The Emperor's New Barn

We broke ground on our barn yesterday. Hooray!

There's nothing like coming home from your day job to find that your lawn is now a giant hole.

There it is! The new barn! Can't you see it?

Stay tuned for progress reports, when I'm not busy jumping up and down and clapping my hands with glee.

Moon Flower!

I am a killer of houseplants. It's not that I forget to water them. Rather, there is some perverse impulse in me that will look at a thirsty houseplant and deliberately not water it. Between these neglectful urges and a history of herbicidal cats, even plants that are widely touted as indestructible have died on my watch.

I need the help of Mother Nature. The garden, with the help of unlimited sun and occasional rain, is generally fine, and now that I live in a house and not a city apartment, I can bring my houseplants outside in the summer. As a result, I have managed to keep a few of them alive for years. Years! Maybe I'm turning over a new leaf. Haha.

The latest and greatest addition to my houseplant collection has been absolutely enthralling. It was a gift from my good friends Frank and Scarlet, the proprietors of a lovely cottage business in plants and flowers. You definitely want one of these, so here's their website:

https://sites.google.com/site/paradiseperennials/

And here it is, the enchanting, entertaining, and extremely fragrant MOONFLOWER!

Above, Moonie on Sunday, just starting to unfurl

Early Encounters

Anyone who grew up in upstate New York probably remembers the Catskill Game Farm. You could get up close and personal with baby animals and even feed them from little bottles.

Here's a little gem my mom uncovered of my first encounter with the caprine kind.

I think maybe that goat was a little TOO close and personal. Either that or I'm gazing into its eyes and seeing a future of getting up very early, trudging up a hill in the snow with a five-gallon bucket of water, and spending countless summer afternoons inside making pounds and pounds of cheese.

Of course, there's really nothing I'd rather be doing. I mean, just look at me now.

I guess I haven't changed that much.

Midsummer

There is a lot going on in the garden right now, and out of the garden too. Definitely time for a Cotton Hill collage.

Outside edges, clockwise from top left: Raspberries about to bust; my favorite garden bed right now: yellow marigolds and yellow melon blossoms; being patient with tomatoes; sungolds aplenty; nascent eggplants and onions; pretty flowers; moonflower waiting for full moon; Bird with some of the potato harvest: look at the giant one on the right; baby baby watermelons; superlate beans and romaine; the garlic harvest curing in the woodshed; giant green pepper, please turn red.

Inside: cool cauliflower, crazy cukes, and cute chicks!

Life is good. Recipes coming soon.

Haunted Hill

One amazing thing about our house is that it does not seem to be haunted. Although I'm a pretty grounded person, as insensitive to the supernatural realm as I am to most things (thanks again for putting up with me, old friends), I have experienced places where I felt spectral presences. Hearing footsteps when nobody was home, lights turning on and off, feeling like someone is watching you - all that mildly creepy type of stuff.

In a 160-year-old sprawling farmhouse one would expect to encounter all manner of phantoms, but any apprehension I've felt in that moment before I turn on a light has been utterly unwarranted so far. The basement is damp and the attic has what looks like a noose over one of the rafters, but overall, the house has pretty good vibes. Or so I thought...

Good Vibes?

Not So Fantastic, Mr. Fox

I first saw the fox on Friday (not last Friday, but the one before that; the blog runs about a week behind life, generally). Bird and I were coming back from a walk, and halfway down the hill I noticed something in the lawn. A face. Ears. A moment later it noticed me too, and ran into the tall grass by the garden. A fox. Five feet away from my chickens. They looked alarmed. Bird never saw it.

Before I moved here, I never saw a fox. Since I moved here, I have seen quite a few. Every time I see one I feel as though I've been given a gift. The thing is, the feeling is bittersweet. Foxes are beautiful and fascinating creatures, but I'm a farmer now, responsible for animals who definitely would have been eaten by something already if it wasn't for me. When Farmer Fin and I watched The Fantastic Mr. Fox, we realized with a sinking feeling that we kind of identified more with Boggis and Bunce and Bean. We rooted for Clooney anyway, of course. But we knew deep down that some day soon, it would be Us vs. Fox.

Fin came out later with the rifle. He waited until he saw the grass move where the fox had gone, and fired a couple times into the ground. The fox was clever and did not move. Eventually we gave up.

For a few days, we didn't see it. Perhaps it learned its lesson, we thought. Wishful thinking. On Tuesday, Fin heard a commotion from the hen houses. He saw the fox four feet from the chickens, who were yelling their heads off. He ran outside in his underwear, rifle in hand, no shoes on his feet, aimed, fired, and dropped it with one shot. The picture below is not as gory as it could be, but is probably not for the faint of heart.

RIP Foxy

I was at work, and when I came home, Fin was digging Foxy's grave. He called a local trapper who said a summer pelt was worthless, and cautioned him against mange. The fox had a cute face, but really big teeth. We felt bad, but mostly relieved that it was gone and our chickens were safe, for the moment at least.

The chickens had quite a scare, especially Celeste, who is older and wiser. Below, left, is evidence of her terrible shock.

The Egg of Terror

Farmer Fin has earned his farmy stripes this year, bringing life into the world and taking life out...all while I was stuck at my day job. All's well that ends well, I suppose.

Busy Science Project Morning

Dragging myself out of bed for morning milking is not easy. My whole life, I have been kind of a night owl, and these summer days when it doesn't get dark until nine, it takes a while to unwind in the evening. Lately Farmer Fin and I take turns letting one another sleep. I confess that I am the one sleeping in at least two-thirds of the time. He's altruistic.

It's just the getting out of bed part that's difficult. Once I'm up, it's hard to resist the charms of early morning on the hill: today, I saw the mama barn swallow feeding her two-day-old babies. Also, morning is a productive time for me. It's gratifying to realize that you've crossed off half your list by noon. Here's what the kitchen looked like at eight AM today.

From left to right: yogurt straining, half-waxed gouda, kimchi fermenting in jars, soft cheese draining (kimchi and soft cheese were yesterday's projects, but still), feta and chevre draining in the big pot, chick peas cooking for hummus later, and just out of the picture is the coffee that I can't wait to drink. That's right, all before coffee too. Maybe I'll spend the rest of the day in the hammock... :)