Doomstead update #nth-infinity...

Right now, I think that the worst thing about living on the Doomstead is that I cannot post regularly to the blog. I miss all of you, and I miss your comments. There is so much that I want to write about, and a hundred short blog posts run through my mind every day. Of course, by the time I finish milking the goat, hanging the clothes, boiling water to do dishes, or whatever the task of the moment is, that interesting post has fled my mind.

And yet, there is so much to talk about.

Nikki the goat is, while not the best milker around, becoming more tolerable. Mr D built a temporary milking stand for her, and we've been working at training her that she *only* gets her milk mash (grain and molasses and ... I'm not sure what) when she "four on the floor" - all four hooves properly on the stand. Well, now, as soon as we release her from the fenced area or from a tether, she runs to the milk stand. Today, Mr D was trying to get her from the field to the barn because it was starting to rain. (Note - goats really, really hate rain.) She ran to the stand. He pulled her away. She managed to get her front legs up, knelt there and looked back at him. He laughed and told me to grab my milking stuff. I managed to get about a cup of milk before the rain really started to pour and she decided that shelter was more important than milk mash.

If she's kept away from Nanette and we get her to stand still long enough for me to finish, I can get an almost-overflowing pint from her twice a day. That is plenty for us, and if we can keep that up for a while, I'll be happy.

We're looking for a *good* buck from a proven milking line to cover both her and Nanette - we'll breed Nikki in the fall, we think, and Nanette nearer to Christmas.

On a completely unrelated note, Little Miss P is making the strangest noises. For some reason (maybe because she has two big brothers), she *growls*. She's crawling around on the floor as I write this, and Mr D and I are nearly laughing ourselves to tears and calling her Rosemary's Baby! Anyway, she's seven months old now, creeps around the floor, chatters in terrifying demon-speak, pulls herself up on the rungs of chairs, and eats anything she can get her fat little fingers on. She really loves moose liver, in fact.

Now, we've had our first true deaths on the farm. Nikki was either scared of, or curious about, the chickens, and started picking some of them up by their tails. That pulled out tail feathers and we, novice farmers that we are, didn't think to immediately check the chickens and isolate any wounded ones. The next day, two were dead and we had to slaughter two more. There is not a lot of meat on an 8 week old heritage chicken. On the bright side, that leaves us with one very clearly alpha rooster, one beta rooster, and six hens. Their chirps are starting to turn into clucks, and they look remarkably "chicken-y" as they sit around their house and pen. Anyway, the alpha rooster makes me laugh because he challenges us when we chase them from barn to pen or vice-versa! He makes sure all the rest are out and then he turns around and looks at us! We can't really keep him long-term because we'll need an unrelated rooster by next year, but for now, he is most definitely the cock of the walk!

I've heard that Ontario has been cold and wet. It's been like that here, too! One difference, though, is that most people don't even expect to get their gardens in until early to mid-June. However, I'm realizing that a greenhouse, if I expect to have any garden at all, is an absolute necessity. All of my carefully-selected seeds are sitting in a safe corner for next year. For this year, we're focusing on growing started plants from Home Hardware and the local greenhouse, and getting our beds ready for next year.

I really wish I could share with all of you the incredible beauty that is our new home. Honestly, without a word of exaggeration, I can say that I intend to be carried off this land in a pine box some day. I don't care if I live to be 100, I intend to die on this mountain. Oh, yes, I am so absolutely in love with this mountain. The land is so full of riches that it will take us decades just to discover what our little piece has.

On a funny note, a neighbour took Mr D walking through his blueberry fields. He ripped a plant out of the ground and started cursing it, saying that not even Round-Up will kill it, and it's taking over his fields. (We walked that field today - it actually is taking over.) So Mr D pulled up one of the plants and took it home to me. Hmmm ... gray-green hairy basal leaves, tall straight stalk, a bunch of yellow flowers forming a spire up ... "It's mullein," I said. "Common mullein." Mr D asked me if it were a useful plant, so I opened up my herb book and read the large entry on all the uses of mullein. Mother Nature always gets the last laugh.

To the west of our house, we have an underground spring that feeds a little marshy area. Our neighbours are kind of horrified at our plans, but we intend to dig out the marsh a bit and encourage it as a water trap. There are no cattails, but I know where I can find some nearby to seed our marsh. We do have ostrich fern, bracken fern, bunchberries, false solomon's seal, yarrow by the truckload ... that's just in the marsh. Around it, we have five mature crab apple trees, and everywhere I walk through our woods, I find more apple trees. I've found dog rose, pink lady's slipper, sheep sorrel, quack grass (the boys just LOVE learning that they can chew on the stalks), plantain, both red and sugar maple ....

This morning, we went for a walk near a patch of plants that I had not identified yet and the last bunch of rain had turned it into a field of multi-colored lupins! Absolutely gorgeous.

In other, less happy news, Mr. D broke a bone in his foot when he dropped a log on it, and then last week he tried to hammer his thumb. Sadly, the hammer won that fight.

Mr D just noted that I've been writing for a long time, so I'll end this now and post it when I'm in town.

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From the lips of Mr D: Importance of First Aid

For all the prep-ness and herbal remedies that CD has been working on, we forgot one important detail. First aid training.

In ages past, mothers would teach daughters about tinctures, poultices and other remedies, as well as plant wildcraft. Fathers would teach their sons about woodland first aid. Parents were the first responders and with their help, that knowledge was passed down. There was also military first aid that was learned by young men in the course of their service in times of war. Of course, a health provider relevant to that age was sought out in many cases when basic first aid was not sufficient.

Today, in many first world countries, and wealthy provinces/states, people have come to rely on healthcare providers without a desire to learn for themselves what to do. A common cold now requires a trip to the doctor's office.

So a big oops on our part: we forgot to get training.

However, all is not lost. We have several volunteer firehalls in the area that train volunteer firefighters as well as first responders. We are now looking at attending some of these course. Aside from cottagers, and one lone "hermit", we're alone and we should know the basics of first aid.

On an unrelated note, the log that broke my foot a month ago is now kindling. The electric fence that I crushed my thumb is fully functional. I'm also writing this while waiting at the health center waiting to be seen if either of these injuries will have lasting effect.

CD misses the internet and all of you.

Welcome.

Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment - positive or negative - and let me know your thoughts. Don't forget to subscribe to Canadian Doomer in a Reader or by email.