Early this month, we took Veronica and Hoagie off for processing. There is a degree of disconnect when the meat comes back vacuum sealed a week later but the farewells are tender. Thomas was ready to keep Veronica as a farm mascot. She wasn’t too thick (we think she may have been the runt of her litter) and she had really warmed up to Thomas. He scratched her head and petted her every morning at feeding time. He had given Veronica a sweet talking to about her future and thanked her for her company. When the trailer pulled up, she didn’t get on. We tried feeding the hogs on the livestock trailer a few days before we were going to take them off. We figured they’d get used to it, be accustomed to getting on it to feed, and it would be easy enough to load them when the time came. All three days, Veronica would not go on the trailer. Meanwhile Hoagie and Bradley ran up and down the ramp, feeding multiple times every day but Veronica went without food or water and we felt like she understood where this trailer was headed. We hoped for a seamless transition and instead were challenged to take this matter into our own hands, and our hands got dirty. We had to muscle Veronica by repeatedly coaxing her towards the ramp with food as we created and re-created and adjusted a chute which she repeatedly fought her way out of. Eventually though, she just walked on as if it were no big deal. Hoagie followed and 3 hours after the round up began, it was over…until the truck broke down somewhere less than halfway to our processor in Tailorsville. We wanted the entire end to be as short and painless as possible but were now in a position where we had to bring our babies back home, feed and water them on the trailer for another day, and try again, this time with more success.
Two days before we loaded up the hogs, Ronnie and Donnie were born. The cutest healthiest twin baby goats we thought we’d ever seen. One night we left Jersey and Wheezy in the pasture and the next morning we arrived to see two new lives just walking around, keeping near to their mama. That night we experienced a horrific storm that produced golf-ball sized and larger hail. Most of our large transplants in the field were shredded. Broccoli, tomatoes, lettuce were pounded into submission. Entire crops we were banking on and had been nurturing since January were gone in less than 20 minutes, or so we thought. Moments before, as I saw the clouds approach, I began to pray for a healthy rain, enough to nourish our small crops, and specifically, no hail. It’s safe to say I’m not in charge.
|Chick chicks growing up in their new mobile unit|
|Dora and Ronnie, respectively.|
The next day, I forced intentional death as I thinned carrots and beets. One minute I was hanging my head in sorrow over dead plants, the next, killing plants. What a juxtaposition. We went through rows in our field quickly choosing which seedlings to keep and which to discard so the others have more room to grow. In a span of 4 days we experienced life, death, tragedy, miracle, frustration, anger, and remorse. We spent the next week just trying not to lose it, which most farmers do from time to time.
The week before Easter, we went out to scrape together a harvest so we might have enough to go to market in Charlotte. The unexpected happened, we had a wonderful harvest. Tons of spinach, salad, lettuce, turnips, and radishes had flourished while we were focused on what all was going wrong. Those paired with fresh pork made for a really good market and one we appreciated for EVERYthing it was worth, and I don’t mean the income. After we gave thanks for our field, and a little tender care, most of those hail beaten tomatoes and broccoli recovered and started to take off. Two days ago, we harvested and ate some of the most delicious broccoli we'ver ever had and I'm sure the flavor had just as much to do with our gratitude as our taste buds.