There’s a bull in my driveway…

Sunday started out as a typical day, but swiftly took a turn for the bizarre immediately after church.

I arrived home with my teenage son in the car, as Mr. Caffeinated had driven separately to take care of some church business. Upon arriving home, I found the driveway gate shut. We never shut the gate, so this was a bit of a puzzler. Looking through the gate we could see a black cow – not ours; this year’s steers are both brown – standing a few feet behind the gate, nose to nose through the fence with one of the steers.

I asked said son to please open the gate, let me through, and then close it again before hopping back into the car. Said operation accomplished, I pulled forward a few feet to get a better look at the cow.

Except – it wasn’t a cow. It was a bull.

Fully intact in the, er, bull-equipment department, if you catch my drift.

He hadn’t been at all twitchy when my son was just a couple feet away, maneuvering the gate, so I wasn’t immediately alarmed, although rather puzzled.

We pulled up to the house, parked in the garage, and I checked my phone. Turns out, according to the texts, that a friend of ours who is also friends with the previous owners of our house, had driven by on her way home from church, saw the bull in the road, assumed it was our animal, and shooed it into the driveway and closed the gate to keep it put. She’d tried to call, but my phone was silenced because (a) Sunday, and (b) having animals loose isn’t a common occurrence at our house. When we bought the place, we replaced all of the fencing and the gates, and while the previous owners often had steers get out, we’ve never had an animal make it as far as the road.

The whole thing struck my as insanely funny, but there were still Things that would Need To Be Done About It. I decided that the first item on the agenda was to call the sheriff’s office and let them know that I was (a) in possession of a bull that wasn’t mine, (b) it wasn’t my fault, and (c) I’d be happy to have the owner come and get it, but I had no clue as to whom that might be. I suspect that the 9-1-1 dispatchers are probably not accustomed to having people call up announcing that they have bulls in their driveway, while simultaneously giggling and sober.

Cattle rustling is still illegal, so I wanted to head off any potential allegations before they got made. Dispatch transferred me to the sheriff, who informed me that he had neither the deputies nor the spoons to deal with the situation, and that unless someone got freed up on his end, I was on my own. Well, ok then.

Next, I called Mr. Caffienated and formed a Strategy. The bull was calmly and happily meandering up the driveway, sampling the grass and trampling the occasional iris while calmly inspecting the place. On the other side of the fence, our steers were galloping up and down the pasture, trumpeting to the world that those were their irises, and if anyone was going to go around sampling or stomping on them, it ought to be their privilege. I wasn’t particularly wild about having a bull roaming around my landscaping, so we decided to try tempting him into the field on the other side of the driveway.

At first, the bull was only minimally interested in this idea. He observed us setting up a trough and filling it with water. He gazed complacently as we filled a feeder with hay. He accepted a handful of hay as his rightful due from Mr. Caffeinated, but wasn’t inclined to exert himself by walking towards him for any additional helpings.

Now, when our steers are young, we often will herd them across the driveway with a chute created with that flimsy orange plastic fencing that you see at construction sites. Since they’re small and usually following our older animals who are used to the routine, they learn that when the orange stuff goes up, they’re going to walk between it to Luscious New Grass, and they get pretty excited about the whole thing. And they don’t try to go through the fencing. Mr. Caffeinated suggested that we set up the chute for the bull. I wasn’t too sure it would work because he’d never seen it before, but agreed that we could give it a try.

I’m not sure if it was simply the power of suggestion, or if it was because the steers went absolutely berserk when we set it up, but after some very gentle coaxing and slow infringement on his 6-foot comfortable social-distancing space, he finally decided that the pasture did look mighty tasty and moseyed in the gate. Once he was 15 feet or inside the field, Mr. Caffeinated grabbed the gate and swung it closed.

Except. That was the gate that had the problems with the hinges last fall, for which repairs had been delayed because “it will be fine; we can fix it later”. So, while the one side of the gate swung shut, the other side swung off, leaving the whole thing in a very surprised Mr. Caffeinated’s hands.

So, I held the gate – which wasn’t fastened to anything – in the hole, while Mr. Caffeinated rocketed up to the garage to grab tools to fix it. It only took about five minutes, and then we could step back and breathe a bit.

