A Day at the Festival
By Bill, posted on 08/13/2006


We went to a farm festival today, farmhand (age 5) and I. Calf roping demos, sheep shearing, pig roast -- the whole shebang. They also had a guided nature walk through what I have come to call poison ivy forest.

I've been tromping through the jersey woods all my life and if I was a fool I'd brag about how I can spot a poison ivy cluster at 5 yards. I say a fool 'cause I know that the day I brag is the day I get covered in a head-to-toe rash. Nature is like that. So is life. I can say that the naturalist leading the nature walk won't be bragging 'cause he kept walking through it.

When he finally noticed a nice healthy vine of poison ivy that he wasn't busy walking through, he brought three kids over to educate them of the perils of nature. Pointing to the vine he said "See this?" All three of the kids were pulling at the leaves before Mr. Nature-man had the chance to add "That's poison ivy."

Yep, job well done. They'll never forget what it looks like now.

The supermarket chain, "Whole Foods," was there with a make-your-own-trail-mix tent. As farmahnd sat in the grass to eat his bag-o-mix he looked around at the ground and exclaimed "Look, Dad, no chicken poop!" I laughed but did think about how it was nice to sit down without inspecting the ground for a fresh one.

I never intended to allow the chickens into the "yard" part of our farm and we do have the chicken field completely fenced off. Four foot fences should hold in chickens, said the two books I bought. I finally gave up while I was repairing an old broken section of fence one afternoon. I went in for lunch and upon my return there was a chicken sitting on the top of each fencepost. Sometime you just gotta know when to fold so I put my tools away and went inside. Later on I popped some frozen Banquet fried chicken in the oven for dinner. Didn't help control the chickens none but I figure I got the last laugh.

I had been worried what young farmhand would say when he realized that chicken was chicken whether it was in the coop or on a plate. The day after he had his first drumstick is saw him following a few hens, stooping down and studying them. He came back after a few minutes and said "Chickens have really yummy drumsticks Dad."

Scratch that one off the Things-To-Worry-About list.

Towards the end of today's festival I was at the conservation/nature oriented tent when I overheard the last part of the conversation between an older man and one of the bright-eyed college students working the tent:

Girl: "Oh, were you helping take care of the pigs today?"

Man: "Yep, spitted and roasted three of 'em"

Ah, when worlds collide. But not so much the case here. More like one world stomping on the neck of another. She simultaneously recoiled and deflated.

I've found that my outlook has changed dramatically in just the few short years we've had our tiny farm. We don't slaughter here but I've picked up countless predator kills. The first is horrifying. By the time you hit 10 or 15 it's just chicken parts.

Which is directly related to why our chickens hop the fences and come into the yard rather than happily roam their one acre field: A bunch of chickens in a huge field is like putting up a sign for predators-- "Fresh Chicken: Eat in or Take Away." They prefer bushes or anything that will give them cover from hawks.

I did have to send a ewe off to slaughter a few years back. She came with the farm and was feral and impossible to handle. Three people couldn't catch her for shearing. I thought I had her trapped at one point. Next thing I knew I was on my butt, six feet back, admiring the bright blue sky.

I had thought I'd feel bad when I sent my first animal to the knackers. Not so much. My butt still hurt.

Think I had fried chicken that night too. Never cared for mutton.




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