A soul so gentle and deserving of best that life has to offer, you were bound to days of labor and neglect. Knowing you as I did I am sure you did your job with pride and dignity, even if you were never noticed or appreciated. I sensed your good nature from the first I saw you leaning against the wall in the dark isle. Barely able to stand, abandoned and tied up without food or drink; you looked at me without a trace of bitterness. “Hey buddy, can you spare a little hay?” You knew not of love or compassion from man, but it was there within you. Unrecognizing of a kind hand, when offered, you responded in kind. You learned to rejoice in the touch of a loving hand, and instinctively knew how to return that love. So adoring; so were you adored. Looking up when called and greeting everyone with a captivating smile. All who came to visit were touched by your charm and poise. You were big in every way.

By the time we met your frame was broken though your will was strong. We fought a good fight my friend. The touch of your muzzle let me know you were happy here. I’m sorry your stay with us was so short. I’m sorry I couldn’t repair the damage done by cruel men. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you Jed. For your sake and mine.

Though your body is still and your light has gone out, the hearts and souls of the people you’ve touched have been changed forever. You are so missed.

What is a Pepsi Challenge for three horses? Find out in this video – strictly for your viewing pleasure! Let’s us know what you think and don’t forget to vote our Pepsi Challenge. Our beautiful horses are supported by private funding and efforts from all our friends! Please Vote, this January 2011 (as in Right Now) every day, for our Pepsi Challenge,      http://www.refresheverything.com/rosemaryfarm Or text 105360 to 73774. It only takes a minute to register, it’s free and easy and every vote gets us closer to a valuable grant to help us help the horses. Thanks for your support!

Our beautiful horses are supported by private funding and efforts from all our friends! Please Vote, this January 2011 (as in Right Now) every day, for our Pepsi Challenge,      http://www.refresheverything.com/rosemaryfarm It only takes a minute to register, it’s free and easy and every vote gets us closer to a valuable grant to help us help the horses. Thanks for your support!

My heart is broken, my spirit dashed. And this much I know, though the pain may lessen and the anger subside, the hurt will never go away.

He was my Baby Buckaroo. My little colt – so strong and beautiful. He was going to be horse for the rest of my riding days. I’ve raised and lost beloved pets – dear friends – before. It’s always hard. And those of you that appreciate a life – no matter how small – probably know the sadness of the loss. But when a baby dies it so much harder. You don’t have all those beautiful memories to hang on to. Instead you are left with the saddest words, “what might have been…”

His stall is empty now, but in time it will again be occupied; perhaps even with another beautiful little foal. But there will be a little part of me – where my little horse lived – that will be forever empty.

Good-bye Baby Buckaroo. I’ll never forget you.

Baby Face

And now, the fabulous Baby Buckaroo at 7 – 10 days old.
Gosh, I remember him when he was just a day old. Seems like just last week!

On a clear night, when the moon is full – or near to – the night can be like daytime at Rosemary Farm. Such was the case Sunday night. So around eleven o’clock we took a walk down the hill to Middle Earth to see the small herd in the field. We do this often, but now with Molly so close to foaling we do it regularly. Sunday evening was particularly beautiful; warm and clear with a soft breeze and deep moon shadows. We brought some grain with us for the horse and call to them as we walked the path to the pasture.

Hello Jack. Hi Heidi. That’s a good boy Dash. Where’s Molly? We shake the grain bucket. Molly?

I shined the flashlight out across the long field. Her black figure appeared like a standing shadow against the silhouette of the trees. But there was something different. She was thinner. And there from between her legs we could see behind her four smaller, long, thin, wobbly legs.

We approached her with caution. She turned to greet us and walking around her came Baby Buckaroo. At one hour old, he was standing and walking tall and strong and just cute as the day he was born!

We stayed in the field for about an hour watching mother and child. We did not get too close so as not to upset Molly. Baby Buckaroo bounced around his mother under the starry summer night sky, nursing and looking out at at a world brand new to him. We decided to leave them there in the field where they seemed most comfortable and safe with their small herd nearby.