I called my friend and let her know what she’d actually turned loose on my Sunday. She was mildly surprised, but not particularly concerned. I guess she figured that (a) we could handle it, and (b) better me than her.

Fast forward a couple of hours. The steers were still kicking up hissy fits every so often, because that was supposed to be Their Grass and He was eating it! A couple of neighbors were consulted, but they didn’t have any bulls missing, and at that point we were out of English-speaking neighbors. I contacted a student’s mom who has dairy connections, and sorted out a Plan B and Plan C for if the owner didn’t show up. We got on with our day.

Closer to evening, a vehicle pulled slowly in to our driveway. In it were two guys – father and adult son, I think – and the son’s wife. Between their limited English and our even more limited Spanish, plus some charades, we established that this was their bull, we weren’t trying to hijack it, but were simply keeping it contained until he was discovered, and that we’d be happy for them to take him home. The owner announced that he was going to rope him, and I promptly said I’d be happy to watch.

The bull wasn’t particularly thrilled about this idea, and led him on a merry chase up and down the field a few times. Eventually, they did get a rope around his neck, and the roper wrapped it around his waist – at which point the bull decided it was a good idea to go for another couple of laps. I’m not entirely certain that the guy didn’t go completely airborne, but he did make a few astonishing leaps while being hauled downfield by the bull.

Eventually they got a second rope on the bull, at which point he decided to just stop and not move. To my surprise, the wife then picked up the other end of the rope and whacked him across the behind with it! I was anticipating another round of the zoomies, but the bull just gave her the stink eye and took a couple of steps. She whacked him again. They slowly progressed up the field this way, and made it out the gate and to the back of the car.

I asked if they had a trailer. “No; we’ll walk him home.”

All righty, then.

They wrapped one rope around the hitch on the back of the car, put it into gear at about a half a mile an hour, and slowly made their way down the driveway and out into the road.

Ten minutes later, they were progressing down the road at about the same speed. Traffic had backed up the hill about a half mile behind them. Mr. Caffeinated commented, “I’d never have known there were that many people that drove down Swan on a Sunday if they hadn’t decided to take that bull home on foot.” Another friend commented, “It’s not everybody that takes a bull out on a leash for a walk.”

Truth.

This has given me a new perspective on defining the urgency of situations around here. As in, “is it ‘A-Bull-In-The-Driveway’ Important? Or can it wait?”

Goldfish fun

One of our goldfish survived last summer, the unexpected raccoon, the hunting talents of the cats, plus the steers’ stock tank (with a heater) all winter, and is back in the waterfall. Judging by goes he plays in the water, I think he’s enjoying himself.

At first, I thought he was dying and floating around half-flopped… but, no, he appears to be having fun with the falling water and the bubbles.

Tuna Lessons

I’ll tell you what, if you’ve never had the opportunity to dismantle a large fish with a skeptical but interested audience, can you truly say that you’ve fully experienced the process?

We started processing the second tuna this weekend. We did the first one a few weeks back; see that post here.

This time, we’re smoking part of it, and planning to can that (if we don’t eat it all first). I sort of offhandedly mentioned it to a friend, who promptly asked if she could come watch, learn, and help. The night before, the whole “I have a large fish, in three layers of plastic, defrosting in an ice chest in my bathtub” thing was just so bizarre, I posted it on Facebook with a comment that “We don’t do Normal very well around here”, which spurred another friend to ask if she could come. I ended up with two helpers plus Mr. Caffienated (who, honestly, did 80% of the work). One of my guests did a photo collage of the crazy.

It’s currently smoking with applewood on the back porch in the Big Chief smoker.

Thankfully, it’s not pouring down rain like it was yesterday!

Eggshell recycling

I occasionally get asked how I use eggshells here on the homestead, and what I do to prepare them for use.

I realized years ago that while hens are perfectly happy to eat eggshells, if they’re fed them in large pieces, they’ll recognize them as eggshells – and then they start eating their own eggs. I’ve experienced this even when they’ve got leftover food in their dish, while on pasture, and have come to the conclusion that they don’t eat their own eggs because they’re hungry; they eat them because they like the flavor. So the challenge is to include eggshells in their diet without them figuring it out.

