April Is National Poetry Month

I don't tend to think poetically, so a couple of years ago I challenged myself to write a haiku a day. I confess I didn't finish out my goal of a year's worth, but it came to mind the other day when I saw that April is National Poetry Month. It's all homestead inspired, so why not make a contribution?

I reckon I would call this small collection "Winter."

Dawn brightens blue

contrails cross beneath the moon 

sun peeks in the east

Head tall, watching all

feather sheen in black and green

strut, strut, pause - Rooster!

Clear sky, bright white sun,

Brisk wind biting my nose and cheeks

Winter is still here

Streaks of dappled grey

reach across the sky. No sun.

Will it rain today?

Crisp brown crunch beneath

soft grey paws. Pause. Green eyes fixed,

tail whips. Wrens beware!

Drip speckled cat coat

Wet paw prints on hardwood floor

It's raining again

Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip

Misty tree conversations

blue jays punctuate

Chicka-chicka-CHIT!

Scolding chickadee ignored -

Cat on a mission.

Small puddle reflects

grey calm behind fleeting clouds.

Small splash, sparrow bath!

Misty shades of sky

No brightness to mark the sun

Rain smiles from the clouds

Towhees scratch and hop

hunting leaf-hidden morsels

Squirrels watch and scold

Spoon poised, sudden dark,

Silence loudly fills the house -

the power is out.

Crisp sharp air pierces

my breath. Dark stillness broken,

coyotes calling

Spring, yet not spring. Birds

twitter and chirp, winter lurks

behind the north wind.

A neighbor's rooster 

crows and breaks the gray silence

Dawn sun arises

Smiling slice of moon,

crescent in the arch of blue,

Clear! No rain today!

Puffs of frosty breath

Ice caps on barnyard buckets

Robins heading north

Bright yellow on drab,

Winter's first promise of spring

- daffodils!

Pale yellow sun breaks

winter sky of frosty blue

Songbird symphony

Neglected haiku

The day went by so quickly

Promise forgotten

Puddle splash, rain rings,

Step carefully or wet feet!

Birds chirp, they don't care

Empty pasture waits

Goats stand at the gate and stare

Winter grass is scarce

Dog prints in the mud

Feathers scattered on the ground

Muscovy duck dead

Frost on the rooftops

Sun rises over pale blue

A warm day promise

High pitched screech aloft

like you hear in the movies

but this hawk is real

Twittering chatter

Community atop the tree

SWOOP! Silence in flight

Dull muddy sunrise

rain-gray clouds overshadowed

brilliant red breaks through

Fog dampens the sun

We look, we call, we wait. Where's

Meowy? Gone??? - Found!

Wind whips bare branches

Thunder announces a storm

Instant pelting rain

Hair blown in my eyes

clouds racing across the sky

cold weather returns

Snow flakes on whiskers

Paw prints on the snowy steps

Meow! Let me in!

Red cardinals, white snow,

green and yellow daffodils.

Colors of winter

Four little noses

Eight hoofs, four tails, mama's milk

Newborn baby goats

Frilly lettuce leaves

scalloped leaves of collard greens

winter's survivors

Dots of daffodils

bright yellow on winter drab

Robins everywhere

Breezes kiss my cheek

Cobbled clouds across the sky

Trail of northbound birds

Bouncing hops and jumping

Racing across the paddock

Baby goats at play

Damp drizzly morning 

becomes rainy afternoon

Indoor work today

Robin speckled fields

The hunt for earthworms is on

Flight! Northbound again

Ice speckled raindrops

become lost in the snowflakes.

Goats stay in the barn.

Chattering treetops

Branches alive with starlings

What do they discuss?

Crows call an alert!

All eyes search the skies. A hawk?

Far above, he's there

Anyone else?

April Is National Poetry Month © April 2023

by Leigh at http://www.5acresandadream.com

Summer Mantra

Pick, process, preserve
Pick, process, preserve

The mantra of my summer days is

Pick, process, preserve

While our August weather is signalling the approaching end of summer, the garden is not. Even heat loving vegetables don't like our intense southern summers. When it begins to cool down to the upper 80s°F (upper 20s°C), things tend to make a renewed effort at production. That means that picking, processing, and preserving are all still in high gear. With the goat kids now sold or weaned off their mothers, I have lots of milk to deal with too, which means cheese making season is in full swing.

Our day starts early. We eat breakfast before sunrise and get out to the barn as it's getting light. Dan tends to the poultry and feeds the bucks while I feed the does and do the milking. Once the dishes are done and the milk strained and refrigerated, I'm off to the garden with two buckets. I try to finish my picking by 9 a.m., because once the sun hits the garden in full force, it's too hot to enjoy it. The rest of the day is spent processing and preserving the mornings pickings for winter eating.