The next morning we woke up early and ran down to the field to welcome Baby Buckaroo to Rosemary Farm.

Baby Buckaroo

Molly and Baby Buckaroo

The Tournament of Roses has its Rose Parade. Macy’s has its Thanksgivings Day Parade. The People’s Republic of China has its National Day Parade. However these meager festivities happen but once a year. Here at Rosemary Farm, we have a parade everyday. In fact many times a day. Just about anytime you go somewhere around the farm becomes a parade. With 45 very domesticated animals here it is hard not to look back and see a flock of chickens, a pack of dogs (with a few cats) or a herd of horses keeping in step with you. It’s like being at the front of a conga line at Auntie Hannah’s Purim Pageant.

Walking grain down the hill to the horses is a sure way to start a parade. The chickens love the scraps left by the horses, and seven or eight are bound to follow you, clucking and cackling as they waddle their way down the hill in formation. A dog or two is sure to wag in, bringing up the rear.

Human participation is not always necessary for parades at Rosemary Farm. Letting the dogs out is always a spectacle as the three canines bound across the party field usually followed by a cat or two; and frequently unintentionally led by a squawking chicken or two.

And then there are the times we watch from the window at the surprising sight of a band of horses, who have started their own parade down the middle of Roses Brook Road. Casper has taken to being the Grand Marshall of those parades. In perfect disposition they gallantly trot the road one in front of the other.  Where they are going is not important – it never is in a parade, the joy is in the act of getting there.

Indoor parades are also regularly scheduled in the farm house; person, dog, dog, cat, dog, cat, person – and in the library the bunnies join the fray.  The morning parade goes down the stairs to the backdoor.  The food parade is around the kitchen into cold storage and out again (that one is regularly scheduled twice a day.)  And then the evening parade back up the stairs. Of course, there are several bathroom parades throughout the day but we tend to discourage those.

The festivities NEVER END here at Rosemary Farm.  At least it’s never boring, and you’re never alone!

	As I put up the "Newest Arrivals" page tonight, I felt I needed to add this postscript to my post "In Memory of…".
			Just two months after the death of Tigress, her friend of thirteen years, Nikki, our other beloved cat was diagnosed with feline mammary cancer. She underwent surgery, but it was a very aggressive cancer, and within four weeks, Nikki laid down in my lap and took her final journey over the rainbow bridge to be with Tigress. It has been hard losing two such wonderful creatures and long time companions so close together.
	But the joy they brought us through the years will not be forgotten. Their memories live on in each and every new arrival that’s comes to share in our life and times at Rosemary Farm.

As we go about our daily rituals here at Rosemary Farm, I am reminded of a fabulous episode of the Twilight Zone.  It was about aliens who came to Earth to help man produce more food and relieve human starvation. The Earthlings knew these aliens were benevolent because they found a book belonging to them and translated the title : “To Serve Man.”

To Serve Man

In a typical Twilight Zone twist, the episode ended with a man shouting to a line of people boarding the alien craft: “…To Serve Man – IT’S A COOKBOOK!”

In the Twilight Zone of Rosemary Farm I shall begin this blog by shouting “To Serve Chicken” is NOT a cooking blog!

It seems at times our life here at the farm is in the service of the animals.  At this moment there are 43 of them – and only two of us.  15 of the chickens are only six weeks old (they live in the sun-room down the hall from our bedroom) and they require feeding about five times a day.

More Chicks

We only have nine horses here at the moment (they do not live in the house – thank god). Seven are in the lower field together and two more are in a field across the way. The morning graining ritual is no less than an hour. Each horse has there own bowl and the grain must be put out in order so no one gets insulted. Lead horse first then the mares then the young horses. Careful attention must be paid to the routine as it will change as herd dynamics fluctuate. Putting out the hay is less regimented. We can put out round bales (900 lbs each) with the tractor, but we also feed plenty of small square bales (50 lbs each) which we carry here and there mostly by hand. So how often do we have to haul out all those bales of hay? Turns out, horses require about 40 to 60 Lbs. of hay a day in the winter – each. You do the math.