Why feed hens eggshells? Because it’s the easiest way to get calcium into their diet, and prevent them from laying eggs with thin shells. Oyster shell works too; we have it out there for free feeding. But they absorb the calcium from their eggshells even better.

I keep a cookie sheet with a used piece of aluminum foil (from whatever my most recent baking project was) in my oven, and collect eggshells as I go.

Every time the oven gets preheated, the shells are in there during the preheat, getting nicely dried out. Moist eggshells will mold; this way, I know I’ve cooked any nasty bacteria to death and dried them all out at the same time. Over baking them doesn’t seem to be an issue. Calcium is a mineral, after all; do home ovens actually get hot enough to make it go bad?

I know they’re ready to crush when they’re dried (and often, slightly browned). Here are two shells from today; the one on the right has been through a couple of oven preheats (I pull them out when the food goes in), and the one on the left needs a bit more cooking.

I run them through my coffee grinder, although they could also crushed in a food processor, or blender, or with a rolling pin. The idea is to make them into small pieces.

They don’t have to be this fine. I also add them to my garden for my plants, and I figure the smaller the pieces, the faster they’ll break down. I’ve read that the experts don’t think eggshells can prevent blossom end rot on tomatoes and peppers because it takes a couple of years for the shells to decompose enough for plants to use them. However, I take the long view; I started adding eggshells to my compost and garden eight years ago, and continue to add them every year. They’ve had time to break down and start building up calcium reserves in my garden… and I haven’t seen blossom end rot on anything in over five years.

Getting them into the hens requires one more step. I mix them into whatever kitchen treats are moist, so they’ll stick and not just fall to the bottom of the feed dish. Today’s treats included a small pan of oatmeal that the kids decided they didn’t want to finish, and left congealing on the stove.

There was probably a cup of oatmeal. I added a couple tablespoons of shells, and stirred them in.

I decided that it could use a bit more, since hens seem to like added eggshells as much as my kids like cinnamon-and-sugar on their toast.

Another couple of tablespoons or so.

These are some chicken treats that the birds will enjoy!

We haven’t had any thin shells for a long time, either.

Progress

Things are growing like crazy, and I’m already looking at tomatoes that will have to go into gallon pots soon.

Appropriate

I feel that this impromptu still life, encompassing the pencils from homeschool, the fertilizer for the garden, the clock that I’m always running behind, the Kleenex for allergies, and the attempt to keep it all together, is a reasonably accurate reflection of my life at the moment.

At any rate, it’s more photogenic than the mess in my kitchen.

Tree Pruning Continues

This year, I have helpers.

Even the resident teenager is learning a bit.

He now has a skosh more sympathy when I say my shoulders hurt after pruning awhile.

Hooray for chainsaws! We had some big tree limbs that needed to come off.

That will make a nice piece of firewood next fall, too.

Starting Cool Season Plants Outdoors

I have lots of plant starts going in the house, but with the outdoor temps starting to climb into the 60’s and staying mostly above freezing at night (we’ve been seeing lows in the upper 30’s and lower 40’s)… it’s time and past time to start the cool season veggies.

The area in front of the compost bin, which gets a lot of sun right now, has been rototilled. We had the hens in the garden, and then spread compost, and I felt we needed to dig that into the top six inches of dirt.

I’m trying out some weed barrier cloth in between rows this year. The last couple of years, I’ve been fighting morning glory; this is the latest attempt to eradicate it without spraying Roundup in my vegetable garden.

The t-posts are there to support the row cloth that we’ll use to cover the plants if we have temperatures below 30° in the forecast.

Some people cut or burn holes in their weed barrier to plant in, but I’m planting a lot of radishes, lettuce and kale as well as broccoli and cauliflower, and it would be all hole… so I’m just leaving a gap where my plants will be.

Now to fetch the drip line for watering. We tie it up on the fence for the winter. The first year, we left it on the ground, and ants built colonies in it… tying it up keeps them out.

The faucet attachment got a new filter.

I’m running the drip line all the way to the stable to the frost free faucet that is pressurized year round; the garden faucets won’t be turned in until late April or May.

I’ve set it up so that every time the trough gets filled, the plants get water.

