Twist crouched down on his knees and stuck his big horned head under the fence. It was tighter than it had been previously, so he had to pause there, while I in shock, grabbed his horns and shoved him back under the fence. With the fence loose near the tree and the lower ground in that area, Twist had discovered that he could crawl underneath the fence to get at the world outside. Since there wasn't anything else I could do to secure the fence, I found an old fallen spruce tree nearby and broke all the branches off with my foot which left spiky ends. I pulled the trunk to line up with the lower part of the fence and shoved it securely against the fence. If Twist tried again, he would have a barrier with sharp points to deter him...and for over a week, this has worked like a charm...Score 1 for the farmer!

It's that time of year again...

Breeding season...for sheep. How do I know? My yearling ram Twist has busted out of his pasture for the last 3 nights in a row. And he's not alone. I've talked to a few other shepherds in my area, and the same thing has been happening in the last few days to their rams. Some have been luckier than Twist and have gotten to the ewes earlier than planned, which will mean lambs born in March, which is too cold for my style of lambing.


Rams in their pen (clockwise from L-R: Ferris, Benjamin, Bok Choy and Twist)

As the nights get cooler, the breeding rams start being more interested in the ewes across the fence than they are in their food. The annoying thing about Twist is that I don't know how he's getting out. The fence is 4 feet high and I've heard that if they want to get on the other side, they can jump, but I still find that hard to believe. I've checked my fence and there is an area where the fence has come loose from the post (a tree actually) and it's possible that he is shimmying under the fence, but I find that hard to believe as well. It's a page wire fence, and he has horns that could get stuck, so I just can't imagine rams being able to do that. Just in case, I put old hay bales in the area where the fence is loose (I'm currently out of fence staples) to prevent him from "crawling" underneath, but he still got out late that afternoon. I may also put a wire line on the fence another foot up to increase the height of my fence. The funny thing about Twist, is that he is getting out, but on the forest side of his pasture. His pasture has a common line with the girl's pasture, yet he isn't using the quickest route. Until he figures out his next step, he munches happily away on the scrub in the forest and picking up burrs in his fleece to irritate me come shearing time. I'm starting to think that he is enjoying his game, because to get him back, I shake a scoop of grain at him, allowing him to get a mouthful before I get him to follow me around the pasture and back into his enclosure. Yesterday I managed to tease him with the grain, enough to follow me, without ever giving him any...he's not going to get the better of me! Leading the ram back to his pasture is a bit of a comical sight as I carry the grain scoop in one hand and an empty 18L water jug in the other, walking backwards being ready to thwart his attempts to butt me in his frustration. What must the neighbours think?

What is a Farmer?

Some of you may have heard me talk about when I will feel I'm a real farmer. If you haven't, it involves chickens, too many roosters, and dinner (fill in the blanks). But today, I was working out in the sheep barn and cleaning out the weaned ewe lamb's pen and I got to thinkin'...

For some reason, I've gotten it into my head that "the chicken thing" is when I will feel credible as a farmer. I have laying chickens, but mostly, I have Shetland sheep. I've been breeding them, I trim their feet, I give them their shots, I've assisted occasionally in birthings and I've even shorn some myself. All this gives me products: I've sold some sheep, my first lamb's fleeces have just sold out quickly, and I've taken some lambs to the butcher last December and although we haven't sold any of the meat yet, I can proudly say that we have eaten a lot of what we had processed and it was delicious. Yet, I somehow still don't consider myself a farmer. And its not because I don't want to be, but its because I haven't achieved that strange lofty goal I've set for myself.

If I'm not a farmer, then what am I? Could I be a hobbyist? NO! I can't stand being considered a hobby farmer. I have hobbies and I enjoy them greatly, but mucking out a sheep barn and raking out several months worth of hay and manure, sweating and having an aching back is NOT a Hobby. It's true, I am not making enough money to support myself on this venture, and Hugh (and I) have put in more money into this than we are earning from it, so what is it? I like considering myself a small farmer, doing my part for my family, raising our food and knowing where it came from and being amazed at how much better it tastes when compared to store bought. I like the connection of using up all the products from the farm to have healthy gardens and being able to make clothing and blankets and household textiles. I like trying to keep the traditions of small sustainable family farms as an example to future generations. I'm comforted in the belief that small farms and the genetic diversity of their livestock and crops have a place in our future and are worth preserving. And from all that I still believe that I can carve out a small business for myself and someday make it profitable or at the very least sustaining.

So I've determined that I am a farmer "in training". For a "city girl", with the country in her heart and genes, it wasn't possible for me to jump in and start farming full-time with a definite purpose. Some have done it and I admire them greatly. But that's not what I wanted to do and I needed to explore where I fit in. Someday, I'll report on how much my "farming education" has cost us, but I'm still in training.

I was thinkin' all this as I was cleaning out part of the sheep shed. I wasn't supposed to be doing that today, but as I went to feed the girls this morning, the lamb's pen was piled so high that it was on level with the lip of the feeder and I decided it was time. A new type of hay in the last few weeks has meant a lot of waste and much of it has quickly piled onto the floor of their pen. There has to be a more efficient way of dealing with this, but, I haven't figured it out yet. I pull all the bedding out of the shed with a rake and pitchfork and pile it just outside the door. This pile was huge, mainly because it was mostly loose hay and sheep manure. There was so much of it that I could barely pile it away from the doorway. In the past, I'd wait for Hugh to use the tractor to move the pile onto my manure pile a distance away. Hugh has patiently taught me how to ride the tractor several times, but I keep forgetting or find it too complicated to remember all the steps. Luckily today was warm (no reason to have diesel frozen in the lines of the tractor), so I decided to try and see if I could start the tractor and move that pile myself. It worked and I managed to figure things out: how to change gears, move the bucket up and down and tilt it forward and back, how to scoop things up, how to dump, how to get my butt off the tractor and keep the engine running. I gained understanding of the little nicks in fences and cuts in power cords that I've had to endure with Hugh's manoeuvering of the tractor, with my own little bending of fence wire and scraping of siding on the sheep shed. I accomplished my task and learned how to use the tractor with confidence, and it occured to me that I can call myself a farmer, now that I can handle the tractor, and never mind about the silly chickens.

Labour Day weekend

Perplexed flock...
"What is all that noise...and who is that guy taking over our house?"

Labour Day weekend saw Hugh working in the sheep shed building the loft so that I can store hay. The loft was completed with venting, windows and doors and a ladder the following weekend. It can now store just over 6o small square bales and a small section left open for Brianna's "loft playhouse", complete with clothesline. Brianna spent a lot of time hanging out with Daddy while he did his work, bringing him things as he needed them and chatting with him.


I also introduced a game from my childhood memories of Grammie & Grampie's farm to Aidan and Brianna...Croquet. Here they are having a game of it.


Aidan and Brianna playing Croquet on the front lawn Labour Day weekend.