Molly at the Gate

Then there are the full grown chickens out in the coop. We only need to put out food once in the morning for them. In the summer they are let out so their food is spread around, and they forage for – bugs I guess. But in the winter food must be carefully arranged in the coop so everyone can eat and there are no chicken fights. The term “pecking order” comes to mind here. We recently had a new hen move in (I think we are listed in the Chicken Zagats Guide) and has not been completely accepted by the other hens so she needs to be fed separately.

The Coop

The two bunnies don’t get along either so one is in the house and one has an outdoor hutch. They get the same food, just in two different locations. Once the chickens, horse and bunnies are all taken care of the cats and dogs who live both in and outside the house and have been waiting patiently get there bowls filled. They also have a predetermined ration of both wet and dry food and of course order is important here too. Some of them eat faster than the others so precision timing is a must to assure a peaceful mealtime.

Feeding Time

By time we finish the morning feedings it is all we can do to make ourselves brunch.  Inevitably it is too late to call it breakfast and we have to get everyone else fed first or we just would not be able to enjoy our own meal.  We do allow ourselves the luxury of coffee BEFORE serving our masters animals.

As evening falls, it is a perfect time to sit out on the observation deck and watch the the sun set over our majestic hills – except, of course, it is time for the evening feedings and the ritual of “locking down” the farm for the night.  The sunset will have to wait.

The chickens need fresh water before being closed up in their coop.  The horses need to be brought to their appropriate stall or pasture with sufficient hay and water for the night set out.  The bunnies get some carrots and fresh water because in the winter all still water must be changed often or it freezes. Then it’s time to fix the evening meals for the cats and dogs and replenish the food and water for the baby chicks.

The sun has now long set and a quiet darkness has befallen the farm.

Evening Falls

The sunset did not wait for us. At least we can start to fix our dinner. Tonight it is pasta (or something simple to fix) because after feeding all the creatures large and small it is just too much to trouble to make a fuss for ourselves.

So if you ever want to get the full flavor of country living, drop by the farm anytime; we’re serving chickens morning, noon and night.

At Your Service

I remember seeing a bumper sticker sometime in the mid-eighties that read “Split wood, not atoms.” Even though I was some twenty years from trying to heat a 160 year old, seven bedroom farmhouse with wood, I realized the sentiment to be a bit naive. I can guarantee the person driving around with that bumper sticker had never actually tried to functionally use split wood in place of a modern energy source. Certainly he was not running his car on wood!

We experienced our first winter at Rosemary Farm in 2008 – the coldest winter in nearly 27 years. The house is equipped with a forced air oil furnace. We went into fall with home heating oil at over four dollars a gallon. We also had an old open fireplace in which we installed a wood-burning insert. The house is drafty, and not well insulated, and we found even shutting it down to a few rooms, keeping the overall heat no more than 55 degrees and living in front of the fireplace (which we continually stuffed with wood), we still spent a small fortune in heating oil. It was cozy enough in front of that fireplace – cozy enough to get married in front of, but we needed a better solution for the years to come.

Cozy Fireplace

“I’ve got it! Let’s get one of those outdoor wood-burning furnaces. We have lots of trees on the property. I’ll just cut them up and we can heat for free.”

Back to the guy with the bumper sticker… Do you know how much wood you need to split to heat a house for a year? I’m at about ten cords so far and the winter is only half over. You may ask “didn’t you know or find out how much wood you’d need BEFORE installing such a unit?” The answer is yes and no. I was aware, though I thought it would be a little less, but I couldn’t really imagine how much wood that was – and how I was going to get it.