The water line is pinned to the ground with homemade garden stakes, cut from grape wire.

I reused a bunch of drip lines from the last few years’ gardens, and just pulled the fittings apart and cut things to fit.

When I did the test run, I discovered that my emitters were throwing water onto my weed cloth!

I turned them all so that they are soaking the dirt now.

Almost ready to plant some radishes, lettuce and broccoli!

Pruning Grapes

It’s time – past time – to prune the grapes. We have two types: Concord grapes (great for juice, jam and fruit leather) and green seedless table grapes that are really sugar bombs masquerading as a healthy snack.

This is a grape plant in need of a haircut.

It’s actually had a preliminary trimming; Mr. Caffeinated got out there and did the rough whack-it-back a month or so ago, so that I could actually get to the main vines. But there is still much to do if we’re not going to have an uncontrollable grape jungle this summer.

THIS is old growth. See how it’s a dark brown, and looks like it’s a snake shedding its skin? New growth comes from this and fruits, but this part of the plant is where the new vines grow from, not the grapes themselves.

THIS is new growth. It’s a lighter shade, less flaky, and has buds on it.

At each of those joints in the vine, there’s a bud. This is where the grapes will be coming from.

HERE is where the new growth has sprouted from the main (old) vine.

I’ve been told that I prune my grapes as if they were wine grapes rather than juice grapes: for quality versus sheer quantity. Given that we have hundreds of pounds more than we can use every year – I am pretty sure we gave away nearly a ton last year, and I’m not exaggerating – I can afford to prune for quality!

I leave two buds to fruit on each new growth vine that I leave on the plant.

First bud:

Second bud:

… then cut.

Note that this doesn’t leave a lot of vine. That’s perfectly ok; a healthy grape plant will proceed to grow yards more vines over the spring and summer. If they aren’t whacked back severely, they will take over and I’ll never see the main vine again.

I also take off any vine that looks spindly or is heading in the wrong direction completely off at the main vine. Even if they’re still alive – this one looks pretty dead, but was still green at the core – I really only want the healthiest, most robust vines to grow grapes, anyway.

This plant is pruned back pretty nicely. There’s plenty of healthy vines with a couple of buds to produce grapes – and they’re growing in all directions, since these are very old vines that haven’t been trained to set all the new growth in the same direction.

Every year, even though we invite friends to come and pick as much as they want, there’s still loads of grapes that go to waste. Last year, we certainly gave away more than 1000 pounds, but you can see that a lot of grapes fell on the ground and went to waste anyway.

So, if you’re offered a chance to go pick grapes at a friend’s house, and they say “take all you want; we’re done picking” – don’t be afraid to strip all the grapes you can see off the vines. These were gone over twice by different people, and you can see that plenty were missed!

Winter pruning helps keep the jungle under control, but there will still be lots of leaves and new growth on these grapes once summer arrives and they hit their stride. Grapes need a solid haircut every year, to keep them under control.

Nearly ready to plant

Mr. Caffeinated brought home a skidsteer, and has spent the last few hours emptying our compost bin and spreading the contents on the garden.

Our compost bin is 16’x8’x4′, and was about half full of composted manure, garden trimmings, etc. from the last couple of years.

It sits between the corral and the garden, and the sides are removable precisely for this kind of access.

With the sides off, you can drive equipment right through it, and into the garden. Mr. Caffeinated emptied the whole thing in about an hour this way.

Hydraulics are awesome, I gotta say. This would have been a whole lot more work with a shovel and a wheelbarrow.

The hens are absolutely unfazed by the arrival of heavy equipment in their field. They can’t eat it; it isn’t chasing them, so they are 0% interested in it.

If we don’t move it out by tomorrow, they’ll probably find a way to lay eggs in it.

It may not look like much to the uninitiated, but that’s prime gardening soil, right there! The end closest to the composter will be seeded soon for cool weather plants such as lettuce, kale, and broccoli. The hens have been off of that side of the garden for 100 days, and the compost is even more aged than that, so I’m not concerned about bacteria transferring into our food. With all the nutrients that the animals and composted plant matter, plus the new Trifecta fertilizer I’m trying this year, I hope to get a good harvest.