People tell me gardening and home food preservation are a lot of work. I calculate that during the months of July and August, I put in a good 40-hour week preserving our harvest and making cheese. That doesn't include regular critter chores, meal preparation, and an hour lunch break. I don't think that's too bad. And if I wasn't preserving our own food myself, I'd have to go work for someone else so I could buy all our food! Considering how prices keep going up and availability keeps going down (I almost dread going shopping nowadays!), I'm very happy to spend the time working for myself. It's a satisfying endeavor.

I think the key to not feeling overwhelmed is in coordinating my time. Some things, like figs, need to be canned as soon as possible after picking, but tomato sauce and pearsauce need slow cooking time. They don't demand constant stirring, just an occasional stir. For dehydrating, the produce must sliced or diced before going into the dehydrator, then there's a long wait time while it's drying. Cheese making too, needs time for the milk to culture and form curds. Pressing the cheese is another time chunk, and brining requires I keep track of the time. All of these jobs require keeping an eye on, but while I'm waiting for the next step, I can work on something else. 

How much to preserve is a concept that's evolved for me over the years. In the beginning, I did a lot of calculating. Then experience taught me that nothing about living, growing things is predictable. 

"Even though we're working toward year-round food production, I still preserve quite a bit. That hasn't changed, although I've given up on specific goals for food preservation.

 

'Initially, my method . . . was a pretty simple one. I considered how much of a particular food we eat each week, and then figured out how much we'd need on hand until next year's harvest.'

“Food Self-Sufficiency: Feeding Ourselves,”

5 Acres & A Dream The Book (p. 67)

Now, we eat our fill of fresh foods and the remainder are preserved. I may end up with more than I need for the upcoming winter, but if the next summer's yield is poor, I'll have extra for the following winter too. Between that and expanding our fall and winter garden, we have the best variety we are able."

“Food Self-Sufficiency: Feeding Ourselves,”

5 Acres & A Dream The Sequel

 

So, as long as the garden is producing, I'll keep on putting as much of it by as possible. It will slow down as soon as the pears are done, but I'll probably have tomatoes until we get a good frost. Some years I only get enough to make pizza sauce, but this year I'm able to do some other things like tomato ketchup and tomato juice. It's nice to see the pantry filling up again.

How about you? What have you been up to this summer?

Summer Mantra © August 2022

by Leigh at http://www.5acresandadream.com

Good Chickens, Stupid Song

With apologies to Dorothy, The Wizard, and the Land of Oz

I'm off to feed the chickens
Those wonderful chickens of ours
They need the feed to lay the eggs
If ever some eggs there was

If ever the moulting will come to an end
If ever the pullets will grow into hens,
Because, because, because, because, because,
Because we love eggs for the things they does

I'm off to feed the chickens
Those wonderful chickens of ooooooouuuuuuuuuuuuurs

Don't you just hate it when you get some stupid song stuck in your head? Actually, I can change it now.

Our very 1st Buff Orpington pullet egg

So with apologies to the Campbells and the Scots....

The chickens are laying, Ho-Ro, Ho-Ro
The chickens are laying, Ho-Ro, Ho-Ro ...........

Buff Orpington, Barred Holland, & Ameraucana eggs

Good Chickens, Stupid Song © January 2012
by Leigh at http://www.5acresandadream.com/

Farewell Kitchen Sink

Kitchen sink and cabinets, as they looked right before the end

Farewell kitchen sink,
I will not miss you.

Your single bowl
I didn't like.
Dish drainer
Counter hog. 

I will not miss you.

Farewell countertop,
sloping,

dribbling water,
on my toes
and in the drawers.
Rolling okra
to the floor
I will not miss you.

Farewell laminate.
Outdated,
scratched and stained,
edges loose
DIY badly done. 

I will not miss you.

Farewell window.
Old and drafty,
leaking cold,
 Not long enough
for a good view.
I will not miss you.

Farewell sink sealer,
grungy, grimy,
mildewed.

Poorly applied.
I will not miss you.

Farewell old circuit box.
Why there?

Eye sore,  

empty now. 

Better in the
utility room.

I will not miss you.

Farewell dishwasher.
Broken, useless.

Best use?
drying ziplocs.

I will not miss you.

Farewell cabinets,

Narrow sticking drawers,

bad paint job
showed every stain.

Impossible to clean.

Destruction is upon you.

Farewell .........

Farewell Kitchen Sink © December 2011 by Leigh at http://my5acredream.blogspot.com/

Homestead Art: Ode To Lord B

I just had to share this with you. My husband is a very talented guy. Besides the amazing things he's done with our various house projects (among other things), he's an pyrographic artist. This is his latest ....

click to enlarge

It's a poem, "Ode To Lord B," inspired by our Barred Holland rooster. It's woodburned on a 10 by 15 inch birch panel.

You can visit Dan's blog by clicking here.

Homestead Art: Ode To Lord B © September 2011 by Leigh at http://www.5acresandadream.com/

"Ode To Lord B" poem & artwork © September 2011 by Daniel Tate