So as summer turned to fall – 2009 – we had a wood-burning furnace installed behind our house with fifty feet of underground insulated pipe to carry hot water to a heat exchanger installed in our furnace. I began to cut the pile of wood left by the loggers down near the brook. I was sure this would take no time at all and last at least half t chainsaw he winter.  I attacked the pile with gusto and my 18″ Poulan chainsaw, a homeowners model left here by the previous tenants.

Wood Pile next to tractor

First things first.  I had to dig the logs, some up to twenty feet long, out of the pile of mud the loggers had bulldozed them into.  I used the forks on the front of my tractor and stacked up four or five logs to get started – no problem.

Two and a half hours later I had cut one ten foot log into five smaller logs.  I had spent a majority of that time messing with the chainsaw and sharpening the chain.  Oh yes, you must sharpen chains on chainsaws especially when cutting through tree trunks coat in mud – mud contains rocks and rock beats metal.  I learned about sharpening chains after buying several new chains each time they dulled.  Figuring there had to be a better (cheaper) way I bought a file and hit the Internet.  It’s not that hard, but filing each one of the teeth on the chain takes a little time.

But two and a half hours for probably a days worth of firewood (we haven’t even got to splitting the blocks yet) did not seem efficient.  Perhaps a professional, or at least someone who has done this before could help.  But hiring someone on the cheap to do farm chores is a whole other story.  Suffice to say after another half a day fight the woodpile beast the conclusion was “we’re going to need a bigger saw.”

Off to the farm machinery store…

“You could get away with the Rancher model, but you’ll find you’ll want something bigger with the amount of wood you have to cut.”  That’s what our friendly, ex-Brooklyn tractor salesman told me.  And to his credit he had been right about the tractor he sold me.  ”So which model will I need?” Translation – How much will this cost me?  For your information, a professional model Husqvarna 357 XP retails for over $750.  He gave me a small price break and though in an extra chain, some chain oil and a file.  Oh yes – you still have to sharpen them!

It still wasn’t like a knife through butter, but I was able to knock through the logs at a reasonable clip.  The fact that they had been bulldozed into a mud pile was a problem, but another lesson learned.  Now, onto splitting the cut logs.  Splitting can be done with an axe and several wedges or with a wood splitter – a wedge force down into the wood by a hydraulic engine. I was lucky enough to borrow one from a neighbor that fit the back of a tractor.  Of course it didn’t fit the back of MY tractor without two hundred dollars worth of mounting iron and hydraulic hose.

I spent a couple hours a day stacking, cutting, splitting and hauling wood to our wood stove.  I figure all told, four or five days worth of work.  And that pile, maybe seven cords (128 square feet of wood per cord) lasted just barely to Christmas.

Wood Furnace

Rosemary Farm has many wood acres – in the mountains.  Unless you’re doing significant logging, it turns out it’s cheaper to buy logs by the truckload than to get them off the side of a mountain.  We had a load delivered near to the stove.  That relieved me of the burden of digging out, stacking and eventually hauling the logs to the stove.  I still had to cut and chop them.  A three-week cold spell of nights below zero relieved me of my 3 1/2 cords quickly.

It’s warmed up a bit now – in the thirties by day and I just had a tri-axle load delivered, about 7 1/2 cords.  Ordering such a load is not like ordering a cheeseburger, it takes a week or so of arranging.  If something goes wrong – and it usually does – maybe two or more weeks.  I tried to plan ahead but still ended up cutting down several small trees behind the Maple Barn. (Don’t worry tree lovers; they were slated to fall anyway.)

Delivering Wood

Unloading Wood

I’m hoping, barring any more really cold spells, this load will last us through the rest of the winter.  I figure that will make about 18 full cords.  A lot of timber, but still less than a quarter of what we would have spent on heating oil. What about the cost of my time? Considering a gym membership  in the city runs over a hundred dollars a month, and I’m in the best shape I’ve been in since high school – I figure I’m saving money there too!

Chucking Wood